Page 34 of Sinful Sorrow

“You’re making her out to be a villain,” he sighs, scratching the stubble on his jaw so the crackle and scrape roll through the line. “I love you too, Malone. I know you’re protecting us. But try not to worry so much. She’s asking to get clean this time. She’s not being forced. I think that’s a really positive sign.”

“Uh huh. You wanna ship Moo to our place for a sleepover tonight? You can focus on Jada. Moo doesn’t have to see the fireworks, in case there are some, and the rest of us get to sleep a little better knowing she’s safe.”

“My daughter will always be safe with me!” he snarls. “Watch the line you tiptoe across. There’s friendship, Arch, and then there’s you being an asshole. I’ll be back on the clock tomorrow at nine. Mia will be in school and Jada will be awake and able to spend a few hours alone. I’m sorry I dipped early today while we’re on an active. I’ll be available in a couple of hours to talk it through if you want.”

As in: Please call me. I need a friend to distract me once my daughter goes to bed.

“I didn’t mean to imply she would be unsafe.” I eat crow and look down at a thread jutting from my jeans. It’s a focal point. Something to concentrate on that doesn’t include the ache in my stomach. “That’s never what I mean, Fletch. I was just trying?—”

“To do the right thing. You’re trying to protect the people who matter. I get it. Because, same. Collate the information you have on Naomi’s case and we can talk it out later.”

“Yeah, well…” I bring my eyes up from the loose thread and focus on Minka’s instead. “I haven’t gotten very far since you left. But I lined up a meeting with a couple of her college professors for tomorrow. We’ve talked to her family. His family. Now it’s time to talk to her school. I’ll call you back around eight and we can chat.” Because I love you, asshole. And I want the best for you. “You got some dinner for yourself too? Or just the girls? Because I can get something sent over if you forgot.”

“I got it.” He lies, so fucking casually to my… ear. “I’m okay. Talk to you in a few.”

He kills our call and leaves me hanging, so all I hear is my own breath and the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall.

“Something happened to Jada.” Minka reaches across and switches her computer monitor off. “Something about the hospital. And now she’s at Fletch’s place.”

“And you accidentally implied Mia was unsafe with them,” Aubs adds. “He chewed you out for it. Now you’re both sorry for being jerks.” She pushes off the couch and wanders around to perch her ass on the corner of the desk. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”

“He doesn’t want help right now.” I lower my phone and rest both hands in my lap. “He’s booked her into the rehab clinic, and now he has to wait a week for them to have a bed.” When a new thought hits me, I flip my hand over again and check my screen. Then unlocking it, I search my contacts until I find a name I don’t have a great deal of experience with. But the few interactions we’ve had have been decent. Hitting dial, I bring the device to my ear a second time and wait.

Wait.

Wait.

“This is Inspector Gaines.” His voice is rough and gritty. His attitude, similar, according to my memory. But he’s solid. Always has been. “Why is a homicide detective calling me at the end of shift?”

“Gaines.” I push up to stand, unable to remain seated, and pace toward the windows. “Glad you remember me.”

He laughs. Loud, boisterous, and ballsy. “Remember you? Kid, your father was responsible for three-quarters of my career.” He silences for a beat, then adds, “Heard he’s in the ground now.”

“Yeah. I’m not crying about it. Good to know you’re holding on to your humor about me and my family.”

“Blood ain’t everything. And you’ve stayed on the straight and narrow as far as I’ve seen. Did you need something? Or you just miss me?”

“I was hoping you could give me some information, actually. Nathan Booth. You know that name?”

He whistles in the back of his throat, shaking his head side to side so the sound comes in subtle waves. “Bad news. He’s not your new best friend, is he?”

“No chance. But he’s hurt someone I care about.” And by that, I don’t mean Jada. “He deals in narcotics?”

“He runs a gang over by the bay. Mid-level gangster, the kind who would have reported to folks like your father. He’s not mob, himself. But he reports to, and makes money for, them.”

“Who is he reporting to? Who is he making money for? Because my father is dead, and there is no mafia presence in Copeland.” I mean… besides those times Felix visits, I suppose. “Copeland has been clear for decades.”

“Where there’s a gap in the market,” he taunts, “there will always be an entrepreneurial spirit ready to dive in and fill it. We don’t have names yet, but there’s been movement for years around this city. We’re lining up all his dealers and shakers. But no one has a name to give us.”

“So… he’s a fuckin’ ghost?” Frustrated, I turn to lean against the glass and almost tremble at the cold pane touching the back of my neck. “Someone’s working in our city, but he’s slick and quiet enough that his own stooges don’t know who they’re working for?”

“It’s kinda smart, if you ask me. Lower-level gangbangers are apt to squeal if they can secure a deal. So this dude—we’ve unofficially labeled him Malone 2.0. Hope you don’t mind,” he teases, “He’s lying low. Making deals. Collecting money. But he’s running risk free.”

And so I mentally add, call Felix, to my to-do list.

“It’s not a Malone though, right?” I shouldn’t have to ask that. I should fucking know. But the words slip past my lips uninhibited. “You could tell me. Same as you used to talk about Timothy.”

“Well, if it’s a Malone, we’ve been unable to make the connection. And we’ve tried. Our information simply doesn’t point toward your family, living or dead.”

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