He reached down to the marker and scratched some dirt off her name with his thumb. “I’m not sure how it got so out of control, sis. I thought I was doing the right thing for Gracie.” He shook his head in disgust. “But I know now that I was using it as a selfish excuse. I was so wrong for what I did. I… I messed up.” He continued to clean the header, obsessively scratching at it. “She has to know how much I love her.”
He and Gracie had stood in this very same spot over twenty years ago and made their pact. He pictured her back then, big brown eyes so determined and full of passion. She would find a cure, she said, and in turn, he would make sure nothing got in her way—not their poverty, the color of their skin, or anything else.
He could feel the heat in his body rising. Thoughts swirled in his mind about what they were going to do to her. Stone cold killers just like him wanted her dead, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many people he, Bic, had brought into existence. How many twisted psychopaths like the Farmer did his own evil beget? He thought he could just walk away, but now he knew what he had done, all the killing wasn’t something you can just walk away from.
His phone rang.
“Tony. How is he?”
“That tough S.O.B. is gonna make it. They’re not sure if his egg is scrambled yet. Doc said we won’t know until the swelling goes down.”
“Gracie didn’t show up.”
“What the hell is she thinking?” said Parelli. “If they get their hands—”
“I betrayed her.”
“What? Stop it. You did what you had to do.”
“I didn’t have to kill anyone, Tony.”
“You’re a survivor. Don’t overthink it, it will cloud your judgement.”
“You and I have a nice way of rationalizing things, Tony. But intelligent, decent people like Gracie would call it murder.”
“There’s one thing you have to remember, my friend, and that is without you, Gracie would be dead right now. Those pricks would have pinned her as a terrorist and wiped her and her cure off the face of the earth. She needed a Black Ghost by her side to see this thing through.”
Bic fought the sob that threatened to catch in his throat. “I hope you’re right.”
“Sam Hill, I’m right! And partner, it’s for real. You just need to keep that girl safe.”
“I need to find her first.” Bic hung up the phone, and looked back to Chandra’s grave. “Sis, I swear, I’ll find your baby girl before they do.”
61
Quinn and Gracie entered the motel room at dusk. Quinn immediately locked the door and closed the curtains, then twitched the synthetic plastic-cloth back to peek outside.
After a long scan of the parking lot, he said, “No one’s followed us, we’ll be safe here until morning.”
Gracie sat on the bed, then pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“Sorry about the single bed, that’s the only setup they have in places like this. I’ll take the floor.”
“It’s fine,” Gracie said looking away as a thought crossed her mind about what usually goes on in places like this. She blushed.
Quinn handed her his backpack.
“After the last couple of days, I figured you’d need a change of clothes.”
Gracie pulled out the clothes, “These are all the right sizes.” She became embarrassed as she quickly scanned the bra size, 34C. “Are you Clark Kent?”
“Three sisters,” Quinn replied.
“Older?”
“Yep.”
“I bet there are some great stories.”
Quinn smiled. “No, they didn’t dress me up like a doll and put makeup on me every other day.”
They both laughed.
“Thanks for this.” Gracie stood with her pile of clothes in hand, but one piece fell to the floor.
“Thanks for trusting me.” He picked up the white cotton underwear from her feet and stood very close to her. “By the way, my sisters tell me these are the most comfortable.”
“You have smart sisters,” Gracie said, staring at Quinn for a moment, noticing the full contour of his lips—lips that if kissed, she sensed, would be warm and soft. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay, I’ll keep a watch out.”
The hot shower had been a taste of heaven. She came out of the bathroom, still drippy, her towel wrapped around her.
“Everything okay?” said Quinn, who was sitting on the bed.
“That shower was pretty much the greatest thing in the world. At least since the invention of the donut.”
He laughed, exposing smile lines by his eyes. “Glad to hear it.”
She went over and sat down beside him, her leg touching his.
After a long silence, Quinn spoke. “Something wrong with the clothes?”
She looked into his eyes. “When you face death, you suddenly realize there’s so much you haven’t experienced.”
She took a breath. She felt a weird tingling inside, and wanted to explore what this subtle sweet spasm could turn into. She could be dead by the end of the week. She needed to let her guard down, experience this moment to the fullest.
She leaned over and kissed him.
When the kiss ended, she threw her head back, offering up her throat. As his tongue darted out, accepting the invitation, the towel slid off her and fell to the floor.
She had no idea how long it’d been since they finished, but their warm bodies were still tangled.
Gracie was spent physically, but not mentally. The closeness she now felt to Quinn gave her the excitement that he would help her see this through.
62
With bloodshot eyes, and on his third coffee of the morning, from inside a corner cafe at the base of a nineteen-story high-rise just south of the Loop, Mack cased the arched entrance of the red brick Harold Washington library. He had been fighting the morning sun reflecting off the three five-story arched windows covering the face of the building and couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the glass construction roof.
