“I wondered what took you so long,” Mark, aka Andrew, said.
I tried to smile but was certain it came out looking more like a grimace. “Like I said, it’s been a long night. I figured this would be more comfortable for a seven-hour drive.”
He shrugged. “More like seven and a half. Are you still planning on renting your own car? We could split the cost, and you could help me forget for a bit about this interview.”
“I suppose I need to see what’s available.”
Four minutes had passed.
“Let’s go.”
Mark smiled his boyish grin as we started walking toward the escalators. “Car rental is in the parking garage.” He stopped and turned. “There’s a walkway over there on this floor, so we don’t have to cross the street.”
What?
“Umm. It’s the middle of the night. I think I’d like some fresh air.” Did I sound as stupid as I felt? Lying at the drop of a hat was never my strong suit.
“Then the escalators it is,” he said, placing a hand in the small of my back and leading me toward the moving staircase.
At that moment, I knew.
I knew that despite Mark’s childlike charm, Patrick and my mystery man were right. A shy, nervous young man who was scared to introduce himself and worried about an interview wouldn’t have the confidence to guide me with his hand on my back. I took a step away from his touch, my nerves on alert.
They had been right, and I was misled.
We walked toward the outside, toward the wall of glass. First, the inside doors automatically opened, and then the outside. Fresh air filled the breezeway as a large black Suburban pulled to the curb. Despite the early hour, the breeze was warm. The sidewalks were sparsely inhabited.
The passenger door opened, and a stocky man dressed in a black suit stepped out. His suit coat was unbuttoned, revealing a holster strap. Momentarily, I thought about how airports were supposed to be gun-free zones. Remembering Patrick’s warning about Mark, I didn’t care.
“Ms. Hawkins,” the man from the Suburban said.
I turned toward Mark. “I guess I have a ride. Have a safe trip.”
He looked confused as he reached for my arm, his grip tightening. “Wait.”
“Don’t touch her,” the man from the passenger seat said with his hand under his coat.
“Kennedy?” Mark’s tone didn’t match the grasp he had on my arm.
“I said to let go of her.”
As soon as he did, I hurried away. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head as my heartbeat quickened, and I neared the Suburban, another pulling up behind.
The driver was now around the automobile, opening my door. I refused to turn back to see what was happening with or to Mark as a commotion erupted.
“Scott?” I asked.
“Yes, Ms. Hawkins. We’ll alert Mr. Sparrow that you’re safe.”
The weight of my unknown past landed heavily upon me as I collapsed in the back seat of the promised SUV. After the two men joined me, the doors shut. The slams echoed in the silence of the interior, reverberating with my mother’s words: Allister Sparrow is in charge. One day it will be his son, Sterling.
The man at the distribution center couldn’t be the father.
My mystery man now had a name.
Sterling
My jaw ached from the damn clenching.
What the fuck happened?
“How did the plane get stopped? They don’t just fucking do that,” I asked aloud to myself as well as Patrick and Reid, my two most trusted employees. We’d been together since basic training. My father had all the money in the world to send me to college, but he thought the army was a better use of my time, making me respectable in the eyes of the law and the big money crowd in Chicago and beyond. The three of us ended up in the same recruiting class. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different, but we each knew one thing. We knew how to survive.
Not just in combat but in your bunk at night.
It took brains, muscle, and guts. It took going it alone to prove you were worthy and watching your brother’s back whenever he might need it. One eighteen-month tour in the desert turned to two. There was no reason to hurry home. My mother was busy with her life, and I sure as hell wasn’t interested in coming back to my father.
Eventually, I did.
He knew I would. Well, if I didn’t get killed before I was given the chance.
The prodigal son.
I was the sole heir to the dynasty he’d secured over the years with an iron fist. My time in combat was not only to hone my skills as a fighter, marksman, and sharpshooter but to instill in me his thirst for blood.
I wouldn’t say it worked the way he planned.
Each day in the desert, the thirst grew. However, the blood I desired wasn’t random. It was his.
Coming back to Chicago didn’t last long. Perhaps he saw the threat he’d created. Upon my arrival I was moved away again. This time it was to Ross School of Business, a short drive to Ann Arbor, Michigan. Four years later, a Ross graduate and ex-military, my résumé to lead the Sparrow realm was almost set. What the great Allister considered the final step was doing my time in the trenches of South Chicago, learning to navigate both sides of the Chicago business.
That meant deciding men’s fates one minute and smoking cigars with the old money the next. Hell, sometimes it happened simultaneously. In the world of technology, a man can play poker and order a death at the same time. If he wins the pot too, it’s a hell of a night.
The night my father’s body—minus the fourth finger of his right hand—was found, I took my rightful place at the helm. The Sparrow realm was mine, and so was the gold ring engraved with the family crest. Since that time, I had only one thing missing: the woman worthy to share my name.
That choice was made a long time ago.
