Dawn Page 3

  Finally, Phillips came to a stop near the elevator and put the vehicle in park. “Sirs, do you need help?”

  “No,” we both replied.

  But as I reached for the door handle and pain shot up my arm and more severely constricted my chest and ribs, I sat back with a moan. Without a word, Mason came around the SUV and opened my door. When he looked down, he grinned. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  “No, asshole. I can walk. I just” —I let out a breath— “need to get out of the damn back seat.” Turning slightly, I reached forward with my left arm, the one that wasn’t bandaged.

  Mason grasped my hand as he partly pulled and partly supported me. Once I was out, he grinned. “Watching you hobble around like an old man will make the ass chewing we’re about to get worth it.”

  Step by step, we made it to the elevator where Mason pushed 2.

  “Two?” I asked. “I thought the good doctor was visiting me.”

  “You’re walking and talking. We have a command performance on 2. She’ll wait at the apartments.”

  Because Dr. Renita Dixon had nothing better to do or any other patients waiting.

  My thoughts went to Maples and from him to Lorna. “What does Lorna know?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Do any of the women know what happened?”

  Mason shook his head. “Cleanup is still happening in Englewood, but we do have some loose ends that need tying. Remember what you said when we first got to Englewood?”

  The doors opened to the cement hallway and steel door.

  I did remember. “That Maples lived in the same neighborhood as Dino’s liquor store.”

  “We are about to have a second dead body on 1, and something tells me we may have a connection.”

  Mason scanned his eye and the steel door opened.

  All eyes turned our direction as they let out a collective breath.

  Holding on to Mason’s arm, I took a staggered step into our control center. It wasn’t the massive bank of computers that I saw. It wasn’t the set of blue eyes staring my way. My focus was on the kingpin of Chicago. He was still dressed in his Michigan Avenue finest, except now his jacket was gone, his sleeves were rolled up, and his leather loafers were about to pace a hole in the concrete floor. When our gazes met, he stilled. “Don’t go rogue. It was the last fucking thing I said.”

  Reid

  “Technically,” Mason began as he helped me to my chair, “I believe the last thing you said was to take backup. We did.”

  Sparrow glared from my brother-in-law to me.

  “It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” I replied.

  “With a goddamned gunfight on a residential street in my city in the middle of the day?” He ran his palm over his dark hair. “I fucking hope that wasn’t your goal. What was?”

  “We didn’t plan the part of Reid getting shot either,” Mason said as he leaned against a long table, crossing his arms over his chest and casually moving one ankle in front of the other.

  “How are you?” Patrick asked, stepping toward me.

  “Sore as hell. I feel like I was kicked by a horse or hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.”

  Patrick looked at Mason. “CPR?”

  “Yeah, the good doctor wants to run some tests, EKG and shit. By the time I got to him, there wasn’t a pulse. One slug hit his arm. The second slug hit him square in the chest, threw him back about three feet or more before he fell.”

  Patrick’s eyes went to the bloody sleeve on my shirt and back to my eyes. “Glad you’re all right. If we lost you, Madeline and I would feel obligated to name our son Reid, and well, Reid Kelly isn’t our first choice.”

  My lips curled. “I guess I lost that bet.”

  “What were you two doing six blocks from Dino’s Liquor Store?” Patrick asked. “Romero and I were leaving there when I got the text about the shoot-out.”

  “Did you learn anything?” I asked.

  “No.” It wasn’t an answer from Patrick but a resounding declaration from Sparrow. “Do not change the fucking subject. Why were you on South Morgan Street in Englewood? Was this a lead you’re following up from traffic cameras? And why did I have to call in a request for heroin and then to pad a police report? We have enough fucking unrest on our streets without you two adding more. Not to mention, shit is happening in Englewood. We’ve got capos working the streets for information on the factions and following leads on who’s supplying them. The last fucking thing we needed was this.”

  “Boss,” I said, “it is all my fault.”

  “Fuck no,” Mason said. “Don’t listen to him. He’s delirious with some near-death shit.”

  “I’m not—”

  “The dead guy,” Patrick interrupted, “works at Dino’s.”

  “Maples?” Mason and I asked together as Mason stepped away from the table.

  “No, who’s Maples?” Patrick asked. “I mean the dead one from the shoot-out. He’s on his way to the Cook County Medical Examiner. We tried to intercept his body. Anyway, we know his name is Stephens, Darrell Stephens. He’s been a clerk at Dino’s for the last ten months.”

  Apparently, there wasn’t a dead body headed to 1.

  Mason and I looked at one another. He was the first to speak. “So the guy who opened fire on us happens to work at the liquor store that has been getting illegal firearms deliveries?”

  “And he happened to live across the street from Gordon Maples,” I added.

  Sparrow looked at me. “Tell us who the fuck Gordon Maples is.”

  “Was,” Mason corrected. “He was a sadistic son of a bitch who should have been dealt with a long time ago.”

  “And you know this how?” Sparrow asked.

  Mason sighed. “He was one of Nancy’s sugar daddies a long time ago.”

  “And maybe not so long ago,” I added. “He admitted to seeing her within the last five years.”

