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  “Is this St. Pierre’s?” I asked through the speakers, taking in the empty parking lot and dark windows.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “It looks closed,” I said.

  David didn’t answer as the sound of his door closing reverberated through the car. Light streamed inside as he opened my door and fresh air filled the space.

  “I spoke to Mr. St. Pierre. Perhaps he closed the store in anticipation of your arrival.”

  My skin itched and small hairs stood to attention. “David, this feels off.”

  “I’ll go in with you, Mrs. Elliott. You don’t need to worry.”

  Getting out of the car, I stood in the otherwise-empty parking lot with the gentle breeze blowing the skirt of my green dress. It was the same one I’d worn when I arrived. Wearing it was only a small rebellion to not wear Marion’s purchases, but even small rebellions gave me hope. My eyes narrowed as I looked again at the isolated building.

  My head turned from side to side, taking in the sparse surroundings. “Mr. Elliott uses a jeweler way out here?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Ma’am, you’ll need to ask him.”

  “It’s eleven in the morning on a weekday—wouldn’t this be busier?”

  David shook his head. “I don’t ask questions.”

  Maybe I didn’t in the past, but this was no longer the past.

  “Wait,” I said, removing my phone from the purse. “I’m going to call Marion.”

  “You could call from inside.”

  My feet were planted as I found Marion’s contact information and hit call.

  “Madeline,” his usual drawl flowed through my name.

  “You didn’t tell me that the jeweler is in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I don’t recall you asking for particulars.”

  My gaze continued to flirt about. “So this is really it?”

  “Yes, Madeline. Randolph St. Pierre is an old friend. He has a very successful business without all of the overhead.”

  Overhead?

  Did he mean such as paying patrons?

  “This feels off,” I said.

  “David will stay with you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to my wife.”

  “Fine,” I replied briskly. “Goodbye.”

  Shutting down the call, I looked David up and down. He wasn’t a large man, but he seemed solid all dressed in black. The first time I’d met him, I’d noticed his professionalism. He maintained the same distance today. “Are you carrying?”

  I was asking about a gun.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I wrapped my arms around my midsection as a cloud momentarily dimmed the sun’s light and warmth. “Okay, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  A moment later, finding the door locked, David knocked.

  Patrick

  Tension drew the muscles in my neck and shoulders tighter until reaching back and gripping my neck was my only relief. Easing away from the table, I paced toward the cockpit and back. Voices filled the cabin around me as Sparrow and Mason continued their conversations, and Marianne flew us closer to our destination.

  “She just arrived at the jewelry store,” Reid announced through the screen on the wall. Thankfully, Madeline’s necklace was again broadcasting. “Our men are there.”

  My pulse raced as I contemplated the next move. “She never said she’s in danger. If they try to take her…” I didn’t finish my sentence, too many bad scenarios coming to mind.

  “What’s the goal of this operation, Patrick?” Sparrow asked. With his dark gaze coming to mine and his flawless appearance in his designer suit, he appeared calm and confident, the same way his voice sounded.

  Calm wasn’t a word that could be used to describe me. “This isn’t a normal operation.”

  “It is,” Mason said with the same brevity to his tone. “Our goal is to extract the target. That’s it. We’ve done this before. We treat it like any other operation. We’re good. Our men are good. Look what they did with Ruby.”

  Yes, the men on the ground Reid mentioned were the same men who had been with me yesterday. Yesterday, I was with competent Sparrows, but I didn’t have fifty percent of the A-team with me. Since I was successful yesterday, with this crew it seemed like today should be a slam dunk.

  I was grateful for the additional support. It was no secret that I wasn’t thinking straight. My talk with Ruby had me off-balance. Though I tried not to think about her or our conversation, bits and pieces kept returning. There were so many things about my wife and daughter’s lives I didn’t know.

  I needed to concentrate.

  Now that we had Ruby, the next step was to get her mother, alive and uninjured.

  The reason for extracting her, as Mason put it, was more than the fact that Ruby needed her.

  I too needed her. I’d lost her once, and I wasn’t fucking letting that happen again.

  “Can we trust the jeweler?” I asked. He’d agreed to let our men into his store.

  “His closet is full of skeletons. Exposing those will end his stream of income,” Sparrow said. “While he is a jeweler, it’s a front. Our men said he was surprised by their visit but not shocked. It sounds as if Elliott has him in a perpetual quid pro quo arrangement.”

  “And this jeweler guy…” I began.

  “His name is Randolph St. Pierre,” Mason interjected.

  I inhaled as I twisted my shoulders and turned my neck. “This St. Pierre said he was contacted for a rush wedding band.”

  “That’s what he told the two Sparrows,” Sparrow said. “He said he sent it by courier to the ranch early this morning. Reid confirmed a delivery around six thirty a.m. According to St. Pierre, he received a call from Elliott later in the morning saying the ring was too big. His wife would be there for a resizing. He ordered a rush.”

  “I’ve been looking,” Reid said. “A license—marriage license—is pending in Hunt County.”

  My head shook. “Where the fuck is Hunt County?”

