Promises

by Aleatha Romig

  “Fuck, I’m aware.”

  Reid turned away from the screens, spinning his chair, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. “Before speaking with Judge Landers, we thought what?”

  “That she gave Araneae up to protect her.”

  “Daniel McCrie was her father,” Reid said. “He saw the shit on these CDs. He worked for McFadden and also for your father. He knew what both men were capable of doing.”

  “So you’re saying,” I said, “McCrie gave her up to protect her. He hid her existence from even his wife, for her safety?”

  Reid shrugged. “It makes sense. I can’t imagine lying to Lorna, but if it were to save my kid’s life, to save her from ending up as one of these pictures, I just might do it.”

  “And she’d kick your ass if she ever learned,” Patrick added.

  “McCrie isn’t around for Judge Landers to kick his ass.”

  “Right now, I think she’s just amazed her daughter is alive.” My head began to nod. “You know, you might be right about her dad. We figured her mother would try to save her, why not her father?” I stopped my pacing and turned to my two confidants. “Why did he go to my father? Why not McFadden, his brother-in-law?”

  “Maybe that’s the reason. Maybe he thought Allister could hide her from his own family. We are mostly certain that Rubio called the hit on McCrie. If he’d order his brother-in-law dead, what would stop him from putting his niece in a sex-and-exploitation ring?”

  “Why would my father help him? What was in it for him?” Allister Sparrow wasn’t the type of man to hand out favors, not one this big.

  Reid spun the chair and lifted the four CDs still in their plastic cases up in the air. “This. Maybe McCrie told Allister that he had copies. He offered them to him after Araneae was no longer a child, no longer prime for this ring.”

  “And then,” I said, the pieces clicking into place, “when my father heard rumors about the whole thing being a ruse, about Araneae really being the dead baby, he was livid. McCrie panicked and went to McFadden to do what...? Offer him the same deal? McFadden didn’t believe that she was ever alive.”

  “Because that was what her mother said and your father announced,” Patrick said. “Your father told your mother he’d been lied to. McFadden got wind. He was sick of McCrie’s shit and offed him. Problem officially solved.”

  “In the meantime,” Reid said, “somehow the Marshes—whoever in the fuck they were—got wind of McCrie’s demise. If they were reporting to Allister, they were aware of at least the Sparrow outfit. They assumed, like many others, that McCrie’s death was a Sparrow hit. They freaked out and went on the run...”

  I stopped walking again. “It would make sense that they were afraid of Allister. Why they warned both Araneae and Mrs. Nelson about the name Sparrow. Fuck, they might not have even known that McFadden was part of the equation.”

  “And now,” Reid went on, “McFadden thought all his troubles were over. The baby in the casket was Araneae. He killed McCrie. He’d kept Annabelle close. No loose ends until you showed up with the rumored-to-be-deceased Araneae McCrie on your arm a month and a half before he planned to announce his candidacy for president. You fucking imploded his world.”

  Nodding, I sat back down. “Damn. If we’re right, we’ve been close to figuring this out for years, but now, with the evidence we’ve got it.” I looked to both Reid and Patrick. “Can we trace the money from the 737 pilot’s wife’s shell company to McFadden to prove he paid to have the plane crash-landed or at least raise suspicion that he was involved? What about the fire in Araneae’s apartment?”

  “I’ve been on that,” Patrick said. “Shelly got the fire inspector’s report. They’ve ruled it arson with two pending cases of manslaughter.”

  “Why manslaughter? Why not murder?”

  “There’s no evidence the fire was set to cover up the killing or to cause their deaths; instead, the evidence supports that the couple died as a result of the fire, not before it. The medical examiner’s report has to do with smoke inhalation. They weren’t dead before. If they had been, they wouldn’t have inhaled the smoke.”

  I nodded. “But no suspects?”

  “None,” Patrick replied. “We were looking into the blond insurance agent, but now we know that was Agent Wesley Hunter.”

  “Aka Mark, aka Walsh,” I said. “Fuck, he has as many names as Araneae.”

  “What are we going to do with this information and what about the stocks?” Patrick asked.

  He too had looked through the documents. We varied a little on the net worth, but either way, if Araneae could prove her identity, she will be a very wealthy woman.

  “I’m not sure about the evidence,” I admitted. “I told Araneae that I’d leave that decision to her. I haven’t decided what to lead with...the evidence or her wealth.”

  “You could start with I have some bad news and some good news,” Reid said with a chuckle as he turned back to the computer screens. “Fuck.”

  “Is that the bad news?” Patrick asked.

  “No,” Reid replied with a shake of his head. “I’d say it’s good. I just found the closed account where bids were sent for the live auction. It bounced off a shit-ton of virtual servers, went through some archaic firewalls, and ended up right back here.”

  “Here? Tell me,” I said, “that it’s not Sparrow.”

  “It’s not Sparrow.”

  Araneae

  I woke as Sterling climbed into bed. The room around us was mostly dark with only the sliver of the moon shining through the large windows. Yet in the dimness, I could make out his handsome features, his furrowed brow as he slid between the soft sheets. Curling my body, I rolled closer. “Good night.”

