Page 50 of Forbidden Girl

The building is like the Tardis, in that it’s much larger on the inside than it seems from the outside. Coincidentally, it’s the same color as the police box, but that’s unimportant. What’s important is the sheer number of wooden and metal crates lining the countless pallet racks. There must be hundreds.

“These can’t all be drugs and handguns,” I say.

“Would you like to find out?”

I would and I wouldn’t. Once I’ve seen his wares, I become accountable for his crimes. As it stands, I have plausible deniability. But I need to know. That’s who I am—curious to a fault. The saying goes “curiosity killed the cat,” although that’s not it in its entirety. The rest is “but satisfaction brought it back.”

I spy a crowbar leaning against the wall a few feet from me.

“Yes, I would.”

TWENTY

ROWAN

The morning sun is strong, but there’s a cool breeze keeping the temperature down. We had breakfast al fresco, and now that he’s done Merrick is throwing rocks into a pond that sits on the property behind Chandler House. They splash with a plop, sink to the bottom. I watch the sunfish and koi scatter.

“What’re you doing? You’re scaring the fish. And you could hurt them if you’re not careful.”

“Yeah, I suck at skipping stones.”

“They have to be flat, and kind of potato shaped. Also, sidearm it like you’re pitching a baseball.” I find two rocks perfect for skimming water, pick them up, and toss one to him.

“You remember I’m a sidearm pitcher. How sweet.”

“You impressed me with your strikeout numbers. I don’t know why you didn’t take that scholarship to Oregon.”

“Because I didn’t want to be a Duck.”

“You’re joking.” I wind up, flick my wrist. My stone skips clear across the length of the oval pond, to the far bank and into long cattail reeds. It’s been ages since I did this. Must be muscle memory. My mom loved it. She had a whole collection of puck-like pebbles. We’d go to the Frog Pond early Sunday mornings before Boston Common got too busy, skipping stones until I got bored and asked to leave.

“Duh. I didn’t want to be that far away from my family.”

“Interesting problem to have. Can’t relate.”

“I know.” His second attempt is better than the last. The stone skips twice before it’s swallowed by the water. “What’re you gonna do about your dad?”

I grab a few more stones. He does, too.

“Can’t kill him, I don’t have it in me. There’s no other way, I’m going to set him up for a fall.” I tremble as I give it breath. It goes against everything my dad drilled into me about fealty and obedience. I’ve been the perfect drone.

Merrick turns the pebbles over in his hand. They clatter against each other. “Shit.”

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard though, right?”

“Nope.” He has a cache the cops would have a field day sorting through. And I know all the cops on our payroll, so I know who not to call. The issue would be getting him to the boathouse where his hoard lives. He doesn’t go down to the marina much unless he’s taking one of his yachts out for a pleasure cruise. He’s been hands-off where merchandise is concerned for years; his captains deal with shipping, receiving, and domestic resale. Something big and catastrophic would have to go down in order to get him on site, but big and catastrophic could destroy the evidence before he gets there to take the fall for owning all of it. The only way anything will stick to the motherfucker is if he’s caught with his grubby hands immersed in it. Then there’ll be no denying or shirking ownership.

My phone rings in my jeans pocket. Someone not in my contacts is trying to FaceTime me. It’s got to be Jules calling from her mom’s phone. I hit join and smile at the sight of her. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi.” Something is off. She isn’t smiling back at me. She’s trying to hide that she’s terrified. Her eyes give her away.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I have good news and bad news. The good news is Teague is scared of you now so he’s out of his vendetta phase. The bad news is my mom and I took trip to my dad’s warehouse and… Well, see for yourself.”

She flips the phone around. An open crate comes into focus, but I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing: Small, green ovals that resemble turtle shells, with what looks like spray bottle nozzles sticking out of their tops.

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