  “You went to the home of some guy who screwed your mother and ended up in a shoot-out?” Sparrow asked.

  Mason’s green stare came to me. Taking a breath, I put my good hand on the edge of the desk and after a few winces and moans, I stood. “I need to talk to Lorna.”

  Sparrow’s stare came my way. “She can wait. This is more important.”

  Mason stepped forward. “This and that are the same thing. We didn’t go there because of Nancy. And why we went there isn’t for us to share. Trust us on this.” His stare went to Patrick. “We didn’t know of a connection to Dino’s. It was personal. I remember making a personal trip down to Florida a while back and Sparrow took one to California.”

  Patrick stood taller. The trips Mason was referencing had to do with people he and Madeline knew when they were young, people who profited off the young people they befriended. We’d all worked together without asking for details. Sometimes we righted wrongs. Other times we were the wrong.

  Sparrow’s eyes narrowed. “After all these years, at the same time we have this gun issue and we’re still trying to find out who took Araneae and Lorna, you two decided to take care of personal business on Sparrow time?”

  In our defense, it was never not Sparrow time. Now wasn’t the moment to mention that.

  “Lorna...” I took a painful breath. “The connections we made weren’t about what is happening. It’s more personal. The recent events, the kidnapping and finding Nancy’s body, they have awakened some thoughts or memories that any little girl would try to forget.”

  “Little girl,” Sparrow repeated, straightening his neck as his fingers clenched. “How little?”

  “Ten, but that’s all I’m going to say. Don’t use your imagination. Lorna doesn’t deserve that. You can be pissed at me,” I said, facing Sparrow. “I have just” —I winced again as I took a step toward him— “felt so fucking impotent.” My voice rose. “Someone took our wives—my wife. It’s been weeks, and I haven’t done a damn thing to reassure her that she’s safe in this world. I don’t mean the Sparrow world, I mean the whole fucking sph
ere. And then last night, she remembered something. It didn’t make sense so I asked Mason.”

  Sparrow took a deep breath and stepped back. “I hope you cut it off.”

  “Couldn’t find it,” Mason said as his lips curled. “It was pleasurable enough to let him watch himself bleed out.”

  “As he was disemboweled,” I added.

  “You know,” Sparrow said, “growing up, I thought it was only the sick rich bastards that hung around my father who had fucked-up wants, ones they were willing to pay good money to exercise.”

  “There’s no economic barrier to perversion. It’s just that the rich can hide it better,” Patrick said before he crossed his arms and paced a few steps. “My list was long—my personal shit. Are there others you plan to visit?” His lips curled. “I wouldn’t mind working with Kader again.”

  I looked over at my brother-in-law. “Talk about a sick bastard, Kader fits that bill.”

  “Yeah,” Sparrow said. “Glad he’s on our side. Are there—others?”

  “Not that I know of,” I replied. “The thing is, the memories Lorna has had were what Laurel calls those flashes. I think some of them are recent. Like Araneae, she has mentioned a dark-haired man. But she said some other things and” —I gestured between me and Mason— “we put it together that it had to do with a man they lived with as kids. And when given the chance at redemption, Maples didn’t deny it.”

  “What are the odds,” Patrick began, “that the Ford truck from Montana with the dark-haired man—who may or may not be Andrew Jettison—who shows up on traffic cams near a liquor store where illegal firearms have been delivered is that same Ford truck that left Nancy Pierce on the verge of death to be found with her daughter, and now the clerk at the same liquor store ends up living across the street from where you and Lorna lived with this Maples?”

  “Darrell Stephens didn’t have an old black Ford truck, did he?” I asked.

  Patrick retrieved his cell phone from his suit coat pocket. “I’ll send Sparrows back to check it out.”

  I sat back down and turned to Mason. “What happened to Zella?” When he didn’t answer, I went on, “And her kid?”

  “Right now, they’re in a halfway house guarded by some capos.”

  “What?” Sparrow asked. “Who is Zella and if she witnessed it and won’t back up the police story, why is she still breathing?”

  “She has a kid,” I said.

  “Three,” Mason said. “New info. First two are adults.”

  “Adults?” I asked. “How old is she?”

  Sparrow shook his head. “No. Definitely, without question, no.”

  We looked in his direction.

  “I don’t care if you’re fucking long-lost siblings or some other shit, no one is moving into the tower.”

  “Oh hell no,” Mason said. “I’m not confident of her continued oxygen intake right now. She was a bitch when she was fourteen, and I doubt that has changed. But she might have information.”

  “Is the kid with her?” I asked.

  “Right now.”

  With a groan, I turned my chair back to the computer and moving my mouse to the other side, I brought my screen to life. “Darrell Stephens. What do we know about him? Or Zella? Is her last name Maples?”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Sparrow asked.

  “What I do.” Holding my breath, I forced my right arm up to the keyboard.

  “No,” Sparrow said. “You’re going to your apartment, and Renita is going to check you over.”

  My head shook. “No, for the first time, answers feel close.”

  A large hand landed on my shoulder. When I turned, I saw a small cuff of colors coming from beneath his shirtsleeve. “We’re going to your apartment now. Don’t make me carry your sorry ass.”

