Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  I replied to Winnie:

  “GLAD YOU’RE SET. SORRY I MISSED YOUR CALL. NO NEWS YET. HOPEFULLY WE’LL HEAR BY MORNING. GET SOME SLEEP.”

  She replied immediately:

  “THANK YOU FOR TRYING. SEE YOU IN THE MORNING.”

  When I reentered the kitchen, Sterling was standing near the bottle of merlot, the opener in place, partially in the cork, with his phone in his hand and a grim expression.

  “If your phone bothers you that much, why don’t you stop looking at it?” I asked.

  His dark eyes met mine. “Do you have something to tell me?”

  Shrugging, I retrieved the bottle of moscato from the refrigerator, pulled the stopper, and poured some of the cool, refreshing liquid into my glass. “Besides that I can’t leave tomorrow, Winnie has personal things happening, and I want Reid to make my handprint activate the elevator, nothing else is coming to mind.”

  “How about Louisa?”

  I held the rim of the wineglass at my lips, pursed and ready to drink, and then slowly I lowered the glass back to the counter. “What about Louisa?”

  “When did you plan to tell me that she could go into labor at any time?”

  “What the fuck?” I asked. “How do you know that?”

  “I’m no expert on babies,” he said, “but doesn’t dilation mean that labor is imminent?”

  I cocked my head to the side.

  Fucker read my text messages.

  “In most cases conception means labor is imminent. No one wants that shit to go on longer than nine months.” My hand went to my hip. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, like why you’re reading my text messages?”

  “Araneae, there are things happening.”

  I picked up the wineglass and took a healthy swallow. My tone dripped of sarcasm. “I can be an asshole because it’s all for your safety, blah, blah.”

  Instantly the wineglass I’d been holding was out of my hand. The room echoed with the shattering glass as the glass hit the backsplash. Crystal shards exploded while white wine splattered, dripping onto the granite countertop.

  My eyes opened wide as my pulse raced. “What the actual fuck, Sterling?”

  “Do I now have your goddamn attention?”

  I took a step backward. “What is the matter with you?”

  His jaw clenched as the tendons in his neck strung tighter. “Be ready tomorrow morning at seven. You’ll be reachable by phone, mostly, and also by internet. I’m sure Winnie Douglas can handle your calls and your special meeting. When it comes to Louisa’s baby, if you’re allowed to go to Boulder, it will be with me or Patrick. Now either eat or don’t. This conversation is done.”

  Sterling

  Araneae’s stare blistered through me as white wine continued to drip from the tile, pooling on the granite as crystal debris littered the counter and floor.

  Fuck it.

  Lorna could deal with it in the morning.

  Araneae wanted to know what is wrong with me.

  That was her question. My tongue was almost bitten in half as I forced myself to leave that question unanswered. In reality, there was a shit-ton of things wrong with me—right now the epicenter was the woman standing before me. Anyone else in the world would have said, “Yes, Mr. Sparrow.” Even women. Fuck, they got off on the private planes and chartered yachts.

  Not Araneae.

  No, everything with her was a fucking fight.

  “If I’m allowed,” she said, emphasizing the word I’d used and bringing my attention to her pert lips and flushed complexion. “Fuck you, Sparrow. You are not my boss or ruler or whatever the hell you think you are. I’ll go wherever I want and that includes not going somewhere such as to your secluded getaway tomorrow at seven in the damn morning.”

  I took a step closer, making a conscious effort to refrain from touching her. Right now my anger and worry were too volatile. I couldn’t take the chance of not knowing my own strength, not again.

  I wouldn’t be my father.

  “You still don’t get it,” I said. “Your first damn night in Chicago you were poisoned.”

  “You’re the one who keeps telling me that I’m safe now.”

  “And you are when you follow the damn rules.”

  She took a deep breath. “So going to the birth of my best friend’s baby or refusing to go with you tomorrow constitutes breaking your damn rules? What are you going to do, Sterling, because I plan to do both of those things? What is your plan, spank my ass? I’m not a child.”

  “I might believe you if you quit acting like one.” Taking a breath, I reached for her chin bringing her velvety eyes to mine. Instead of soft suede, her orbs were filled with fire, a raging inferno. The glare directed at me let me know that I’d been the one to strike the match. My tone deepened. “Sunshine, if you disobey me on either of those things, while it goes without saying that sitting will be out of the question, you should trust me when I say that your ass will be the least of your worries.”

  Taking a step back from my grasp and without another word, Araneae turned on her heels, leaving her uneaten dinner on the counter, and walked out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

  Fuck!