  “Sunshine, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  I sat up, leaning on my elbow. “I’ve been tossing and turning. You’d think after being awake all of last night, I’d be exhausted. I think that’s it. I’m too tired to sleep. My mind is all over the place. Will you tell me what you’ve found?”

  With a deep sigh reverberating through our bedroom, Sterling reached his arm around me, pulled me closer, and wrapped me in his embrace as his spicy scent filled my senses. “You did it. What they all feared you’d do, you did it.”

  My body grew heavy with the weight of the evidence. “Is it...McFadden or Sparrow?”

  “Both.”

  I spun to face him. “I don’t want to turn in Sparrow. I don’t. It’s not just because I love you. It’s because it wasn’t you. You didn’t run whatever is on those CDs. Your father did it. You’ve stopped it. You’ve done more than that; you’ve helped victims.” When he didn’t answer, I went on, “You said it was my choice. I don’t want people to know.”

  “Do you want to know details?”

  “No. I’d rather not.”

  “There was one thing even I didn’t know about.” He shook his head. “It was sick.”

  “Who did it?”

  “McFadden’s outfit. Reid was able to trace an old URL. Even when shit is wiped clean, it survives in cyberspace. You just need to know how to find it.”

  “Could it still be happening?”

  “We don’t know,” Sterling said. “Today’s dark web isn’t easy to navigate. Finding the sites isn’t as tough as following where they go. I could say, yes, there are things out there like we found. Is McFadden currently involved? We can’t say. However, we can prove that over twenty-five years ago he was.”

  “Children?” I asked, the word thick on my tongue.

  Sterling nodded. “Assuming the evidence was recent when your father hid it, I’d say if any of the victims are still alive, today they would be anywhere from my age to maybe forty.” He rolled toward me, until my head was on my pillow and he was over me. “I think it should all be made public.”

  “Why? You and your business shouldn’t suffer for what your father did.”

  “Because before I had you with me, I wanted to shove this in McFadden’s face. I wanted to hand him a gun and watch hi
m take his own life, unable to come back from this fall. I wanted Sparrow to take over McFadden’s men. I wanted to reign over every dark corner of this city.”

  “Then do that,” I said honestly. “I just have one stipulation.”

  “What is that?”

  “That I’m beside you.”

  “What if you change your mind?”

  My hands went to Sterling’s now-bare shoulders and splayed over his chest, feeling the indentions of his torso. “Why would I change my mind?”

  “Maybe because you won’t need me or maybe the best answer is that I’ve already tarnished your light. Because of me you’re condoning the hiding of evidence and being an accessory to homicide.”

  With my eyes adjusting to the silvery shimmer from the moon, I stared up at Sterling’s eyes. “There’s more. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what you haven’t said.”

  “Details on the evidence?”

  “Has Reid cracked all the CDs?”

  “Yes. He needs some special technology for the floppy disks. They haven’t aged well. They can’t hold much information, so we have no idea what they’ll contain.”

  “My father hid all of this?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  My hand went to his cheek. “Then he brought me into this darkness, not you. You found me. You saved me.”

  “Sunshine, I don’t know how else to say this, but your father did more than that.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Do I want to know?”

  “He also hid information on offshore accounts and some stocks he purchased, complete with the paperwork bequeathing the accumulated funds to his child or children. In the case of no children, they were to go to Annabelle.”

  I was having difficulty understanding why Sterling thought this was so important. “So there’s some money. How much are we talking?”

  “Billions.”

  I gasped.

  What?

  “What did you just say?”

  “In the stocks alone, Patrick and I figure between four to six billion.”

  “What? I-I don’t know what to do with that kind of money.”

  “You hire people. That’s what you do; people to help you manage it. You can hire your own bodyguards. You can build your own safe house.”

  I blinked my eyes as if seeing clearer would help me understand. “I don’t want any of those things. I want what I have.” I swallowed. “Unless now that you got what you wanted, you don’t want me.”

  His lips met with mine. “Never think that. I want you more than life itself. I don’t care if you claim the money or not. I’ve told you, when it comes to money, I do all right. I want you safe. I also want you here because you want to be, not because you need to be for your safety or because I kidnapped you.”

  My lips curled upward. “I told you that you kidnapped me.”

  “Only to Ontario.”

  “I don’t have to think about it. If what you say is true, I’ll talk to Annabelle. I suppose if she wants to keep it, she can refuse to help me verify my identity. No matter what, Sterling Sparrow, you’re not getting rid of me, and I’m not getting rid of you. It took me some time, but you convinced me.” I lifted my lips to his. “I belong to you and you belong to me.”

  “What about the evidence?” he asked.

  “Let’s sleep on it. My uncle’s deadline is before Monday. We still have a few days.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “Hey,” I said, remembering my conversation with Winnie. “I know we have a thousand things happening and deadlines, but what does illegal activity mean to you?”

  Sterling lay back against his pillow. “It could mean many things. Why?”

  “Something to do with Sinful Threads.”

  “We’ll talk to Reid about it.”

