“We’re about to take off.”
“I-I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Araneae, you’re safe at home.”
“What the hell, Sterling?” My hands began to shake. “You can’t go without me. The people want to talk to me.” My sentences were coming faster and faster. “Don’t you dare do this.”
“I’ll call you with any more news. Don’t call Winnie. There’s a good chance her phone is tapped. No emails either. Reid’s already gone through the emails sent to you or Louisa. It’s better to stay offline so you don’t pop up on his searches.”
Now, my entire body was shaking—trembling—as tears returned. “You asshole. You can’t leave me here and order me to stay quiet. These are my friends.”
“I can. I just did.”
My queasiness from before warmed to a boiling rage rolling through me.
“Damn it, Sterling! You promised to be with me.”
“I also promised to take care of this and keep you safe. This is the best way. I’ll call you, Araneae. Don’t even think of leaving the apartment. You’re in the safest place right now.”
Oh my God. My mind was a cyclone of thoughts, most of them erratic and disconnected.
“I can’t leave. You have me locked in a fucking glass tower.” Before he could respond, I went on, “How?” My free hand hit my towel-covered thigh as I paced between the sofa and bed. “How can you do this without me if they want me?”
“We have a plan. I love you.”
The phone went dead.
“Oh no you don’t.” I hit the green icon to call him back. As soon as it connected, his voicemail answered.
With shaking hands, I hammered out a text.
Sterling
Exhaling, I looked down at the screen of my phone. One missed call and one text message. ARANEAE on the screen.
* * *
“DO NOT DO THIS! YOU CAN’T HOLD ME CAPTIVE IN A DAMN GLASS TOWER. LOUISA IS MY BEST FRIEND. COME BACK AND GET ME OR I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL FIND A WAY OUT OF HERE. THERE’S ALWAYS THE FUCKING FRONT DOOR.”
* * *
I sent a reply.
* * *
“I SUGGEST YOU STAY AWAY FROM THAT FRONT DOOR. IT WON’T WORK ANYWAY. IT’S MONITORED. IF YOU TRY, YOU’LL REGRET IT. LET US TAKE CARE OF THIS. IT’S WHAT WE DO. YOU STAY SAFE.”
* * *
Exhaling, I looked up as the door to the plane closed. Marianne was in the cockpit and Keaton was on board. Though it was no longer her job, so was Jana.
“Mr. Sparrow,” she said, “may I get you something?”
She’d removed the blonde wig the minute we boarded the plane; however, she was still wearing the clothes Reid had provided. Though she was not quite Araneae’s size, he’d managed to get her a nice dress and designer shoes much like what was stocked in Araneae’s closet. While in the car with Garrett and me, Jana did her best to mimic Araneae, her body language and mannerisms. From working together for the last weeks, she’d done a good job picking up on a few. Jana only resembled Araneae from afar, but hopefully, it would be sufficient if we were being watched.
“Jana,” I said, “have a seat. I appreciate your helping us out at a moment’s notice. Patrick will arrange for a flight back to Chicago, and you’ll be back to your husband and son by morning. If the boy sleeps in, he’ll hardly know you were gone.”
A smile crept over her lips. “Thank you. You know I’d do anything you or Patrick asked. I’ve spoken with Mrs. Toney over the phone.” She hesitated. “I don’t know what’s happening, but if my pretending to be Ms. Hawkins for a few minutes helps, I’m glad to do it.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Jana.”
She looked down at the clothes. “I’ll return these to Patrick next week.”
“What? No. They’re your size. Consider the clothes a bonus on top of what you’ll be paid.”
“I couldn’t. They’re too nice.”
I tilted my head toward the area to the rear of where I sat. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” she said, beginning to step away.
“Jana?”
She turned back my way. “Yes?”
“Remember, you’re a guest on this plane for this trip. Relax. I just need you to disembark with me when we land. And then you’ll learn from Patrick when you can go home.”
Her smile returned. “Thank you.”
As she turned toward the partition, I pushed the button at the round table, raised the computer screen, and finding the keypad, I brought it to life. Once I was alone, I began looking into all of the findings from Sparrow. No one was taking this lightly. Reid had a team on it as well as Patrick.
I sent Reid a message.
* * *
“MONITOR THE FRONT ELEVATOR. NO ONE GOES UP OR DOWN. TOTAL LOCKDOWN WHILE WE’RE DEALING WITH THIS SHIT. WE NEED TO KNOW THAT EVERYONE IS SAFE.”
* * *
REID appeared on the screen.
* * *
“BACK ELEVATOR? LORNA?”
* * *
My decision wouldn’t be popular, but popularity wasn’t my goal. I replied.
* * *
“THE APARTMENT IS FULLY STOCKED. I’D RATHER NOT TAKE A CHANCE. DOUBLE-CHECK EVERYONE ON ONE TOO. YOU KNOW THIS BETTER THAN I DO, BUT THE WAY TO US IS THROUGH THOSE WOMEN. I WANT THEM BOTH SAFE.”
* * *
Besides, I believed Araneae would take her time in the apartment better if she had company. That didn’t negate the chewing out she’d give me when I returned. I’d take it. I’d take her calling me every name in the fucking book as long as she was safe.
