His thoughts shifted to Cameron, asleep upstairs, who felt like family even though they had only been dating a few months. Except for the few nights she was with him, she was, despite her personal safety measures, going home alone all times of night depending on her hectic schedule. While she was skilled in martial arts and her weapons collection was ridiculous, it didn’t stop Daron from worrying that someone would catch her off guard, or use someone close to her to set a trap and take her from him. She still had a lot of enemies thanks to her former criminal mastermind boss, Bishop, where she had been a weapon of choice for most jobs from stealing multi-million-dollar art and sculptures to assignments that put fear into his competition.
While she had taken steps to distance herself from everything on the wrong side of the law, Daron had created a program for young men and wanted to do something to help bring missing girls home. Now, as the minutes ticked by, he didn’t know if the tracking device was the right solution. Secrecy was the key. Unfortunately, the more devices he sold meant more chances of the word getting out. The traffickers would make sure the earrings were off before moving their victims.
The idea of not being able to bring Tracy home to Katara pained him. So many Black and Brown girls were going missing without a trace in this age of technology and high-performance cameras. The few that were found weren’t always alive.
Two hours later, he expanded the screen. The dot’s speed had changed. It now seemed to be lingering in one small space.
Daron locked in the location, sent the coordinates to his awaiting team. Twenty minutes later, his cell chimed. Glancing down, the words ‘The Castle’ flashed back. He reached for it just as a call came through.
“We have Tracy,” Katara said, and the happiness in her voice warmed his heart.
His head dipped forward in relief. “How is she?”
“In shock. A little bruised and drugged up, but she and the other girls are safe now.”
Other girls?
Katara paused, giving someone else a directive before coming back on the line. “Thank you so much. I gotta go. Bye.”
Two high-alert events in one night could not be a coincidence.
CHAPTER 3
VICTOR ALEJANDRO “DRO” REYES
“Don’t disgrace your family, hijo.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling that to Uncle Santiago, Mamá?”
Dro sat on the bench of his grand piano. The dimly lit conservatory echoed his dark mood. His fingers moved skillfully across the keys. Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13, commonly known as Sonata Pathétique, resounded through the far reaches of the room. The composition was one of his mother’s favorites, and after the disagreement he’d had with her hours before, he needed a distraction. Music always served a vital purpose.
“Sir?”
“Not now, Travers,” Dro called over his shoulder.
“But, you have an important phone call,” Nicholas Travers replied.
“Take a message, please.” He returned to his playing while Travers disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
Dro’s day had been a long and stressful one. Right now, he wanted a few moments of reprieve. The heated conversation he’d had with the first love of his life, Valentina Aragón Reyes, was a doozy. He’d tried to avoid it, but his mother wouldn’t let up. Uncle Santiago had contacted him repeatedly over the last few days. Too busy with his current assignment, Dro had put off returning the calls. He knew what his uncle wanted. A favor here, a word of introduction there, his uncle took family favors to another level, almost as far as his mother took her guilt trips.
His father, Victor, had overlooked this flaw in his baby brother. But considering that he, too, was the baby of the family, Dro had little patience for his uncle’s weaknesses. The irony was that Victor Reyes had always hammered into his children the importance of being successful, of using the brains God gave them, and of always putting family first. Santiago had received the same wisdom from his father as a child, but somehow, it hadn’t stuck. His business acumen, or lack thereof, was legendary in their family. By squandering nearly every opportunity that came his way, Santiago had become their grandfather’s biggest disappointment and his father’s burden. And now he was Dro’s burden.
“I’m sorry to disturb you again,” Travers said.
“But?” Dro sighed. His fingers froze, hovering in mid-air over the ivory piano keys.
“It’s your office line again. Ellen Kiley is insistent, sir.”
Dro stood, abandoning all hope of letting that sonata carry him into a peaceful mood. As he walked past, he patted Travers on the shoulder. “Thanks so much.”
He walked down the hall from the conservatory to his office. His quick stride beat out a steady cadence on the hardwood floors. The light was already on at his desk, and the hold button was blinking steadily on the telephone. Picking up the receiver, Dro dropped into a chair near the window that provided a view of his lush gardens and retrieved the call.
“What’s up, El?”
“Sorry to call you at this hour, Mr. Reyes,” his assistant of seven years replied.
“Dro,” he instantly corrected. A friend of his mother’s, Ellen had insisted on being more formal in the office. When she didn’t reply, his chest rumbled with laughter. “It’s no problem. Travers said you needed me?”
“You received a call a few minutes ago—on your private line.”
The teasing stopped. After hours, Dro’s private line rolled to Natalie, and if she didn’t answer, then it went to his cell. He knew if someone was calling on that line, it was an issue that was a high priority.
