The ripples Sparrow’s abrupt shutdown created exceeded our expectations, creating an even more dangerous world involving others who were determined to take back Chicago and reinstate business as usual. It’s easy to concentrate on the victims. They should be the focus. Currently, that was Sparrow’s wife’s mission. She began a foundation centered on helping victims of sex trafficking. Mason’s wife’s mission was more scientific, a drug to suppress traumatic memories. She was fucking brilliant, and while her formula had awakened turmoil, she was still determined to succeed. Now with the help of the Sparrows, she was closer to her dream.
We were prepared for what would happen in Chicago, we thought. In reality the shock waves occurred throughout the merchandising chain. Shutting down the core outfit, the stables—as Allister Sparrow’s men referred to them—were the first dominos in a long line to fall.
Anger and violence flared up all around the city and country. Customers lost their ability to act upon their sick-as-fuck desires. Finders and suppliers lost their source of income. Managers who ran the facilities where people paid a price to live out their sick fantasies, as well as those who transported the victims to willing customers, were affected.
We uncovered that victims were typically used until their usefulness expired. According to some of the records we found in Allister’s safes, the reasons for their dismissal varied. It ranged from mental instability to physical infirmity. Often, he or she was damaged by a customer or sometimes despite the attempts to stop it, pregnancy occurred.
Sales channels for all of the various situations had been established. A healthy baby could be sold for a profit above that of sustaining the pregnancy. When it came to selling the victims, most channels led beyond the border of our country. Again, it was a network of people, transporting and delivering.
Truly the fallout mushroomed larger than we’d anticipated.
For years it was a tempest, waxing and waning with the focus on retaliation against Sterling Sparrow. And through it all, we prevailed, keeping Chicago under Sparrow reign.
That wasn’t to say Chicago was without crime or to insinuate that the Sparrow outfit didn’t profit handsomely from illegal activities. It simply meant that as a young boy, the leader of our outfit sought to right one wrong, and while he—we—were guilty of a million sins, that one point of redemption still remained.
“Mr. Kelly,” Romero called from the dining room, “are you watching Ms. Miller’s GPS?”
I had been earlier, but since confirming her safety in the car, I’d been concentrating on other things. “Why?”
“I wasn’t watching or listening,” he said. “I’ve been watching the island retreat. I’m sorry.”
My skin bristled beneath my linen shirt. “Why are you sorry?”
He pointed to one of the screens. “It’s no longer recording a heart rate.”
I took a step closer. “What about the audio?”
“It’s muffled, sir. Like it’s been placed inside of something.”
Did she take it off?
Would she do that?
Why?
I reached for a pair of earphones. “I want the recording and keep monitoring the live feed.”
A few hits on the keyboard and I was able to go back in time to before the necklace stopped broadcasting. Closing my eyes, I listened as I followed the GPS indicator en route to Elliott’s ranch. I’d listened to most of this in real time. There was nothing to hear as Madeline’s heart rate remained steady.
The corresponding map showed the car entering the ranch. According to satellite footage, the road to the house was rather long. Finally, the car came to a stop. A minute passed and then another.
Why wasn’t she getting out of the car?
After nearly four minutes, the sound of a door opening could be heard.
“Madeline.” Even with only one word, I recognized Elliott’s drawl. “Madeline, dear.”
I sat taller, my eyes opening wide as I waited for her response.
The voices were now farther away, coming through a vacuum. There was more than one, some raised and others steady. I couldn’t make out their words as I waited for Madeline to speak.
“Lift her carefully.” Again it was Elliott. “Take her upstairs.”
“Sir, is she all right?” It was a woman speaking.
“Eloise, as I mentioned, Ms. Miller has undergone a difficult time. I’m sure she’s simply exhausted. Follow David upstairs and help her to rest comfortably.”
A difficult time?
I sat taller. Without confirmation, I could assume Madeline was unconscious, most likely drugged. Yes, you asshole, that was a difficult time.
Madeline wouldn’t take off the necklace of her own free will.
“Yes, sir.”
I paused the recording. “They fucking drugged her. She’s unconscious.”
All three men were standing near me. Garrett had his phone out, relaying my findings to someone in Chicago.
The next few minutes were nothing more than footsteps and breathing. I could only assume she was in this man David’s arms.
“You may go now,” the woman said. “I’ll help Ms. Miller.”
The heart rate upon the screen stopped. A few minutes passed, and the sound grew muffled as it had been when I listened live.
Unable to stay seated, I threw off the headphones and stood. “Goddamn it. She’s unconscious and a woman removed the necklace.”
“Do you think she knew it was a transmitter?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say. I heard Elliott, but he wasn’t alone. I don’t know if the other voices were Ivanov and Hillman or maybe his drivers and staff. Whoever is responsible for this has her now at Elliott’s ranch.”
“Sir,” Garrett said, handing me his phone, “Mr. Pierce would like to speak to you.”
I reached for the phone and putting it to my ear, I stalked into the fourth bedroom. “What? Tell me you’re still in Chicago.”