Message from REID:
* * *
“I’LL PASS ON THE MESSAGE. HOPEFULLY THIS IS SETTLED SOON.”
* * *
I scrolled my secure messages until I found the picture of Bridget Anderson. She was twenty-seven years old—a year older than Araneae and from California—yet their likeness was uncanny. This could work.
Message to Patrick:
* * *
“GET BRIDGET UP TO SPEED. IF SHE NEEDS TO TALK TO SOMEONE, SHE NEEDS TO HAVE SOME KNOWLEDGE.”
* * *
PATRICK replied.
* * *
“AS WE SPEAK...WINNIE IS HELPING.”
* * *
I leaned back in the chair, finally realizing that we were off the ground. The sky beyond the windows was darkening, yet we’d be heading west, chasing the sunset. Exhaling, my jaw clenched at Patrick’s message. This was one of the times I had to trust Patrick’s instincts. He’d been right about Jana. I had to believe he was right about Winnie too. Bridget needed to be well-versed on Sinful Threads and Kennedy Hawkins. She also needed to know that she wasn’t limited to one name. She was also Araneae McCrie. McFadden’s people would certainly know that. In a nutshell, Bridget had to convince whoever questioned her that she was Kennedy/Araneae.
And then there was Jason. If he’d wake, hopefully he’d be able to shed more light on what happened.
What about the baby?
I recalled that nearly a week ago she’d texted Araneae about being dilated. I knew less about childbirth than nearly anything else in the world. I could talk real estate holdings, architecture, investments, money laundering, and gambling—even human trafficking. Yet with something as natural as childbirth, I knew nothing.
What I did know was that if anything happened to Louisa or the baby, Araneae would blame herself. I refused to let that happen.
Fuck, my mind was all over the place.
Twenty-four hours was significant in abductions. What we had to keep in mind was that this wasn’t a stereotypical abduction. It may fit the pattern. Women were kidnapped more than men. Over sixty percent of adult female kidnappings result in sexual assault or extortion. I was too aware of those statistics as well as those involving children. Things were different with Louisa.
Reid, Patrick, and I all agreed, this wasn’t random. It was to get Araneae’s attention. That bit of knowledge gave us hope. If Bridget cou
ld get them to play into our hand, we’d hopefully learn more.
With only two messages, we didn’t have much to go on.
A message bar popped up on the side of my screen with the name PATRICK.
* * *
“JASON IS IMPROVING.”
* * *
I sighed.
“Mr. Sparrow,” Keaton said, entering the area of the plane where I was working.
“Keaton.”
“May I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?”
“Water.”
Nodding, he turned away.
I should be hungry. Araneae and I last ate a midday meal on the yacht.
Fuck. That seemed like days ago.
The memory made me want to message her and tell her to eat; however, I’d have to trust that she’d do that on her own. Opening a line of communication right now was no doubt a bad plan. I would listen to her tirade after I had Louisa safe.
As time passed, I decided that working on anything for Sparrow Enterprises was a waste of my time. Thankfully, I’d kept up on everything while on our getaway. Now, my mind couldn’t concentrate on contracts, architectural perspectives, or even job bids. All I could think about was Louisa. I’d never met her, yet I’d seen enough pictures that I felt as though I had.
She mattered to Araneae, so she mattered to me.
I ran my hand through my hair.
How the fuck had we screwed up?
It was simple. We’d underestimated McFadden. We’d protected Araneae to a fault. He knew he couldn’t get to her, so he went for someone more vulnerable. Patrick had Shelly watching four people in Boulder plus other Sinful Threads employees. There was an array of people watching Araneae besides the constant presence of Patrick or myself. We’d allowed the coverage to be too scarce on Araneae’s friends.
With our destination approaching, I went back to the bedroom and showered. After a quick shave I dressed less casually—trousers and a button-up without a tie. The attire fit for the way the two Araneae imposters were dressed. I went back to the computer and continued to monitor the situation.
Two and a half hours after wheels up, the wheels of the Sparrow plane set down, taxiing on a runway in Boulder. Being after ten at night in Boulder, the sky was dark, but there would be lights on the tarmac.
We’d be visible.
As the plane rolled to a stop, Jana returned to where I’d been sitting. She once again wore the blonde wig as well as a long, light jacket over her dress. Its collars pointed over her cheeks obstructed part of her face.
I looked her up and down. “Again, thank you, Jana.”
She nodded.
“May I rest my hand on your back as we leave the plane? It would look more natural.”
She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Thank you for asking first.”
I’d spent too much time with men and women who’d endured horrendous hardships I could only imagine. With time came knowledge. I’d helped countless individuals find education, jobs, and careers. What I couldn’t give them was peace of mind. That was up to each one individually. They had to choose that. I simply did what I could to pave the path.
Throughout all the years Jana had worked for me, I’d never nor would I—under normal circumstances—touch her. She had to know that she had her own personal space.
“May I?” I asked again as the door popped, the seal breaking as the stairs began to descend.
“Yes,” she replied.
I looked down at my phone. “There’s a car waiting. Keep your face down and once we’re in and out of the car, your part is done.”
