Page 42 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

We left moments later and got into Malcolm’s car, the weight of what we’d just learned heavy on my shoulders. The silence stretched between us as he pulled away from the curb.

We were still silent by the time we reached the highway.

Everything in me screamed for a drink. Something to take the edge off the raw nerves Aunt Hannah’s revelations had scraped wide open.

But I reminded myself I was a stubborn bitch, and I was going to beat this demon.

Even if my life was burning down around me.

But there was no denying my withdrawal symptoms were hitting me full force. The back of my neck was damp with sweat and the ache in my head felt like a jackhammer was splitting my skull open. What little food I’d had at the table was spinning in my gut.

I lifted a hand to rub my temple to ease the pain. Malcolm caught the way my hand shook, and reached for the flask. “You need a drink.”

“No,” I forced out through gritted teeth.

“I know you want one,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Hell, you’d probably kill for one, so I appreciate the effort you’re goin’ through to refuse it, but you’re not through your withdrawal yet. If you don’t take a drink, it’s only gonna get worse.”

Tears burned my eyes, and a knot clogged my throat, but self-disgust quickly followed. I only had myself to blame for being in this situation. Self-pity would get me nowhere.

I held out my shaking hand, biting back tears nonetheless, because even though I was a stubborn bitch, I felt like I’d left some of that strength back in my grandparents’ dining room.

He handed me the flask. It took some effort to unscrew the cap, but I got it off and forced myself to only take a sip.

The sweet relief that washed through me nearly made me cry with gratitude as some of the pain started to ease.

My hand trembled as I held the flask, every cell in my body begging for more.

One more sip—just enough to stop the screaming in my head.

My hand tightened on the metal, and for one terrifying moment, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to let go.

I shoved the flask at him, and once he took it, I pressed my hands between my legs, willing them to stop betraying me.

Malcolm’s tension radiated from the driver’s seat. The same coiled energy of someone who’d shown too much, revealed a crack in the armor they’d spent years perfecting. His hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

I recognized it for what it was—the same reaction I had when someone started to see the person I kept buried beneath the tough persona I projected to the world.

Today had stripped away our defenses, leaving us both raw and exposed in ways that terrified us.

After a few moments, the silence became suffocating. We were both drowning in our own thoughts, and someone had to throw a lifeline before we both went under. I decided he’d carried me this far on our journey. It was time for me to pull the weight.

“I’m sorry about the way I treated you when we went outside earlier,” I said. “I got mad for absolutely no reason, and … I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” he grunted, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of us. “It’s fine.”

“No,” I insisted. “It’s not fine. You’ve been nothing but nice to me since you showed up on my doorstep yesterday, and I was a first-class bitch.”

His jaw tightened. “Maybe you had the right to be.”

I studied him for several seconds. “No. I didn’t.”

He focused on the road, wearing a solemn expression, but some of his fierceness had faded a bit. “Carter got back to me while I was out. He got video from some of the neighbors, but none of it proved helpful.”

I sighed. “It was a long shot anyway. At least we have the images of the two guys and the woman Mrs. Comstock sent us.”

“Carter’s still running them, but he hasn’t come up with anything yet.”

I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. Lisa had sent a text saying she didn’t recognize the woman, and she’d shown it to several other women who didn’t recognize her either. I relayed the information to Malcolm, and he gave a silent nod, still lost in his emotional stew.

I decided to address the new elephant in the room. “My grandmother liked you.”

He released a snort. “She doesn’t know me.”

“I think she’s a good judge of character.”

He snorted again. “You hardly know her either.”

“Is it so hard to believe you’re capable of being good?”

“Being capable doesn’t mean I am .”

The way he said it made me realize this was an internal battle he’d had for some time. Obviously, he’d done some bad shit in his life, but maybe he wanted to be a good person. Maybe he just thought he’d sunk too deep to crawl out of the pit he’d dug himself into.

“Then tell me this,” I countered, “why are you helping me?” When he didn’t answer, I added, “Why help me last night? Why come with me today? Why be so nice to my grandparents?”

