Dusk

by Romig, Aleatha

  “This, whatever this is, has been in the works for a while,” I said.

  Sparrow turned my way. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “We figure out who has been testing us, pushing us and our allies recently, and we know who to blame.”

  “Right now, I want the women back,” Sparrow said. “After that, we can fucking scorch the entire country, the world, I don’t give a shit.”

  Patrick looked up from the keyboard. “They know that.”

  “Know what?” I asked.

  “Anyone who dared to take our women knew what the end result would be.”

  “You think,” Sparrow asked, walking toward the table, “that is what they want?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility. The guilty party wants destruction and what better way to get it than to let the Sparrows do it?”

  “I’m in the system at the ranch,” Mason said. He looked up, his green eyes gleaming. “We put in this backdoor access.” His head shook. “Holy shit.”

  Lorna

  “Yes, it’s me,” Araneae said as she scooted closer. “Are you...hurt? Did they hurt you?”

  Was I hurt?

  “I’m, I-I don’t know. I feel so odd.” Of course I felt odd. I was bound in a dark, cold place, but it was more. “Jittery and disoriented. Like I don’t know how much time has passed.” Her shoulder brushed mine. I leaned closer. “My hands are—”

  “Mine too,” she said, her voice stronger than before.

  “What about you? Did they hurt you?”

  “I think I stopped them. There must have been something in the lemonade we were drinking.”

  Lemonade?

  I tried to think back. “I-I’m having trouble remembering,” I confessed.

  “Don’t you remember? We were in Laurel and Mason’s kitchen at the ranch. We’d finished lunch. Maddie went upstairs, and Laurel went to the office.”

  As Araneae spoke, the scene came back to me. I recalled the serenity of the kitchen with the spectacular view from the attached patio and the seclusion of the ranch in the midst of the surreal beauty of the Montana landscape. For a woman who’d lived her entire life in the concrete jungle of Chicago, I found everything about the ranch stunning.

  I recalled eating lunch, the four of us. We’d all put our own plates together and poured our own drinks. I couldn’t come up with how our lemonade had been drugged. No one else had been within the house.

  “Are they...? Maddie and Laurel...are they here?”

  “No one else is,” Araneae replied. “Well, until now. You are.”

  She was now close enough that I could feel the warmth of her skin, her arm next to mine moving as she spoke. It wasn’t much of a connection while at the same time it was monumental. For a moment, I savored the bond. Any warmth was better than the cold floor and rough wall.

  “I’m sorry you’re here and we’re alone,” I said. “How is the baby?”

  “I wish I was alone.” She quickly added, “Because I don’t want anyone else to suffer. The baby...” Her arm moved up and then down as if she’d shrugged. “I think the baby is all right. I told them. As soon as I woke, I told them I was pregnant and if they didn’t hurt me or my baby, my husband would pay anything.” She took a ragged breath. “I think it worked. I couldn’t see, but I think from what I heard, one man convinced the other not to inject me with something.”

  There was no doubt that her husband would pay. He’d also make whoever this was pay. The truth was that without Sterling Sparrow, Araneae Sparrow was more than capable of bankrolling her own ransom. It was a complicated story, but the end of it was that she inherited a large sum of money in stocks. Together with her husband, they were extremely wealthy.

  While Sparrow’s dealing may not always be legal, Araneae decided to use her wealth in a more philanthropic way, creating the Sparrow Institute, a foundation that aided and benefitted victims of human trafficking.

  I thought about what she said, about stopping an injection. “Maybe that’s what happened to me. I was hallucinating.” My pulse thumped faster. “Do you think they gave me something? A drug?”

  “I don’t know,” Araneae admitted. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “My head still hurts. Earlier, I felt like I was struggling to walk, and then there was water.” I shook my head. “But I’m dry, not wet. I don’t know what was real.” I took a deep breath and winced. “My ribs are sore.” I moved my tongue around my mouth. “And I’m thirsty. My mouth feels like a desert.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Maybe they hurt you because they don’t want to hurt me.”

  I laid my head on her shoulder. Araneae was easily five inches taller than me. If I could have reached for her hand, I would have. In this instant, I recalled the first time I met her, when she first was brought to our tower.

  The second our gazes met and her lips curled into a smile, the trepidation I’d anticipated at the addition of another woman to our family disappeared. Araneae was the only woman in the world who could simultaneously put up with and love Sterling Sparrow. I have no idea how a decades-old prophecy could be so incredibly spot-on, but it was.

  And through the years to follow, Araneae became more than Sparrow’s future; she eased her way into all of our lives. A friend. A confidant. A sister. A queen. She took her rightful place beside the most powerful man in the city, one of the most powerful men in the country, and has made a name for herself as a kind, generous, loving, and compassionate soul, a lady who would do anything in the world for those she loved and those in need, while staying strong enough to do whatever was necessary. If the situation required a fight, she was a tiger. If a verbal duel was asked, she was locked and loaded with the mouth of a sailor. If the circumstances required finesse to manipulate that powerful man behind the scenes, she was beyond capable.

