Page 10 of Dirty Quinn
Daria
A ringtone chimes through my phone I am not enthused to hear. Given everything that is going on my father is the last person I want to talk to. I haven’t been able to figure out why he’s in town, or why he was at the auction, and I don’t enjoy talking to him when I’m unprepared. And right now, I am definitely not prepared.
Even though I had plans to call him, I still haven’t done it. And if I don’t answer, he’ll continue to call until I do. Or he’ll show up at the bar unannounced. Or worse, have a couple goons come grab me and drag me into his car. He’s good at that.
“Father,” I answer.
“Daria, my dear, how are you?”
“I am well, Father, thank you for asking.” I wait for him to continue talking, or at the very least give me a hint as to why he’s calling. He can’t possibly know that I know he’s here. Can he?
“Did you have a nice vacation?”
“It wasn’t really a vacation.”
“No? Two weeks in Maldives sounds like a vacation to me.”
“We were following a lead. Did I not mention that?” I know that I did. He knows exactly why I was there.
“And how did that go? Have you caught the man responsible for your sister’s death?”
“Not on that trip, no.”
“Oh, you’ve caught him otherwise?”
Fucking, fuckety fuck. I hate it when he plays these games. He knows everything that’s happening, yet he’ll continue to bait me into saying something that he can use against me.
“No.”
“So, a trip that did not result in anything productive still sounds like a vacation.”
“I believe we are closer to getting somewhere.”
“You are not. David Tremblay is now dead. Unless I’m mistaken, he was your only lead, no?”
“Yes, he was.” This is what I’m talking about. He has a way of taking a conversation that seems normal and turning it into something that exists solely to make you feel incredibly stupid about yourself.
“And that is why I am taking over.”
Ty che, blyad?
What the fuck?
“Father, I don’t think that’s necessary. I have everything under control, and we are close to—”
“We? As in you and your little boyfriend?”
Shit, he knows about Mack. I should have known he knew about Mack. It was foolish for me to think otherwise.
“No, me and the girls.”
“Ah, yes. Your Dirty Darlings, is it? May I presume under control enough that you had time to take over two weeks off for a vacation?”
My fists clench, one at my side, the other around the phone. He‘s not going to make this easy. So, I attempt to turn the tables, let him know that I know he’s here.
“Is that why you’re here in America?” My anger rings true in my tone.
“There’s my girl,” he enthuses. “And tell me, how did you know that I was here.”
