Page 58 of Luck of the Devil
“Yep.”
“You’re still afraid someone might hurt him.”
“I’m always afraid someone will hurt him. All the more reason to stay away.”
“But if Jed was your second in command, then he knows how to protect himself.”
“He has more than himself to think about, and I refuse to put any of them in danger for my own selfish needs.”
“Shouldn’t that be Jed’s decision?”
He gave me a murderous glare. “Just because you’re making me privy to your personal life doesn’t mean you get access to mine.”
“I never said I did, and frankly, you told me a lot more than I expected.” I hesitated. “Thanks for trusting me.”
“I don’t trust you worth shit,” he spat out, still pissed. “What I told you isn’t some deep dark secret. It’s public knowledge Jed worked for me.”
I’d done some snooping into Malcolm’s life and hadn’t seen Jed’s name mentioned, but I didn’t correct him. We both knew damn well he’d told me more than he’d intended.
But he and I both had acknowledged we were a lot alike. Maybe he was drawn to that. Maybe he thought I’d understand, the same way he’d understood me.
His change in demeanor wasn’t surprising. I’d struck a nerve, a deep one. Why couldn’t he admit that he’d protected his best friend, not just a loyal employee? Maybe the same reason I’d never let anyone reach the best friend status. At least he had an excuse for keeping people distant—I had none.
My mind drifted back to his childhood. He’d been enthralled by J.R. Simmons’s money and power. Sure, Malcolm hadn’t admitted to being drawn to the latter, but you didn’t become a crime boss if you didn’t want the power that came with it. And it was easy to see that Malcolm had felt powerless being raised by his abusive, drunkard father. Until he’d taken the power and killed him.
Malcolm had made bad decisions—by his own admission—but from what he’d said, he hadn’t known what he was getting into when he’d taken that first job with Simmons. Maybe it was like boiling a frog—you made small decisions and found yourself in a place you never thought you’d be.
Hadn’t the same thing happened to me? I’d shot a boy and lost my job, and it had hurt so badly I’d numbed the pain with a drink. It had worked, temporarily. But then I’d taken another the next day, until I couldn’t get through an hour, let alone a day, without a drink.
Then I’d realized I was a raging alcoholic.
Had Malcolm worked with the feds because he’d wanted out of his life of crime?
I shot him a glance, considering asking him how he’d found his way into that deal, but the sharp angle of his jaw told me he was done with story time.
If he’d wanted out, what had prompted it? Something told me it went back to his deal with Rose Gardner to bring Simmons down. Had he fallen on the authorities’ radar then? Or was busting Simmons the original deal that started the whole Hardshaw Group arrangement rolling?
I wasn’t sure if he’d ever willingly tell me, and I’d told myself I didn’t care. Or shouldn’t. There was no denying I’d made a lot of bad decisions over the last six months. Taking a road trip with James Malcolm to visit my grandparents was definitely one of them. What did it say about me that I didn’t regret it? Then again, we hadn’t gotten there yet. There was plenty of time for regret later.
Chapter 16
I opened the address book and considered who to call first. My mother’s so-called friends had no problem gossiping about her, but I didn’t want the mystery woman’s visit spread all over town. It would be better if no one knew we were looking into her death. Besides, I wasn’t sure how forthright her friends would be after my confrontation with them at the funeral. So, who was most likely to give me something and keep it quiet?
Then it hit me. Lisa Murphy.
She was the one who’d alerted my mother to Ava Peterman’s kidnapping less than an hour after the police showed up. I’d talked to her during my investigation into the girl’s disappearance. She’d been both insightful and blunt, so it seemed likely she wouldn’t hold back.
I looked up her number in the address book. After the third ring, I was sure she wasn’t going to answer, so she surprised me when she picked up and said, “What are you doin’ callin’ my landline, Harper Adams?”
“Sorry,” I said, slightly taken back. “It was the only number I had.”
“Let me guess, you got it from your mother’s address book.” She made a tutting sound. “She wasn’t fond of cell phones.”
“Guilty on all counts,” I admitted.
“What can I do for you, Harper?” she asked in a no-nonsense tone. “I assume this is about your mother.”
“You’re practically clairvoyant, Mrs. Murphy.”
