“Well, now you do,” Mal mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “And I’ll repeat it again. We’re making sure everyone is safe.”
Ledger lets out a low chuckle, but there’s nothing remotely amused about it. “And here I was thinking coming back to this town would be peaceful after the forced retirement. So far, it’s been . . .”
“Unexpected?” I finish for him, tipping my drink back. “Still don’t get why you had to get married so fast. Is she pregnant?”
His brow lifts, unimpressed. “No, I haven’t knocked up my woman, but we will have kids eventually.” The words are so calm, so even, like he’s discussing the weather. Is he for real? I’m not judging wanting to have children, but this man isn’t him. He’s more . . . he’s different.
I snort. “That sounds so . . . civilized.”
His lips twitch. “Are you judging? I mean, you knocked up someone and ended up bringing the kid. Where’s the mother?”
I lower my drink, my jaw tightening. “None of your fucking business.”
“Probably not,” Ledger allows, voice infuriatingly neutral. “But have you considered sending your daughter to her mother? Might be safer for the time being. No one would suspect you did it because you’re onto them. It’s just a custody agreement.”
And that would be such a great idea, only if her mother—and father—were alive. Unfortunately, she lost them at the same time. I would give anything to have Dan around. He was like my brother. All I have left from that friendship is his kid. My little Maddie.
“Leave it,” Malerick orders.
“Why? It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Ledger presses, pushing because he knows how to dig under my skin like no one else. “Unless, of course, you fucked up royally. What’s the story there, Hop?”
“Ledge, leave it.” Mal’s voice drops, flat and absolute.
And somehow, I get the feeling he knows something about Maddie. Does he know the truth? That she’s not biologically my daughter?
Mal exhales through his nose, impatient now. “Can we focus on what’s happening now? No, he won’t send his daughter away. You will keep your wife safe. Everything will be fine.”
“Sure,” I mock, my frustration boiling over. “We’ve got a goddamn criminal syndicate setting up shop in our backyard, and everything’s just fine.”
Mal gives me a look. The ‘you’re being dramatic’ one.
I grit my teeth. “How the hell did they get here? Why Birchwood Springs? Why us?”
“We’re close to the border and the ocean,” Malerick says. “They can move product easier.”
Ledger leans forward, his jaw flexing. “And when you say product . . .?”
“Anything they can,” Malerick replies. “Guns. Drugs. People.” His voice stays even, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Disgust. “They want Maple Haven and Old Birchwood Timber to launder money.”
I let out a slow breath. “So that’s why you don’t want us to sell.”
Mal nods.
I rake a hand through my hair. My patience is gone. “Let me get this straight—Marcus Fallon, a guy from Boston, winds up buried on Nysa’s land. Cassandra DeLuca, a kidnapped heiress from New York, also ends up buried on Nysa’s land. Meanwhile, the Syndicate sets a barn on fire two towns over, nearly kills a horse, and somehow all of this is about controlling this town?”
Mal nods. “That about sums it up.”
I let out a low laugh, but it’s hollow. “And we’re supposed to pretend that everything is fine?”
“Yep,” Mal says, shaking his head like this is just another Thursday.
Ledger exhales, long and slow. “Okay, I’m pretending this is paradise. What’s next?”
“We wait,” Malerick says, like he’s suggesting we sit back and catch the Sunday game.
I stare at him. “We wait? That’s the plan?”
“That’s the plan.”
