Dawn Page 21

  “How I did what?” Mason asked.

  “How you regained your past. Morehead knows that you did, and I believe that is the true motivation behind her obsession. She wants to remember.”

  “I researched Jettison with his DNA,” I said. “Couldn’t Morehead do the same with her own?”

  “Yes, Mr. Murray. What did you learn?”

  “Jettison was a member of TACP, tactical air control party specialist, with a long list of commendations.”

  Walters nodded. “What else?”

  “He was married and upon his death he left behind parents, siblings, and a child he probably never knew existed, born roughly nine months after his last leave and six months after his death.” I shrugged. “His wife may not have even known she was pregnant until after she received word of his death.”

  “Everyone has a past, son,” Walters said. “It’s one thing to read about it, like a history lesson. It’s another to recall it.” Walters addressed Mason, “If we’d told you, Pierce, that you had a mother and sister, how would that have made you feel?”

  “With all due respect, Top, neither you nor the Order,” Mason said, “gave a shit about what I felt or how any of the operatives feel.”

  “That’s true. Why?”

  Mason’s feet were spread, his back and neck straight, and his hands holding each other behind his back. Without the expensive suit, cowboy boots, and long hair it was easy to see he was a soldier in his very blood, in a way the rest of us never were. “Because those emotions would interfere with the current mission or the next one.”

  “Exactly. Morehead doesn’t want a biography; she wants to remember. She wants memories. She wants what others take for granted, to hear a song and recall a dance or a feeling. She craves the small things that don’t come about in a report: the first time she was kissed, if and when she was in love. She wants to recall even insignificant particulars that she may never have shared with another soul.”

  “How do you know this?” Sparrow asked.

  “I don’t,” Walters said. “I have no concrete proof. I have over fifty years of service, including watching and manipulating the lives of others. There were clues in Lawson’s ranting, but the conclusion is mine.”

  “Why are you willing to work with us even after that news story?” Sparrow asked.

  Walters lifted his hands before bending down to retrieve a briefcase. “Do not fear. Your men thoroughly checked the contents prior to allowing me entry.” He pulled out a plain manila envelope and handed it to me. “Mr. Murray.”

  Everyone watched as I bent the small clip and opened the flap. Tilting the envelope, a picture fell into my hand. It was a simple snapshot. The colors had faded over time. As I stared, my heart beat faster and a lump the size of my fist formed within my throat. It had been a long time since I’d seen his picture, yet I had no doubt that the smiling man beside a younger Edison Walters was, in fact, my father, Rendell Murray. I looked up at the man across the room. “Thank you.”

  “Pierce,” Walters said, “emotions don’t work in war and we’re constantly in a war. Once you had those back along with your past, you were no longer a resource the Order could control. It’s the medication that works to create our finest team. They are focused and loyal.”

  “Most of them,” I wanted to say but didn’t.

  Walters tilted his chin toward me and the picture. “But there was a time I had them, a time when entering the Order was a decision based solely on patriotism. With each loss of a good man or woman, a good friend, it doesn’t require a pharmaceutical to relieve a person of emotion or memories; it’s a conscious choice. In my opinion, it’s better not to have the memories or the emotions.” Walters took a breath and looked at Sparrow. “It’s my theory that Morehead wants that pain of remembering. As I said, I believe she’s a hell of a lot better off without it, but that isn’t why I’m willing to help. I’m willing to offer you what I can because Jettison and Morehead are deserters. In hindsight, I should have authorized Morehead’s death after the fire. I didn’t. I made a mistake and I want to rectify that.” He smiled at me. “And she made a mistake I can’t overlook.”

  “What was that, sir?” I asked.

  “She went after Rendell’s daughter-in-law. That is unacceptable.”

  Lorna

  “He’s beautiful,” I said, staring down at the small baby boy in my arms. It was difficult not to pry his little fingers open and marvel at his small hands and count his fingers and his toes. I was certain I wasn’t the only one who had done it; I knew the answer was five fingers on each hand, five toes on each tiny foot, yet I couldn’t stop myself.

