Free Scarlett Undercover by Jennifer Latham Page B

of my mouth. It didn’t work.
    “Emmet, what did Quinn say before he jumped?”
    His brown eyes filled with pain, like they had after
Abbi
died.
    “Promise you’ll come to me for help if you get in over your head with this one?” he said.
    “I promise.”
    His voice went rough.
    “Quinn said, ‘Sam’s safe now.’ And then he jumped.”
    “That’s all?”
    The pain in Emmet’s eyes darkened down to something more like anger. “That’s all. But you know, Scarlett, I think something—someone—
made
that boy kill himself. The coroner ruled it a suicide, though, so I can’t do a damned thing about it. At least not officially.”
    I reached for his hand, wondering what the hell was up with me and all the hand-holding lately.
    It was more than our waitress could stand. She sashayed over to ask if we wanted anything else. Emmet ignored her and looked up at the ceiling. I told her we were set. She tossed the bill on the table and left in a huff.
    “Don’t worry, Emmet,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze before I picked up the check. “This one’s on me.”

12
    T he address Emmet gave me for Quinn Johnson’s family put them in a part of town where the right bank account bought you a prime view of Christie Park. A doorman sat just inside the lobby of their building, watching his phone with one eye and the street with the other. Doormen could be a brick wall or your best friend depending on how you played them. I turned around, hoofed it six blocks north to a flower shop, and came back.
    From the way he studied me before he even looked at the bouquet of purple dahlias in my hand, I could tellthe guy knew his stuff. Good doormen, the ones worth their holiday tips, always checked faces first.
    “These are for the Johnsons,” I said, keeping my eyes wide and innocent. “I’m Scarlett. I was a friend of Quinlan’s at Chandler Academy.”
    He gave a sad nod.
    “Awful thing,” he said. “Just awful. Hold on a sec.”
    He picked up an old-fashioned intercom receiver and punched in an apartment number.
    “There’s a young lady down here with flowers,” he said. “Says she knew Quinn. Shall I send her up?”
    He looked me over some more while the person on the other end talked.
    “Sure thing.” He put the receiver back on its hook. “They aren’t taking visitors right now, sweetheart, but you can leave your posies with me, and I’ll make sure they get where they’re supposed to.”
    I blinked a few times and made my smile extra innocent.
    “Actually,” I said, “I’m kind of relieved. I was nervous about seeing them. Didn’t want to say the wrong thing, you know? Paying my respects just seemed like the right thing to do.”
    I started to hand him the flowers. Stopped midreach.
    “Say,” I said, as if the thought had just hit me. “Sam isn’t home, is he? I should check on him, see how he’s doing.”
    The doorman got a soft look on his face and nodded.
    “Lemme check.”
    He picked up the receiver to try again, gave me a smile and a wink as he talked.
    Pay dirt.
    “Housekeeper says Sam’s coming down,” the doorman said when he was through. “She thinks it’d do him good to see a friend.”
    “Oh.” I shifted my smile from wistful to relieved. “That’s great!” I gave the door a drawn-out glance. “You know, it’s such a beautiful day, I think I’ll wait for him outside.”
    “Good idea.” Half the doorman’s attention had already drifted back to his phone. “I’ll send him your way.”
    “Thanks,” I said.
    He tipped his hat. I gave him one last dazzling smile.
    Playing it nice had been the right call after all.

    Sam Johnson was short, round, and topped off with a shock of indignant red hair. He walked fast, like he’d made up his mind about something and wanted the world to know it.
    “Did they send you?” He was all fury, and dangerous as a bad case of hiccups.
    “My name’s Scarlett,” I said. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”
    He planted his fists on his