“Let’s have it.”
“Alderman Cherry needs to speak with you. Immediately.”
His gaze flicked to his watch. Almost midnight, but if the alderman had reached out to him this late, this wasn’t a social call.
“Thanks, El. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
Switching to his cell, he dialed the alderman’s number and waited. The man picked up on the first ring.
“Hi Sam,” Dro said casually. “How can I be of service?”
“I forgot you always get to the point. I need a favor.”
All business, Dro grabbed a pen and notepad from the far end of the cherry wood desk and asked, “What do you need?”
Sam was silent for a few moments before he said, “It’s Nina. She’s … she’s in trouble,” he replied gruffly. “She left hours ago to go to her friend’s house. Supposedly to a party, but that was a lie.”
Dro jotted down notes.
“She and one of her schoolmates went to some hotel. They weren’t alone,” he stressed. “Another friend received a few text messages from my baby, along with some pictures. She wisely told her mother about it, and the mother called my wife.”
Dro could hear the man struggling to hold it together. His voice cracked when he said, “Nina needs help, but I don’t know where she is. Just that she’s in a hotel and was given something. If they harm a hair on her—”
“I need you to focus, Sam,” Dro replied. “If I’m to help, I need all the facts right now.”
Sam repeated all the information his wife, June, had relayed. He gave Dro the cell numbers of his daughter and her friend.
“Dro—”
“I know, Sam. This situation has to stay under the radar. I’ll handle it.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.”
The moment he disconnected, Dro called Ellen back and brought her up to speed.
“Get Mike on this. I need to know where she is, what’s been posted on social media—”
“From her cell, and her girlfriend’s phone in the last few hours,” Ellen added.
He rattled off a few more orders before ending the call. Sam was an advocate for members of The Castle. So without question, he would get whatever he needed.
After his father’s illness and sudden retirement, Dro was in line to inherit his seat as one of Chicago’s Kings
of the Castle. He was reluctant to step into the role, but his brothers, Raul and Esteban said they would flat out refuse if asked. Not wanting to hurt their father, and because it was his nature, Dro decided he would accept if offered. The position was a full-time engagement, and the only way out is to step down due to health issues that prohibited anyone from doing the job, or by death. Dro was well aware of the perks, prestige, danger, and commitment of being a King. They had limitless connections across the globe, most of whom were loyal to the Kings of the Castle, but from what he had learned recently, they also had major enemies. He’d gone over everything in his head from the day his father made the request. He was a Reyes. He would accept his father’s seat. Dro had no regrets.
The next call he placed was to his good friend, Shastra “Shaz” Bostwick, who had worked with him on several occasions.
When their conversation ended ten minutes later, he rushed upstairs to his bedroom to change. His family issues were forgotten and a few thoughts of how far he’d have to go to solve Alderman Cherry’s problem came to mind.
Dro had a job to do, and it was time to go to work.
CHAPTER 4
SHAZ BOSTWICK
Camilla Gibson’s eyes were deep enough for Shaz to lose himself in them. Someone in her position shouldn’t have been this demanding, but he understood. Camilla was clutching at straws to save her baby. If he were a parent, he’d be doing the same thing.
He dragged his gaze from hers and let it settle on the ocean painting on the wall across from him. A heavy mahogany desk and Queen Anne chairs should have made his workspace austere, but the egg-shell blue walls, corner sofa, and potted plants gave his office a warm atmosphere and made his clients comfortable.
Now that he’d regained his bearings, Shaz studied the woman who had walked in for an early appointment and brought back painful memories from his past. Her brown eyes carried deep shadows that hinted at the torment wracking her soul. She shifted, and he put aside thoughts of family and separation.
“Can you help me, or not?” she asked, as her eyes lasered into his.
Camilla’s hair fell in soft, chestnut waves around her head, and with one hand, she pushed several strands of it off her forehead. She grimaced, and he didn’t know if she was hurting or annoyed with him. He pulled his mind back from the unexpected desire to thread the thick strands of her hair through his fingers. Instead, he rolled one of his locs to occupy his hand.
The phone rang, and he was grateful for the distraction. Camilla had thrown him off-kilter, and he didn’t like it one bit. She was as mouth-watering as the food her aunt served at the Jamaican restaurant down the street. Shaz made it a point to eat at Miss Mabel’s at least once each week. The food carried a home-cooked flavor that was reminiscent of his childhood summer visits with his Jamaican grandmother, and the service was second to none. Miss Mabel and her niece differed on one major point—patience. The aunt had it in spades. Camilla, not so much.
A sigh left Camilla’s plum-painted lips. Her nostrils flared as she smoothed the material of a white, sleeveless dress over her legs. Her gaze wandered around his office while she inhaled a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
Shaz got the feeling she was searching inside herself for some level of calm. He hoped she found some because the interruptions were part of his routine. Everybody’s situation was urgent. Not just hers.
