Dawn Page 26

  Mason’s green stare met my dark one. We didn’t have time to argue. All we could do was what had been our job ever since basic training—clear the way and protect the king. Of course, Sparrow wasn’t a king back then. If you’d have asked Mason back then, he’d have said Sparrow was a spoiled rich kid from Lincoln Park.

  That was a long time ago.

  The three of us moved in unison as Jettison crested the grand staircase. His gun was poised as were ours. Shooting him would alert the people below and minimize our opportunity. Hell, we had no way of knowing if Morehead had found the elevator.

  Instead of heading our direction, Jettison went down the hallway toward the master bedroom suite and nursery. Rage radiated from the man behind me. I didn’t blame him. His castle was under attack.

  Sparrow looked down and pointed to our shoes. Mason and I were both wearing boots. He had his prissy Italian loafers. Without words he was saying he could sneak up on Jettison better. Mason shook his head, but that didn’t stop Sparrow. With the two of us now in the rear, we followed, ready to shoot.

  As we turned into the second hallway, we saw the door to the master bedroom was ajar. As silently as possible we approached. From the doorway we saw the back of Jettison as he pulled open a drawer in Araneae’s closet containing her jewelry.

  Seriously? Petty theft?

  The marble tile of the hallway gave way to lush carpeting in the bedroom. Without waiting, Mason went forward. The butt of his gun came down hard on the back of Jettison’s head.

  With a thud not much unlike the sound of a cracked egg, Jettison collapsed. I lifted my gun as my wife’s bruised face appeared in my memory.

  “No,” Mason said, reaching for my hand. “You can do it.” He pushed my hand and gun lower. “Not in Araneae’s closet. And one bullet will take him out of his misery. I’m going to tie him up.” He looked behind me. “Sparrow, get me belts or something to bind him.”

  My hands shook. “I fucking need to kill him.”

  “You can. You will. I told you once if you want to fuck with him, give him those memories if for only ten seconds, then you can blow his brains out.”

  When Sparrow appeared, he had multiple lengths of satin-covered ropes and scarves. He smirked. “Shut the fuck up. They work. Tie him up.”

  A ridiculous and inappropriate desire to giggle threatened as Mason and I went to work tying and gagging Jettison with supplies less like those used by our capos and more like those used with a four-poster bed—oh, shit that’s right, Sparrow had that too.

  When we were done and had taken all of Jettison’s weapons, Mason patted Sparrow on the shoulder. “I suggest you buy a new stock.”

  Sparrow shook his head, his attention on the unconscious man in his wife’s closet.

  I switched on the two-way direct function again. “Tell us what’s happening, Patrick.”

  “Morehead is in the elevator. She’s stopped at the apartments.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Still on the first floor. One is nearing the office; the other is in the front den.”

  In a V formation, we descended the staircase. Mason and Sparrow went right toward the office while I went left. It would be more exciting to describe a Western-style shoot-out, but that isn’t what happened. We knew the terrain. Years ago, it was a village in a desert. Today it was our home.

  My man, the one in the front den, fell as my bullet hit him between the eyes. Seconds before he hit the floor, I recognized him as the man with the flowers at the hospital.

  All in all, it was rather anticlimactic.

  I heard a second shot.

  After taking my man’s gun and ensuring lack of a pulse, I headed toward the office. Their man was also down, his brain matter splattered on the tall windows overlooking the city of Chicago with some upon Araneae’s glass desk.

  “We’ll need a cleanup crew,” Sparrow said.

  “Patrick?” I asked, speaking into my phone.

  “She’s in your apartment, Reid.”

  “That was where we’d broadcast the signal from.”

  “Can we take the elevator?” I asked.

  “Hurry,” Patrick replied.

  Reid

  “Wrong apartment, Ms. Moore,” Mason said, his gun extended.

  Morehead turned with her gun also pointing our way. “I could shoot you right now and your wife is next. Or maybe I’ll let you watch her die.”

  A shot rang out from behind me, hitting Morehead’s hand as her gun fell to the ground.

