I didn’t bother asking Violet Fox if they’d gone to the police to complain about Tobias Dawson. The dwarven mine owner had more than enough money to bribe the po-po to look the other way, and he could always use his connection to Mab Monroe to get the cops in her pocket to back off and let him go about his intimidation business. The only person who might listen to the Foxes would be Donovan Caine. Even then, the detective couldn’t take on someone like Tobias Dawson by himself.

Not and live to tell about it.

“So that’s why that dwarf attacked you tonight,” I murmured. “You grandfather wasn’t budging, so Dawson decided to give him some incentive to sell out—your body.”

Violet shook her head. “That wouldn’t have worked, either. If anything, Grandfather would have gotten his shotgun and gone over to the mine to have it out with Dawson.”

“Where Dawson could justifiably kill him in self-defense in front of any number of witnesses,” Finn pointed out. “Either way, Dawson would have gotten what he wanted—you and your grandfather out of the way.”

Violet shivered and hugged her arms to her chest.

Nobody said anything for the better part of a minute.

Then Jo-Jo looked at me with her pale, colorless eyes.

“Gin?”

Gin. My adopted name. Such a short, simple word.

But that single syllable was imbued with a world of meaning.

I knew what Jo-Jo was asking. If I was going to help Violet and her grandfather, Warren T. Fox. Because without someone like me on their side, someone just as cold, ruthless, and dangerous as Tobias Dawson, the Foxes weren’t long for this earth. If I hadn’t gotten curious and intervened tonight, Violet would already be raped, dead, and cold in that parking lot.

I rubbed my head. I didn’t need this right now. I was supposed to be retired, not sticking my nose into someone else’s problems. Especially not for free. Then there was Jake McAllister and his well-connected, lawyer father, Jonah. I had no doubt the younger McAllister would make good on his threat to try and kill me. And finally, there was the folder of information Fletcher Lane had left me—the one about my murdered mother and older sister.

The photo of Bria that proved she was still alive, still out there somewhere.

I needed to figure out what to do about all that. How to take care of Jake McAllister without pointing the finger back at myself. What to do about his father. How to find my baby sister, Bria. Decide whether I actually wanted to do that or not. Fletcher had left me all these questions to find the answers to. I didn’t need to go gallivanting up into the Appalachian Mountains to help an old geezer and his granddaughter take on someone as dangerous and potentially lethal as Tobias Dawson.