“I’m not a total dick,” he said in disgust.

“Maybe you’re not a dick at all.”

He tilted his head toward me and gave me the side-eye. “How many drinks did you have while I was gone?”

I nearly told him I’d had none, then caught myself—he was deflecting. “You said you helped me because you needed me to uncover who took over Simmons’s operation. But you could have hired someone to babysit me. You must have other people at your disposal, like the woman who stitched me up.”

He shifted in his seat, irritation etched on his face. “What is it you want me to say, Harper?”

“You said it before, and you’re right—you and I are a lot alike.

If someone gets too close, we go on the offensive.

” When he didn’t contradict me, I continued.

“It’s this dance we do: I lash out. You lash out.

But what if we tried to stop? What if we both accepted that there’s something about the other person that makes us feel safe opening up?

Letting the other person see the parts we hide from everyone else? ”

I took it as a small victory when he didn’t immediately tell me to go fuck myself.

“I think we have bigger issues to address,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like the fact your mother knew your father was capable of murdering someone but let him keep living at home with her two little girls.”

“I wasn’t a little girl when Andi was kidnapped,” I countered.

“But you were still a minor. And your aunt confronted your mother about your father being potentially dangerous when you were eleven, Harper—yeah, I’m capable of doing math.

The way your mother completely dismissed her warning makes me think she already knew something was up with him.

” He turned to look at me for a long moment before turning back to the road.

“She put you in danger, and for what? To fucking save face? To protect her Queen Bee of Jackson Creek status?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, something inside me crumpling. “She loved Andi. I think she would have done anything to protect her.”

“And yet ,” he said, his tone harsh, “when Hannah called your mother after she was kidnapped, she said she didn’t know whether your father was responsible.”

“He wasn’t,” I said. “He had nothing to do with it. We both know John Michael Stevens was the one who kidnapped and murdered my sister.”

“True, but until they caught the bastard, she wasn’t sure.”

He was right and I took a moment to let that sink in. She’d been so insistent we come straight home that day. Had something been brewing outside of my sister’s kidnapping? “Do you know anything about a Richard or a Dale Ambrose?”

“Nope. Ambrose should be easy enough to look into, but Richard? The name’s too common.

” He tapped the steering wheel with his thumb.

“We can’t overlook that your father was screwing someone back when you and your sister were younger.

Which means the woman who came to your mother’s house last week could have been his mistress after all. ”

I nodded, because the thought had occurred to me too. “She must not be from the area. Lisa and her friends would have recognized her otherwise.”

He made a face as though considering whether he should say what he was thinking.

Finally, he said, “When you asked if I had girlfriends, I told you that I don’t do relationships, but when I’m lookin’ to get laid, I don’t shit in my front yard.

” He shot me a look. “If your father had a lick of sense in his head, he wouldn’t either. ”

“Yeah,” I said. “While my father has done some stupid shit, in this instance, I think he’d be smart. Especially after getting caught when we were younger.”

He gave a nod. “So if the woman was your father’s mistress, why would she show up at your mother’s house?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Dad already left Mom, so it’s not likely the woman was there to confront her.” I turned in my seat to face him better. “And then there’s the fact that someone dropped her off. I don’t think the woman would show up unannounced and have her ride drive off.”

“True.”

“We can’t forget my mother called that burner phone a few hours before the woman showed up. I think my mother called her and she came.”

He pursed his lips. “You think your mother would call your father’s mistress and invite her to her house for a chat?”

“It wasn’t a chat, though, was it?” I said. “They left minutes later.”

“Does your mother seem like the kind of woman to leave with a suitcase and take her husband’s mistress with her?” he asked pointedly.

“No,” I admitted. “I can’t even imagine that happening. Unless…” I said as a new thought hit me. “Unless the mistress had information about my father too. What if they both knew something, and they were both afraid?”

“That seems like a stretch,” he said. “How would they know the other felt threatened?”

“I don’t know,” I said, exhaustion washing over me. “It’s all hypothetical right now.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding distracted. “If she wasn’t a mistress, then who was she?”

“I have no idea.”