Ashes

by Aleatha Romig

  “Veronica Standish tried to talk to me the night before she was killed,” I volunteered. “Beckman interrupted the conversation. My gut says she caught wind of something, and that was why Leonardo paid her a visit.”

  “And,” Sparrow said, “as Ivanov admitted, Beckman was no longer useful.”

  “Has Leonardo shown up anywhere? He could be an option for new leadership.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I recanted. “Fuck no. He wasn’t that bright.”

  “I agree with the second part,” Mason said. “And no, he hasn’t been seen. We’ve placed a search on the credit cards he used in Chicago. There have been no transactions. My intuition is that when spring comes, the snow melts, and the tractors start cultivating the farmlands from Illinois to Indiana and Michigan, someone will find what’s left of him.”

  Those were some of the most disgusting corpses. While the winter’s freezing temperatures preserved the body at first, the warming temperatures accelerated the decomposition. Spring also brought the birth of everything. Babies needed food. Wolves, foxes, and other carnivores began the process, and insects continued it. Warmer weather also brought the return of flies and maggots. Another more recent development was the advancement in farming. Where in the past it was a man or hired hand on a tractor, today it can be done with GPS and programmed machinery. The body could be picked up and spit out before anyone knew it was there.

  “Or he’ll be fertilizer,” I said.

  “Set up the meetings,” Sparrow said. “Make Ivanov come to me. I’ll meet Bykov in neutral territory.”

  “Ivanov won’t come to you for a truce,” Reid said.

  “Unless he’s desperate,” I replied. “And then we know what we’re up against.” I turned to Sparrow. “I want to be the one who takes him out.”

  “No promises,” he said. “Opportunity is more important than gratification.”

  He was right. As long as the motherfucker was dead. I turned to Sparrow. “You’re not going alone.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but timing will decide who goes with me.”

  The journals we’d taken from the Millstones caught my attention, lying scattered upon a long table away from the main computers. I turned to Reid. “Have you made it through all of the journals?”

  He shook his head. “No, but close.”

  “Madeline asked a question I hadn’t thought of.” I had everyone’s attention. “I fucking hate talking about this.”

  “She had a question,” Sparrow prompted.

  “Kristine Ortiz sold her to Dr. Miller. We know that line of the sales channel. She was then taken to what she called the cell house, a home somewhere in Chicago where she didn’t see the light of day for four months. There was a basement where the women were kept. They were all pregnant. There were no beds or running water. They were called one by one to go upstairs and service johns.”

  “Fucking shit,” Sparrow growled.

  Mason’s green eyes seethed with venom as he listened, no doubt thinking about the possibilities of his sister Missy. It was true that we were all affected in some way by this hideous trail of depravity.

  “Four months in,” I went on, “she was brought upstairs and cleaned, the health of the pregnancy was confirmed, and she was taken to McFadden’s mansion and auctioned to a room of men. She described the gates and tall walls.” My head shook. “She also described the library where the auction took place.”

  Sparrow stopped his pacing. “It wasn’t a private auction?”

  I shook my head. “She said it seemed that Ivanov was always the intended buyer—someone at the cell house mentioned a special guest—but Elliott was there too as was Antonio Hillman and about twenty-some-odd others.”

  Sparrow inhaled deeply.

  “How did McFadden know she was in that cell place?” Mason asked.

  “That’s her question,” I said. “Madeline wants to know who Dr. Miller sold her to. Did McFadden buy her back to sell her again?”

  “I’ll look,” Reid volunteered. “The problem with the journals—as you know by having seen some—is what we’ve also found in other records, such as those we uncovered from Daniel McCrie.”

  “Numbers,” I said, recalling what I’d seen on the plane.

  Reid nodded. “Numbers. Wendy Millstone had a code she used with numbers and letters. I haven’t given it enough time to try to decipher it. Finding the answers would be a hell of a lot easier if it named names.”

  “She said she used the name Tate,” I offered. “It was Kristine’s idea.” I clenched my fists. “I would fucking watch her die again, given the chance.”

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” Mason said with a grin.

  He was right. The time for the antidote had long expired, and she and her husband were now fish food. “Madeline remembers a woman named Miss Warner. She was the manager who ran the cell house.”

  “I remember reading about shit like that you all found when you closed down the Sparrow distribution chain. We have names of a few of those managers. Maybe they would know something,” Mason said. “I can make a few visits.”

  “They are alive because they cooperated before,” Sparrow said. “Do it.”

  “I sent a text message to our head capo in Detroit,” Reid said. “I’ll let you know when I have something.”

  Sparrow nodded.

  Madeline

  “I am feeling claustrophobic,” I said as I paced near the floor-to-ceiling windows in our bedroom. Crossing my arms over my chest, I peered down at the city below. With the fall of nighttime, the lights Ruby so enjoyed were aglow for miles around.

  “It’s about safety at this juncture,” Patrick said. “Did you leave the bratva often?”

  I spun toward him. “More recently, for tournaments. Before that, no, but it’s not the apartment. This place feels bigger with all the different residences. Mostly in the compound, I kept to myself in the apartment Ruby and I shared when she was home...there,” I clarified, letting out a breath. “You know what I mean.”