Parelli had sent him a text at three AM with three words—Harold Washington Library.
All he wanted was to be with Caroline. Making things worse, no one was returning his calls or texts. Parelli, Quinn, not even his father.
He called directly to Caroline’s room. No answer.
He called the switchboard at the hospital and was transferred to the nurses’ station on Caroline’s floor.
“Hi, this is Mack Maddox, my wife Caroline is in room 1909. Was I transferred to the right floor?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask how she’s doing?”
“I just started my shift. Would you like me to go check on her?”
“Yes, that would be amazing, thank you.”
Mack waited for a couple of minutes.
“Hi, Mr. Maddox?”
“Yes?”
“You said room 1909, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“1909 is empty.”
A feeling of nauseous terror came over him and he stumbled over his word a moment. “Did she…?” He couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.
“Well, the thing is, I’m checking the records right now, and… yeah, there doesn’t seem to be anything in the system. Are you absolutely sure it was room 1909?”
“Absolutely.”
“What was the last name of the patient again?”
“Maddox, M-A-D…” He felt like he was in the middle of some bizarre prank.
“Huh,” said the nurse. “Um, I’m so sorry, please bear with me.”
How can this be happening? he thought as he saw Quinn walk up the steps of the library with Gracie.
“Snake.”
“Sir?”
“No, not you.”
“Just bear with me, please. I’m contacting everyone.”
The minutes slogged by as he waited.
Moments later, a black Suburban pulled up in
front of the library. Four men exited the vehicle, their movements tactical.
Mack’s adrenaline flooded his system like nitrous gas in an engine.
The pride had just shown up to hunt.
63
Gracie and Quinn strode across the black-and-white marble floor of the grand two-story lobby, her new sneakers quietly squeaking. Gracie was surprised the library already had this much traffic right at open, but the place was as silent as snow. Somehow, the silence made it worse, like an audio spotlight shining on her. It felt like every eye was on her.
Quinn glanced suspiciously behind them.
“Something wrong?” Gracie asked.
“No, not really. But let’s just get these books and get out of here.”
“It might take a while.”
“You don’t know where they are?”
“Not exactly.”
They came to a directory. “This place is a maze. Nine floors, dozens of rooms. This might take days.”
Gracie walked up to the computer card catalog. “Steve hid it for me.”
“Who’s Steve?”
Gracie stopped typing, her fingers still resting on the keyboard as she stared at the screen blankly, and said, “Steve gave his life for me.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“So, you really have no idea?”
“No, my only instruction was to make sure no one could find it.”
Quinn paused with a look of confusion.
“No one, that is, except me.” Gracie said as she pulled up Steve’s favorite book in the catalog. Gracie grabbed a scratch piece of paper and wrote down the book’s location as Quinn peeked over her shoulder.
Le Morte d’Arthur.
Gracie’s eyes teared up a little, “I didn’t pay him much, but our deal was that once we found a cure for cancer, I was going to take him and his renaissance cronies to England and he and his friends were going to get to reenact their favorite scenes from Excalibur in front of the Queen of England.”
Quinn gave a quizzical look. “He didn’t just want to be paid more?”
Gracie smiled. “You just had to know Steve. He figured if we found a cure, the Queen would grant us this one request. I humored him, what can I say?”
Jaco Ivanov watched from the opposite end of the lobby as Quinn followed Gracie to the east side of the building. He and three additional men had made themselves invisible in the two-story lobby. One of them was the Farmer. He loved libraries. They were so quiet you could practically hear the secrets people tried to hide from you.
Jaco’s trust for the Farmer was on thin ice, but Peter Rains confirmed through satellite clips that there was indeed another chopper that day. Either way, he knew he had to keep a close eye on him. Considering the possibility of Bic showing up, he was willing to risk having the Farmer there.
Patrons continued to enter and exit the lobby at a steady pace. With a circulation desk and a separate information desk on opposite sides of the room, the incoming traffic split evenly. He wasn’t sure who else knew about this location, about the cure and where it was hidden. He didn’t want to let his and his team’s presence be known until he was sure the final copy of the cure was destroyed.
Jaco spoke softly into the tiny microphone concealed by his hand and connected to his men’s earpieces. “Make sure not to engage until I have confirmed we have the second target located.” Staring at the Farmer, Jaco asked, “Is that clear?”
The Farmer nodded. “Clear as a virgin’s tears.”
64
The stacks were nothing if not bewildering. Gracie turned down the row marked FICTION—M. About halfway into the aisle, at eye level, she began tracing her finger along the spines of the books.
“Malory… Malory… Ah…”
She pulled out the classic book and stared at the majestic-looking king on the cover. “This is the same exact book. He kept a copy on his desk.”
“Modern Library edition,” said Quinn.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing. I have the 1962 New American Library edition, that’s all. From what you’ve told me about Steve, he probably would have preferred it.”
