“As flattered as I am, I’m not into women.”
Juliette blinked and focused on Maraveet, who was watching her through half lidded eyes. There was the hint of a grin on her face and Juliette realized, with some embarrassment, she’d been staring at the woman’s breasts.
Flushing, Juliette quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t—”
Maraveet snorted. “Although, give me a few more days in that cage and even you might look tempting.”
Despite everything, Juliette laughed. “Come on. Let’s get you out.”
It took no time at all to get Maraveet washed, rinsed, and dressed in the green two piece suit that reminded her of prison attire. Juliette helped her down on the toilet once more before stripping and climbing into the shower herself. It was the fastest cleaning she’d ever done in her life, but she felt semi human by the time the door swung open. Juliette gathered hers and Maraveet’s coats, left the rest and followed Alcorn and Calhoun back below with Maraveet using her as a crutch.
“Better,” Cyril said. “Now get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”
Juliette had no idea what that meant, but whatever it was, Man-Child looked far too happy for her piece of mind.
Chapter 25
It was three days after the first video when the second one arrived with the morning mail. The yellow envelope held the sloppy penmanship of someone in a hurry. Blue ink bled across the front, carving Killian’s name and address in mocking slants. There was no return address. No other name. Not even a stamp.
“It was hand delivered,” Killian noted, prolonging the inevitable. “They came right to the house.”
“I questioned the carrier personally,” Frank said. “His deliveries are sorted at the office and are left waiting for him when he gets to work. The package was there when he picked up his haul this morning.”
Next to Frank, on the other side of Killian’s desk, Vi shifted anxiously. The floorboards creaked beneath her fidgeting feet. Her brown eyes stayed fixed on the envelope the way a dying person waited desperately for news of a cure. Her thumb nail was tucked between her teeth, the skin around it torn and bleeding.
She hadn’t left Killian’s office since her arrival. Even at night while everyone else slept, she sat curled up in the chair, occasionally dozing off for a few minutes before jerking awake. Her face had lost its vibrancy. There were dark bags beneath her eyes and deep grooves cut around her mouth. Occasionally, she’d stumble into his washroom to bathe, then she’d be right back to sitting and waiting for something to happen.
Killian hated her for it. Hated that she was a reminder that he wasn’t doing enough, a reminder that Juliette still wasn’t home. But he couldn’t ask her to leave either. Not because she would refuse, but because he’d promised Juliette that he would protect her sister. It was a sick, cruel joke, asking him to do any such thing when he’d been incapable of protecting Juliette, but he was trying. Plus, it was nice to have someone else suffering with him.
“Are we going to watch it?” she asked, her voice barely a raspy whisper.
Frank looked to Killian, asking the same question without asking.
It was the second video, Killian assured himself while staring at the envelope as though it contained the exact date he would die. They wouldn’t hurt her in the second video. But that wasn’t entirely reassuring. They hadn’t followed the script so far. With his mother, the videos were daily. One every day for two weeks. In a week, they had only sent Killian two. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it seemed infinitely important. Them not playing by the same rules, while simultaneously giving hints to it, left Killian in the dark, unable to foresee what would come next. It gave them an edge he didn’t like.
“Sir?”
Killian pulled in a breath and exhaled. “Put it in.”
Vi’s breathing grew faster and thicker the longer it took Frank to insert the CD, to bring up the video and step aside. Her nostrils flared with every second that passed and nothing happened. Killian couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he could hear her heart drumming in her chest, or was that his? Unsure and not caring, he turned his attention to the flicker of movement on his screen. The black opened to Juliette in that same chair, in front of that same, grimy wall. There was no color on her face, except her eyes. Whether it was the stress of what was happening or the harsh light drowning her, she reminded him of a ghost. She sat so small with her shoulders pulled up around her ears. Her hair was a tangled mess hanging limp along her back. She poked a tongue out and traced it unsteadily across dry, cracked lips.
“Go!” someone instructed.
The camera gave a slight jitter.
“My name is Juliette Romero and I have not been injured. Not yet. But my time is running out. If you ever wish to see me alive again, I will be waiting for you under the golden arches.”
The hint was no help at all.
“She looked okay,” Vi choked out, sounding shaken and relieved all at the same time. “Didn’t she? I mean, she wasn’t hurt or dead, so that’s good, right?” She sucked on her bottom lip, pulling it in tight when her chin wobbled. “They still haven’t asked for money. Aren’t they supposed to…?”
“This isn’t about money.” Killian rose out of his chair and paced to the window and a world too big on the other side.
Bones popped as Vi cracked her knuckles and fretted. Frank stood stoic and silent next to her. But it was the look on the man’s face that perked Killian’s curiosity.
“What is it?” he asked.
Frank lowered his narrowed gaze to the table, but his brows remained knitted. “It could be nothing, sir.”
“I don’t care,” he prompted. “Even the smallest thing might help us.”
Frank inclined his head. “I was simply wondering if perhaps you were mistaken about … taking care of all that were involved.”