  “I’m sure it can wait,” I volunteered. “I want this McFadden thing taken care of first.” The room grew quiet until I asked another question, “Sterling?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Can you give me other options for McFadden? If you take the evidence to him and he takes the bait and kills himself, how will that help the children if the ring is still going? I mean, won’t someone else just take over?”

  “Exposing the ring, his outfit, brings light to the underworld. It could end up exposing more.”

  “Or helping? Right?” I sat up. “You’re no longer involved in this. Agent Hunter wanted my information or wanted me to testify against you. What if we gave him or someone else the information and pointed him at Rubio instead of you?”

  “Like you said,” Sterling replied, “we have a few days. Let’s think about all the possibilities. No going rogue. This is too big and too dangerous.”

  I leaned over his chest, bringing our noses together. “Yes, Mr. Sparrow.”

  “Oh, sunshine, you know what that does to me.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sparrow...” I lowered my hand under the covers, over his tight abs, and lower. Wrapping my fingers around his erection, I moved my hand up and down. “...I believe I found more evidence.”

  “You think?”

  No, I was certain.

  All at once, our world flipped. I was on my back with Sterling’s toned torso covering me. With his nose touching mine, I stared up into his dark stare as a giggle escaped my lips.

  His head shook. “Only you could have that beautiful smile...” His finger traced my lips. “...and a laugh after that conversation.”

  Sterling lifted himself higher, taking me in, inch by inch, from the top of my head to where his body covered mine. His gaze sent heat to my skin while leaving goose bumps in its wake.

  “Only you could be thinking about sex,” I said.

  His head shook once more. “It has nothing to do with the conversation and everything to do with the evidence you were just stroking.” He reached for the straps of my satin nightgown. “I believe you started this, but, sunshine, I plan on finishing it.”

  My body was at his disposal. That meant there was only one thing I could say. “Yes, Mr. Sparrow.”

  Sterling

  Sitting in a conference room on floor one—the working area of the Sparrow outfit—I listened as two of our Sparrow capos reported on the heroin distribution Carlos’s men had discovered on their scouting mission.

  “You’re saying it’s centered in the warehouse district?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. It’s small but profitable. A group of rogue wannabes utilizing the tools they already have,” the first man said. “The trucks of other businesses. They don’t steal them. They are employed by the trucking company.”

  This was my city. No one created an operation without taking it through Sparrow. If I approved, I received the standard cut. If I disapproved, the operation went elsewhere or we eliminated it. The fact that this had been happening under our noses meant there would be heads rolling somewhere. Or bodies in acid.

  The possibilities were numerous.

  “They’re transporting the heroin via drivers that service multiple small warehouses,” the first man continued. “It’s not one business but many. The drivers are contracted, not employed by the individual companies.”

  I was getting the picture. “These drivers are transporting heroin within their standard shipments.”

  “Yes,” the second man said. “Some of the businesses have reported discrepancies in their merchandise numbers. Say for instance that a company is moving merchandise, let’s say medical supplies. When that merchandise leaves the warehouse for the distribution center, the quantity is verified often by weight. It’s standard. The only one to touch the merchandise between stops is the driver or the loading/unloading crew. Somewhere along the way, the driver stops. He or she replaces a small portion of the merchandise with the drugs. The shipment is then delivered. Someone on the inside of the distribution center separates out the heroin from the medical supplies and holds it until it’s picked up for distribution.”

  “Then the merchandise quantity on both ends doesn’t match,” I said.

&nb
sp; “Right. The weight could be verified if the pallets are weighed. That’s why they have to remove some of the merchandise. If they only added the heroin, the weight would be off, or boxes and pallets would be noticeably different.”

  “How fucking long has this been going on in my city?”

  Both men shook their heads. “Boss, the truth seems to be that it has been happening for at least a few months. We’ve traced it to some rogue Disciples.”

  The Disciples were one of the street gangs known to be in Chicago. Officially there are fifty-nine gangs in Chicago with nearly one hundred thousand members. They were here because we allowed it. They paid their share and in exchange, I or McFadden allowed them the use of our streets. While McFadden and Sparrow both benefited, we also made the rules.

  “Rogue? I want a meeting set up with various gang leaders. It sounds like they have some punks ready to try a takedown. We’re stopping this before they end up clashing on the street.”

  “These truck drivers were mostly hired in the last six months, working for the contract trucking companies,” man two said. “Not just one trucking contractor. They’re spreading the joy to keep it under the radar.”

  “I want names of the trucking companies and names of the companies they run merchandise to and from.”

  The first man pulled his phone from his pocket. “I have the trucking companies. They’re the ones who are doing the transporting and paying off the lower management at the warehouses and distribution centers to take the blame for the discrepancies.” He pulled up a list of only a few trucking contractors.

  “That’s not very many,” I said, looking at his screen. “Send me the list.”

  “No, not many,” man number one said. “But they work for multiple various companies. The plan is good. Say one company is caught with numbers not meshing; they don’t see the bigger picture.”

  After a ding on the computer before me, I pulled up the trucking companies that he’d listed. He was right. They contracted out to hundreds of smaller companies. “Do you think all the drivers are involved?”