  Patrick stood from where he’d been sitting on the end of the bed, came closer, and gently grasped my upper arms. “I do. You can say home. You lived there. I don’t care what you call it. You’re here now. This is your home.”

  I nodded, recalling the conversation with Sterling. “It is beginning to feel like it could be.”

  “It better,” he said, kissing my forehead.

  “I think helpless is a better word. I want to help with your crusade.”

  “I don’t think killing is a good form of therapy,” he said.

  “You’re using it.”

  “I am, but I’ve killed before. Maddie girl, you’re not a killer.”

  “I’ve never had the opportunity. There have been times I might have done it.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad this is feeling more like home and that you and Sparrow have come to an agreement.”

  My cheeks rose as my lips curled into a smile. “Did he tell you what he said?”

  “He told me that you’re welcome here. That’s all that matters.”

  I nodded. “Ruby took me upstairs in the penthouse to the room she uses there.” My eyes widened. “It’s very nice. Araneae has spared no expense in making her comfortable.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Trust me, money isn’t an issue.”

  “I have some,” I offered. “Money. I don’t remember if I told you, but I’d been planning for a while that after Ruby graduated high school, I could disappear. I’m sure in relation to what the Sparrows have it isn’t much, but growing my nest egg gave me hope.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In an offshore account under a shell company I created.”

  Patrick straightened his neck as his blue eyes shone. “Check you out. You’ve moved up from picking pockets.”

  “I listened over the years and picked up on things. For example, I knew that the credit cards I used when traveling couldn’t be traced back to Andros. The only issue is that the passwords a
re saved on a flash drive hidden in my apartment in the compound.”

  “Could someone access your money if they found the flash drive?”

  “No, not unless they also found my accounts. I didn’t keep the information together for that reason.”

  “I can help you access the accounts, if you want it. But I won’t help if you’re still planning an escape.”

  I looked around. “Well, since I haven’t left these floors in over a week, I could be a captive in need of an escape.”

  “You’re not captive. You’re being kept safe.”

  My smile returned. “I don’t want to escape. I guess I want to contribute. I spent a little while upstairs, and I can see why Ruby likes the other women. Araneae has a company.” I straightened my neck. “And I’ve owned some of her dresses. Sinful Threads. They’re stunning.”

  Patrick grinned. “She’s a partner. She and her friend started the business after college, offering just accessories.”

  “She was telling me all about it. Her friend has a little girl named Kennedy who Araneae adores. She also started the Sparrow Institute and maintains an administrative role. And Laurel is a doctor and works at the institute.”

  Patrick nodded, as if waiting.

  “Yes, I’m mentioning the institute without a meltdown.”

  “You, Maddie girl, may melt down anytime you feel the need.” His hands moved to my waist. “I will enjoy…” His fingers squeezed. “…molding every inch of you back together.”

  I tipped my forehead toward him. As usual, a button-up shirt covered his wide chest. The spicy scent of his cologne filled my senses as his steady heartbeat sounded in my ears.

  “Lorna does so much around here.” I looked back up. “I feel like I should do something. If I could access the money, I could pay for the things Ruby ordered for her bedroom. You shouldn’t—”

  “Pay for my daughter’s needs?” he interrupted. “You’re wrong. Once we have everything settled, I’ll gladly help you access your money for you because it’s yours.”

  “Technically, that’s debatable. I skimmed from Andros at tournaments.”

  Patrick’s smile broadened. “Still my little thief.”

  “I mean, I was the one winning the money. So in principle, I’m not sure it’s stealing.” I couldn’t help grinning.

  He ran his large finger over my cheek. “You’re absolutely stunning when you smile.”

  The muscles in my cheeks relaxed. “I’m not claustrophobic because this place is too small. I’m feeling trapped because I know what you and the others are doing is about me and instead of helping, I’m just here.”

  “First off, here is exactly where I want you.” Patrick reached for my hand and led me to the small round table.

  As we sat, my eyes narrowed with suspicion. Placing my fingers upon the table, I asked, “What are you going to tell me? Whose head did you sever today?”

  “No one’s,” he replied. “I never left the building.”

  “Okay.”

  “I told you that we took a series of journals from the Millers?”

  “Yes.” A bud of excitement sprang to life. “Did you find Cindy?”

  His expression remained solemn. “Mrs. Miller didn’t use names as a way to classify stock. I’m afraid it’s very difficult to know the identities.”

  I let out a sigh. “I know it’s a long shot. Maybe if Cindy’s gone, we could find her child.”

  “Mrs. Miller used a code. Math is my thing, and it took most of the day, but I cracked it.”

  “You did?”

  “It still doesn’t help with identities, but it does tell us the date, seller, and buyer. Of course, everything is abbreviated so at this point we can’t be one hundred percent certain of anything.”

  “And you were working on this all day.”

  He nodded and reached for my hands. “I can’t presume to know when or if your friend Cindy went through Dr. Miller’s or another seller.”