  “Fuck,” she screamed, reaching for her injured hand with her gloved one.

  Sparrow stepped forward. “Let me introduce myself. I was told you didn’t give a fuck who I am. That’s what you told my wife.” He pointed his gun at her forehead. “I’m Sterling Sparrow. You kidnapped my wife, and your crew is gone.”

  Morehead laughed. “You won’t be rid of me anytime soon. You can go ahead and shoot, but I promise you’ll remember me as you’re sitting in prison, Mr. Sparrow.”

  Later that night on 1, in two separate conference rooms, we learned more of the plan. It wasn’t from Morehead. She was well trained and too fucking gone on her own power. Sparrow was the one to pull the final trigger. After what had happened to Araneae, he wanted that.

  Patrick and I had other plans for Jettison.

  When we entered the conference room where he was secured, I set down my laptop and started with a story, one about a soldier, a member of the TACP, and a married man.

  The marriage was where I got his attention.

  And then I began the slideshow, pictures of a beautiful bride, parents, and siblings.

  He stayed quiet until I brought up pictures of a little five-and-a-half-year-old boy with jet-black hair.

  “No,” he repeated, closing his eyes as if it could make my pictures disappear.

  “Talk to us, Jettison,” Mason said, “or we’re going to keep you here and bring in that boy.” Mason turned to me. “Should we let the kid watch his father die or would it be more appropriate to let Jettison watch his son die?”

  I admitted defeat when it came to the tactics Mason displayed without hesitation. That didn’t mean I couldn’t stomach them. I believed that whatever my brother-in-law was capable of years ago, he wouldn’t do what he was saying. Nevertheless, Mason had done his own homework. Slipping a flash drive into my laptop, he brought up a video of one of our men ringing his widowed wife’s door. A little boy ran up behind her, holding onto her legs.

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Jettison said, “and when I’m done, kill me. I want this to end.”

  It was almost too easy of an ending for him, but when the time came, Mason stepped back. “He’s yours.” Mason looked at me and Patrick.

  Sparrow had his arms crossed over his chest, watching.

  Patrick was the first to come forward. “Your son, how would you like me to put him in a body bag before I delivered him to your widow?”

  Jettison’s dark eyes looked up at Patrick. “I didn’t...”

  Patrick’s fist connected with Jettison’s jaw.

  Long ago, this had stopped being only business. Morehead and Jettison had made it personal, taking my wife and Sparrow’s wife, threatening Mason’s wife, and taking Patrick’s daughter.

  “No one fucking touches my daughter,” Patrick said as blood dripped from Jettison’s lip.

  It was only the beginning as he stepped back, allowing me to take his place. Using my fist, I hit Jettison’s jaw, once, twice, and a third time. Blood oozed from his nose and lip, yet he didn’t speak. I hit him again. Each time I envisioned Lorna’s injuries and her road to recovery.

  “Fucking use the gun,” Jettison finally pleaded.

  “I want you to know who the fuck I am.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “And my wife?” I asked.

  “The redhead.”

  I lifted the gun to his temple. “She fucking fought you off, you piece of shit.”

  His eyes raged. There w
as something he wanted to say. Not that anything could have stopped what was coming.

  “This is for her.” I pulled the trigger.

  There weren’t words to describe the sense of relief.

  A weight lifting.

  That was how it was often described.

  However, as Jettison’s body twitched in the chair where he was tied with black satin bindings and blood dripped from the brain matter splatter on the plastic sheet attached to the wall, I would say the feeling was different.

  It was like walking into the fucking early morning sunshine after a long dark night. It was raising your face to the sky and feeling the warmth on your skin.

  It was the dawn of a new day.

  Of course, this ordeal wasn’t fully over. It would take time to find all the traps and snares Morehead had laid for Sparrow and Sparrow Enterprises. Jettison had given up what he knew and given us a good idea what to look for. His kid would be fine, but Jettison didn’t die with that reassurance.

