Exchange

by Katherine Rhodes

  We lay quietly for a few minutes. I just adored being in his arms, and the night was pleasantly silent.

  “You talked to Foster?” Fischer’s voice was quiet in the room.

  “I did.” I lifted my head and rested my chin on his pectoral. “He’s going to help us find this pipeline. But…” I pursed my lips a moment. “He triggered a vision.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Did he?”

  “He saw it too.”

  Now, he sat us up. “What?”

  I nodded. “You and me and him and a whole lot of swords. Someone was calling me a whore again.”

  Fischer held out his hand. “Can you share it?”

  We’d done that before, shared a vision after the fact—but it had been him to me, not the other way. “I’m not sure how it works…” But I slipped my hand in his, and closed my eyes.

  A moment later we were swept up in the vision that I’d had in the office with Lincoln Foster. The blades, the flames, the name calling—the strangely possessive Foster.

  Leaning over to me as the vision faded, Fischer landed a kiss on my cheek. “We’re getting the hang of this, aren’t we?”

  “What is this, though?”

  He looked down where our hands were joined. “I don’t know. But it’s big.”

  Lacing my fingers with his, I nodded. “Very big.”

  “What do you think this one was? Meant? Did?” Blowing out a breath, it was clear Fischer was just as confused about all this shit as I was.

  “We’ve always said there’s more than us in this. More than you and me, and more than Miriam and Laxmi.” Pushing on his chest gently, I settled us both back into the bed. “This just seems to confirm that somehow, Lincoln is part of This as well.”

  “Yeah, but…Lincoln Foster? He’s the greediest son of a bitch I know.” He adjusted the covers for both of us.

  “Also, one of the most honest.”

  “Can you be greedy and honest?”

  “He’s honest about being greedy.”

  Fischer laughed lightly. “You’re right about that. What do we know about Lincoln?”

  “I know what we need to ask Miriam. If anyone is going to know, it’s going to be her.”

  Miriam slapped her hand on the table. “He’s a greedy bastard, what more is there we need to know about him?”

  “He’s going to help us with the Pipeline, Miriam. We need to know who he is,” Laxmi explained quietly. “We just need know what you know.”

  Standing and walking to the liquor cabinet, Miriam pulled out the good bourbon and four glasses. She poured a finger in three and just filled the last one.

  “That bad?”

  Shoving the stopper back in the bottle, she practically threw the glasses at us. “Lincoln Foster was not exactly the highlight of my life,” she snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “The man never lied to me, not once, but he manipulated the shit out of everything. He can spin the hell out of facts to increase his bank account like no one you will ever meet. Winning is his game, his plan, and his goal.”

  “Smart?”

  “Smart, savvy, handsome, charming, and until recently, a fucking drunk.”

  “Really?” Fischer leaned back in the chair.

  “You’re interested in that of all things?” Laxmi asked.

  “Well, it’s telling,” he said. “People drink to escape something. We’re all sitting here just enjoying a nice bourbon—except Miriam.” She toasted him. “But you know as well as I do, that serious drunks drink because they want to be numb. So why would someone who’s so purportedly big on honesty want to be numb?”

  “Childhood trauma, usually,” I answered. “Especially if they are successful now.”

  “He’s successful. Like sick successful. And I’m guessing his drinking didn’t really do much for or against that.” She took a hard swig before she went on.

  “My parents wanted to keep the Crownin name very wealthy. We lost a lot of status in the Crash of ’29. Do you know how many fucking times I had heard from my grandfather about how powerful the Crownin family used to be? Well, his branch anyway. Ties to Washington, Jefferson, Adams. Our family was here not long after the Mayflower. We had family who died in Jamestown and lived in Salem during the witch trials.”

  Miriam shook her head. “Why the hell would you brag about your family that died in Jamestown? They weren’t smart enough to go find truly fresh water up another forty miles. Idiots.”

