32. Scarlett
THIRTY-TWO
“Fuck!” Malone’s definitely not happy.
Neither am I.
We’re in Queens, at the dock. We got here just as dawn broke, and we’ve been searching for this mythical client list ever since. I know it’s not mythical, but it feels like that considering the fact that Dad and Uncle Grant seem to hold it closer to them than sacred text.
“Did you tell Grant for sure that’s what they want?” I ask.
He gives me a hard look. “Your uncle and father don’t want to give it up, and your father’s not around. Your uncle claims it’s split up, so… I need to find at least one half. Or fucking fake it.” Then he pauses. “Or maybe he does know where the other half is. Scarlett, they’re your family. What do you think? And drop loyalty for a second.”
I stare at him and bite my lip. “I… I don’t know.”
I look around the office and pick up a file folder. There’s nothing much in it. It’s receipts and notes about lunches and other things for tax time.
“Malone, you told me you didn’t think anything would be in here,” I say, “so…”
“Don’t get fucking frustrated?” He peers at me. “Why aren’t you?”
He sweeps papers off the messy desk in the office.
“I’m scared shitless. But you didn’t think there’d be anything here.”
“I said it was a long shot. I hoped we’d find something.”
There’s someone in the front on the phone, but it’s one of the rotating staff who just answers phones and takes notes and makes sure things are handled.
“Well, long shot makes sense, Malone. Mostly the workers use this office to rest or have lunch,” I say, looking around. “The place is open most of the time. Nothing important kept in here.”
He pushes a hand through his hair. “It’s still fucking frustrating. Whoever has your cousin hasn’t turned up. I don’t know where your fucking father is, and your uncle’s?—”
“Lost his daughter.”
Malone cuts me a look, one I can’t read.
“Yeah,” he mutters, distracted.
I’ve never seen him like this. And it scares me because he’s my one big hope for Amelia.
“I just hoped. Fuck… I don’t know. The foreman’s notebook is just his damn gambling stats.”
“What if we can’t find the client list?” I whisper, heart squeezing tight. “What if?—?”
“Hey, I’m just in a mood, that’s all. Fuck, we’ve still got forty-eight hours. The kidnappers haven’t called. I just told you I need the list, too. I need to have enough time to make a copy.”
I want to ask if it’ll get Dad in trouble, but there’s also a part of me that whispers if he did something wrong, then trouble’s deserved. But I don’t think Malone would do that. Would he? He’d protect them. Right?
“C’mon, let’s go,” he says. “I’ll come back and rip apart everything down to the floorboards if I need to.”
He smiles, almost as if to calm me down. Except it doesn’t reach his green eyes. Those are hard, glittering, but… it’s a smile, so I take it. What else can I do?
Then he plucks the file from my hand, but I snatch it back.
“What’s that?”’
“Just lunch receipts and stuff for tax time. I’m going to take it so we don’t look like weirdos,” I say.
We walk to the car, and he opens the door for me. “You’re worried about looking weird? And how do you know what it is?”
“I do some basic office stuff for Dad. I’ve seen files like this on his desk. I’ll put it there so he knows where it is.”
He takes it from me again and starts flipping through it.
“Malone, what?—”
“You’re going home.” He hands the file back to me. “To wait. And I’m going to visit your uncle and get that list.”
“And if he doesn’t have it?”
His smile is tight, hard, and scary. “Then we’ll fucking sit there until he remembers every last goddamn client and writes it down.”
“I should come with you.”
He gives me a dark look. “No, you shouldn’t.”
The rest of the ride is deafeningly silent as Malone answers texts. The phone rings once and he just says, “Thanks.”
“Who was that, Malone?”
“My office. Nothing much.”
And it’s then that I know he’s lying.
After he makes sure I get inside, he takes his gun and leaves.
I try to bake but I keep screwing up. My happy place isn’t working right now. What I should do is call Lacey, but she’ll manage to drag all the details out of me, and the next thing I know, she’ll have the police involved.
It’s too far gone now for the cops.
Breathing in and out slowly to calm myself down, I check my phone for what feels like the millionth time, willing a message from Malone to appear on my screen. But time crawls slowly and he doesn’t reach out.
I try to focus on one of the awful coffee table books I have, but it’s mainly boring pictures of expensive furniture. The type of book someone would buy to dress up a place or buy thinking it would make them look sophisticated.
I’m almost positive Malone’s never cracked open the cover.
Shit, he probably never picked it out, either.
I rub my hand over my wrist, raising my arms and pressing my hands together as I lean back on the sofa.
It’s too close to the feeling of when he folded my arms behind me, when he bound them here, when he bound them last night.
I drop my arms and jump up, grabbing my phone and going out to the outdoor space to pace around. The breeze and noise from the city below are good distractions; they make me feel connected a little to the world. Even if I’m above the streets, I can still hear them.
