Chapter Twenty-Eight

She wasn’t going to the police.

I was certain of that more than I was certain the sun would rise tomorrow in the east. Astronomy was full of unfathomable things.

Sweven, however, was as predictable as a Swiss clock.

Even if she thought she would go to the police tonight, she was going to wake up tomorrow morning and rebel against every notion that she should be careful or timid or scared.

I didn’t feel remotely bad about betraying her confidence when I called Sam as soon as she fell asleep, lighting up a much-needed rollie on the balcony of my bedroom overlooking the skyline of Boston. I pressed my elbows against the bannisters, letting my head drop between my shoulders on a sigh.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night,” Sam greeted in his signature lackluster mannerism.

“You’re still up,” I said dryly.

“You didn’t know that.”

“I know everything.”

“Good point,” Sam said solemnly. “What do you want?”

“I need to hire you for something.”

That gave him pause. I was the only man in my social circle who did not hire Sam Brennan and his staff on retainer.

I kept my hands—like my professional reputation—squeaky clean.

But Emmabelle was about to change that.

She was about to change a lot of things.

I heard Sam sucking on his electronic cigarette. “Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

“We all fall in the same way.” The fresh air swirled my blond hair, whipping at my face. The cold tinge on my cheeks reminded me what I wished I could forget. That I actually cried a few minutes ago. Or, rather, shed three, full tears.

“And the fall always involves a woman,” Sam concluded.

“Although, it should be said, for a while there, I thought all I’d been dealing with was a stumble.”

He chuckled softly, and I could envision him shaking his head as he took another drag of his fake ciggy.

“How can I help?” he asked finally.

“Emmabelle is being followed.”

“Ash told me something along those lines,” Sam offered nonchalantly. “Do you have any suspects?”

“A bitter ex-employee. A woman who is hell-bent on marrying me…” I took a deep breath, my jaw ticking in annoyance, “…and my mother.”

Luckily, Sam wasn’t one for snarky comments.

“She’s been trying to reach me,” Sam said. “Emmabelle. I didn’t take her calls.”

“Why not?” I felt my blood boiling with rage.

“Exercise in humility.” I heard him toss the cigarette onto his desk, growing tired and frustrated of the unconvincing replacement. “I wanted to see if she’d turn to Ash or you for help. It would do her good to be a little less prideful.”

“She didn’t ask me to call you. I’m going rogue on her arse. In fact, I specifically don’t want you to contact her.”

“All right. I’ll email you a questionnaire. You’ll have to fill it out completely.”

“I need this employee Frank’s address as soon as possible,” I said.

“You’ll get it,” Sam said confidently. “But, Devon?”

“Yeah?”

“I ain’t cheap.”

“I ain’t poor.” It positively killed me to use the word ain’t.

“You might be, after putting me on retainer for a month or two.”

“You don’t need two months to solve this riddle. Plus, you are helping me keep the mother of my child safe. There’s no price tag for that.”

I hung up, letting out a quick, angry breath.

I looked around the universe, which, in turn, closed in on me.

That was the thing about fearing confined places; sometimes, when it got bad, your mere existence was enough to send you hyperventilating.

Just like sometimes, in order to save an angel, you had to make a deal with the devil.

I was on the threshold of Frank’s house the next day, a few minutes shy of noon.

Frank lived in Dorchester. His house had a rickety front porch, dilapidated roof, and a door with bullet holes in it.

Nothing quite said welcome home like full metal jacket-shaped holes in a door.

I knocked, brushing my knuckles clean over my tweed jacket.

Sweven didn’t know it yet, but the minute she left the house today—whenever that would be—she was going to have two of Sam’s men following her.

Since Sam found out Frank’s address overnight, I had to admit begrudgingly (but only to myself) that he wasn’t terrible at his job. Although I still reserved the right to dislike him on the simple basis that he was, in fact, a cunt.

Although I wasn’t well versed in liaising with men who’d tried to get their ex-employers killed, I felt an odd sense of accomplishment.

I was taking care of the situation now. I never fancied myself anyone’s knight in Prada armor, but here we were.

The door whined open, and a screen door flapped right behind it.

A spotty teenaged girl with ratty-looking hair and a huge pregnant belly stood in front of me, barefoot, wearing a military camouflage tunic and holed black leggings. She flinched when she saw me, taking a step back.

“Frank ain’t here.” She began closing the door in my face.

I sent an arm out, pushing it back open with a smile.

“How do you know it is Frank I’m looking for?”

She hugged the edge of the door, peering back at me with wild eyes.

“Figured you’re some type of big shot police officer or whatnot. Only two kinda’ people come to visit Frank—criminals and policemen. And you don’t look like a criminal to me.”

A lovely endorsement if ever I heard one.

The girl wasn’t wrong, which meant she, at the very least, had two brain cells to rub together. Hopefully she was bright enough to recognize an opportunity when one knocked on her door.

As if confirming my suspicion, a loud growl came from her pregnant belly. She winced, running a hand over her greasy roots.

“Is that all?” She was about to close the door again.

“Are you hungry?” I dipped my chin down to try and catch her gaze but to no avail. Whoever Frank was, he’d trained her well to keep away from strangers.

She shook her head.

“Because I can take care of that,” I said kindly.

“I don’t need no charity.”

“My girlfriend is pregnant too. She is growing our child inside of her. I would hate to think she goes without food. For me, it’s not charity. It’s a necessity.”

She folded her lips on top of each other. I could tell she was at a breaking point.

She was hungry. So hungry. Her legs were two toothpicks.

