Page 33 of Luck of the Devil
I looked up at him. “Are you asking if I’m worried you’ll steal something? You never struck me as a petty thief.”
His mouth tipped into the hint of a grin. “Was that a compliment?”
“Take it as you will.”
“You’re not worried I’ll hide something from you?”
I quirked a brow. “Should I be?”
“We both know that’s how we’ve operated in the past,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ve had our secrets. Only shared what we must.”
Was he warning me that he was still operating that way? But what could he possibly find that would only help him and not me? Was I willing to take the chance?
This man had shown multiple times now that he wouldn’t hurt me—that he’d go to great lengths to protect me—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep secrets. Maybe he should. There was no denying he’d been a criminal in his previous life. And while I suspected he’d gotten immunity with the feds prior to his release from federal prison three years ago, I didn’t have confirmation of that. If I ever find out anything about his previous illegal activities, I’d be duty bound to report them. Then again, that had been Little Rock Detective Adams, not private citizen Harper Adams. Sure, I knew I was still obligated to report such things, but unless he confessed to something truly heinous, I wouldn’t. I’d keep his secrets.
Last week, when I still hadn’t fully trusted him, I’d done some research about Malcolm’s connection to J.R. Simmons. I’d discovered he’d worked with a woman named Rose Gardner to get J.R. Simmons arrested in Fenton County over four years ago. At that time, Rose had been the girlfriend of the ADA of Fenton County, Mason Deveraux.
Malcolm and Rose’s partnership had struck me as strange, especially since he’d been on law enforcement’s radar. So, I’d made an impulsive call to Mason Deveraux, who was now the lead prosecuting attorney in the Arkansas Attorney General’s office, to ask about it. His assistant had taken my message because he was in court.
Deveraux had called late the previous Friday, leaving me a message to call him on his personal phone, something that wasn’t typically done. But I’d listened to the message a couple hours before I’d been kidnapped, and the next day I’d learned about my mother’s death. I’d forgotten about calling him back, and now, I didn’t want to.
I wanted Malcolm to explain the past to me himself, and it no longer seemed urgent for it to happen immediately. What I did need to know was what he was up to right now.
I tilted my head, studying him. “What are you really doing here in Lone County, Malcolm?”
He released a short laugh.
I shot him a smile. “Didn’t expect that question?”
“I suppose I opened that door when I asked if you trusted me.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “I already told you I’m sniffing out Simmons’s successor.”
“And it’s taken you this long?”
His eyes darkened. “I never said when I started looking.”
“True.” But if he’d only recently started looking, what had he been doing here before that? As far as I knew, Malcolm had no previous ties to Lone County, and it seemed like an odd place for him to suddenly decide to open a tavern. I’d presumed the feds had asked him to come here, but while they might have been playing the long game, three years seemed like a stretch.
Nevertheless, I had no doubt he was interested in the successor now. That was why he’d been so interested in Hugo Burton and his associates. And that made me wonder why he was so invested in unmasking my mother’s murderer. “Do you think my mother’s death has something to do with the successor?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“But you do think it has something to do with my father.” We’d both agreed we believed it possible, but standing in my parents’ bedroom, looking at my mother’s neatly made bed, it seemed insane. How could you live with someone for forty years and have them killed? But that was a stupid question. The world was full of murderers who justified what they did. It was possible my father had done the same thing.
Is it really? my inner voice protested.
I knew I had to pretend my father wasn’t my father, that he was just the husband of a murdered woman, and there was no denying the spouse of the deceased was always the number one suspect until proven otherwise. But he was still my father.
Malcolm’s gaze found mine. “I honestly don’t know if your father was involved, but it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
It did, which was why I was suddenly feeling nauseous in a way that went beyond withdrawal sickness.
Walking past him, I paused in the doorway. “Search wherever you want. I trust you.” Then I headed back toward the kitchen.
He didn’t follow me, not that I expected him to. I didn’t care what he found, because I did trust that he’d tell me if he found something related to my mother’s murder.
Before doing anything else, I started a pot of coffee. I wasn’t sure my stomach would be able to handle it, but my brain needed the caffeine boost.
While the coffee maker began to brew, I sat down at the table and opened the laptop, entering the password Primrose to wake it up. At least I remembered that one.