But my mind keeps drifting back to last night and all those people watching us.
I swallow, the guilt hitting me again. Why am I taking pleasurable moments when Amelia’s been kidnapped? I look at my phone. Maybe I should go out there, and… what? Look? Where? Should I run to Uncle Grant’s?
But panic isn’t getting me anywhere. “Malone asked you to wait and trust him, so do it.”
Instead, I clean the kitchen and make the bed. Then I sit on the sofa with the file I took and make piles of the receipts. There are some that shouldn’t be here. They’re too old, but considering where I took the file from, no doubt people have been just shoving them in. Lunches and supplies. All the sundries. I organize them by month, and then put the ones from last year in a separate pile. Some are even handwritten notes. Dad can locate the original receipts that’ll be at the main office or his house. I put those in a new pile, too.
When I’m done, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I should have heard from Malone by now, right?
Hell. I’m in hell. I’m?—
My phone starts to ring, and I look at it. Uncle Grant.
I answer, running back inside. “Did you and Malone get Amelia?—?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Malone’s.”
“You should leave. Now. Your father’s missing, Scarlett. And I just got a ransom note.”
My heart starts to hammer hard, so hard it hurts. “Ransom?” Everything turns ice-cold in me, and my feet are lead.
In the background, there’s a voice, a familiar one, yet one I can’t quite place.
Not Malone.
“Uncle Grant,” I ask. “Where’s Malone?”
“I called the police,” he says. “I shouldn’t have listened to that liar. He’s a dangerous criminal.”
“Who?” I ask, but I know before he tells me.
“Malone. He didn’t show.”
My uncle’s phone goes dead, and my eyes burn. I slap a hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming out as the pain presses at me.
Malone would have showed up. Unless… unless he had a lead. I dial his number, but his phone isn’t on. It goes straight to voicemail. I hang up.
What if it’s true? But regardless of the lies, he’s trying to help. Isn’t he? He doesn’t have the list he wanted, so I… I can’t believe he’s turned on me. I can’t. He wouldn’t.
Fuck, am I being na?ve?
My breaths come in wheezing gasps, and I try to calm. I can’t afford to panic. But I also don’t know what to do. I dial Dad’s number, but his phone is off, too. And then I try Grant again.
“Shit,” I mutter.
My phone rings at the same time, and I hit the Accept button. “Malone?—”
“You need to follow the directions I send you. I need that list.”
“I don’t have it,” I say.
It’s that distorted voice again, and it’s one I’m going to have nightmares about, I know it.
“Your boyfriend might come for you. If you don’t have the client list, then you can swap yourself for your cousin. It’s up to you.”
My heart hammers hard, my temples throbbing as blood rushes between them.
“Tell me where.”
“I’ll send you the details. Bring anyone else and your cousin dies.”
He hangs up and I take a step and stumble, landing on the floor on my hands and knees. The pain’s enough to jolt me out of my panic, and I grab my phone and call the one person I know I shouldn’t.
“Lacey,” I say the moment she picks up, “something’s happened.”
“Where are you? I’ll come right now. Are you okay? In one piece?”
Her dry humor despite the fear underneath it is something I’ll always love her for.
“For now, yes. I can’t explain everything, but do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yes.”
My vision blurs as everything in me veers suddenly.
I remember the voice.
“I need you to call this number. Or text it. His name’s Malone.” I rattle off his number.
“And you can’t call because?”
“He’ll stop me from doing this. Someone’s taken Amelia and I can get her back, but I need you to let him know the address when I get it.”
As I say that, my phone pings.
“This is crazy, I’m calling the cops.”
“Then she’s dead. Uncle Grant knows. Please, listen, when you get to him, tell him that man who spoke to him when we got to the club the other night was the guy at the poker game. And he was also at Uncle Grant’s for the engagement party.”
As words tumble from my lips at breakneck speed, I get my handbag and stuff it with whatever I can find. Then I put in the gun underneath it all. I don’t know where the bullets are, but maybe just having it will work to buy time. I don’t know. It’s worth the gamble.
“What the fuck, Scarlett?”
“Please?”
She takes a beat. “Against my better judgment, I will, but I’m coming to you.”
“I won’t be here,” I say. “Just please do this.”
“Wait for me. I’m in the West Village, it won’t take long.”
She might still call the cops, but I need her help, so I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I… okay. I’m in SoHo. I’ll meet you on the corner of Greene and Spring.”
“Gotcha.”
I hang up, grab my bag, and jump in the elevator. I send the address to Lacey, and when the elevator door opens, my head is bent over my phone to call for a car.
I didn’t look around before walking out of the building.
A strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me backward into the small alleyway between buildings. He pushes me against the brick wall, his lips curled into a murderous smirk.
“Hello, Scarlett. Remember me?”