The living room behind her looked like it had been trashed by every single squatter on the East Coast in the last decade.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she asked finally.

The fact that she didn’t slam the door in my face was an encouraging sign.

She knew I could give her relief, an immediate remedy for her situation.

I got her attention, and for now, that was enough.

“I’m looking for your boyfriend. I suspect he is planning to do a very bad thing.”

“Got no idea where he is. He’s been gone for a whole week now. Wouldn’t even pick up my calls. That doesn’t surprise me, though.” She snorted.

“Oh?” I elevated an eyebrow. Not passing judgment was rule number one in trying to get information from someone. “Is that a common occurrence with Frank? Him causing trouble?”

“Frank’s yet to meet any type of trouble he doesn’t like. What are you, anyway? You’re too well-dressed to be a cop.”

“I’m a lawyer.” I took a step forward, into the hallway, and could now smell the unmistakable stench of weed, mildew, rotted food, and apathy. “Would you say he is capable of violence?”

“Sure.” She shrugged again, another rumble coming from her belly. “He’s gotten into plenty of fights before.”

“What about murder?”

“Who did you say you were again?” She narrowed her eyes at me, taking a step back.

She wasn’t going to talk unprompted. It was time to cut the bullshit.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Many people thought lawyers were combative, aggressive people. Some—unprofessional ones—were. But most were even tempered. I killed people with kindness whenever possible. I didn’t have to flaunt my power. I carried it effortlessly.

“I … um …” She looked around her, as if there was something—someone—who could stand in her way of accepting the help I was offering her.

Behind me, chained dogs barked in someone’s back yard, trying to jump the fence. A baby cried in the distance.

“D-donna,” she stuttered. “My name is Donna.”

“Do you have a surname, Donna?” I took out the checkbook and a Montblanc pen from my inner pocket.

“What do you mean?” She swayed from foot to foot, ogling me openly now. Like once she hopped through the mental barrier of looking at me, she couldn’t stop.

“A last name.” I smiled.

“Oh. Yeah. Hammond. Donna Hammond.”

“I’m writing you a check for two thousand dollars, trusting you to buy food with it, Donna.” I scribbled as I spoke, my eyes still holding hers.

She seemed mesmerized, and it depressed me, how different her baby’s life was going to be from ours.

How my baby would never have to think about where the next meal was going to come from, or have to deal with an untreated medical situation because we couldn’t afford the bill that came with it.

I ripped the check and handed it to her. Before she plucked it from between my fingers, I raised my arm in the air, stopping her from taking it.

“There’s a catch.”

“I knew it,” she huffed, baring her teeth. “What is it?”

“I’ll give you this check. No questions asked. But,” I drawled, “I will give you a check for ten thousand dollars and secure you a spot at a women’s shelter if you do two things.”

She looked behind my shoulders frantically, licking her lips. “Okay. But with a condom. I don’t want no diseases.”

Was that what she thought I had in mind? Some of my loafers were older than her, for crying out loud.

“It’s not sex I want from you, Donna. I want you to give me any information about your boyfriend’s whereabouts. Call me as soon as you hear from him.” I produced a business card, handing it to her. “And I want you to promise me that you are packing your bags and leaving this apartment. I’ll send someone over who’ll take you to a women’s shelter.”

“Deal,” she said.

I handed her the check. She took it with trembling fingers, looking up at me again.

“But what if I never hear from him again? He’s not taking my calls. Will you cancel the check?”

I shook my head. “Not if you keep your end of the bargain and leave him for good.”

“I will. I am,” she corrected herself. “He screwed me over. I’m not going to forgive him for what he did to me and my baby.”

I tucked the checkbook back into my pocket, giving her a wry smile. Even if Belle wasn’t safe from Frank, his ex-girlfriend now was, and that was something too.

On the way back to my office, I called Sam. He picked up on the first ring.

“If this is about Frank, I’m still trying to find him. He slipped under the radar.”

I choked up the steering wheel. I did not like to be in a point of disadvantage, but right now, that was exactly where I was.

“Are you looking into Louisa and my mother too?”

“Yes.” I heard Sam clicking away on his laptop. “And I can’t yet rule them out. There’s a lot of money anchored to that goddamn will you’re ignoring, and all of it’s tied to assets and valuables. I can see your mother’s incentive.”

“What about Louisa?”

“Ah, that bag of fucking English Delights,” Sam spat out. “Yeah, she is still an option too. It appears that her family is not half as wealthy as they claim to be. I pulled some reports from the private Swiss account they’re using. Whatever they have in HSBC in Britain, both private and business accounts, is not enough to maintain their lifestyle for the next five years. So I can see why Butchart is being pressured to marry you. She needs to save her and her brothers’ skin. The cash pool is dwindling fast.”

“Well, that’s a shite show.”

“Word, Nancy Drew.”

“How the fuck did it get this far?” I wondered aloud.

For two decades, I’d been careful to stay out of trouble, and now it seemed like trouble found me every step of the way.

“Well, let’s see. You had unfinished business across the pond, as you Brits like to call it, the woman you’re with is a goddamn menace and shouldn’t be left to her own devices, and on top of all this, you seem to have a golden cock because everyone wants it.”

“My cock only wants Emmabelle,” I said grumpily. “Isn’t that sad?”

“Fucking tragic.”

“Promise me one thing,” I said.

“No,” Sam answered flatly. I went ahead anyway.

“That nothing happens to Belle.”

There was silence on the other line. I slowed my Bentley and came to a stop in front of a traffic light. Finally, he spoke.

“Nothing’ll happen to Emmabelle. You have my word.”