  From that first moment I saw her in the penthouse kitchen, I knew she was meant to be a part of us—our family. Laying my head upon her shoulder was the only way, at this moment, I could connect to her. “We’re getting out of here together.”

  Her head came in contact with mine. “Damn right.”

  We both grew deadly silent at the clicking sound of a locking mechanism and then a door moving across the concrete floor. My pulse sped up as beyond the blindfold, there was suddenly light. I lifted my face, wondering if I could see.

  All I could make out were boots and jeans. There were two sets, two men.

  “Looks like they finally woke,” a man’s deep voice said.

  My arm trembled against Araneae’s as I willed myself to have strength to face whatever was to come. The two sets of feet paced before us, their boots clicking on the hard floor.

  “Which one of you is married to Price?”

  Price?

  “Mrs. Price?” another man asked.

  “Price?” we both questioned.

  A boot nudged at my leg. “Answer the fucking question.”

  My head shook from side to side. “Neither of us.” I wasn’t certain how much information to share.

  “You,” the man said. But no longer was I being nudged.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” Araneae said. “I don’t know anyone named Price.”

  “It was his house where they found you.”

  They?

  Did that mean that these people weren’t the ones who took us?

  “Pierce,” a woman’s voice said. I lifted my chin to see her shoes and legs as she entered the room. “His name is Pierce,” she said. “Edgar Price was an alias.” This woman was our third visitor, not one of the men who’d first walked in. Her steps were lighter and her shoes daintier. Heels. I saw the pointed toes peering beneath flowing black slacks as she stepped. “They failed. She isn’t one of them.” It was a final statement, not looking for debate. “The imbeciles brought us the wrong women. Two opportunities and they failed. If they do it again, they won’t live to have another opportunity.�
�

  The woman came closer and lifted my chin. I wanted to back away, but there was nowhere for me to go. Her grasp turned my head from side to side. “She needs ice for her cheek.” The woman then stepped over to Araneae. “And this one says she’s pregnant?”

  “I am,” Araneae said. “Five and a half months.”

  “Neither one of you is Pierce’s wife, the scientist?” a man asked.

  “No,” Araneae answered. “We’re not. You don’t want to know who my husband is.”

  “Honey,” the woman replied, “I don’t give a fuck who he is or who you are for that matter. Currently, you’re nothing more than an irrelevant inconvenience.”

  “He’ll pay,” Araneae replied. “My husband will. Name a price.”

  “We’re not after money.” Her shoes clipped over the concrete. “But...this has possibilities.”

  The woman’s steps moved farther away. With the light on, I took inventory of what I could see by raising my chin. It wasn’t much, but the small gap near my nose allowed me to see the two men’s boots, the legs of their jeans, and the woman’s shoes and slacks. I could also see that across the room, roughly twelve feet away, was a toilet and sink. If I turned my head a bit, there appeared to be a bunk bed—I could only see the bottom bunk, but the structure suggested an upper bunk too—similar to what I’d seen in movies of prisons or jail cells.

  We were in a prison cell.

  “They’re fucking morons,” the woman declared.

  Who did she mean?

  “You kidnapped us. Who’s the moron?” Araneae asked.

  The woman quickly stepped back to Araneae. “Listen, bitch. Right now, your days are at my disposal. If you’re really pregnant, I suggest you keep your damn mouth closed.”

  “She is,” I volunteered.

  “Get her ice and” —she stood between our two sets of bound legs— “if you two can behave, this might work out. When Jet comes back, he’ll have ice and bottles of water. Keep your mouths shut and don’t fight. It’s either your lucky day or your luck has run out. Neither of you is who we want. When he returns, Jet will cut the tape on your arms and legs. Once he’s out of the room and the door is locked, you can take off the blindfolds. Do it sooner and the privilege is gone.” She again reached for my chin and lifted it higher. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes,” I answered, fearful Araneae may fight.

  She was a tiger and now a caged one. However, in our current position, fighting wouldn’t do either of us any good. I loved my friend, but the difficulties she’d experienced in her life were tame compared to where Mason and I had grown up.

  I wasn’t a pushover, but I also wasn’t stupid. The best thing for us to do was cooperate, figure this shit out, and get free.

  “You?” the woman questioned. “Deal?”

  I nudged Araneae’s arm.

  “Yes,” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

  From the slit below my blindfold, I watched as all three sets of feet moved to the far side and disappeared behind the closing door. To my joy, the light was still on. I whispered, “Can you see at all?”

  “I want them all dead.”

  I nodded. “I agree, but we have to cooperate.”

  “I want Sterling to—”

  “Araneae,” I interrupted, “what did you get out of that question-and-answer session?”

  Her voice changed. “You need ice. Lorna, why do you need ice?”

  “My face...my cheeks feel swollen and sore.”

  “Fucking—”

  “No,” I said. “Price, Edgar Price, and then they said Pierce. That woman said we weren’t who she wanted. She wants—”

  “Laurel,” we both said together.

  Reid

  The plane touched down at the closest excuse for an airport near Mason’s ranch. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of an airport. While the two runways were recently paved with expensive-looking lights, the only building nearby couldn’t even pass as a hangar. Marianne would need to fly to Bozeman or Butte for fuel before flying Garrett back to Chicago. I supposed we could have flown to one of those cities and traveled here, perhaps via helicopter. That would have required more time, time none of us were willing to sacrifice.