  “We think so,” Madeline said, sitting on the other sofa with her daughter at her side. Their similarity was striking as Ruby leaned into her mom. Both of their dark hair was piled on their heads in messy buns. Even after giving birth, Madeline could be mistaken for Ruby’s sister instead of her mother. Their only glaring difference was their eyes. Ruby’s were from Patrick and based on what I knew of Madeline’s biological father, hers must have come from her mother. As they sat, they were in constant contact, one placing her hand on the other or tipping her head to the other’s shoulder. I would suppose after what happened at the hospital, they both needed and wanted the connection their close proximity provided.

  “Don’t you just want to hold him all the time?” I asked.

  Madeline grinned, her green eyes shining. “I do.” She reached out to Ruby’s knee. “When Ruby was born, she was so small that I could hold her for only a few minutes at a time. I spent two weeks sitting outside her small bassinet, watching her every move. I’d reach in and let her hold my finger. To have Edward be bigger, I have to remind myself to share him with the rest of his family.”

  Edward’s small fingers closed around one of mine as she had described. Smiling, I looked up. “He has a grip like his sister.”

  Ruby beamed.

  “How is Dad doing?” I asked.

  “He’s downstairs working in the command center while everyone is at some important meeting.” Madeline sighed. “When it comes to Edward, Patrick’s a natural.”

  “He hasn’t changed a diaper yet,” Ruby announced.

  Madeline patted her daughter’s knee. “He has. You forget time passes when you’re asleep.”

  I imagined Patrick helping in the middle of the night. “You know, these men work all hours. Maybe it was all training for three a.m. diaper changes and feeding.”

  “I appreciate that Patrick doesn’t want to leave the tower. It makes me feel...” Madeline sighed.

  “Safer,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Believe me, I get it. I’m so accustomed to Reid being near, even when things are tense.” The baby in my arms stretched, his little arms moving above his head as his legs straightened, and still he slept. I couldn’t stop a chuckle. “Obviously, Edward isn’t concerned about the newest Sparrow fire.”

  A cloud passed over Madeline’s green eyes.

  “Are you all right?”

  She patted Ruby’s knee again. “Could you go make me a cup of coffee?”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me. You know the kitchen is right over there.”

  “Maybe you could make it in the penthouse?”

  After kissing her mother’s cheek, Ruby pulled a pair of earbuds from her pocket. “Talk, pretend I’m not here.”

  “I really would like that coffee,” Madeline replied.

  As Ruby walked away, Madeline met my gaze. “Edward will though, one day. I mean, I know that. Is it ridiculous that as a mom I’m scared for what my four-day-old son will become, the decisions he’ll face, the choices he’ll have?”

  It was difficult to look at the innocent little baby and imagine that one day he could be a Sparrow in the dangerous sense of the name.

  “You know, there are other options. Maybe he could work at his uncle’s real estate company.”

  Madeline nodded. “You’re right.”

  As Ruby returned with a mug of coffee, her h
ead bobbed to whatever tune was playing within her ears. Setting the mug on the table, she plucked an earbud from one ear. “Is it safe? Are you done talking about Edward’s future in the Sparrow mob?”

  “It’s not a mob,” I replied.

  “Oh, okay,” Ruby said with a grin.

  It was clear this teenager was too knowledgeable for her own good. “What are your thoughts, big sister?”

  “I think I’ll teach him Russian to broaden his prospects.”

  “Ya lyublyu tabya,” Madeline replied. Looking at me, she added, “Bilingual isn’t a bad thing.”

  I peered down at Edward. “You know what, Edward Kelly, you have a world full of prospects, and I’m certain that no matter what you choose, your dad, your mom, your sister, your aunt, your uncle, and everyone here in this tower will be there to cheer you on.”