She nodded as we moved to the door, her face down, watching the tall heels walk down the stairs with my hand guiding her.
Araneae
Through the fog of my desolation came a knock at the bedroom door. It was there, rapping in the distance, yet I didn’t want to hear. With my phone secured between my hands, waiting, praying, and hoping for a call or a text message, I was too angry to answer the taps that continued.
No, angry wasn’t the right word.
Angry didn’t even come close to describing my feelings—my swell of emotions.
Livid.
Enraged.
Incensed.
My list continued as I ignored the knocking.
Hurt.
Disappointed.
Beyond consolation.
“Araneae,” Lorna’s voice came from the other side of the door, adding to the knocking.
I’d cried a bucket of tears, worrying about what was happening in Boulder, and while it seemed that none should be left, more came as I finally stood, my head pounding and my body drained.
Throughout the last hours I’d tried to think of ways to escape.
How fucking sick was it that my best friend had been taken and I was the one who needed to escape?
I wanted to throw something through one of the giant windows, but even if it would break—which I doubted it would—I’d be staring down at Chicago from ninety-seven stories in the air. I’d need a damn parachute for me to make it to the ground.
I’d contemplated the elevators. I didn’t need to test the one at the front door—the one Genevieve Sparrow had used—to know it wouldn’t work. Sterling had told me that in a text message. His words about leaving the apartment from weeks ago came back to me. “Cannot. As in...are incapable of, not only forbidden but physically unable. Is that spelled out enough for you? Obviously, following rules voluntarily is not your strong suit. The choice for you to go against my will regarding leaving the apartment has been taken away from you.”
Trapped.
The weight of that reality was unbearable.
If I felt this way, how was Louisa feeling?
“Araneae, please. I know you’re in there.”
Walking from the chaise where I’d been sitting by the window, I dredged myself across the massive bedroom—my prison—toward the bedroom doors. The burden of my capture made moving toward Lorna’s voice difficult, like the process of walking through knee-deep water in a lake with a mucky bottom. Each step was harder than the last, pulling me down.
With my last bit of energy—while knowing that I was a walking, talking, blubbering mess—I yanked open one of the doors while keeping my chin down. I’d made it to her; that didn’t mean I wanted to look at her. She was one of them, one of the people I’d trusted who now had me held prisoner.
I didn’t care how fucking beautiful Sterling’s apartment was.
A gilded cage was still a cage.
Avoiding Lorna’s eyes, I kept my gaze pointed downward, concentrating on her colorful tennis shoes. They were bright pink with purple. Even the swirl of colors couldn’t ease my stupor.
“I thought...” She began before exhaling. “...how are you?”
“I-I’m...” I wasn’t sure what I was.
Abandoned.
Demeaned.
A fucking child grounded to this apartment while her friend was in danger.
A person who had opened her life to possibilities only to have it ripped away at the agonizing price of everything: my best friend, my company, and my freedom.
My head shook.
How had I been so stupid?
The reason that I couldn’t look up and face Lorna’s green-eyed stare was because I didn’t need to tell Lorna any of those things. She knew. She knew what I was. She knew and she’d helped. The strong, determined CEO of Sinful Threads was reduced to rubble, and she knew.
It hurt in a way that words couldn’t describe.
Standing there looking at me, Lorna was a witness to my misery.
That was what she was.
It was bad enough for me to experience the wreckage of what was my life—I didn’t want a witness. I shook my head again as I started to close the door.
“It isn’t just you,” she said, bringing my attention up to her pretty face as she reached out, blocking the closing of the door.
In that second, there was a flicker of something different. “What’s
not just me?”
Lorna tilted her head. “May I come in...I-I won’t if you don’t want me to. I’ve just never been on lockdown with someone before. You never know how long it will last and the men are all inaccessible. It’s...so many emotions.”
“Lockdown?”
She nodded.
I took a step back, allowing her entry to my cell. As she crossed the threshold, I noticed that other than that Lorna had on shoes and I only had socks, we were dressed similarly—yoga pants and t-shirts. Apparently, there was no need for formal attire during a lockdown. “You’ve gone through this before?”
She continued walking until she came to the small table and pulled out a chair. Sitting, she looked up at me. “I know this is all new to you, but I warned you.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure you remember, but I mentioned it the first morning in the kitchen. I said that they would disappear for days on end. Sometimes it coincides with things we’re aware of, like this...” She gestured about. “Other times, they’re just gone.”
I sat across the table from her. In the window behind her was my reflection. My emotions were broadcast over my face, written in tear tracks, swollen eyes, and splotches. “I can’t believe he did it. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me. He left me. I thought I was going. This is my best friend who’s in trouble.”
Lorna’s head shook. “Did he tell you that you were going?”
“Yes...” I thought about it. “I think. He insinuated.” My palm slapped the table with less force than I would have hours earlier. “Fuck, I don’t know. I thought I was. Maybe it was just me. He kept saying things like that they were taking care of it. He said he had to talk to Reid, and the plane was about ready. He said he loved me.” With my elbows on the table, I lowered my head to my hands. “I don’t feel loved. I feel abandoned. I feel...”
Promises Page 10