  “This was filed in Commerce, Texas, northeast of Dallas,” Reid answered. “The JP has the same last name as one of Elliott’s ranch managers. I’m still working on that connection.”

  “You’re saying a license was filed for Elliott and Madeline? Madeline Miller?” I asked, trying to wrap the idea around my head. I didn’t know where that name Miller came from, but I knew it wasn’t her true legal name.

  “Not exactly,” Reid answered. “Marion Elliott and Madeline Alycia Tate. The personal information matches what you’ve given me. The only reason the license hasn’t been issued yet is that the customary and standard search revealed a few red flags.”

  “Such as Madeline Tate was married seventeen years ago,” I said.

  “That,” Reid replied, “and a death certificate was issued for the same Madeline Tate ten years ago from the Cook County Medical Examiner.”

  My eyes widened as did the others around me. “What?”

  “Let me look into that,” Reid volunteered.

  “I never found that. How didn’t I find it?” I asked as I sat back in the leather chair. “Had I quit looking ten years ago?” My mind was a fog.

  “It’s good you didn’t find it,” Mason said, staring across the table at me. “She’s not dead.”

  “She’s not,” I said with a sigh. My gaze went around the table and even to Reid’s image. “I’ve never been this fucking nervous in my life. I know I’m more of a liability than an asset right now.” I took a deep breath and stood. “Something happened seventeen years ago. When I asked Madeline why she left me, she responded that she didn’t.” My gaze searched the faces of my friends.

  “She didn’t?” Sparrow asked, speaking slower. “Then where did she go?”

  My head shook. “I’m fucking terrified to learn.” I pinched my furrowed brow. “Seventeen years ago, in the city of Chicago…an eighteen-year-old woman and her unborn child disappear…Don’t tell me you aren’t thinking what I’m thinking.”

  “McFadden?” Reid answered.
>
  Sparrow sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and inhaled. “Or Sparrow.”

  “And now,” I said, “it appears that she is related, was related to your father…”

  Sparrow’s head shook. “Fuck, dear old Daddy wouldn’t have wanted another heir out there. He hated me as much as I hated him, but my mother’s money funded his rise in power. He could fuck around on her all he wanted—sometimes I think she appreciated the break—but a kid from another woman…that was a hard no.”

  “And a grandchild?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to be the one to say it,” Sparrow said, the seams on his suit coat pulling as his muscles beneath flexed, “but if my father had any part in Madeline’s disappearance, it would have been…well, that death certificate would have been issued sooner.”

  “McFadden?” Mason said again, with a questioning inflection.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Sparrow stood and gripped the back of his chair. “I think you’re on the wrong track.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “McFadden sex-trafficked,” Sparrow said. “From what we’ve uncovered, he also dabbled in illegal adoptions. Madeline gave birth to what we can only assume was a healthy Caucasian child. With Ruby here, it’s not much of an assumption. That description in the world of illegal adoptions can garner big money. Once the kid…Ruby...was born, McFadden would have been done with Madeline. She wouldn’t have been allowed to go with her kid.”

  A knock came to the partition to the aft of the plane.

  “Come in,” Sparrow called.

  “I’m sorry to bother you…” Millie looked around the room. “…but Marianne just messaged. We’ll be landing soon. Please take your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

  “Thank you, Millie,” Mason said as he reached for his seat belt.

  As she disappeared and Sparrow and I took our seats, Sparrow said, “I meant to tell you all more about Elliott and McKinley Park. Remember he not only was a large donor to McFadden, but after McFadden pushed the bill to loosen regulations on offshore drilling, Elliott utilized Ivanov Construction to build the manufacturing plant. There was more to that.

  “After Elliott built it, he leased it to a technology firm. The plant manufactures tablets, off brand. They go on the market with multiple names.” He scoffed. “And sell for a wide range of prices. Originally the plant hired five hundred blue-collar workers and eighty-two management positions. That was four years ago. McFadden helped to negotiate some sweet deals for this manufacturer in Cook County. Basically, they’ve been sitting there, raking in the revenue, tax free. Hell, a mom-and-pop store paid more in taxes. That deal is about to expire.”

  “And Elliott’s goose that laid a golden egg is now sitting in a penitentiary,” I said, grateful for the new train of thought.

  “I made a few calls,” Sparrow said. “The manufacturer’s lease is up in two years. It would save them more to break the lease than pay taxes. The board of trustees has threatened to relocate if their tax deal isn’t renewed.”

  Mason nodded. “Which leaves Elliott Inc. holding the bag.”

  Sparrow nodded as the plane began its descent. “It’s a twelve-thousand-foot factory, an attached twenty-thousand-square-foot warehouse, and fifteen thousand feet of office space. It’s a big-ass facility to have sit empty, especially when there’s still a nearly $200 million outstanding balance due to Ivanov Construction. On a hunch, I called my mother.”

  We all smirked.

  “Yes, I know,” Sparrow said, acknowledging what we all knew—he and his mother weren’t on the best of terms.

  It wasn’t as if they had ever been, but she was still having issues with Sparrow’s wife. Or more accurately, Araneae didn’t put up with Genevieve Sparrow’s shit. The queen regent was having difficulties accepting not only the marriage, but Araneae’s place in the Sparrow realm.