  Lorna

  “Ruby said that?” Madeline asked as we gathered the ingredients for dinner, both of us walking in and out of the pantry in the penthouse kitchen.

  Biting my lip, I stilled by the large island. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

  She stopped and surveyed the items we’d accumulated.

  “Is this all we need?” I asked.

  Madeline nodded as a smile blossomed over her lips. “I’m excited that I can teach you something, but to be perfectly honest, I never baked pirozhki before. I have enjoyed eating it.”

  I made a sad attempt at repeating the name of what we were about to make, my poor attempt eliciting a genuine chuckle from both of us. “I guess it’s fair to say when it came to languages, Mason got the talent.” I looked at the recipe Madeline had found online. “I’ll just call them mini-pies.”

  “Yes, that works. And what’s so great is we can make all different kinds. That way everyone can try different ones. Salmon is a typical ingredient, but we can make some without any meat and others with vegetables, and there’s always potato.” She took a deep breath, standing taller, and placing both hands on her lower back.

  “Why don’t you sit? I can make the dough.” I looked at the recipe again. “I’m pretty sure I can handle yeast dough. Then you can show me how to make the fillings.”

  Madeline slowly walked toward the bar stools, her hand over her large midsection. “Thank you.”

  I handed her the glass of water she’d been drinking.

  “You know, your hair is cute.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure why I decided to do it. I have never done anything like this before. I’m also a little stunned when I walk by a mirror.”

  “I hope Reid wasn’t upset.” Her eyes opened wider. “He probably blames me for giving you the hair dye.”

  “No,” I replied as I began to measure and add ingredients to a large bowl. “He was a bit shocked, but then he said...” I felt the warmth creep up my neck toward my cheeks.

  “Oh,” she said with a giggle. “Let me use my imagination. It had something to do with cheating on his redheaded wife with his brunette wife.”

  I nodded with a genuine smile. “Something like that.”

  Madeline took a drink of water. “Can we go back to what Ruby told you?”

  “It’s up to you.” I peered out the large windows toward the afternoon sky, wondering for not the first time why neither Madeline nor I had heard from our husbands. Araneae and Laurel had been missing since I came upstairs. Not missing. They were both in other parts of the tower, working on what they did.

  Madeline scooted on the chair, pulling the skirt of the casual long dress she was wearing. “Ruby was right. When I first got here, I was drowning in memories. Mine weren’t suppressed by a drug or medication. I suppose it was me who suppressed them. And once I allowed myself to think about everything, it was almost too much.”

  “And Ruby said Patrick helped you?”

  “He did. If we want to stay with the drowning analogy, he was my life raft. But if I’m being one hundred percent honest, once he saved me or helped me save myself, it wasn’t over.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She ran her fingertip over the lip of her glass around and around. I was about to change the subject when she spoke. “I started seeing a counselor at the Sparrow Institute. Laurel recommended her. And then once I got a little more comfortable with admitting even to myself what I’d been through, I began attending survivor meetings there too.”

  Taking off my wedding ring and placing it in a little holder for just such an occasion, I paused before kneading the dough. “I didn’t know that. I thought you were volunteering there.”

  “I am now. I guess I started volunteering. Even though I hadn’t given Araneae or Laurel the details I’d shared with Patrick, I think in hindsight it was a group effort to ease me into what the Sparrow Institute has to offer.”

  After covering the counter in flour, I dumped the dough, watching a cloud of white flour poof. “I’m sorry we’re all on lockdown. I bet you miss your time there.”

  “I do a little. I’ve gotten to know other trafficking survivors whom I admire.
”

  “I only know you and Jana,” I said as I continued to knead.

  “Living the life we do” —she looked around the large kitchen— “our network is pretty small, but the thing I’ve learned from all the people I’ve met at the institute is that I’m not alone. There are so many others, ones who got out much younger, ones who barely survived, and ones who didn’t even realize it had happened to them.”

  “How could someone not know?”

  Madeline lowered her feet to the floor. “I’m going to try walking. This little guy isn’t helping me to be comfortable.” She took another drink of the water. “Things said in group are confidential, you know, like Fight Club?”

  “Of course.”

  “But maybe I can explain it in the abstract? No names.”

  I didn’t want to encourage Madeline to say anything she didn’t want to say.

  Before I could argue, she began, “We’ll call her Cynthia.”

  “Ruby’s middle name.”

  Madeline nodded. “It’s not this woman’s real name, but I knew a Cynthia. Anyway, this woman I met recently wasn’t kidnapped or sold like people mostly think of when you talk about human trafficking. People envision women packed in a box truck and then made to have sex in the back of some nail salon, or something like that.”

  A chill came over me as my stomach twisted. “I hate that anyone would have that image.”

  Madeline stopped by the tall windows and peered outside. “Cynthia wasn’t sold to a pimp or forced to perform sex acts in a strange, unknown place.” She turned back, her expression solemn. “She didn’t realize that what she had been made to do was wrong because it was all she and her sister knew.”

  “What?” I wasn’t certain I heard Madeline correctly.

  “Their mother had friends. The friends would visit.”

  I lifted my hand. “Oh, stop.”