Killian frowned. “I was very thorough. Whoever these people are, they are not the same ones from before.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
He was about to tell the man that he was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt, when a thought came to him. It was distant and faded and so small in the sea of black he’d been crashing through since his father’s death that it hadn’t even properly registered.
“No…”
“Sir?”
It had been so long ago.
“There is someone,” he murmured, mind lost in the cyclone of his own realization. “But I…”
“What?” Vi demanded. “Who?”
“Erik Yolvoski.” His gaze fixed with Frank’s. “He was just a boy the last time I saw him, but he died eight years ago. There was a flood and his car was washed over a bridge. I went to his funeral. It’s not him.”
“What do you think she meant by golden arches?” Vi looked to Killian. “Did you have a fight with Ronald McDonald?”
“Whatever the significance, it ties with something you have or haven’t done, sir.” Frank raised his eyebrows in question. “Is there any place in particular you recall that may or may not have arches?”
Killian shook his head. “None that want me dead.”
Vi exhaled. “These guys clearly suck at hostage negotiation.”
“That’s because they’re toying with me,” Killian muttered, returning his attention to the window. “They have no intention of letting her go.”
“So … so, what then?” Vi whispered. “What do they want?”
Killian shook his head. “I have no idea, but we’re going to find out.”
With that, he turned and marched back to his desk. Frank moved out of the way as Killian made a straight line to his chair. He dropped into it and wheeled himself beneath the desk. He reached for a pad and pen and tossed both to Vi.
“Sit down. You’re going to help me.”
She didn’t ask how. Her butt hit the chair before he’d stopped speaking. The pen and pad were in her hand, one poised over the other as she waited for his next instructions.
“I’m g
oing to give you a list of names,” he told her as he pulled open his bottom drawer. “You’re going to write them down and then cross them off after I’ve called them.”
Again, she asked no questions, but nodded obediently.
Killian removed the thick, leather bound book nestled at the very bottom and set it down on the desk. Over his shoulder, he heard Frank suck in a breath, but he too said nothing.
The book was as old as his name was. It had belonged to the very first McClary back before his family had moved from Ireland, back before cars and reality TV shows, back when homes were built out of sticks and mud. It was generations old and had been passed down ever since. Each McClary had taken turns marking the pages with names and dates next to a neat description of what they were owed. The thing was the size of a large phonebook and weighed a little more than a bowling ball, but it would be the thing that saved Juliette. It had to be.
Mind set, Killian opened to the first page and began to read the names out loud. The scratch of Vi’s pen filled the room. Frank stood silent as Killian worked. When it was finished, Killian closed the book and tucked it away once more. But rather than ask Vi to give him the first name, he turned to his computer. He called an emergency meeting amongst the other five organization members. None were happy about being summoned, but they listened as Killian explained the situation. It was in their right to say no and power off, but he knew they wouldn’t, not when it meant the opportunity to have Killian McClary in their debt. All five agreed to get their men in on the search. They would fan across their territories for even the hint of Juliette’s name.
“We will do this,” Theresa said once the matter had been finalized. “But I hope the north realizes what a risk we’re taking sending our men away from their posts.”
Killian had to suppress the urge to remind the woman that they’d taken an oath to protect each other against outside threats. But that was how the game was played.
“You will all be compensated for your time and assistance,” Killian replied, fighting to keep his voice even. “Please bring the people responsible to me, unharmed.”
Heads bobbed once before the square boxes blinked out, leaving his screen dark once more.
That finished, he dragged his phone over to him.
“Give me the first name on the list,” he instructed.
Vi did quickly and he dialed the number.
He hadn’t given her all the names in the book. That would have been insane, plus a lot of them were already dead. But the ones he’d selected were the eyes and ears of the underground. They knew all the right people and had all the right information. He knew mostly likely that they would not refuse. Like the organization, they stood to gain substantially from doing business with him. But that wasn’t what had made him hesitate to use the book.
“I don’t believe this is a good idea, sir,” Frank ventured. “You are well aware of the request they will make—”
“I don’t care,” Killian interrupted. “I will give them whatever they want if they can find Juliette.”
“Yes sir, but—”
“The city means nothing to me without her,” Killian said softly. “They can have it.”
Frank shut his mouth, but Killian knew exactly what the other man was thinking. Any other time, he would agree. Being the line of defense between the innocents of the city and the underbelly was a job his family had taken on for centuries. Even his father hadn’t used them to find his mother. But that was an example Killian wasn’t going to follow.
“What?” Vi glanced from one to the other. “What’s happening? Who are these people?”
Killian avoided her eye. “Give me the next number.”
These people, were the men and women Killian’s family had forcibly shoved away from the city and kept securely locked behind the shadows of the outer walls. He knew by eliciting their help, they would want their run of the city he’d fought to keep clean and protected and he was prepared to give the whole thing back to them if they brought Juliette back. To top it all off, he offered five million to the person who found her alive. That would ensure a lot of eyes to search and ears to listen.
