Page 48 of Don't Tell

I sit with the decision for a minute. My mind is settled. Nothing can change it.

I put it away.

I leave the Nightingale building at 5:30 p.m. I'm heading toward the car when I hear her voice.

"Mr. Nightingale."

I stop.

She's standing on the sidewalk. She didn't come from the building — she was waiting on the street, which means she knew I'd be here. The man beside her is 40s, heavy, the kind of man who has learned to use his size as a statement before he's said a word. He has his arms crossed. He's watching me.

She smiles like we know each other. "What a coincidence. Aren’t you the rich man who’s seeing my little girl?”

I turn.

I know who she is.

I look at her — the blonde hair, the leather jacket, the rehearsed openness in her face — and then I look at the man beside her. His arms are crossed, jaw set, sizing me up as if he’s dangerous. I take them both in, and I know exactly what this is.

"Walk with me," I say.

I take them across the street to the small park. She falls into step beside me easily, like she expected an invitation. Darryl follows several paces behind, still with his arms crossed, and positions himself just inside the gate when we reach the bench, standing and watching. He doesn't speak. Well, he doesn't need to. He's the threat she brought to show me.

I sit. She sits.

"Just figured I'd get to know the man my daughter's seeing." She smiles. It's a comfortable smile. "You know how it is. Daughters get into a relationship and forget all about their mothers." She glances back at Darryl, then returns her gaze to me. "I've been trying to get her attention for a while now. That's why I brought Darryl over there." She gives a small shrug, almost apologetic. "He's going to make things very difficult for her if she doesn't give me what I want." She lets that land, then tilts her head. "She owes me. Wouldn't you agree?"

She waits.

I look at her.

I consider Darryl first — what it would take to have every license he holds quietly reviewed. Every outstanding warrant in every county pulled to the surface, every landlord and employer he's ever had contacted by someone whose name they'd recognize. A week? Less, probably. He'd be too busy drowning to bother anyone.

Then I consider her. I think about what it would mean to let this run — the calls to Suzanne, the stalking. She has no intention of stopping. I've dealt with people like this before. They don't stop because you reason with them. They stop when it costs more than it's worth.

I reach into the inside breast pocket of my jacket and take out my checkbook. She sees it. Something shifts in her face — a loosening, a quiet bloom of satisfaction — and that tells me everything I need to know about how she thought this afternoon would go.

She wants money? Fine. She can have money. She can take it and disappear, and Suzanne will never have to think about her again.

I open the checkbook across my knee. I write a number. I look at it. I tear it out and begin again on the next check, because the first number was an offer, and this needs to be a conclusion. I tear it out and hold it between two fingers.

I look at her.

"You're going to take this." My voice is quiet. "You're going to cash it. And you and Darryl are going to leave this city before the week is out." A beat. "I don't care where you go. I will know where you've gone."

Her mouth opens.

"You're not going to contact Suzanne again — not a text, not a call, not through a cousin, a neighbor, or him." I glare at Darryl once and look back at her. "If either of you comes within a mile of her, I will reach into every corner of your lives and pulluntil there's nothing left standing. I have resources you cannot fathom. I will make whatever you think you have built look like something I stepped over on my way to work." I extend the check toward her. "You've seen the generous version of me today. I strongly suggest you don't come looking for the other one."

She takes the check.

The satisfaction is gone. What's left is something flatter and quieter, and she doesn't let me see it for long. She stands, smooths her jacket, and walks to Darryl without looking at me.

I stand, button my jacket, and walk back through the gate to where my car sits at the curb. I get in. The door closes, and the street goes silent.

I sit for a moment with both hands on the wheel, thinking about Suzanne.

Then I pull out and drive.