Promises Page 2

  Leaning forward, I splayed my fingers over the top of my desk moving my weight to my arms. “Her has a name. Her name is Araneae McCrie. I can tell you that in the weeks since she’s come into my life—where I brought her—when it comes to that woman, not a girl, everything has been good.”

  My mother stood. “Tell me, Sterling, do you have proof? Do you have more than war room stories made up by vengeful men?”

  “Your time is up. Do you plan to join me for my discussion with Judge Landers?”

  Her head shook ever so slightly as her lips pursed. “No. Annabelle asked for my help to talk to you, to see you. Whatever the two of you discuss is none of my business. My only concern is you.”

  “Hardly, Mother. Your concern is maintaining the life you’ve perfected, the one that’s shiny on the outside and filthy on the inside. That secret information that Daniel McCrie supposedly tried to leverage unsuccessfully, how did you feel about that?”

  “I-I don’t know for sure what it was. Your father never told me those kinds of things. I didn’t even know that Daniel came to him for help until years later.”

  “Wait, what do you know about that? Daniel came to my father for what kind of help?”

  With the hand not holding her purse, she slapped the side of her thigh. “Leave it all buried. I told Allister the same thing when he had that tiny coffin exhumed.”

  I thought back through our extensive research. “There’s no public record of that. There would be something listed with the coroner’s office or medical examiner.”

  “Oh, Sterling, it wasn’t here in Chicago, not even in Illinois. At first, Annabelle and Daniel didn’t tell many people where they buried her. Of course, Rubio and Pauline were at the small funeral.”

  I knew where Araneae’s body had supposedly been buried; however, I waited to hear if my mother would divulge the truth or more of her lies. “There would still be a record.”

  “Even if you looked in the right place...you remember your father. He didn’t go to the authorities. What excuse would he have to request an exhumation? Instead, he ordered it himself, having his men dig her up and put the casket back.”

  “When?”

  My mother’s complexion paled as she began to pace a trek to the large windows and back. “If I tell you this, will you please tell Annabelle the truth?”

  “I will tell her the truth.”

  “It was years later. You were too young to remember when the infant died, when it all began, but this—the exhumation was over a decade later...” She shook her head. “…no, even more recent than that. I believe you were home from the army and at Michigan. I don’t know for sure when it was...time goes fast and it’s hard to keep up.”

  She stood at the window, looking at the city and lake yet appearing to see neither. Her mind was back to a time before I was in power, a time that I had no way of remembering.

  “It took years,” she said wistfully, “but finally McCrie had gotten himself to a place where he was working again with Rubio and occasionally Allister, convincing those around him of his loyalty. With Rubio’s help, Annabelle had been appointed as a federal judge. Rubio was spending more time in Washington than in Chicago. Things were looking up for everyone.

  “One night, your father was upset, more agitated than normal. Usually he didn’t say much in front of me, but we all knew something was happening whether it was said or not. That one night he’d been drinking. After Rudy left the house, Allister was livid, and I was the one who happened to be present. Your father ranted about being played by Daniel. He said that he’d demanded Rudy confirm that the buried infant wasn’t...” She let out a long breath. “Later, Allister told me that his men exhumed the body. He had doctors who did the testing. They confirmed the remains were of Annabelle and Daniel’s child.” She pleaded, “You see, there’s no public record. It wasn’t carried out by a governmental agency. Tell her the truth.”

  Sighing, I shook my head. “My father lied to you, Mother.”

  Her blue eyes turned my way. “No, because after, it was when...” She turned back to the window. “Something had gone south again with McCrie. Just like around the time of her birth, both families were again at odds.”

  I leaned back against my desk, watching my mother’s reflection in the glass window, the way her lips tensed and brow furrowed.

  “It was when McCrie...” She bit her painted lip and shook her head. “...I know what was declared publicly, but it was a hit. I always wondered if it had to do with the information about the infant.” Her head shook. “But your father swore it wasn’t from the Sparrows. He even met with Rubio to confirm that it wasn’t Sparrows.

  “Don’t you understand? If he hadn’t, there would have been a war like Chicago had never seen. But it didn’t make sense. If it wasn’t from the Sparrows, it implied that Rubio had authorized the gruesome death of his own brother-in-law. It was a dangerous time. Finally, the conclusion was made that the hit was a family from Philly or New York capitalizing on our infighting.

  “Like we just did, we ladies came together and made a plea for peace before it was too late.”

  I stood and walked closer. “Does Annabelle know what you just told me? Does she know that my father authorized the exhumation of a body, one she believed to be her child?”

  My mother shook her head. “No. The exhumation wasn’t confirmed. The church where that girl is buried is in a small town in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. A few months later, Annabelle was contacted by someone telling her that they believed there might have been tampering—they blamed it on kids’ pranks. The church told her that the ground had been dug. They didn’t know if the casket had been reached or not. You see, it happened in the dead of winter. It wasn’t reported to Annabelle until after the snow melted, nearly three months after Daniel’s death. Annabelle didn’t pursue it.”

