Reed held up a flat hand to stop me.

“None of that matters right now,” he said.

I asked him how illegal cash payments hidden in a shoebox didn’t matter to the police.

“The mother has legal custody of the child,” Reed said.

He dropped his pen on the green desk blotter.

“She says you’re trespassing on her life and terrifying her daughter.

That’s what I care about today.”

I rubbed my left collarbone, feeling the hard line of the bone under my sweater.