She smiled at the picture on the cover. How often had she seen photos of Steve dressed exactly like this? People like him were what was good in this world. People like him were the reason she needed to keep fighting for the cure.
She settled in at a table anxious to get what she needed to turn this bad story back into a good one. She opened the book with confidence, but diligently. With Steve, she needed to be ready for anything.
She thumbed through the book with trembling fingers. Twice. Nothing. No clues, no markings within the book.
“There’s nothing here,” she said defeatedly.
“Mind if I take a look?”
She handed it to him. “I don’t understand.”
As Quinn thumbed through, he asked, “Did he say this specific book?”
“He said his favorite book at the Harold Washington Library.”
“Are you sure you have the right book?”
“Yeah. Like I said, he kept it on his desk.”
“I don’t see anything here,” Quinn said, frustrated. “I wish we had a specific title.”
“I know his favorite book, I’m sure of it.” Gracie paused, deep in thought, then got up and walked back into the row.
She paused before the row, then looked at Quinn.
“What is it?”
“You mentioned another edition before. I’ll bet there’s another book in this library somewhere.”
“We need to go back to the circulation desk,” said Quinn
Gracie and Quinn walked through the corridor and entered the lobby. Gracie looked up at a man standing on the second-floor walkway, which spanned the entirety of the room. He was bent over the railing, looking down at the main lobby.
Quinn sneezed, very loudly.
“God bless you.”
“Thanks. Let’s find this book. I think I’m allergic to this place.”
Gracie looked into his eyes. “Hopefully you’re not allergic to girls who are bookworms.”
He smirked at her. “You can learn a lot of useful things from books.”
Quick flashbacks of last night sent a warm twinge through Gracie’s core as she walked up to the front desk.
The Farmer sat on the bench counting dead sheep in his head, eyes locked on Gracie but concealed beneath the brim of his Cubs hat. The only thing holding him back from attack was an invisible cage.
“Hold your position,” Jaco said into his earpiece. “I repeat, do not engage. We don’t have it yet.”
The Farmer looked up to see Jaco across the room, glaring at him over the top of an open magazine.
The Farmer gave a subtle nod.
Oh, I’ll hold my position, you back stabbing bastard, until it’s time for you to pay the price for trying to mess with the devil.
65
“Hi,” Gracie smiled. “I was wondering if you could see if you have a book on hand?”
“Sure,” the librarian said. “Which book?”
“Le Morte d’Arthur.”
The librarian punched away at her keyboard. “It’s showing two here. One’s checked out. We should have another one.”
“Hm,” said Gracie, “I just looked and couldn’t find it.”
“If you don’t mind,” said the librarian, “I’ll ask a page to see if they can find it for you.”
“Can I ask you a question?” said Quinn. “Where did you get that pendant?” He pointed to the sapphire book pendant around the librarian’s neck and squinted, leaning forward. Taking his body language cue, she rose from her seat and leaned in.
She took it in her hands and held it out. “My husband got it for me for our anniversary last year.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Quinn, leaning in further, squinting. “Have you ever been to the Pierpont Morgan Library in New York? Bec
ause they have something similar.”
She smiled. “That’s where he got it.”
“I’ve been looking all over the place for one just like it for my mother…”
It didn’t take Gracie long to realize that this was her moment. She leaned over the counter to get a look at the librarian’s computer screen.
Quinn turned slightly, as if to get a better view of the pendant. The librarian turned with him.
It was a stretch, but just enough so that she could read the name there. She grabbed her phone and jotted down the name, “Benjamin Surewood” and his address.
“Got it,” she said as they turned away from the desk. “Do you have that power over all women?”
“Gotta know all the tricks,” said Quinn with a sly grin.
Gracie showed him the address in excitement. “Let’s take a trip.”
She suddenly felt a coldness in her gut. Someone was watching her. Nervously, she glanced around the room and locked in on a man wearing a Cubs hat.
“Quinn,” she said, her voice a rasp. “It’s him. Three o’clock. Cubs hat.”
The Farmer reached for his gun.
Quinn grabbed Gracie’s hand and led her over the solid marble U-shaped counter. Bullets pounded into the white stone as they did.
Screams reverberated throughout the building. Patrons in the lobby scattered like minnows.
“You’re bleeding!” Gracie said as they both hunched under the front desk.
Quinn reached for his ear, “I’m okay.”
With the U-shaped desk attached to the wall on both sides, the only way out for them was over the countertop or by opening the gate attached to the wall. Quinn, with his gun pointed to the open space, waited for the Farmer to attempt entry.
From the reflection in the mirror on the wall Quinn could make out something in The Farmer’s other hand that was not a gun. “Oh no, he’s got a grenade!”
Gracie stifled a scream.
The Farmer stepped up to the counter. “The preacher man says it’s the end of the line,” he said, pulling the pin.
A burst of blood exploded from his right shoulder.
The Cure Page 17