  “So you’re saying, she never got that information.”

  “Heavens, no. DNA results are hardly the conversation topic for social events. Pauline, Martha, Ruth, and I were the ones to know the truth.”

  My phone buzzed. On the screen: PATRICK.

  I swiped the screen.

  * * *

  “SHE’S STILL INSIDE. I DON’T HEAR ANYTHING.”

  * * *

  What the fuck?

  * * *

  I texted back:

  * * *

  “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET HER OUT OF YOUR SIGHT.”

  * * *

  “Sterling,” my mother asked, “is everything all right?”

  My gaze narrowed. “No, everything is not all right. We’re done. Allister lied to you. Araneae is who I say she is. I have the proof.”

  * * *

  Next, I sent Araneae a text.

  * * *

  “YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET TO PATRICK OR YOUR ASS IS MINE.”

  * * *

  Fucking follow one damn direction. Once.

  Araneae wasn’t the only one who would hear about this.

  Why the hell would Patrick let her out of his sight?

  Araneae

  STERLING was on my screen, indicating a text message. I looked back up to Agent Hunter and then to Winnie.

  “Winnie, we need to leave.” I laid my hand on her shoulder. “Please come with me.”

  “I-I...do you still want me?”

  “We need to discuss it privately.”

  “Ms. Hawkins,” Agent Hunter said, “this offer expires when you step across this threshold.”

  I stood taller. “It can expire immediately. I have no information. I’ll admit—off the record—that I was told about an old wives’ tale stating that I did have something, but you must understand, I was an infant. How would an infant obtain and retain information from before her birth?”

  “Were you told what that information involved?”

  “I wasn’t given specifics.”

  He reached for the folder that had Sterling’s picture. “I can show you specifics.”

  I lifted my hand. “I’m leaving
.”

  “It might not be as easy to dismiss my offer or willingly walk back into the clutches of Sterling Sparrow if you took a minute to see the victims. We’re not discussing a victimless crime here. These were and are children.”

  Are... it made my stomach turn, yet Sterling had promised that he was no longer involved.

  Why should he pay for what his father did?

  My mind went to Jana and Missy, the sister of Sterling’s friend. I doubted Jana was the only victim he’d helped. There were so many people loyal to him. Could there be others whom he’d saved?

  I shook my head. “The Sterling Sparrow I know is in real estate. I refuse to let you poison my mind otherwise.” I took a breath. “Your infiltration of this supposed underworld, Agent Hunter? Were you or were you not posing as Andrew Walsh?”

  “I can’t discuss—”

  “You brought it up. Who was it that you worked for in this infiltration?”

  “I’ve always worked for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  I shook my head. “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

  “Ms. Hawkins.”

  “Are you insinuating you worked for Mr. Sparrow,” I asked, “the real estate mogul? If that wasn’t the case, then why would I need to be saved by you in Wichita?”

  “No, ma’am, I wasn’t working for a real estate mogul. Why try to save you? Your identity had been made public. It was meant to be a preventative measure, to help you before things got out of control.”

  “I’m having trouble following. If you hadn’t been working for Mr. Sparrow, why are you pursuing him? Wouldn’t or shouldn’t you have enough evidence to bring down whomever it was who ultimately ran whatever outfit you worked for?”

  “As I said, I can’t discuss—”

  I tilted my head. “In Wichita, did you mean to save me or enlist my help as you’ve offered today?”

  “You don’t understand,” Agent Hunter said.

  “No, I don’t. How much time did you say you were undercover?” I answered my own question. “Two and a half years? And still you don’t have what you need. Perhaps what you seek doesn’t exist.”

  “Without particulars,” he said, “let me simply say that power operates inside a vacuum. It works the same with crime, government, and any other institutions where power rules supreme. If one powerful entity is taken out, removed from the situation—or city—then the remaining powerful force, by the elimination of the counterforce, gains ultimate power.”

  My chin rose. “You’re saying that you want everyone gone?”

  “In a perfect world.”

  One of my cheeks rose. “Good luck on that perfect world, Agent Hunter. I suppose optimism is a positive attitude.”

  “Heartbreaking really. Too often we see what is right...” He lifted his hand and closed his fingers around his outstretched palm. “...in front of us. It’s right there, within reach, and yet even when it’s presented on a silver platter, it isn’t seized. Optimism would believe that when a good person, such as yourself, is given the chance to do what is right—save children and lessen this city of crime—that you would willingly oblige.”

  “I believe we’re done,” I said.

  Winnie stood as I started toward the door. As I passed, Agent Hunter reached for my upper arm.

  Fire burned from my gaze as I stared from his grasp to his eyes. “Let go of me.”

  “You didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, his grip still secured. “You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of what was thrust upon you as an infant. Life isn’t fair. We’re giving you the safest option with the bonus of helping others, not only strangers but your closest friends.”

  “I suggest you let go of me...” I tugged my arm away. “...and never consider touching me again. If I scream, I promise you’ll regret it.”

