type who just likes to flirt with danger?”
This man doesn’t know the first thing about me. I don’t just flirt with danger. I go all the way with it, fall madly in love with it, and then rip my own heart from my chest just to escape it.
I wield the knife in front of me. “Fuck off.”
He shakes his head but finally leaves. I wait until I see him disappear into his room before I exhale a sigh of relief. I haul Harry’s stroller up the stairs, and when we get back into the room, I set the deadbolt and slide my back down against the door.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I have reached a point where I am so bored that I now actively interrogate scary addicts for kicks. That’s not normal.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial the number for Debbie. When I was a journalist for the New York Union, she always assigned me fluff pieces while dangling meaty assignments over my head, and she was the one who promised if I wrote a good article on Gabriel, I could finally have those jobs.
I don’t know why I’m bothering to try her again. I have called her at least twice a week for the past month, left a dozen voice mails, and sent just as many emails. She could be dead for all I know, and that thought sends a ripple of unease down my spine. I hate that I now live in a world where if someone doesn’t return my calls, it is entirely possible that they are lying in a shallow grave somewhere.
Debbie doesn’t answer. No surprise there. I hang up the phone and grab the bottle of wine, shoving it into the ice bucket to cool while I unstrap Harry from the stroller.
My phone rings, nearly vibrating off the desk before I get to it. It’s Debbie.
“Hello?” I answer hesitantly.
“Och, hello to you too,” Debbie says snippily. I have missed the timber of her thick Glaswegian accent. “You could do to sound a little happier to hear from me. You have been harassing me for weeks.”
I can’t help but laugh. “And you’ve been ignoring me.”
“Yes, well I think I can take a little time to myself after the kind of shite I’ve had to shovel through.”
“I’m glad to hear from you. I was worried.”
“With good reason,” she replies. “I do apologize for my role in everything that’s happened, hen. That bloody Irishman threatened to kill my daughter if I didn’t do as he asked, and assigning you to interview Gabriel Belluci was one of the easier things I had to do.”
As far as I’m concerned, she is instantly forgiven. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep Harry safe.
“I think it’s more upsetting to me that it took a death threat for you to give me a proper assignment,” I joke. “Is Lily safe now?”
“Aye. I took some leave from the paper and I’ve been with her in Scotland for the past few weeks. I could hardly believe it when I heard your man had killed Andrew Walsh.”
“Are you coming back stateside anytime soon?” I ask. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a drug epidemic sweeping through New York. Purple heroin.”
“I’ve a flight back tomorrow,” she says. “That’s why I thought it might be time for me to get in touch with ye. From your voice mails, it sounds like you’re clear of the man in question?”
“Trying to be.”
“And I presume you’re looking to get back to work?”
I go to the bed and sit, pulling Harry in for a cuddle. “I want to investigate the purple heroin problem. It seems to have come out of nowhere, and it’s spreading quickly. I want to know why.”
“That sounds good,” she says.
“Just like that?” I ask incredulously. “You don’t want me to go back to interviewing slightly racist old men or covering doggy fashion shows?”
“I should think that I owe you a chance after what I put you through,” she explains. “I’ll be back in the office on Friday. Will you come by so we can talk about the scope of your investigation?”
I wince. “Is there any way we could meet at your place or something? And maybe I could keep working remotely? I’m sort of ... in hiding.”
“Of course,” she says in a kinder voice than I’ve ever heard from her. It is a voice laden with guilt.
We make plans to meet, and I end the