  “They landed at the private airport near South Padre,” Sparrow said, stepping forward.

  “I don’t know about you,” I said with a sigh, laying my gun on the nearby table, “but a beach sounds fucking nice.”

  Lorna

  A few weeks later

  The SUV pulled up in front of the Four Seasons Hotel on Delaware Place in downtown Chicago. I turned to my handsome husband. “Is this a romantic getaway?”

  Reid shook his head. “Not quite. It’s a meeting, but after that, we’ll see what happens. I still have more ravaging left to do.”

  My smile bloomed as I recalled our few days down in the sunshine of South Padre Island, more accurately the nights. The entire resort was reinforced as only a Russian bratva could do. The suite the two of us used had a balcony that overlooked the Gulf. At night we’d leave the glass doors open and listen to the surf as we reveled in the knowledge that we were safe and together. We found comfort and solace in one another. While we were nearing our ten-year anniversary, the recent events reminded us that each day and each night is precious. Our time together wasn’t guaranteed, and it was up to us to live and love to the fullest.

  In each other’s arms we found pleasure, reassurance, and the love that had been with us since the night we first met. Obstacles had tried to deter our connection and yet we were together. With the surf crashing on the shore, the ravaging began.

  To this day, not one of the men had given away the details about what exactly happened in Chicago. We knew the basics: our castle had been infiltrated. We also knew that each and every one of our men promised it wouldn’t happen again. The precautions from now going forward would be greater, the guards readier, and the locks stronger. The invisibility cloak Araneae joked about would be denser. Our tower would forever forward remain our safe haven.

  Their next promise was the one we all clung tightly to. They promised the threat we’d faced was eliminated, never to be faced again.

  I wasn’t certain if my pleasure at hearing that people had died made me a bad person or not. Nevertheless, as we all gathered on the beachfront, I was happy. I was pleased that the promises that had been made to me over the last decade had come true, not only for me but for all of us. We were safe. Our men were safe, and our children.

  Edward was growing more every day, Ruby had returned to her school in Michigan until the approaching holiday break, and our newest addition was only six weeks away. Araneae and Sparrow’s baby would arrive next, and after theirs, in approximately seven and a half months, Reid’s and my child would join us. The doctor confirmed my pregnancy not long after we returned to Chicago.

  “You don’t mind being ravaged, do you, Mrs. Murray?”

  “Not as long as it’s by you.” Romero opened the back door, allowing Chicago’s cool, crisp breeze to infiltrate the warmth within the interior. “What is this meeting about and why am I here?”

  Reid offered me his hand. “You were specifically invited.”

  For only a moment, I stared at the incredibly handsome man waiting for me. Nearly a decade before he was my Prince Charming. Seeing him now, the love and desire in his brown eyes and the tenderness in his touch, it filled me with love knowing that tonight and always he’d remain my happily ever after.

  I placed my hand in his.

  Tonight we were both dressed to impress. I knew I was impressed by him, and from what he’d whispered off and on in my ear, I believed the feeling was mutual. In a black suit, red shirt and black tie, my husband radiated power and influence.

  Not to be totally outdone, under my long wool coat, I wore a black mid-length Sinful Threads original dress with a red sash and tall black shoes that were supposed to say Fuck me. As I stepped from the SUV, I hoped they would send their message before I tripped and fell.

  My hand went to Reid’s elbow as we entered the posh foyer. Reid led me past the front desk. “I thought we were getting a room?”

  “We already have that. First, our meeting.”

  Others smiled and some stared as Reid escorted me to the elevators. I couldn’t blame them; we were an incredibly handsome couple.

  “Our meeting is private,” he said as we entered the elevator.

  My curiosity grew as we rode upward, higher and higher. When the elevator stopped, my husband led me past a few double doors. Finally, we came to a stop by the one with Presidential Suite embossed on the plate beside the doors.

  As Reid lifted his hand to knock, the door opened inward.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, but a well-dressed older gentleman wasn’t it. The man greeting us reminded me of a black Alfred Pennyworth. Perhaps my husband was planning to take on a side job as the new black Batman.