  My mind went back to the cell-house basement. “We never talked about that.” My nose scrunched as the offending odors came to life in my memory. “We talked about life in abstract. We answered one another’s questions, confided in one another, and validated each other’s fears. It helped to know I wasn’t the only one feeling the way I did. We avoided talking about our reality; instead, it was the everyday pleasures of food and water. We talked a lot about the future, what we hoped to do, and about our babies—the life we wanted for them.”

  “Maddie, I think I found you.”

  “You mean in the journal?”

  Patrick nodded again.

  “How?”

  “I know the date you disappeared. I was able to locate the date with KRO, which I believe is Kristine Roberto Ortiz.”

  “Kristine sold me. Who bought me from Dr. Miller?”

  “Again, this is all speculation and inference. You said that all of the women in the cell house were pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mason did some follow-up, and we believe the cell house was owned and operated by Lewis Adkins, an attorney who worked in a family office for the McFaddens.”

  “An attorney for a doctor’s office?” I asked, my only definition for a family office.

  “No, this is an office made up of multiple professionals. Their sole purpose is working for one family. These practices still exist and usually include attorneys, accountants, wealth managers, fixers, and PR people to name a few. These offices exist to do everything necessary for their employer.”

  “Didn’t you mention Adkins before?”

  “I did. William Adkins was an attorney specializing in private adoptions. We found his name earlier in one of the journals.”

  “You said there weren’t names.”

  Patrick shook his head. “Not of the women or entities sold. The names we found were of people who were in contact with the Millers, such as the Ortizes—Kristine and Pastor Roberto. William Adkins was listed and crossed out. He’s deceased.

  “Reid ran an exhaustive search and while Wm. Adkins, the adoption attorney, met an untimely demise around the time of McFadden’s arrest, we can’t connect him with the sales code Mrs. Miller used. We believe we can connect his brother, Lewis Adkins, who as I mentioned, also happened to work for McFadden.”

  My head shook. “Unless he was a customer, I don’t recall a man—other than a few of Miss Warner’s guards—being routinely present at the cell house. How old would Lewis be?”

  “Lewis? William, if he were still alive, he’d be in his late seventies. Lewis is a bit younger.”

  I thought back as best I could. That would have made him late fifties to early sixties when I was there. “No one that age was at the cell house except customers.” My stomach twisted. “That first night at Dr. Miller’s there were four men, all of that age group. All gave off an air of wealth and superiority.”

  “I can show you his picture,” Patrick offered.

  I shook my head. “I wish I could help. I don’t think I could be considered a reliable witness. I wouldn’t have even known that the senator was there that first night if he hadn’t said something about it at the auction.” I tried to piece together what Patrick was telling me together. “So you’re saying Dr. Miller sold pregnant women to Lewis Adkins. We were kept at the cell house and then his brother, William, facilitated the adoption of the babies?”

  “Yes.”

  “And this William Adkins is deceased?”

  “Yes. His brother Lewis is alive,” Patrick offered. “He’s retired and still lives in Chicago. They also have a sister about the same age. She’s alive and resides in a nursing home in Downers Grove.”

  “His sister?” I asked. “Do you think that could be Miss Warner?”

  “I do. Mason made a few visits to people who have stepped away from the business.” He shook his head. “It’s a long story. Anyway, they helped us track down other people years ago. Mason followed up and was given the name Wilma Adkins, a reclusive spinster.”

  “
Miss Warner was always there—always. To the outside that may appear reclusive. And you say that she’s in a nursing home?”

  He squeezed my hands. “She’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. I accessed her medical records—”

  “How did you do that? Aren’t they private?”

  Patrick’s head tilted. “They are. Anyway, she was diagnosed and admitted before her brother died. The notations called it rapid onset. Maddie girl, if she’s your Miss Warner, you won’t find your answer.”

  “Will you take me to her? Downers Grove isn’t far, is it?”

  “I’d rather not take you out until Ivanov is dealt with.”

  “Dealt with?” I stood. “No, Patrick. Kristine, Pastor Roberto, and the Millers weren’t dangerous. Andros is. Please don’t risk your life.”

  “He declared war on the Sparrows. This is about you, but it’s also about the Sparrows. Could you tell me what you know about Sasha Bykov?”

  I took a deep breath as years of memories flashed in my mind. “Sasha has been with Andros since I arrived.”

  “Worked his way up the ranks?”

  “No. He’s always been at the top.” My thoughts went to the night I was ambushed. Sasha had been the one to drag Adrik’s dead body from our bedroom.

  “Satisfied in his position?” Patrick asked.

  I shrugged. “Loyal, yes. I don’t know about satisfied,” I replied honestly. “I can’t imagine him turning on Andros if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Could Sasha imagine you turning on Andros or you telling bratva secrets?”

  I gave that a bit of thought. “Probably not. I never showed any sign of discontent.”

  “Even though you weren’t content?” Patrick prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “Why wouldn’t you show it?”

  The answer was obvious. “Because Andros wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  Patrick nodded.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Sasha feels the same way,” I suggested. “I wish I could be more helpful. Andros’s other man at the top is Nikita Gorky.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “What? When? How?”