Page 107 of Torched Spades
I’m awoken by the sound of my phone ringing. At first, I ignore it, but when it quiets, then starts again, I groan and untangle myself from the sheet enough to roll to the side of the mattress. Opening one eye, I stare at the alarm clock.
Six a.m.
Who the hell is calling me at six a.m.?
Stretching across the bed, I drag my glasses off the nightstand and slide them on my face before reaching for my phone. As I stare at the number flashing on the caller ID, I’m filled with relief and resentment.
Where was he when I needed him last night?
Brushing my hair out of my face, I answer ready for a fight. “What the hell, Jack? I called you six times!”
“Becca…”
“Dad?” A chill settles in my bones. Something isn’t right. “Why do you have Jack’s phone?”
“Sweetheart, Jack is missing.”
“What? No, he’s not.”
“He went on surveillance on Tuesday and was supposed to report back yesterday morning, but he never checked in. A few of my men found his car down by the Port of Providence docks. His gun, badge, and phone were all inside, but there was no sign of Jack. No one knows where he is.”
“No,” I whisper. It’s not true. It can’t be true.
“Becca, I need to know the last time you saw Johnny Malone.”
The question stabs me like a hot poker as the recording Johnny played for me last night replays like a bad dream in my head. My father isn’t a white knight. He isn’t even a dark night. He’s a villain, and I won’t let him drag Johnny into the tangled web that killed my mother and nearly ruined my mind.
Sitting up, I grip my chest and turn toward the man I spent hours with last night, only to find the bed empty.
He’s gone.
“Why do you want to know about Johnny?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“Becca, don’t be naive,” he scolds. “The man is a dangerous criminal.”
So are you.
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because we got an anonymous tip that someone saw Malone and Jack arguing at the docks Tuesday evening. Still think you can ‘fix’ everyone?”
His words are a rusty blade driven straight into my heart.
The phone falls from my hand.Tuesday evening.My mind races, turning back time like the pages of a book.
“Where are you going?”
“I have a few overdue scores to settle.”
He left and then came back with red feet.
Red. Feet.
I fall off the bed, barely making it to the bathroom before throwing up last night’s takeout and every lingering hope I’d held onto. By the time I sink onto the floor, there’s nothing left in me but lies and ruin.
Last night, I remember thinking Johnny didn’t chase the boogeyman away. He replaced him.
I was right.