“I am. You’re right. I’m staying with Sparrow, but you need to get your fucking head on straight.”
“Come again,” I said as the muscles in my bicep tightened as did my grip upon the phone.
“Someone removed the necklace,” Mason said too calmly.
“That’s not a newsflash. If you were fucking listening, you know that’s what happened. She’s also unconscious.”
“Right, I was listening. Were you?”
“What the hell do you mean?” I asked.
“Did the woman sound nefarious? Was she harming Madeline?”
My head shook. “Nefarious, no. Harming, I don’t know what the fuck she was doing.”
“We pulled the recording here,” Mason said. “We all listened as you did. The woman’s words were that she would help Madeline. Help, Patrick.”
“She’s been drugged or something. She’s not asleep.” I ran my free hand over my head. “I’m going there, now.”
The voice on the other end changed; no longer Mason, it was Sparrow. “No, you’re not. If you do, you’ll give away your location. Ivanov and Hillman are still on the ranch. Ruby is still in the island retreat. We have a photograph from a drone of a young woman we believe is your daughter. She was out by the pool near the gulf. Does that sound as if she’s in danger?”
Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed. “Madeline was right. Ruby’s safe at the retreat.”
“It appears that way. And with the picture we have confirmation.”
“We’ll keep an eye on everything from here and you from there,” Sparrow said. “I’d be fucking irate if this were Araneae, but think about the positives.”
“They aren’t exactly clear at this moment,” I replied.
“We have known locations for both of them. We have both places monitored. No one is coming or going who we don’t see.”
Though he couldn’t see me, I nodded. “Send me the picture,” I said.
“We think it’s her.”
“Madeline showed me a few different shots. I’ll know. Se
nd it.”
“Stay fucking put,” Sparrow said. “Let us work on this. We need to know Ivanov and Hillman’s plans before we make a move. Right now, we’re still putting out fires around the city. Stupid shit that is meant to distract us.”
Fuck.
“Concentrate on that,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
“Oh fuck no. Distractions mean something big is coming. We cleaned house. Word is out that either they’re with us or they will end up in a barrel. Hillman’s losing his contacts, which means so is Ivanov. We have eyes everywhere. You aren’t storming into another ambush. Besides, we’ve been talking about Madeline’s theory.”
I’d called Mason and filled him in on Madeline’s thoughts about Ivanov’s enemies from within after she left for the airport. We both agreed there was merit in her observations.
“Reid is searching Hillman’s history over the last six months. We’ll let you know if we come up with anything.”
I appreciated that they hadn’t dismissed the idea simply because it came from Madeline.
My phone vibrated. “Is that the picture?”
“Yes,” Sparrow answered. “Tell me you won’t go in guns blazing, not until we know what’s happening.”
“I...” I wanted to say fuck it. I was getting Madeline back, but I didn’t. “As long as I know they’re both safe.”
“Wait for my word.” It was the last thing Sparrow said before the call ended.
I switched to text messages and opened the picture.
My daughter was a woman. The resolution was poor, but I could see her. She was wearing a large hat over her dark hair. There was a book in her lap, and her long legs were stretched out on the lounge chair near a pool. From her position she could see the gulf beyond the pool’s water. It was hard to determine it was her, yet I felt it. Those were Madeline’s legs, healthier than we were at that age, but I knew in my heart it was Ruby.
Something else caught my eye as I tried to zoom in further. The grainy quality didn’t help, but nonetheless, I was certain that the faint image to her side was a man—I’d guess a rather large man.
“Ruby, is he protecting you or a threat? Is he the man Madeline mentioned?” I shook my head and sent a text to Reid.
SEND MORE PICTURES.
Madeline
My eyelids felt heavy as I moved against the soft sheets, snuggling within their warmth. The sensation filled me as I woke, my thoughts wandering as I wondered when the last time was that I’d slept so well.
Suddenly, I recalled Marion’s car.
Where was I?
My hand went to my neck.
Nothing.
My necklace was gone—my communication with Patrick.
My eyes opened and my head turned from side to side as I looked all directions.
A cold chill settled over me, causing me to pull the covers closer as I tried to make sense of where I was and what had occurred.
I had no memory after the car.
It was as if I were an actor in a theatrical play. The curtain had fallen and I’d missed the next act.
As the reality of my situation consumed my thoughts, my pulse rate escalated to the point of dizziness.
“Stop,” I counseled. “You’re not back there. This is a bedroom.”
Peering under the blankets, I saw I still wore the bra and panties I’d donned back at the hotel. Looking up, I listened. The soft purr of air conditioning was all I could hear as an overhead fan silently circled. Lifting the sheet to my chest, I sat up. With the movement, I evaluated myself—my skin and muscles. Nothing ached or felt sore or violated.
What happened?
Expanding my view, I moved my attention beyond the bed where I’d slept, seeing rays of sunlight shining through slats of plantation blinds, striping the room in golden lines. In the car the sun had been nearing the horizon.
How long had I been asleep?
I took in deep breaths, continually reminding myself to not panic.