In this instant, it wasn’t a choice I minded. I’d known that Araneae was mine since my early teens. Born almost seven years after me, I’ve known her future since she was just a girl. I’ve watched and followed her. While my father instilled my belief that Araneae was mine, my mother didn’t agree. More than once she’d warned that uniting our families could be my end. Perhaps she was right, and as in sending me to war, my father’s ultimate plan was for my demise. No matter what the future held, I found comfort that Allister Sparrow could only watch that future from inside the gates of hell.
Though I knew since that fateful afternoon that Araneae and I were meant to be, with too many factions at work, the timing was imperative and her ignorance of her fate necessary.
Araneae couldn’t comprehend how through the years her mere presence on the earth had been the light getting me through my darkest days.
Getting her to Chicago was the first step in revealing her existence. The process was easier than I imagined. I admitted that I expected more resistance in getting her here. She’d avoided it most of her life.
But then she was here, in my fucking grasp, her beautiful, velvety eyes looking up at me, and my disappointment quickly faded. She came to Chicago of her own free will, and her return will be the same. That didn’t mean I held illusions that she was eager. Her conflict was palpable. It glistened in a spark that more than intrigued me.
Whether I was in uniform, on campus, or within the Sparrow realm, women have fallen at my feet, willingly bending to my desires. I admittedly used them to bide my time. They weren’t worthy for anything more. The woman who was, who had been born for the position of my wife, didn’t bend. In her tone and gaze was a challenge. Though that was new to me, I liked it.
When I thought about our call a few minutes ago, I couldn’t decide if I was pissed at her smart mouth and wanted to punish her for the way she spoke to me, or if I was fucking turned on and wanted to punish her just to watch her round ass turn red under my palm before pleasuring her in a way she’d never known and would never forget.
My light, my sunshine, had the audacity to blame me, as if I’d arranged for the damn plane to sto
p. If I had, I wouldn’t have questioned it.
I regained my focus to the present.
Both men were fully engaged. Reid was pounding away on keyboards—yes, plural, moving between multiple ones—looking into the airlines. An extraordinary hacker, there wasn’t a system he couldn’t penetrate. At the same time, Patrick held two phones, coordinating Araneae’s escape.
“Do we know it was them?” I asked Reid.
“Andrew Walsh has been on the radar for a while. There have been rumors. I know for certain that the kid started a few years ago as a grunt, working the streets. He quickly moved up the ranks of the McFadden outfit. They called him Baby Face because his looks got him access where others failed. Apprehending McCrie’s daughter would move him up the outfit faster than any other assignment.”
My neck throbbed as I imagined her in his sights. She wasn’t fucking in his sights. He was with her. “I thought the plane manifest was vetted. You’re telling me he was on the same flight by coincidence?”
“Fake ID,” Reid replied.
“Scott has her,” Patrick said, speaking over our conversation before Reid had the opportunity to explain further.
“I want someone staying in Boulder until she’s here,” I said, my mind a mix of relief and rage.
“I’ll get it arranged,” Patrick volunteered. “Do you want her to know?”
I ran my hand through my hair. “No. Tell her to contact you if she thinks anything is wrong—any misgiving, any feeling of unease. Otherwise, tell the eye to stay back and watch from a safe distance.” My fist pounded the large wooden desk. “Unless she’s in danger. Then he steps in. No hesitation.”
“He? I have an overly qualified woman,” Patrick said.
Fuck me.
“I don’t give a damn. As long as Araneae is protected.”
Reid looked my way with a stupid look on his face.
“What?”
“Any misgiving? Any feeling of unease? You mean regarding anyone but you.”
It made me scoff. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” It was a good thing I liked these two assholes. Otherwise, at times their candidness bordered on insubordination. I supposed that was what happened when you’d been through life and death together.
“They’re on the plane,” Patrick reported, his updates like a play-by-play radio announcer. I wanted visual, but audible was going to have to do for now.
“What about Walsh?” I asked.
“The second team arrived, but he made it out,” Patrick answered. “They’re looking for him.”
“How the fuck did they let him slip through their fingers?” Reid asked.
“Track him down,” I said. “The Sparrows are making a statement: no one fucking touches her.”
“No one?” Patrick repeated with a grin.
“No one but me,” I specified.
Kennedy
I watched suspiciously out the windows as Scott and his partner drove me through unfamiliar streets. I’d placed my faith in someone I didn’t know, someone who sure as hell hadn’t earned it. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the small airport that my pulse attempted to resume a normal cadence. It finally found its rhythm as I boarded the private plane.
It seemed like with each passing minute the questions continued to mount with no answers in sight.
Had I made the right choice?
Who was Mark? Was he really someone named Andrew, and why would he have wanted me?
For that matter, who was Sterling Sparrow?
Was it reassuring that I knew his name?
No.
His name gave me no more information than I’d had before, with one exception: my mother had warned me about him. And then a new question came to my ever-churning mind.
Was it his family that had killed Byron, my dad?
Was that what she’d told me?
The thought turned my stomach.
I couldn’t recall her exact words from over a decade earlier. Time changes memories, enhancing some while taking away from others. It’s why my picture was so important to me. Even visual recollections fade and blend.