  “Son, it’s good to see you.” Creases surrounded the man’s eyes as he smiled at me. “Mrs. Murray, it is a pleasure.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man gestured inside. “Please come in.” He spoke to Reid. “I’m sure you know that your men have verified that everything is as it should be.”

  Once inside, the man bowed. “Mrs. Murray, my name is Edison Walters. May I take your coat?”

  As Reid helped me with my topcoat, I searched my memories, certain I’d never heard the name Edison Walters before.

  Folding my coat, Mr. Walters laid it across a chair and led us farther into the suite. Beyond the tall windows framed with heavy draperies was the city of Chicago all lit up for the upcoming holidays.

  “Your husband and I recently became acquainted.” Walters tilted his head toward the sofa and chairs. “Would you please have a seat and be so kind as to indulge this old man a story.”

  I had no idea what I was about to hear. There was no way I could.

  Reid reached for my hand as we sat.

  Mr. Walters took a seat opposite us. “As I said, I’m old.” When I started to comment, he waved my words away. “Please, Mrs. Murray, I want to be as candid as I possibly am able. Let’s get the obvious out of the way. I’m an old man.”

  I smiled. “I like you.”

  “Well, that’s good. I think I could like you too. You see, I was a bit shocked when I met your husband. It had been over thirty years since I’d heard of him.”

  It didn’t take a math genius to know that time frame would have been when Reid was six years old or younger. “How had you heard of him back then?”

  “Well, that’s what I came to Chicago to talk to the two of you about. Without compromising what I cannot, I hoped I could share what is possible.” When neither of us spoke, he went on, “I wanted you both to know that I had the unique pleasure of having a very good friend. We’d met early in our military careers. It wasn’t until things began to change in the world around us and I found myself working for an organization that had the potential to be a significant positive influence to the world to right wrongs and correct mistakes that we reunited and our friendship rekindled.”

  “Who was your friend?” I asked.

  “Your husband’s father.”

  My head snapped t
oward Reid. By his stoic expression and intense attention on Mr. Walters, I determined this wasn’t news to him as it was to me.

  “You see,” Mr. Walters continued, “life doesn’t always give us an easy journey. Sometimes paths converge and other times they take us astray. All we can do is our best, what we believe our best can be, striving for that goal that helps not only ourselves but others. During that journey there are decisions that must be made. With power comes seclusion. I’ve found that oftentimes it’s a lonely journey. When you have the opportunity to share that journey with someone you care for, it makes everything else better.”

  I squeezed Reid’s hand.

  Mr. Walters spoke to Reid, “Rendell loved you, Reid. I hope that learning his choices won’t cause you to doubt that fact. He cared deeply for your mother and her mother. He also had a calling to the republic. An opportunity arose where he was able to make a difference, something that not many patriots can truly say. Of course, we all want that, but the opportunities aren’t always at our fingertips.”

  Reid stiffened at my side. “My father chose the republic over his family.”

  “No, son, he chose the republic for his family. It may take years to understand that, but it’s the truth. And I can testify that I was a witness to the sacrifice he made and the doors he opened for everyone in our great country.”

  Mr. Walters turned to me. “I heard about what occurred a few months ago. I want you to know that I’m deeply sorry that happened to you, Mrs. Murray. I believe in some way I could have prevented it and I didn’t. We all have decisions we later regret. This is one of mine.”

  “I-I...” I wasn’t certain what to say. “How do you know anything about what happened?”

  “Old men often know more than young men give us credit for.” He took a breath. “I was wrong and while it won’t make up for what was done to you, I found a way I might be able to give you something, something I have recently been made aware that you were seeking.”

  I looked from Mr. Walters to Reid and back. “I appreciate your gesture, Mr. Walters, but I can honestly say I’m content, more than content, I’m happy. I have a wonderful husband, great friends, and family.” I didn’t know this man enough to include our pregnancy. “I’m not seeking anything nor do I lack for anything.”