Page 26 of Collateral Claim

Wait a minute. What kind of list is this? Wha… I gasp and look away from the paper.

Chapter 13

Santa doesn’t like your list

Scarlett

Endo Macarley eats breakfast while making a grocery list of explosives and weapons.

Speculating that my father is involved with an arms dealer is one thing. Seeing evidence of an unofficial arms order is another. My father and this man might be competing for clients. Or supplying opposing sides. Or they could be working together on the deal that went wrong.

Actually, there are many causes and options, and my head is spinning. Coffee won’t help this headache.

Seeing this list makes me nervous. The urge to flee is so great that my toes twitch. Under the table, I move my feet rapidly in place. But even if I fled, I’d get caught on the way out by Endo’s man, who escorted me to the morning room. Not to mention the fact that I’m sitting at the table with the biggest predator in the house, and I probably wouldn’t make it two steps before he tackled me to the floor.

Does he know I can read the list he’s making? Is that why he left it on the table? I doubt it. This really isn’t about me, and I should let it go and carry on with my morning as if the list says eggs and cheese.

“Do you normally eat breakfast here?” I ask.

Endo nods, a small smile playing on his lips.He knows you read it. Oh my God. The implication of this is huge. HUGE. My father, who owns weapon-manufacturing factories, is also trafficking weapons. My head hurts even more now.

“Morning rooms are used by women,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m afraid. I really am now. Endo terrified me before, but now I’m inside the lion’s den.

“You are a woman, are you not?”

I nod. “It’s a pleasant room.”

“You are welcome to use it anytime.”

“Under supervision.”

“Naturally.”

“Am I your prisoner, then?”

Endo pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. “You can be anything you want to be.”

“A bird. I want to fly away.”

“Then grow wings or earn your freedom.”

“I can’t grow wings. How can I earn my freedom?”

“On your knees works for me.”

“That’s not going to happen, Macarley.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine. You asked. I’m content to sit here and wait for my breakfast to arrive. Dec,” he calls out, and the young man who brought me here pokes his head into the room.

“Yes?” Dec asks.

“See if Mary’s well.”

“She’s well.”

“What’s the holdup with breakfast?”

“My brother’s bringing it.”