When it was all said and done and he’d sold the last bit of his soul, Killian got to his feet just as a figure stalked into the room.
Aaron still wore his coat. There were clumps of snow clinging to his boots and his face was flushed from the cold, but he looked determined as he charged forward.
“Sir, you need to see this.”
It was Frank who stepped forward to accept the CD the man held. It wasn’t in a yellow envelope, but from the look on Aaron’s face, Killian knew he wouldn’t like whatever was on it.
“What is it?” Killian demanded as Frank popped the case open and reached to exchange one CD for another.
Aaron met his gaze, his expression tight. “It’s the surveillance video from the convenience store down on Helm Street, sir. One of my men uncovered it during our search. It shows Miss Romero getting into a black SUV.”
Killian’s muscles tightened even as his eyes shot down to the screen Frank was adjusting. “Do we know who the car belongs to?”
Aaron nodded. “Yes sir.” He paused for a full heartbeat. “It’s one of ours.”
Chapter 26
“I think we can take them.” Juliette adjusted her legs, pulling one up to her chest while the other unfurled for circulation. “We’ll just save all these bricks and throw them at their heads when they come to get us. We’ll add it to the plan.”
On the other side of the bars, Maraveet snorted. The Styrofoam plate balanced on the palm of her hand trembled slightly as she scooped slimy peas up with her plastic spoon. Unlike Juliette, who still wasn’t used to the disgusting meals, Maraveet didn’t seem to have any trouble shoveling soggy salad, runny peas, and burnt hamburger patties into her mouth. It didn’t seem to matter that she was starving. Her gag reflexes refused to let her force anything that revolting down.
“You won’t be able to throw anything if you don’t eat,” Maraveet advised.
Juliette nudged the patty with her finger. “I don’t know how you’re able to keep this stuff down.”
“The trick is not to look at it.” Maraveet took her patty up with her fingers and bit into it, filling the silence with a crunch. “Close your eyes if you have to.”
Somehow, Juliette doubted that would help. The stench coming off the slab of meat was bad enough to make the hairs in her nostril shrivel up and cower.
She set her plate down. “How long do you think it’s been?”
“Don’t think about it.” Maraveet chewed and swallowed. “You’ll just drive yourself crazy.”
Juliette glanced over at the other woman, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How many times have you been in this kind of situation?”
Maraveet raised her head. “A few.”
“How did you get out?”
Plate all but licked clean, Maraveet set it aside and dropped her spoon down on top of it. “Not easily.”
Her tone said very clearly that that was a topic they would never discuss. Honestly, Juliette couldn’t blame her. Being there in that prison was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine being in more than one.
“Occupational hazard, huh?” she said instead.
Maraveet nodded slowly. “Something like that.” She dusted her hands and peered through the bars at the stairs. “This actually isn’t so bad.”
Juliette didn’t want to know what could be worse than living in that cage and knowing their time was running out.
“Do you recognize the leader?” she asked.
Maraveet shook his head. “He’s just a kid. Can’t imagine what Killian could have done to piss him off this badly.”
“He hasn’t asked for anything,” Juliette murmured. “In the videos, I mean. He just keeps making these stupid riddles and they’re barely five seconds long and make no sense. If he’s trying to get Killian to find him, he’s doing a horrible job of it.”
“Yeah.” Bu
t the woman seemed distracted. She was staring at her spoon, turning it slowly between her fingers.
“What?”
“Give me your spoon,” she said instead.
“What?” Juliette repeated.
Maraveet looked up. “Give me your spoon!”
Bemused, Juliette passed her spoon over and watched as the bowls were snapped off and pitched unceremoniously into the bucket in the corner. The handle pieces were pressed together. Then she reached behind her and pulled out two more broken handles and joined them.
“Give me your elastic,” she demanded, hand already outstretched.
Not asking any questions, Juliette slid the band from her hair and dropped it into the open palm. She watched as it was wrapped around the plastic.
Secured firmly, she turned the jagged ends over and began grinding them slowly against the concrete. She kept doing this until a small pile of plastic shavings had collected beneath her hands and the plastic had been rubbed down to a sharp point on one end. Maraveet paused to blow the excess shavings away before examining her handiwork.
“It’s not the best, but it’ll do.” She passed it through the bars to Juliette. “You can probably get one or two good uses out of that if you’re really careful. Plan your attack and make sure you don’t miss!”
Juliette’s mouth went dry even as her palms began to sweat. She stared from the jagged weapon to the woman watching her through the bars.
“What … are you serious?”
“Do you want to get out of here?” Maraveet countered. At Juliette hesitant nod, she continued. “Time your attack,” she said again. “If you strike too early, you’ll get stopped early and you’ll lose the element of surprise. But if you wait and time it, you can maybe even get three.”
Get three.
What did that even mean? Kill them? Was she supposed to stab them with the crudely shaped weapon?
“You can do this.” Something in her face must have given away her fears, because Maraveet reached through the bars and grabbed her arm. “You have to do this, Juliette. Do you understand?”
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