  This wasn’t how I planned my evening—our evening. It all went to hell after I’d made it home. I’d been on the way from the garage when Reid stopped the elevator on two. It was a code, our way to alert me that my presence was needed.

  * * *

  Two and a half hours ago...

  * * *

  As soon as the metal door opened, I was met with his and Patrick’s expressions of gloom. Without a word, Reid handed me a note.

  * * *

  Leslie Milton.

  25 years old.

  Blonde/pretty – not model.

  Lives in Gage Park.

  Boyfriend – Praxton, Paxton, or Preston???

  Phone: XXX-XXX-XXXX

  * * *

  “What the fuck?” I asked.

  “Araneae gave that to me. It’s her handwriting,” Reid said.

  “Why?”

  How in the hell would she know anything about the woman responsible for slipping her the roofie?

  How would she have this information?

  Reid’s nostrils flared. “Leslie was the friend of Winifred’s, the one she planned to visit while here in Chicago.”

  “You’re shitting me?”

  Patrick’s head shook. “Fucking small world.”

  I fell into one of the desk chairs, dumbfounded. The connection was a sucker punch to my gut. The incident was done. My statement had been made. The police and newscasters had done their part to make it disappear into the realm of unsolvable homicides. We’d moved on.

  “I’ve met Winnie,” Patrick said. “She’s as bullheaded as some other women around this place. She’s not going to let this go.” He shook his head. “I know she won’t. Due to the unidentifiable condition of the bodies, the names of the victims haven’t been released. The Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office is backlogged. Without a priority status, it could be months, if ever. Many get lost in the shuffle. But if she starts pushing...”

  “It won’t lead back to Sparrow, boss,” Reid said.

  It wouldn’t.

  “No,” I said, “but if Araneae learns the details—not even knowing who did it—then she’ll see the filth, the ugly truth of the underworld. I fucking want to keep that from her. Keep her rose-colored glasses in place.”

  “The most Winifred will learn,” Reid said, “will be that Leslie Milton is a missing person. Praxton liked to flash cash around. Maybe he took her to some tropical island.”

  Patrick ran his hand over his barely visible blond five o’clock shadow as his jaw stretched. “I wasn’t sure I was going to say anything, but today Winnie made Araneae uncomfortable by asking a million questions. I didn’t hear all of them, but she’s inquisitive.”

  My eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  “Everything. Ms. McCrie didn’t waver, but the process was wearing
on her. By midafternoon I convinced Araneae to take a trip to the docks and check on a silk shipment—get out of the office.”

  Shit, so her day’s been as good as mine.

  “Jana?” I asked.

  Patrick shook his head. “Solid as a rock. After all that woman’s been through, talking straight-faced to Winnie about Ms. Hawkins was as easy as telling her kid a bedtime story.”

  “You made the right call about her,” I said. “Thanks. How long is Ms. Winifred Douglas planning to be in Chicago?”

  “It was going to be until Wednesday, but they decided on the full week, so now it’s until Friday,” Patrick replied. “The more worked up she gets about Leslie, the more upset Araneae will become.”

  “I’ll tell Araneae that I can’t find anything,” Reid suggested. “Or I’ll lie and say Leslie and Praxton boarded a plane for Bora Bora.”

  I shook my head. “No. Would you lie to Lorna?”

  “That’s different. She lost her rose-colored glasses a long time ago.”

  “That part’s different but not what matters,” I said. “Araneae asked me not to lie, to tell her the truth no matter how upsetting.”

  “Was that about everything?” Reid asked.

  Standing, I took a step one direction and spun, walking the other. “The promise was referring to her family, but if I lie about one thing, she’ll never believe me about anything else. I won’t...no.” I turned toward Reid. “What happens when the bodies are identified? What happens when the authorities say that McBride and Milton were killed the beginning of last week?”

  “Winnie said she talked to Leslie a while back,” Patrick said. “Reid, if we can access her phone records and find out when that call occurred, we might make this work. If she spoke to Leslie prior to last Sunday night, then...I wouldn’t suggest Bora Bora but who’s to say that McBride and Milton didn’t leave town before returning?”

  “I’m not lying to Araneae,” I said. They both looked at me. “I’m not telling her the truth either. I’m getting her out of town until Winnie leaves.”

  Patrick’s head shook.

  “Listen, I’m aware she won’t like it. Having her here with Winnie will only make it worse.”

  “We’ll get the plane ready,” Patrick said. “Where do you want to go?”

