Chapter 4 #2
I keep my expression schooled, but that name alone drains the blood from my cheeks. Reid cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing my reaction. My mouth is dry and I go to wet my lips, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.
“You really do see the monster in him, don’t you?” Reid says, his voice hushed.
Before I can respond, a voice from behind startles me.
“Your kind aren’t welcome here,” a man says from the hardware store’s doorway. He’s scowling at Reid. “Go drip blood on someone else’s sidewalk. But before you go, you owe me for three cans of paint.”
I force myself to move. “I’ll leave you to it,” I say, taking advantage of the diversion.
“Think on what I said,” Reid calls after me. “And you only have tonight to do your research.”
I keep my head down as I continue on my way. People are still gawking, but they’re more interested in the exchange between the storekeeper and Reid now. I’m two blocks away before the tension around my chest eases enough to let me breathe.
My voice trembles as I make the call to Strider. I tell him what’s happened and even as we talk, he finds information about the Griffins online that wasn’t there previously.
“If this is fabricated news, Mace has done a thorough job. There are news reports going back years, across a whole range of platforms. It looks genuine.”
“And what do the reports say?”
“I’ll need time to read through everything, but here’s one,” he says, picking an example.
“A pickling plant was on the brink of bankruptcy before the Griffins stepped in. It was too far gone to save the business, but they retrained the staff and installed new equipment, and now it’s a major supplier for their whiskey production.
Apparently, the distillery has become the biggest employer in the town and has attracted more businesses to the area. ”
“But did the Griffins do that, or has Mace hacked into the report and changed a few names?”
“I’ll need to do some more digging. It could be a long night,” Strider says above the click-click of his mouse as he sets to work. “But if you want my advice, don’t let any of this sway you. You got this far on your own.”
“No, I got this far with you,” I remind him. “And I don’t intend to take Reid up on his offer. If Ilya’s spies are watching, I can’t have them wondering what I’m doing talking to a Griffin. Ilya needs to think he can trust me.”
After leaving Strider to his research, my steps slow and I look back. Reid’s SUV has disappeared, but I imagine he’s still lurking somewhere. I’ve left my Jeep at the guesthouse so I can have a drink at Clara’s, but it might be a mistake walking home alone later. I don’t feel safe anymore.
But damn, I need a drink. And if I go back for my car, I stand more chance of running into Reid again. I keep walking. I have a gun. I’ll be fine.
Clara and I spend the evening chatting about nothing much, and it’s lovely.
She doesn’t tell me what it’s like to be a widow at twenty-six, and I don’t mention what it was like growing up with a single-mom who was often too high, or too low to remember to take care of her two daughters.
We talk instead about our favorite Disney movies and our first crushes.
“What are you going to do when Piper starts dating?” I ask, curled up in a corner of her couch, the last of the wine in my glass. From the fogginess in my head, I’d say I’ve had more than my fair share of the bottle.
Clara’s at the other end of the couch, and her eyes widen in horror as she draws my gaze to the sleeping child in her lap.
Piper had gone to bed hours ago, but our laughter had woken her up.
“She’s four years old. Still a baby,” she says.
“And she’s going to stay a baby for as long as is humanly possible. ”
I smile woozily. “You’re a good mom.”
Clara strokes Piper’s dark brown curls. “I try to be,” she says. I can see the shadow of pain settling over her features, but in a blink, her smile returns. “No boyfriends until she’s at least twenty-five.”
“I’m twenty-five, and I’d say make the ban indefinite. I’m done with men ruining my life.”
“They do have a habit of breaking your heart,” Clara says, her voice almost a whisper.
I’m about to add that sometimes they simply break you, but I’m not so drunk that I’ve forgotten I’m talking to a widow. I change the subject. Sort of.
“Do you think Barrett’s forgiven me yet for inviting Reid Griffin into his fancy, new home?”
Clara’s worked for our boss a little longer than I, and has a much better working relationship. Barrett’s been short with me lately, but deservedly so. My mind isn’t on the job. It was never on the job.
“He knows you’re just another victim of their wicked vendetta.”
I don’t like the word victim, but I shrug it off. “Has Barrett ever told you why they hate him so much?”
“He says it’s been like that since they were kids,” Clara replies. “They’ve always wanted what he had.”
“Like a mom?” I ask, standing up for the Griffins yet again. I can’t seem to help myself. “From what I hear, Alice Emerson left three young boys to be raised by their dad. It was bound to have an effect on them.”
“Don’t fall into the trap of feeling sorry for them, Quinn,” Clara warns as if Strider had handed her the script.
“Ash Griffin and his brothers may have had consciences once, but they built their empire on dirty money. They can try to justify their actions, but there’s no excuse for how far they’ve fallen.
