“You’re going to help me get my granddaughter back.”
“She’s not yours.”
She sighs like I’m a stubborn child refusing vegetables.
“You’re very attached to her,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s good. It means you’ll cooperate.”
“I won’t.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Everyone does.”
She nods once.
The door opens.
Two men step inside.
Big.
Quiet.
Professional.
“Not yet,” she says calmly. “We’re just talking.”
The men leave again.
The door shuts.
She leans closer.
Close enough that I can smell her perfume—expensive and sharp.
“Your little town was charming,” she says softly. “I think I’ll buy it when this is over.”
Rage rises in my chest like fire.
“Touch them again,” I say quietly, “and I will kill you.”
She laughs.
The sound echoes off the concrete walls.
“Oh, Mr. Lawson.”
Her eyes gleam.
“That’s the plan.”
31
Saint
She leaves me alone for hours.
That’s also information.
