Page 10 of Rascal

“It was fuckin’ her,” I said through gritted teeth.

“We trust you, Rascal. But the world… right now, they’re on her side,” Bear remarked.

Tears welled in Hallie’s eyes on-screen. “I loved Shane Morris. That was my biggest mistake, and I paid for it ten times over.”

That goddamn bitch!

“Got a parcel for you,” Dollar stated, entering the clubhouse with a huge package. I frowned; I wasn’t aware of ordering anything.

I opened it and flinched.

“Nobody touch anything, and someone call Lio,” Chatter ordered.

A white wreath had been inside the box. It had a banner reading R.I.P. Shane. It was drenched in blood. Hallie. That goddamn psychotic bitch.

“Is there a card?” Chatter demanded.

“Yeah. It says, ‘I won’t miss next time’,” Dollar replied. “Is that a… Fuck!”

“What?” I shouted, on edge.

“It’s got a heart in the middle, with a knife stabbed through it. Christ, this is one sick bitch,” Dollar muttered, shaking his head.

I sank into a seat. What the hell was Hallie thinking?

Hallie–three days later

“What do you want?” I demanded of the cop standing in my doorway.

“We need you to attend the station,” he said.

“Nope. You guys have a habit of framing people. If you haven’t got a warrant, then I’m not coming.”

“We’ve probable cause, ma’am,” the uniform stated, and I laughed.

“Yeah, I doubt that. Because whatever you’re about to accuse me of will almost certainly be another setup.”

“Someone sent Mr Morris a threat. We think it came from you.”

“Oh goody. They’ve no proof, only a belief. If I believe I’m a billionaire, am I?”

“Miss Milton. My name is Detective Emilio Hawthorne. I’d like you to accompany me to the station.”

“She isn’t…” King began, but I held up a hand.

“It’s okay. This is just further harassment and another lawsuit.” I turned and grabbed my purse. “King, call Harry. I don’t talk without him.”

What was Shane setting me up for now? Well, considering the last couple of days I’d had, he was going to be hard-pressed to prove this.

On the drive over, Hawthorne kept trying to talk, and the only answer I gave him was lawyer. He settled me in a room, and I waited patiently. He tried again to make conversation, but I merely looked at him and studied my nails.

Half an hour later, Harry arrived.

“That was quick,” Hawthorne said, looking puzzled.

“I was in town visiting my client just before you arrested her. It was simply a matter of turning around and coming back. State what this is about,” Harry demanded.

“Mr Shane Morris received a disturbing gift today. A bloodstained wreath with a heart and dagger stabbed through it.”