  As I descended the steps, I found myself too consumed to notice the beauty that this landscape usually provided. The mountains held my interest for less than a second. The dried grass, brush, and fences were lost to thoughts of my wife.

  Even in the summertime, the mountain peaks in the distance were capped in white snow. It was as if the writer of the song “America the Beautiful” had pictured these mountains when she created the lyric, “purple mountain majesties.” For a moment, I recalled how much Lorna had loved the views when we were here for Mason and Laurel’s wedding and then again, a couple of weeks ago before we’d separated.

  During that stay, Lorna and I rode a couple of Mason’s horses, just the two of us, into a valley, a bowl he called it. We’d packed a picnic and stopped near a river. It was nothing like I’d known growing up in a Chicago suburb. There were no paved streets. No brick apartment buildings. No row of houses. There was only nature.

  “Reid,” Sparrow said.

  “Yes?” I replied, shaking off the memory the view evoked.

  “We need you. Keep your head in the game.”

  I couldn’t let myself slip into the black hole of memories of my wife. There were too many. I could be lost for days.

  “I’m here,” I said as I followed the other three men into a waiting large SUV. The man driving was a trusted employee of Mason’s ranch. Patrick took the front passenger seat, Sparrow and I sat in the middle, and Mason did his best to fit into the third seat. His long legs came out between Sparrow’s and my bucket seats.

  “I could have called for two cars,” Mason said, “but I thought we might want to keep brainstorming.”

  “Explain what you found with the security in more detail,” Sparrow said to Mason.

  What he meant was explain it in a way he could understand. The technical jargon was not Sparrow’s specialty. It wasn’t that he lacked intelligence. It was that between the four of us, we had a broad range of knowledge. I paled in comparison to Sparrow when it came to real estate and acquiring assets through legal dealings such as he did day in and day out with Sparrow Enterprises. His knowledge was hard learned from his father as well as self-taught and fueled by his education.

  I was the same but with differing knowledge. I’d studied computer engineering at MIT, yet my education never stopped. Before MIT, the army was my teacher. Since, it had been life and opportunity. Patrick’s education at University of Chicago Booth, Sparrow’s at University of Michigan, and Mason’s at Northwestern, as well as mine, were all for one reason: to make the Sparrow outfit superior, not only physically but intellectually.

  “I can’t get to a total of the missing thirty minutes,” Mason said. “Right now, all I can confirm is that the airspace over the ranch was compromised. I’m suspecting that the kidnappers came in and went out via helicopter.”

  “And neither Madeline nor Laurel heard it?” I asked.

  “They both fell asleep. Madeline didn’t realize it was drug induced,” Patrick said. “She simply thought she was tired after lunch. The baby has been zapping her energy.”

  “And Laurel didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until Garrett woke her,” Mason added. He leaned forward between the seats. “I think we can assume the same for Lorna and Araneae. They fell asleep or were at least unaware.”

  “Like GHB?” Sparrow asked.

  Patrick nodded. “Until we get blood tests back on Maddie and Laurel, we won’t know for sure. But I’ve done some research. There isn’t a lot known regarding GHB in pregnancy. It’s believed to cross the placenta. The positive part is that the effects hit hard and the drug is quickly metabolized.”

  “What did the doctor who came to the ranch say?” Sparrow asked.

  Patrick responded, “Laurel, Maddie, and the baby are fine. We can only ass
ume your baby is the same.”

  Sparrow turned to the window as the Montana scenery passed by. “I’ve never felt so fucking impotent.” Just as quickly, he turned back. “Who gave it to them?”

  We all stared his direction.

  “Think about it. The women were all drugged. The airspace was breached. Neither Laurel nor Madeline heard anything. They had to have ingested the drug prior to the kidnappers arriving. If Madeline and Laurel ingested it before they left the kitchen, when did they ingest it? Who drugged them? It couldn’t be the kidnapper if he or she arrived via helicopter later.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Seth?”

  Before anyone could answer that question, Patrick turned back to us. “Garrett?”

  “You said you trusted him,” Mason said from the back of the SUV.

  “Who else was there?” I asked, not wanting to believe the worst about either man.

  “Find out who has been in the main house in the last twenty-four hours,” Sparrow said. “Every single person will come face-to-face with me. I want them at the house.”

  Both Patrick and Mason began typing on their phones, sending text messages to whoever could accomplish Sparrow’s order.

  “Garrett texted,” Patrick said. “He said Laurel thinks it could have been the lemonade. It’s all she can figure out that they all four consumed.”

  The SUV came to a large iron gate—Jackson Ranch embossed over the top. The ranch was named anew after a fire consumed the original main house. The name Jackson was in honor of a deceased friend of Mason’s.

  The gate wasn’t manned with a guard but an electronic sentry. There was a camera above the gate. A code or a card was also required for entry. Each code and card were user specific. Visual as well as digital information was recorded every time a gate opened. It was the same on the other few entrances. No one came or went from the ranch without the information being recorded.