  Though his grip was gone, his blue eyes begged for me to listen. “Don’t tell him.”

  “Why? Why wouldn’t I tell him that I was ambushed, that Winnie was lied to? Why wouldn’t I be honest with him?”

  “Because he hasn’t been honest with you.”

  You don’t know that. He’s been brutally honest. He’s told me more than anyone. He’d even told me about the exploitation and trafficking. His father may have been involved, but Sterling wasn’t.

  I couldn’t and didn’t say any of that, yet my heart did.

  Sterling had trusted me with not only my secrets but his. I had no plans on breaking that trust. I turned toward the door again. “Winnie, we’re going.”

  Agent Hunter shook his head as he moved in front of me, his volume lowering. “Listen, I want to help you. If you tell him about this, your one avenue of escape is gone. Winifred has my number.”

  “You said that your offer expired.”

  “I won’t leave you without an option.”

  “I don’t need an option,” I replied.

  “You might soon. It would be a shame to not have one,” Agent Hunter said as he stepped into the bathroom, closing the door.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door to the hallway inward. Patrick materialized, his hand at his side, beneath his suit coat. It didn’t take a genius to know what he was packing under there.

  “We’re ready to go,” I said, looking him in the eye.

  “Ma’am,” he said, his gaze searching what he could see of the hotel room.

  It wasn’t until we were back in the car and my phone buzzed that I recalled I had a message from Sterling.

  Two text messages. The most recent was from Patrick.

  I read his first.

  * * *

  “NOT IN FRONT OF WINNIE. TELL ME WHO ELSE WAS IN THAT ROOM.”

  * * *

  I allowed my eyes to close in an extra-long blink before my gaze met his in the rearview mirror. As we stared, I searched for my answer to his question.

  What should I do? Should I trust a man I barely knew who claimed he could help me or the man I’d become very accustomed to who had already shed more light on my life than anyone else?

  Instead of answering, I looked down, opening Sterling’s text message.

  * * *

  “YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET TO PATRICK OR YOUR ASS IS MINE.”

  * * *

  Warmth filled my cheeks until the sentiment changed to betrayal. I looked up. “You told him I went in there alone?”

  Patrick’s wide shoulders moved with his exhale as we emerged from the depths of the parking garage into Chicago late-morning traffic. “You were gone longer than I expected.”

  “It’s my fault,” Winnie volunteered, her eyes still glassy though her speech was clearer. “I thought she wouldn’t want me back at Sinful Threads. Kennedy was trying to convince me.”

  I took a deep breath, wondering what to do and say to Winnie. What had Agent Hunter told her? I peered at the woman at my side and reached over to her hand. Giving it a squeeze, I smiled reassuringly. “You asked me if I wanted you to stay at Sinful Threads. My question to you is do you want to?”

  “You and Louisa have...” Her head shook. “Being your assistant has been the best job—no, career move—of my life. Each day you’ve allowed the responsibilities to grow. Working for you has given me opportunities I never could have imagined, and watching the success...I am sorry for what happened.”

  My eyes went to the rearview mirror as I inhaled. “We can talk more about that at the office. Are you telling me that you’d like to continue?”

  She bobbed her head. “Very much.”

  How was I going to tell Louisa what happened?

  What about the insinuation that Sinful Threads was involved with illegal activities?

  That couldn’t be true. I knew who I needed to trust.

  I pulled my phone from my purse and sent a text.

  * * *

  “WE NEED TO TALK.”

  Sterling

  “Sterling, please...”

  It was the last thing I heard my mother say as I stepped from my office, leaving her alone, and made m
y way to conference room four. My mind spun in a hundred different directions. As I reached for the handle, my phone in my pocket buzzed with PATRICK on the screen.

  * * *

  “I HAVE THEM BOTH. WE’RE HEADED TO SINFUL THREADS.”

  * * *

  Thank God.

  My fingers itched to text Araneae, to warn her what was coming the next time we were alone. Clenching my jaw, my cyclone of thoughts whirled with theories and concerns of what Winnie and Araneae discussed while they’d been alone in that hotel room.

  “Do not leave Patrick’s sight,” was what I’d told her more than once.

  Was it too fucking hard for her to just once follow my instructions?

  And then my gaze moved to the window. Judge Landers must have seen me outside the doorway. Her steps had stilled, and her eyes were opened wide as she waited for me to enter.

  It wasn’t that I saw her often. I didn’t. Nevertheless, since the night at the club she’d lost weight. Her pale skin seemed to hang from her bones, making her appear frail, not the picture of a distinguished federal judge.

  “This is for Araneae,” I told myself as I placed my phone back in my pocket and opened the door.

  “Judge Landers,” I said, taking charge of this conversation, “this is highly unusual. It’s customary to contact my assistant to arrange a meeting, not my mother.”

  Her head nodded as her noticeably shaky hands reached for the back of one of the padded chairs surrounding the table. “Mr. Sparrow, I apologize for the irregular approach. The truth is that I was afraid you wouldn’t agree to see me if I took the normal channels.”