You only have to look at the extremes they’ve gone to just to hurt Barrett. They’re utterly ruthless.”
From the way her voice cracks, I know she’s talking about the fire, so I keep quiet.
“Barrett felt so guilty after Ethan died. Stupidly, he blamed himself,” she says. “And he didn’t have to offer me the housekeeper job. But if he hadn’t, I’d be homeless right now. Ethan left a lot of debts.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
I rub my temple. Clara’s opinion of Barrett and the Griffins would have matched my own a week ago, but now I’m not so sure. What is Reid doing to me? Why am I questioning what I once took as fact?
“I’m glad you threw Reid out of the house,” Clara continues as she combs Piper’s hair with her fingers. “Hopefully the Griffins will know to stay away from us now.”
My cheeks flush. I haven’t told Clara that he’s back in town. She’s going to find out about our very public fight soon enough, but if I tell her tonight, she won’t let me walk home alone. I don’t need someone pointing out my stupidity. I already know it’s a bad idea.
When I stand up, I’m not as unsteady on my feet as I feared. “I should go.”
Clara goes to slide Piper off her lap, but I stop her.
“You stay where you are, I can see myself out,” I say. “I’ve had a good night. Thanks for the food.”
“Thank you for the wine,” says Clara with a knowing smile.
I stifle a laugh. “You mean the wine I drank?”
“I didn’t like to say.”
“You’re too polite, Clara.”
I’m smiling as I collect up the wine glasses and empty bowl of nachos.
I leave them in the kitchen before heading out into the night.
There’s already a frown furrowing my brow as I zip up my jacket.
It’s a fifteen-minute walk back to the guesthouse, and until I reach Main Street, my route is along mostly deserted and dimly-lit streets.
I reach for my burner phone in my cross-body purse. “What have you found out?” I ask when Strider answers.
“You know how too much information can be a bad thing? This is one of those situations.”
My heart sinks with disappointment I shouldn’t feel. “You mean they flooded the internet with false reports to manipulate me into helping them?”
As Strider groans, I imagine him stretching out his long legs beneath his desk.
“That would have been far more palatable, but I don’t think that’s what this is,” he says.
“These are all good news stories from reputable sources. Big corporations would pay millions for this kind of exposure, and yet the Griffins actively suppress it. They don’t want the attention. ”
I hunch my shoulders against the cold as I turn a corner. This last stretch of road will take me to Main Street. Not a single car has passed me yet.
“Is it because those so-called good projects are linked with organized crime?” I ask.
“I’ve traced a couple of the Griffin’s investments to companies owned by the McConkeys, but they’re all legitimate businesses on the face of it.” He sighs. “I honestly don’t think that’s why they want to hide.”
“Then what do you think?” I ask because I don’t trust my own judgement.
“I think they don’t want their enemies knowing who they work with. And they have plenty of enemies thanks to their association with John McConkey. Ilya Barkov being a good example.”
Just the mention of the Russian’s name has me glancing over my shoulder. My gaze is immediately drawn to a car’s headlights in the distance. I walk faster. “Go on.”
“By publicizing their achievements, the Griffins make targets of the communities they’ve helped. That’s why they bury the news,” Strider says. “Or they did until tonight. They’ve taken a big risk just so they could recruit you.”
“I won’t be recruited by anyone,” I say. “I’m doing this for one person, and one person only.”
“I know.” Strider’s quiet for a moment and the only sound is the echo of my footsteps along the deserted street. “Where are you?” he asks, anxiety straining his words.
“Walking home from Clara’s.”
“Quinn, it’s ten at night. Can’t you get a cab? How far are you from your place?”
I shudder as Strider’s unease creeps down the line. “I’m almost there,” I lie. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll stay on the line until you’re home.”
“No,” I say firmly. “If anything, talking to you is distracting me from my surroundings. Stop worrying.”
“But I do worry,” he replies. “Maybe I should take a trip to Poulton Springs myself. You need someone watching your back.”
I tense my shoulders, only too aware of how vulnerable I am. “I can look after myself,” I insist. “And you’re of more use to me where you are. I’ll let you know when I’m back at the guesthouse.” Before my friend can argue, I cut him off. “Goodnight, Strider.”
When I put my phone away, I find my gun. With my hand remaining in my purse, I rest my finger on the trigger, and keep my thumb pressed against the safety, ready to flick it off. I steady my breathing and slow my pace, softening the sound of my footfalls.
I hadn’t imagined it. There’s someone behind me.
“Please don’t shoot me,” Reid says. “I don’t have an armored vehicle to protect me this time.”