  I chuckled. “Miri…”

  “Yeah, I know. Get on with it. So, my parents, ignoring the fact I had told them, repeatedly, I was gay, set me up with Lincoln, and before I knew it, we were engaged. I was so young. Eighteen?” She took another pull off of the bourbon. “My mother sat me down and said she didn’t care what my sexual preference was. I was marrying Lincoln and we could both find our little pieces on the side if that’s what I fancied. The Crownin name, though, had to go on!”

  She swirled the drink, and her face softened. “And maybe Lincoln wasn’t such an asshole. We went on a vacation together, to a resort in Morocco, away from parents and work, to get to know each other.

  “He got really drunk one night, and he kissed me. He told me I was pretty and that marriage wouldn’t be so bad. We could just have an heir and a spare, and that would be that.

  “I just burst into tears. I cried so fucking hard, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I explained to him that I was gay and I didn’t want anything to do with this big name bullshit. I didn’t want to be his little wife, and I didn’t want to play house. I thought he was going to ignore me like everyone else did in the world, and I’d end up married and pregnant in a year.

  “The next day, while we were at breakfast, he had them change our room. We moved to a two bed suite, and he never made a move on me again. We played fiancées for another two years, and then he called it off.

  “He’s a greedy son of a bitch, but he’s honest. And he wouldn’t do a thing to hurt anyone.”

  I watched as she took another hard gulp of the liquor. “It’s why he didn’t actually ever intend to cut off the funding to St. Christopher’s. It would have been bad for his reputation. It would have been terrible for his bottom line.

  “I absolutely hate that he runs so many funds I have to deal with in the charities. But he’s just so fucking good at making money. That’s probably why Kildare gave him the fund.”

  I blanched. “Kildare?”

  “Eamon Kildare. Lincoln runs the Kildare-Perlman funds. It’s his personal baby. If there is anything going on in the world he sits and figures out… Jesus, Wren! What’s wrong?”

  The blood drained out of me, and I felt dizzy and sick, slapping a hand on the table to ground myself. “He what?”

  “The Kildare-Perlman. It’s one of the biggest fortunes in the world, and they help—”

  I cut in. “—locate and recover treasure stolen by different regimes over the past two centuries, including Napoleon, the Nazis, Pol Pot, and Saddam Hussein.”

  “Right…” Miriam nodded. “It was taken over by Kildare Corporation after Leona and Moishe Perlman had no heirs and the owner was an excellent friend who promised to keep up the work they had started with the Nazis alone.”

  I stared at her.

  “Look, he’s an asshole, but he’s an honest asshole. He pays out what needs to be paid. He’s on the up and up. He loves the recognition he gets by keeping up the good work. He thrives on that bank account growing. The man doesn’t even try to avoid taxes. He pays everything he owes.

  “He invests that money perfectly, he makes sure the feedback loop on it is always earning and growing. And he takes only exactly what was written into the paperwork for his payment. He’s grown that into his tremendous personal fortune.” She took a giant gulp of the bourbon. “He’s still an asshole.”

  Fischer grabbed my hand on the table. “Why do you look like you were just possessed by a ghost?”

  “Eamon Eoin Fitzpatrick McAllister Kildare was my uncle. The one who helpe
d my aunt raise me after my parents were killed.” I looked at the faces around the table. “That’s my fund. That’s my money.”

  Laxmi and Miriam looked at each other, and then at Fischer. Miriam leaned forward.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My mother’s maiden name was Kildare. She and Eamon were siblings. The money that keeps Mister Foster so well to do comes from my funds, the foundation that I’m ostensibly the head of.”

  I started cackling at the table while the three of them just sat confused and lost as to what the hell was wrong with me. I tried to stop the laugh, but I just couldn’t. I could barely catch my breath.

  “What is going on?” Haden asked as she walked into the room. “Why is that woman in hysterics?”

  A voice from behind her spoke up.

  “Because she just figured out that she’s my boss.”

  Lincoln

  I had hoped to keep that quiet a few weeks longer, but it just confirmed Wren Warner was no idiot.

