Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Lily,” Mom says, voice tight with panic.
My heartbeat flutters faster. He’s swaggering across the street. A gasp escapes me when he gets even closer. It’s the red-haired man from the photograph last night. He has a fresh scar on his chin like a small piece of him chipped away, but it’s definitely him.
“Don’t be rude,” he says when Mom moves to close the window.
Mom stops, but I reach past her, about to grab the handle. He casually opens his jacket, flashing the handle of a pistol. My hand freezes.
“Don’t make me be rude, either, darling,” he says, with a slight Irish lilt. “I’m merely here to have a discussion with you. I don’t see anything uncivilized in that.”
“We want nothing to do with you … Damon.”
He flashes a smile, which makes me feel like I’ve just lost a game I didn’t even know I was playing. “You’ve just disproved your point there, missy. If you want nothing to do with me, you wouldn’t know my name now, would you?”
“Who are you?” Mom hisses. “My daughter has done nothing wrong!”
“Easy there. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I only want to talk. Ma’am, why don’t you give me and Lily here a moment?”
He phrases it like a question, but his tone makes it something else. He stares right at me, an obvious challenge in his expression. He’s daring me to tell him no. He’s daring me to escalate.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, touching her arm supportively. “It’s a work thing. I know how it seems.”
She turns, lowering her voice. “Should I call 911?”
I shake my head, thinking of what I learned at The Row; the police often ignore things where Damon and his cronies are concerned. “Just let me speak with him,” I say.
“I’m staying right over there.”
“Look,” Damon says, holding his hands up. “Nice and civilized, I said, remember?” He leans forward, almost like he’s about to pop his head through the window and into the apartment. “You need to back off, little lady. There’s no reason to pay more attention to this job than the other twenty you’ve got on your desk. You need to listen and listen good. I’m not trying to get anything from you. I have no desire to hurt you, steal from you, or do anything wrong. I’m asking you to tell your boss this case is a no-go, then move on to another. You’ve got more cases, right? Right?”
He snaps impatiently at the end. I’ve been watching, adrenalin pumping in me, but it has nowhere to go. “Yes, lots.”
“Well, there you go.”
“That doesn’t make what you’re doing right.”
The anger that grips him is terrifying. It moves across his features visibly. It’s like a monster in him is trying to tear its way out. “I’ve been very polite and clear, haven’t I? You’re not confused by what I’m telling you.”
“I understand what you’ve said,” I tell him.
He makes a tsk noise. “Don’t get cute with me, darling. I’ve come down here personally as a courtesy. How often do you imagine a man like me handles these matters personally? The fact is, in my world at least, I’m considered something of a humanitarian.”
I instinctively laugh—big mistake. His hand flies to his hip. My laughter dies. I need to be smarter about this. It would be a stupid thing to make him angry.
“What’s funny about that?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“It’s the truth,” he goes on. “I’ve got friends who would’ve preferred to come down here and do, let’s say, interesting things to you and your mother, but I’m old school. I don’t like to exacerbate things. You know what exacerbate means?”
“To make things worse.”
“You really are a smart cookie, Lily. I’m sure I’m never going to see you again.”
He turns and swaggers away. Only when he’s out of sight does the full effect of what just happened hit me. I fall against the kitchen counter and slide down to the cold floor, my entire body shuddering as I relive the moments he flashed the gun, that monster-like rage on his face.
“Lily,” Mom moans, sitting right on the floor with me and bringing me into her arms. “You poor thing. You brave girl. Who was that?”
“I’m investigating this case at work that involves this bar,” I say. “And he-he-he …”
I can’t even finish the sentence. Tears come instead, choking me and making me feel weak. This isn’t the sort of person I usually am at work. I harden myself, but work stuff has never been this dangerous. It’s never visited me at home before.
“What did he want?” Mom asks, desperate to get through to me any way she can.
“For me to let him lure more kids into his bar. To let him get as many as possible under his spell before …”
“Before what?”
I shake my head. She doesn’t need to know all the evil details. She doesn’t need to visualize all the sickness that will take hold of so many people’s lives if this freak is allowed to continue down his dark path. But realistically, can I keep going after him now?