As my eyes adjusted to the lines of sunshine, I took inventory of every corner of the room. Soft gray walls and white trim surrounded me, one wall lined with bookshelves and built-in cabinetry. Along with the bed where I sat were the normal bedroom furnishings, bedside stands, lamps, a dresser, and a chest of drawers. Over the dresser was a large mirror. Upon the shelves were spines of books—hundreds of books as well as colorful vases and other knick-knacks.
There was no question in my mind that this was Andros’s doing. After all, there was no reason for Marion to drug me. I’d willingly agreed to visit his ranch.
Was that where I was?
Patrick.
My hand again went to my neck.
Oh my God, he isn’t with me. He doesn’t know where I am or if I’m safe.
What would that mean?
What was happening between the bratva and the Sparrows?
Ruby?
Fighting the bubbling anxiety, I continued my search, and with trembling hands, slowly folded back the blankets.
To my left was a door, slightly ajar.
Tentatively, I moved from the bed. Beneath my bare feet was a soft rug, an island upon which the bed resided. The floor beyond was shiny hardwood. Step by step, I walked toward the door. As I did, I scanned all around, wondering if I was being watched or maybe overheard.
Beyond the doorway, I entered a large attached bathroom. Switching on the lights, the luxurious contents came into view as the surfaces glistened. I ran the tips of my fingers over the hard surfaces of the vanity as I saw my reflection. Though my hair was tousled, I didn’t appear worse for the sleep. It was then I noticed that my earrings were also missing.
There was a large glass shower with multiple showerheads and a long tiled bench. Within a corner, surrounded by opaque windows, was a soaking tub, the kind that looked old-fashioned but wasn’t. The shelves were filled with various shampoos, conditioners, bodywashes, and lotions.
Hanging upon an ornate hook was a pale green cashmere robe.
After taking care of business, I reentered the bedroom and scanned every surface, hoping to find the necklace. Opening the closet led to the discovery of empty racks. I searched the dresser and chest of drawers next. One by one, I opened and closed each drawer to unfilled spaces. Other than my underclothes, everything I’d worn was missing. Not only worn, but had with me.
My phone.
My handbag.
Still wearing only my underclothes, I walked to the window and peered beyond the blinds.
What would I find?
If I was back in Detroit, it wasn’t in the bratva nor anyplace I’d seen before.
I was obviously on a second floor.
The scene beyond revealed I wasn’t in Detroit or even Chicago. The sky above was bright cobalt blue and below, green grass filled the space circling the building and going out to an iron fence. Beyond the fence the ground was covered with drier grasses, shades of tan and brown. Farther away, I saw scattered structures in motion. They reminded me of giant hammers, moving up and down.
Oil wells.
I was at Marion’s ranch.
Of that I was confident.
That realization gave me strength to learn more.
Whether this was Marion’s or Andros’s doing, I wouldn’t find answers while staying in this room. With the pale green robe as my only option, I went back into the bathroom and removing the soft material from the hook, wrapped it around my body and tied the sash.
The last door begged for my attention.
The small hairs on my arms stood to attention as I moved closer.
What if it didn’t open?
What if I were locked inside?
A grumbling sound came from my stomach, its growl echoing within the walls of the bedroom. I couldn’t wait much longer. I had to try.
Reaching out, I grasped the larger-than-normal knob and turned.
As the mechanisms within clicked, I let out a breath and opened the door, pulling it inward. The hallway I’d found was empty, no sentry keep
ing guard or anyone watching the door.
Like wandering a maze, I continued down one hallway and then another. Closed doors lined the walls as I continued, my bare feet upon a soft carpet. Between doors were photographs, large and stunning and mostly of landscapes and oil fields. Nothing mattered but finding an escape.
Finally, I came to the top of a staircase.
It wasn’t as grand as I’d expect for this large home.
Sandwiched between walls on each side, the stairs descended to a landing and then turned. Slowly, I stepped down one tread and then another. My ears were on full alert as I listened for anything.
As the staircase made its third bend, voices and clattering came into range.
The bottom of the stairs came to another hallway, and to the right was a large kitchen complete with a staff of three. A large center island dominated the room with oversized appliances. It was a working kitchen, not one where families gathered but industrial. The women wore aprons over their clothes. For a moment, I stood silently watching as one woman cleaned counters, another tended to something on the stove, and a third came and went through another door.
As the third woman reentered from across the room, our eyes met. She was a bit older with gray hair, a round face, and a growing smile.
“Oh, Ms. Miller,” she called, coming toward me and wiping her hands on her apron. “You nearly frightened me to death. For a moment I thought you were a ghost.”
A ghost?
Coming to a stop before the stairs, she looked me up and down. “Mr. Elliott asked me to press your dress. I apologize it’s not ready. I’ll have it up to you after breakfast.”
“You have my dress? Do you have my other belongings?”
“Other belongings? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“My handbag, shoes...” My hand again went to my neck. “My jewelry.”
“Yes, miss. Mr. Elliott asked me to...well, I’m the one...” Her cheeks grew rosy. “I’m Mrs. Worth, but you may call me Eloise.”
Flame Page 14