  “I could say that I called Alderman Sparrow,” Sparrow corrected. “She confirmed that Marion Elliott has been lobbying for the extension on the exemptions. So far, he’s having difficulty gaining support. For the most part, people are steering clear of anything with a Rubio McFadden signature.”

  “How does this relate to Madeline?” I asked as the wheels bounced on the runway.

  Sparrow shook his head. “Elliott hasn’t come to me.”

  “And if he has a snowball’s chance in hell to get it passed,” Mason said, “he’d need your approval.”

  “What if he thinks marrying my long-lost sister would give him an in?”

  The corner of my mouth threatened to move upward. “Was that just an admission of relation?”

  “It was a hypothesis,” Sparrow clarified.

  Reid spoke again through the screen. “Damn. Go get Madeline and we’ll figure this out.”

  “Is she still at the jewelry store?” I asked.

  “Yes, St. Pierre is taking his time. Our men have the interior secure. Madeline and a man with her—most likely a bodyguard—are waiting.”

  “Exteriorly?” I asked.

  “I’m watching in real time. The isolation of this store is in our favor. There is very little traffic and everyone so far has driven by. Our men convinced St. Pierre to close the store to other customers.”

  “Convinced?” Sparrow asked. “These men deserve a bonus.”

  “Once Madeline is safe, I’ll pay it,” I volunteered.

  We all stood as Millie pushed the button near the door and waited as the cabin depressurized and the stairs began to descend.

  Madeline

  I watched as David again stood and made his way toward the rear of the store. His impatience was palpable, crackling through the air, tension building with each additional second we waited.

  “Mr. Elliott was told you would rush this,” I heard him say to Mr. St. Pierre, from the attached room.

  “Are you familiar with the oxidation process?” the jeweler replied.

  “Sir,” a tall man who was standing near the doorway to Mr. St. Pierre’s work space said to David, “please have a seat. The ring will be done when it’s done.”

  A few moments later, David returned, his expression solemn as he took a seat near me. The waiting room where we were seated was basic at best. Six black vinyl chairs lined two walls and a small square table sat in the corner, adorned with outdated magazines. I marveled that anyone still read paper publications. There was the door to the showroom, one to the work area, and a third to a small single bathroom. Near the suspended ceiling in the opposite corner from the table was a television. While I wasn’t a big television watcher, I thought even a nice HGTV show would help pass the time.

  In all ways, the store appeared closed. While I’d seen merchandise in the cases as we walked through the showroom, the customary lights were off, windows shuttered, and doors locked. The only exception was the fluorescent bulbs within this waiting area, flickering above and giving off a low hum.

  “What else does he do?” I asked David in a whisper.

  “He?”

  I tilted my head toward the room in the rear. “Mr. St. Pierre. This can’t be his main business if it’s closed on a weekday.”

  “Ma’am, Mr. St. Pierre is a respected jeweler in these parts.”

  I hummed.

  This wasn’t my first brush with illegal activity. I lived amongst it for the last seventeen years. The men keeping guard weren’t here to protect gold, diamonds, and precious gems. As I scanned the unassuming surroundings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more around me than met the eye.

  A shiver snaked down my spine, cooling my skin. I pulled the light sweater I’d worn with the green dress over my shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the uneasy feeling.

  I peered down at my watch, seeing that it was nearly noon. I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer this would take and if it would be enough for my rescue.

  There was no way for me to know if Patrick was on his way.

  Y
esterday, he had taken Ruby to Chicago.

  He’d told me that in a message.

  Maybe it was wishful thinking to believe he could make it back to Texas in time to rescue me from this outing. I began thinking about Marion’s mention of plans. He’d said we had reservations at an elite club in Dallas. As long as I wore the necklace, Patrick should be able to find me there too.

  It seemed that anyplace away from the ranch would be better.

  The vibration of my phone shattered the tense silence of the waiting area.

  Removing it from my purse, I looked at the screen: MARION.

  I tilted the screen toward David. “I need to take this.”

  He nodded as I slipped from the chair toward the darkened front showroom and hit the call button. “Hello.”

  “Come back to the ranch.”

  There was something unsettling in his tone.

  “We will. Mr. St. Pierre must be nearly done.”

  “Now. The ring can wait. Fucking Andros lied to me.”

  I took another step toward the cases of jewelry. “What are you talking about? Is this about Ruby?”

  A movement from the back of the store caught my attention. When I turned, the doorway to the waiting area was filled by a tall body. The bright backlight shone around him, making the visibility of his features difficult to see. Nevertheless, I knew the man in the doorway wasn’t David but one of St. Pierre’s guards.

  “I’m taking a call,” I said.

  It was then I saw past his girth to the room behind. My heart rate rocketed as I took a step back, falling against one of the glass cases. Lying upon the ground was my bodyguard, the man who was sent to protect me.

  “Oh! Marion, David.”

  “Ma’am,” the large man said in an eerily calm voice.

  “What’s happening?” Marion bellowed.

  “David is…” I looked to the man. “Is he dead?”

  Without speaking, his head shook.