  After all we’d been through, sitting in Madeline and Patrick’s apartment with Edward in my arms and Madeline and Ruby right next to one another felt like a dream. Staring down at his little sleeping face with the fine dark peach fuzz on his head, I knew that we would all be all right. We’d have our hurdles to jump and times when we were tested, but we, the Sparrow family, would survive.

  For only a moment, I thought back to the day Mason brought me to this tower. Tears prickled my eyes as I recalled how insecure I’d been, how scary Sparrow seemed to me. If I’d been asked after we were told Mason died if I’d be here nearly a decade later, I would have laughed or maybe I would have cried. Looking up at the bond Madeline and Ruby shared, it was almost impossible to deny the fact that despite our last names or the blood in our veins, we were family.

  I looked back at Madeline. “So, has Uncle Sterling held Edward?”

  Ruby giggled. “He did.”

  “Really?”

  “Araneae,” Madeline said, “may have encouraged it, but he did it without arguing.”

  If I knew Sparrow and Araneae’s relationship as well as I believed I did, the arguing occurred upstairs before they came for the visit. And if that’s the case, it was pretty clear that the king had not won. Then again, maybe he was willing from the beginning. After all, he needs the practice.

  “He didn’t want to give him up,” Ruby said. “I think it’s funny to watch all these big men melt when they hold a baby.”

  She’d summed it up. Our world was changing for the better. Our family had grown and was growing.

  “You won’t believe who called to congratulate us,” Madeline said, reaching for the mug of coffee.

  My eyebrows rose as I considered the possibilities. “Someone from Detroit?”

  She shook her head. “Mrs. Sparrow.”

  “Oh, I’m assuming you don’t mean Araneae.”

  Madeline’s lips formed a straight line and cheeks rose as she suppressed the grin. “You would be right. After I got over my shock, I decided it was a move in the right direction.”

  “The best direction to go.”

  Ruby had her phone in her grasp when her countenance changed. “Oh shit.”

  “Ruby,” her mother scolded.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “There’s a breaking article that says the FBI is raiding Sparrow Enterprises.”

  “What?” we both replied.

  “It says that they’re following up on an anonymous tip regarding tax evasion.” Concern showed in her blue eyes. “What does that mean? Will Uncle Sterling go to jail?”

  “It means nothing,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. “Your uncle prides himself on his abilities to outdo his father. I will put money on the fact that Sparrow Enterprises is as squeaky clean as it could possibly be. Sparrow Enterprises and the Sparrow Institute are completely legitimate. The FBI can look, but they won’t find anything.”

  Ruby was back looking at her phone. “Yeah, it says here that via his personal assistant, Mr. Sterling Sparrow has issued a statement denying any wrongdoing and welcomes the FBI’s efforts to thwart this attempt to delegitimize his name and company.”

  “Don’t worry, Edward,” I said, looking again at the beautiful boy in my arms. “Everything will be waiting for you one day. In the meantime, rest, eat, and grow.”

  “You forgot poop,” Ruby added.

  “That’s what babies do.”

  The phone in my back pocket vibrated. Holding Edward against me, I reached for it and swiped the screen. It was a text from Reid. After reading it, I looked at the women on the other sofa. “Reid said their meeting went well, and they’re on their way home.”

  “Did he mention the news article?”

  My nose wrinkled. “He didn’t, but if the media has a statement from Sparrow, I’d assume they’re aware. Let’s take one victory at a time.” I looked down and up. “No, we have more than one victory. We have all of us here. You, Ruby, are safe. This little guy is healthy, and so are you, Madeline, and the men had a good meeting. We have a lot of victories.”

  Reid

  “Where’s Sparrow?” Patrick asked as Mason and I entered the command center.

  Mason shook his head as he peeled away his suit coat and hung it on the hooks. His tie was already MIA. I believed he’d placed it in the pocket of his suit jacket as soon as we boarded the plane. Looking up, he replied to Patrick, “At Sparrow Enterprises.”

