Page 6 of Scarlett Thief (Criminal Underground 2)

“There’s no return address,” I murmured as I scanned the face of it before flipping it over. I shouldn’t have been receiving any mail here. The lengths I’d gone to cover my tracks and Miranda’s—no one but Eudora knew of my involvement in her life. No one even knew she was mine.

Eudora shrugged. “Well, it’s got your name on it. I don’t open nothing that doesn’t have my name on it. It’s against the law, you know.”

I lifted my head and stared at her. Opening another person’s mail was by far one of the least offensive illegal actions I’d ever committed, but she merely knew me as a traveling salesman and single father. I forced a smile.

“Thanks for this, Dora,” I said lifting the envelope. She nodded as her eyes darted to the side, scanning the dishes piled in the sink. I sighed. “Is there anything else you need? Anything Miranda might need? Clothes? Food?”

She waved her hand at me. “Mirry is a good girl,” she replied. “She’d rather have her Daddy here than new clothes.”

My chest clenched at that statement. If I were any other man, I’d be able to give her that. For the first time since I was a young boy, I wished—if not for myself then for her—that I was normal. That I hadn’t gone into the military only to come out more scarred in many ways than I’d ever been as a child. Nightmares, PTSD, haunting memories of the things I’d witnessed, of shit I’d been a part of … not even my old man could have done the things I’d seen in my years of service—and he’d been a mean son of a bitch.

“I’ll see about finding a new job,” I said through stiff lips. “See you next time.” I tucked the envelope into my jacket and headed for the back door.

Eudora’s eyes tracked me as I reached the door, and just before I touched the handle, she called out. “She misses you, Mr. Bennington,” she said. “If you have the time to visit her so often, maybe you can take her in?”

I stopped, my chest tightening. Slowly, I turned back to the older woman and crossed my arms over my chest. “Has she been a handful?” I inquired, arching a brow. “Do you need some help?”

Eudora shook her head, her lips turning down in a frown. “No, no, ‘course it’s nothing like that,” she said quickly. “I just suppose—I think she’d be happier if she got to see you every day even if it was only for a little bit.”

There was nothing in this godforsaken world that I wanted more than my little girl with me every second of every day, but in my world—in the seedy, darkness of what I did—having a child as golden and sweet and so fucking innocent as Miranda was a weakness. I was a selfish bastard for wanting to be her father, and it was my own fault that we were trapped in this cycle. The mayhem of my work versus the innocence of her life.

“Sorry, ‘Dora,” I said. “It’s just not possible right now.”

Eudora’s face fell and she nodded. “Right,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Unable to answer, I gritted my teeth, reached for the door handle, and yanked it open before striding out of the townhouse and into the street. My booted feet thumped against the sidewalk as I headed for the parking lot.

I waited until I was back in my vehicle before finally pulling out the envelope and ripping open the top. I turned it to the side and frowned as black and white stills fell into my grasp.

Ice froze my veins as I realized what I was looking at. Pictures. Not just any pictures. Images of my little girl. Of Miranda at the park with Eudora and some of the other children. Of Miranda eating ice cream on the sidewalk in front of a shop. And in each and every image were carefully placed crosshairs—the kind I’d seen through the end of a scope on a sniper’s rifle. Years in this business, looking through and seeing that exact pattern, hadn’t prepared me to see it over my little girl. I was rooted to the spot in cold, bone-deep fear. Even with every precaution I’d taken as a merc, it hadn’t been enough.

When the final paper slipped from inside the envelope and I read over the contents, it turned the ice in my veins into a raging fire.

Dear Mr. Wolf,

You are cordially invited to dinner at the Harlington Estate after you conclude your next fatherly visit on Friday, November 2nd. It is here we will discuss your proclivities and how your unique occupation will be of great importance to an upcoming opportunity. The meal starts at eight sharp, please come unarmed and alone.

Regards, Mr. Black

Wolf, not my alias Charlie Bennington. Fear was a violent monster within me. Someone knew. They knew who I was and they knew who Miranda was to me. They knew I’d be here even though I never visited with the same schedule or even took the same route. Everything, I realized; they knew everything.

It didn’t matter though. Whoever this Mr. Black was, he was about to learn that fucking with a mercenary’s daughter was a bad fucking decision.

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