Page 102 of Long Gone

What if they decided to come up to the attic? But even though the noises were louder—two men from what I could make out—no one tried to tug down the stairs.

The voices moved away, down toward the kitchen, and I sagged against a beam. They obviously hadn’t found what they wanted, but the fact that they’d headed straight for my father’s office seemed to confirm they’d come here for something Hugo Burton-related. Were they trying to get their hands on the contracts too? How would they even know about them? I’d just learned about them less than an hour ago.

The timing was too close to be coincidental. But how had they found out?

My breath whooshed out.

James Malcolm.

He’d already known my father owned the office building where Hugo had kept his office. He also knew my father had cleaned it out. But did he know my father had been a partner? And that he’d put together those contracts?

Rage rose up inside me. I’d let that man use me, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

The back door banged, and I heard voices in the backyard.

The attic didn’t have a window overlooking the back, but I wasn’t sure I should risk going back downstairs in case they returned to the house.

Fuck this. I needed to see what they were doing, and then I was confronting Malcolm.

I pushed the ladder down and scrambled down the steps. I quickly closed them in case they came back, not wanting to alert them that there was another place to search. Then, staying low, I made my way through the dark house into the kitchen. They must not have turned the lights on during their search, or maybe they’d turned them off afterward so they didn’t draw attention from the neighbors.

Once I was in the kitchen, I squatted by the window next to the kitchen table and peered through the slats of the plantation shutters.

The garage door was open. They must have moved their search there.

Goddamn that James Malcolm.

I pulled out my phone and placed a call to his number.

“You call to apologize?” he snapped when he answered.

“Apologize?” I whisper-shouted. “After you sent your goons to break into my parents’ house?”

His tone shifted. “What are you talking about?”

“The two men who just went through my father’s home office and are now searching the garage.”

“I didn’t send anyone to search your parents’ house.”

“Nice try,” I said in disgust.

“I’m serious, Harper.” He sounded alarmed. “Where are you?”

“In my mother’s kitchen watching.” I sucked in a breath. “Jesus Christ, now they’re headed up to my apartment.”

“Stay put. I’m coming.”

“You’re coming to confront your own men?”

“How many times do I have to tell you it wasn’t me?” he grunted. “I didn’t send them, but I plan on finding out who did.”

“Unless I talk to them first.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he snapped.

“You’re just worried I’ll figure this out before you do.” I hung up and watched them go inside my apartment, my anger rising. How fucking dare they violate my private space?

I wanted to confront them, but I suspected they were likely armed, and I wasn’t. I glanced at the knife block on the counter. Sure, I could use a knife to threaten them, but anyone with any sense knew you didn’t take a knife to a gun fight.

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