  “He has nothing to worry about,” Patrick stated calmly. Or maybe the adverb was tiredly, the jury was out. “Sparrow Enterprises’ books are clean. Sparrow is obsessive and has a team dedicated to this kind of shit. I just finished taking a broad overview at the last seven years and like I said, nothing sends a red flag. This is just another jab. In theory, these probes and raids aren’t unexpected; it just seems like right now we’re getting fucked from all directions.”

  “It’s her,” Mason said, walking closer to the computers. “Top confirmed Stephanie Moore, a.k.a. Morehead, didn’t die. Lorna remembered a blonde with a burnt hand in the bunker.” He tipped his head back as he entwined his fingers at the nape of his neck and stretched. “Oh shit.” He looked at me. “Didn’t Zella say something about a blonde woman wearing gloves?”

  “That’s what Araneae said too,” Patrick added. “She recalled a petite blonde who seemed in charge. Araneae said it was weird that she wore a glove. Only one, you know, like Michael Jackson without the dancing.”

  Mason went to his workstation and began typing. It took a minute or two for him to jump through the needed hoops, blast past the firewalls, avoid a few snares, and land himself within the dark web. Once he was there, he accessed the message Walters sent after our meeting.

  “What’s with the five million?” Patrick asked.

  I nodded. “If you’re talking about the donation to Senator Jackson, the answer is it was a promise to fulfill for today’s meeting.”

  “Sounds like a bribe.”

  “Since it is earmarked for Jackson’s environmental PAC, it can be justified. Sparrow is on record as a supporter of the mission statement.”

  “I hope it’s worth it,” Patrick said.

  Mason leaned against the back of his chair, his eyes wide as he stared at his screen. “Fuck. He’s handing them to us on a silver platter.”

  “Are you looking at Walters’s message?” I asked as confirmation.

  “Fuck yes. Top has logged her location over the last forty-five days. Shit, it goes back further than that. She and Jettison were in DC. Theoretically, she’s poking the Order’s wasp nest too.”

  “If he can come up with that data, why didn’t the Order take them out?” Patrick stood and reached for the back of his chair. “Tell me again, why do we trust him?”

  My thoughts went to the picture in my suit coat pocket. “I don’t know him like Mason does,” I said. “You’re right. Walters is either for real or he’s setting us up.”

  “There’s no reason for him to set me up,” Mason said. “I didn’t defect from or betray the Order. I left with his blessing.”

  “Unless,” I said, “you consider the part where he said you becam
e no longer useful.”

  “I could be fucking useful.”

  Patrick and I both nodded. We’d seen him in action. However, what Walters had said made sense. To live the life of an agent or operative for the Order or even to have lived Kader’s life required the ability to block away emotions, to see people as either targets or assets, and to carry out a job or an order without question or reservation. A split second of regret could mean losing your nerve or being killed.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. I turned to Patrick. “Have you listened to the audible of our meeting?”

  “Yeah, Romero sent it as soon as Walters left.”

  “Okay, I’ve been thinking about what Walters said, and in my mind, I’ve been dividing the world up into targets and assets. Right now, Stephanie Morehead and Andrew Jettison believe the Sparrow world is a target. And yet they haven’t taken a fucking A-bomb and wiped us off the map. Instead, they’ve picked and picked. Right now, Sparrow is on Michigan Avenue overseeing his own FBI raid.” I began to walk as I talked. “Stephanie could have killed Araneae and Lorna.” I turned to the other men. “Why didn’t she?”

  “She didn’t want them. She wants Laurel, just like we thought,” Mason said.

  “But not for her formula.”

  “From the recording,” Patrick began, “if Walters is right, Morehead wanted Laurel dead before you brought her here, long before you married.”

  “She hired me to do it,” Mason admitted. “I didn’t know it was Morehead. Those jobs didn’t come with a calling card.”

  “And when you didn’t do it,” Patrick went on, “Morehead went to your ranch to do it herself.”

  “You saved Laurel again,” I said.

  “The Sparrows helped,” Mason replied.

  I kept going, “And Stephanie has a grudge.”

  Mason inhaled, his nostrils flaring. “She fucking killed Jackson.”