From the brief time that I was in the dark office with Sterling Sparrow, it was difficult to gauge his age. How old would he have been ten years ago? Could he have killed my dad? I didn’t know anything about his capabilities. I knew he’d threatened Louisa and Jason, and he expected me to move to Chicago to be with him.
The thoughts sent a cold shiver through me, ice filling my circulation until I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed my exposed skin.
What he’d described was an arranged marriage.
This wasn’t the fifteenth century.
I wasn’t bound to anything like that.
“Ms. Hawkins.” The older lady’s voice pulled me away from the dark vortex of my thoughts. “I’m Janet, your attendant for this quick flight.”
“Hello, Janet.”
“You look frightened. There’s nothing to worry about. This plane is very safe.”
My head moved from side to side. “I’m not, well not about this flight, as long as you can confirm that we’re headed to Boulder.”
“That was what I was told.” Her kind eyes sparkled as she told me about the refreshment center and stocked bar. “May I get you something after we’re in the air?”
“No, thank you. I think I’d like to rest.” Other than the fact that it was still very early in the morning, I feared that the twisting and churning in my stomach would keep my appetite at bay for hours or maybe weeks. There were too many things I didn’t understand.
“Janet,” I asked, “is this plane privately owned?” Maybe she could tell me more about the mysterious Mr. Sparrow.
“No. We’re a charter service. We fly anyone who books us.”
“So you don’t know who booked my flight?”
Her head tilted to the side. “You don’t know who booked your flight and you’re here?”
I shrugged, realizing how pathetic that sounded. “It was booked by...” I stopped. “I know by whom. I was hoping for more information on my contact’s employer.”
“I’m sorry. I was on standby and your request came in as a priority. That’s all I know.”
“No need to be sorry.”
A few minutes later, a tall gentleman entered through the still-open door, ducking his head as he stood in the cabin. “I apologize, Ms. Hawkins. I was away from the airport when I received the call.” He looked to the attendant. “Hello, Janet, are we ready?”
“Yes, sir, we’re all set.”
“Then as soon as I complete my checklist, we’ll be on our way to Boulder.”
Both his and Janet’s verification of our destination untied one of the million knots in my stomach. Only 999,999-plus to go.
Boulder.
I was going home. There had been a small part of me that was concerned; despite the promise made by Patrick, after what he’d done, I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him again.
Taking a deep breath and settling against the plush white leather seat, I shut my eyes as the door closed and the aircraft began to move. Within no time we were effortlessly off the ground. I took one last look out the window, shook my head, and said goodbye to Wichita, Kansas.
Had it been fate that landed me there?
Sparrow had warned me not to tell anyone what was happening. I wasn’t certain I could find the words to explain the last twelve hours to myself much less Louisa.
“How was your trip?”
“Eventful. You see, my last-minute commercial flight was detoured, leaving over a hundred passengers without the means to reach their destination. I happened to be sitting in front of someone who offered to rent a car and take me to Denver. Oh, and apparently he was armed and dangerous and had nefarious plans for me. And then there’s this man, one whose name I’m not supposed to know. Well, he told me that I must move to Chicago to be with him to honor a decades-old promise my birth father made. No, I don’t know my birth father’s name. However, I did learn that his surname
was McCrie. Or...is it McCrie?
“Anyway, that man somehow knew my flight had taken an unexpected landing and saved me from the malicious intentions of the man from the plane. Or maybe it had all been innocent and I’m a fool.”
I wouldn’t believe that story, and it happened to me. It would probably be best to not mention any of it to my best friend.
Yet I had to tell her something. How could I explain a sudden move?
Answers weren’t coming.
I woke as the wheels touched down.
Unbeknownst to me, I’d fallen asleep. Maybe it was the privacy or the gentle sway of the aircraft? Maybe it was the sense that for the flight’s duration, I was safe. Or maybe it was that despite sleeping on the first flight, I was exhausted. No matter, when my eyes opened, the sun was still barely under the horizon and thankfully behind us.
As I turned my phone from airplane mode, a number of text messages appeared. The two from Louisa reminded me that I hadn’t messaged her from Wichita. She assumed I was home and settled.
I’d already decided this ordeal wasn’t something she needed to know about. In her condition, I didn’t want to add unnecessarily to her stress. Besides, there was too much to comprehend, and I was too tired to do it. All I wanted was to get home. And then my phone buzzed with a new message.
The screen read DRIVER.
My first thought was that I might as well enter his name into my phone—at least he’d told me his. My second thought was that of course he knew I landed. He seemed to know more than I did. I read the text:
* * *
“CAR WAITING TO TAKE YOU TO YOUR APARTMENT.”
* * *
I should have been upset, yet in my current sleep-deprived, recently-awoken state, I was almost relieved. Could I trust an Uber driver? Could I trust anyone? I didn’t know. What I did know was that I was finally back in Boulder, where Sparrow had promised I would be.
The reality of my relief was short-lived.
I may be back, but according to him, it was temporary.
“Ms. Hawkins,” Janet said as I unbuckled my seat belt. “I received a call saying there is a car waiting for you.”
Secrets: Web of Sin Page 7