“One moment, please.” He picked up the handset and slid a glance at the display. Elise, his assistant, was on the intercom.
“Shaz, I have a call about a Khalil Germaine. The person on the line insists on speaking with you. He says it’s urgent. A letter also came from him just a few moments ago. D’you want me to bring it in?”
“No, I’ll get it when I’m leaving.” His brows contracted, and he sat up straight. Why was someone on the line other than Khalil? Did something happen? What was the letter about? Did it have anything to do with the package he had received a month ago?
The back of his neck tightened, and he resisted the inclination to rub away the tension. Other than that mysterious communication, Shaz hadn’t heard from Khalil in ages, so despite Camilla’s problem, she had to wait. “You can put the call through, Elise.”
He could swear smoke floated from Camilla’s ears as he opened the line. “Shaz Bostwick,” he said, ignoring the delicate fingers tapping on the arm of her chair. “Did something happen to Khalil?”
“He’s in the hospital and needs to see you.” The man’s voice was well-modulated but tinged with worry. “He sent a package to you a month ago. Did you get it?”
“My assistant has it.” While his heart beat in loud, painful thuds, he asked, “Which hospital?”
“Northwestern.”
His equilibrium returned along with his manners. “Thank you. By the way, who are you?”
“I’m his son, Vikkas.”
A flash of memory brought the image of a young high school friend with olive skin, intense dark eyes, jet black hair—the very image of Khalil himself. Shaz was about to end the call when it occurred to him that he still didn’t have a handle on the situation. “Hey, what happened to Khalil?”
“He’s been shot.”
He gripped the arm of his chair and squeezed hard as his chest tightened. “So how—”
“We’re waiting on a surgeon that specializes in the delicate operation he needs to arrive. My father specifically requested that you see him today. As soon as possible.”
The air whooshed from Shaz’s lungs, and he pushed back his chair as the man on the line bade him goodbye.
Khalil couldn’t have been hurt too badly if he was making demands such as this. But still … it had to be urgent if he’d stipulated that he visit today.
Shaz got to his feet and picked up a black key fob. Then his gaze fell on Camilla, who he’d forgotten was with him. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Her eyes widened, then her face fell. “But—”
“Let’s reschedule for tomorrow.” He closed her file, then walked around the desk, intending to show her out.
She rose and stood in his path, tipping her head a little to meet his eyes. Her powdery, yet musky perfume surrounded him in a fragrant tide. The smooth reddish-brown skin, reminiscent of clay, was several shades deeper than his. He tucked a hand in his pocket to stem the urge to touch her.
A line formed between her eyes. “What time tomorrow?”
Shaz ran a hand over his locs and shuffled his feet. “Speak to my assistant. She’ll organize it.”
“This is important,” she said, her tone insistent.
His hand went to his neck and he blew out a gust of air. “I know, and I’m sorry. Something urgent has come up and—”
“With all due respect.” She raised a manicured hand. “I was here first.” After a pause, and a lift of her chin, she added. “My business is important too.”
Her voice had the quality of a radio announcer’s, pleasant and melodious. Unlike Cassandra, the woman he’d been seeing months ago, whose voice was so rich she practically purred when she talked. Shaz pulled his mind off that track and tuned back into Camilla.
“I agree, but I really do have to go.” He wanted to remind her that he had bent over backward to accommodate her aunt by squeezing her into his already full schedule. She didn’t have the right to make demands. When he looked into her eyes, he swore they went liquid. Her disappointment hit him in the stomach like a physical blow. Camilla’s jaw trembled, then she sank her teeth into her lip. Then she stepped back and stood straighter. She stared at his chin as if she couldn’t bear to look directly at him. “I’ll speak to your assistant.”
She turned away, and he followed, conscious of the way she carried herself. Her fighting spirit could fool the average person into thinking she was okay. But the anxiety that hung around her told Shaz she wasn’t.
Camilla was in a situation that would make most people crumble in defeat. Not this woman. Her regal bearing gave the impression of someone much older, with a wealth of
experience. Something about her reminded him of his mother, who’d gone through more than most women he knew. God knew she was still going through flashes of hell with his brother, Martin.
From what he understood, Camilla came to Chicago with her baby to access treatment for a condition Shaz couldn’t pronounce. She was almost at the point where she had to return to Jamaica or be deported. Aunt Mabel had shared the story with him and appealed to him for help. Everybody in Evanston knew Bostwick Consultants was the go-to outfit for these kinds of issues, so here they were. Except, he felt like a chump because he couldn’t help. At least, not now. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to reassure her.
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