  Her friends in high places weren’t either.

  Detective Haden had been at the door when I walked up to the house, and she shushed me to listen to what they were talking about. A cop through and through, hoping she could get more information on someone by listening at doorways.

  Once I caught the drift of the conversation, I motioned her forward into the house. “Go on, Detective. You’ll hear the whole story from either me or them.”

  Wren couldn’t stop laughing and I had to sober the group up. I didn’t have all night—there were a few other places I had to be tonight—like a date with a hot blonde.

  The look that Fischer Skillman shot me when I made that announcement could have killed an elephant in one shot. He was not to be trifled with.

  I couldn’t wait to trifle with him.

  Miriam stood and holy shit. I’d forgotten everything about her. She was tall, light, and gorgeous. Her confidence fit her like a second skin and it was a sight to behold. She’d had every right to tell me off at the party—and I knew that.

  I had to be a masochist. I just adored pissing people off.

  “Hello, Lincoln,” she finally said, staring at me.

  “Hello, Miriam.” I grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  She snorted in disgust and moved to her right. There was the same slim dark Indian woman who had been with her at the party, and Miriam motioned to her. “This is my girlfriend, Doctor Laxmi Rana.”

  “A pleasure,” I said, offering my hand.

  Glancing at Miriam to take her cues, Laxmi finally grasped my hand with hers. “Same, Mister Foster.”

  Haden grabbed the bottle of bourbon on the counter, and poured herself a lowball with two fingers, and sent me a questioning motion.

  “Yes please, two,” I answered.

  “Thanks for coming, Lincoln,” Wren said, finally having composed herself. “I wish I had known you were the financier in charge of the funds, I would have introduced myself more properly.”

  Taking the glass from Haden, I shook my head. “No you wouldn’t have. You enjoyed the dig, and I don’t blame you.” I grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, spun it around and dropped my ass into it. “So. The Pipeline.”

  “In a rush?” Fischer asked.

  “I have a hot date with a hot chick tonight, so yeah. Kind of want to get going here.” I smirked.

  I saw Haden staring at me out of the corner of my eye until I looked over at her. She cocked her head. “The Pipeline, we’ve learned in the past few days, is just that for the trafficking of young people into the perverse underworld. Woodall held most of the keys, but there were others who had a few of the keys, and they’re all piecing them together to get it running smoothly again.”

  It unnerved me how casual this woman was when talking about sex trafficking children. And she must’ve seen that on my face, because she shook her head.

  “I have to have a certain amount of cool detachment, Mister Foster, or I lose my life out there trying to save these kids. Believe me. My therapy bill is impressive from the shit I see.”

  I nodded. “No doubt.”

  “So. Woodall was known as Mister Passyunk,” Haden continued, and pulled out a folder from under her jacket. “We have confirmed that there are Messieurs Race, Arch, Sansom, Spring, Callowhill, Elphreth, Lombard, Walnut, Chestnut, Spruce, Locust, Juniper, Pine, and Reed. We have also, disturbingly, discovered that there are Madames Kensington, Richmond, Juniata, Rittenhouse, and Mantua.”

  Wren leaned forward. “I’m sorry. Did you say madames?”

  Haden’s headshake was small and slow. “Yes. There are women who rent these children out as well. We know there are more men than women, but we hit a treasure trove of names on that.”

  “Women? Who rent and own sex slaves?” Laxmi asked.

  “Perversion knows no gender or sex.” Haden was clearly disgusted by the whole thing as well. “I wish I could find out who these people are and just put a bullet in their brains.”

  Fischer choked on the bourbon he’d just sampled. He gave Wren a look when he got his air back. It was one of the most telling, subtle exchanges I had ever seen.

  There were secrets there.

  “So on top of everything else,” Miriam said, “we have to deal with women who do this as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s worse,” I said, leaning forward. “Men are perverse and narcissistic when it comes to these sex games. But women? They are sociopathic at that level. Like, Elizabeth Bathory level insane.”

  Haden nodded. “You’re absolutely correct. Our prison system and justice system is biased against men. It assumes women simply aren’t smart enough to commit such crimes, and aren’t able to do such things because they are the life givers.”

  Wren folded her hands and put them on the table. “You’re right. And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if it was a woman who decided to take charge of this mess and get the Pipeline going again.”

  “Further,” Laxmi said, leaning forward, “I’d put money on her taking one of the men’s names. Maybe even Passyunk’s. Just so she doesn’t stick out.”

  “She’d even consider having an avatar. Someone who is her public face,” Miriam said.

  My eyebrows rose and I looked at each of the women around the table. “You are ahead of the game.”

  All of them turned and stared at me.

  “I have an unhealthy amount of money at my disposal. I can find things out very quickly, and I can get to places that the rest of you can’t with the flash of a business card.” I clinked the glass of liquor on the table, and moved in closer. “And I did, after Doctor Warner asked me to help you yesterday. I flashed my card and the one I had been given from someone who had offered to connect me once upon a time.”

  “And?” Haden asked.

  “And…you’re dead on. It does look like a woman is going to be taking over. The moves aren’t as blunt as a man’s. They’re slow, careful, and deliberate, whereas the others you’ve mentioned have been jockeying for the lead.”

  Wren stared at me. “How…”

  “People talk in the presence of money, my sweetling,” I answered. “They forget I have principles that keep me from keeping my mouth shut.” I grinned. “The date I mentioned? Her daddy set us up, after I talked to him about visiting one of the auctions.”

  “You not only know when there is an auction, but you got invited, and hooked up with a piece of arm candy?” Fischer asked.

  “I did.”

  “You are kind of scummy, aren’t you?”

  “Fischer.” Wren sighed.

  “No, no, it’s fine, sweetling. I do appear scummy. That’s fine with me. I’m not. But if it makes it appear I am someone who can be trusted in the seedy underworld, I’m okay with it. I do go down there often enough, but I’ve never let it touch me. And I don’t like people who break the law and use people like this—I’m perfect for this role.”

  “Don’t call her sweetling,” Fischer growled.

  I turned my head and stared at h
im.

  “So you already have a way in,” Haden said, desperate to cut the tension.

  “Yes,” I said. “I have the date tonight and there’s an auction in a week.”

  “A what?” Laxmi asked.

  “An auction.” Ellie walked in from the living room and looked around.

  I sat up straight. “Dude, the kid? You brought the kid?”

  “I’m the best source of information because I was in there. I was one of the kids on the auction block.” Her eyes bore into mine. She might have looked like she was sixteen but her soul was old and weathered.

  She sat at the table and grabbed Fischer’s bourbon. No one made a move to stop her. “An auction. Where they sell the newest children they’ve taken. Some are really and truly new, fresh from a kidnapping. Some have been already been broken and trained. Some are still half wild and need more training. They are made up of all ages.”

  The detective on her other side grabbed her hand and squeezed it. But Haden looked at me. “Do you know where and when?”

  Shaking my head slowly, I sighed. “No. Not yet. We won’t be given addresses or codes until about an hour out. They don’t risk people knowing that.”

  Ellie looked at Haden. “Can you raid it?”

  The woman paused, then drew a long breath. “Only if it’s in the city of Philadelphia. I don’t have authority outside of that.”

  Ellie nodded, and pinned me again with her eyes. It was shocking what I could read there—she took refuge in her teenagerhood, hiding and retreating to a place of safety most of the time. She hid who she really was, what her life had really done to her. Mister Arch had messed with her head when he grabbed her at the Hampton’s party.

  And he had made at least four, if not five powerful enemies instantly.

  I didn’t know what it was about this group of people, but there was more to them than what I could see at the table with me. They felt larger than simply the people I was talking to, but at the same time, they had no idea what that was or the effect they had on people. How they made everyone around them feel like mere mortals in their presence.

  After the images Wren had given me the day before, I wasn’t so sure they were mere mortals anymore.