  I fucking didn’t want to go anywhere. I had too many things happening. “I don’t know.” I looked at Patrick. “Do you have anything? She say anything around you?”

  He tilted his head. “Today at the Port of Chicago, she was watching Lake Michigan. It was all sunny and breezy and shit.”

  I nodded. “Forget the plane. Charter a boat at the Columbia Yacht Club—something nice. Vet the crew. It’s summer on Lake Michigan. Cruising now is a better idea than in the winter.” That may be the only reason it was better because I was confident that being whisked away the day after her friend arrived wouldn’t go over well with Araneae.

  * * *

  Present...

  * * *

  I reached for the key to the bedroom, certain it would be locked. Yet it wasn’t. Pushing the door inward, I let my eyes adjust to the darkened room.

  I’d waited before coming up to the room. Spending time in my office, I hoped that with time Araneae would realize that I was right. She may not understand it, but might accept that I knew what was best and that leaving town wouldn’t be a big deal.

  The darkened room came into view. I scanned the other doors. The closet and workout room doors were closed. The bathroom door was open and the room beyond dark.

  I fucking wanted a shower, but I needed to touch her, to know she was sleeping.

  As I moved closer to the bed, the slightly wrinkled covers came into view. The stacks of pillows near the headboard, the barely touched comforter. My heart beat faster as I reached for the switch on the lamp on the nearer bedside stand.

  The room flooded with the soft golden light.

  My pulse raced.

  “Araneae.”

  Her name reverberated through the empty bedroom.

  I rushed to the bathroom, the closet, and the workout room. Every place was dark and empty.

  Damn it, Araneae, where the fuck are you?

  Araneae

  Tears clogged my nose and throat as I sat alone in the darkened kitchen staring out at the lights of the city through the tall windows. They were there, so was the kitchen around me, yet none of it registered. My entire body quaked with emotion as I worked to swallow the food and stop the tears. I wasn’t certain if my bout of minor hysteria was caused by the cut on my finger, the fact that I was mad at Sterling, or because I was sad that the night had gone to hell.

  All of the above was probably the correct answer.

  Sitting at the table with a damn paper towel wrapped around my finger, I forced myself to eat. It was my growling stomach that had convinced me to come back down to the kitchen; my pride was why I snuck quietly.

  I wasn’t ready to face Sterling.

  Not after what he’d done—the way he’d behaved.

  He said I acted childishly.

  Screw you, Sterling.

  I didn’t throw a damn glass of wine against the wall and leave the debris for someone else to deal with.

  As soon as I reentered the kitchen, I was met with the visual evidence of his ridiculous behavior. You might think that the person who did the deed would have cleaned it up. He hadn’t. Hell, he hadn’t even put away the food or cleaned up his fucking dishes.

  How hard was it to move a dish and glass from the counter to the dishwasher?

  Apparently, if you possessed a Y chromosome, the answer was impossible.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to take another bite of the cold chicken parmesan.

  How was it possible that I was hungry yet too upset to eat?

  When I’d gone upstairs, I’d half expected Sterling to follow me. At the time I didn’t want him to, but the fact that he didn’t added to my myriad emotions. And now it was nearly midnight and he was still in his office. I’d heard him clicking away on the keyboard as I came down the stairs.

  Since I was upset that he didn’t come find me, I wasn’t going to him. When I stepped onto the marble of the first floor in my socks, I made sure to stay quiet and keep lighting to a minimum.

  I was fully aware that my way of thinking didn’t make sense—I didn’t want him to follow. I was mad he didn’t. I wouldn’t be the one to go to him. These weren’t the thoughts of a rational woman.

  Gah!

  Sterling Sparrow had me all kinds of mixed up. Since he came into my life, I supposed that rational was the last word that could be used to describe me.

  As I entered the kitchen, my sock-clad feet stopped when I saw the remains of the wineglass. With only the light from my phone, I worked to clean the broken glass and spilled wine. In my opinion, it wasn’t fair to expect Lorna to do it. From the remains, that had appeared to be Sterling’s plan.

  It was as I was trying to collect all of the shards of crystal that a larger one became embedded in my finger. I’d been concerned about stepping on them, and instead, one of them stabbed my finger. It wasn’t like I was going to bleed out or anything, but it was tender and still bleeding.

  At this time of night, every sound was amplified.

  I held the fork as steady as possible as my heart beat faster at the reverberating sound of Sterling’s shoes in the foyer echoing throughout the kitchen. Holding my breath, I waited for him to find me or for the footsteps to move away. Step by step, I listened as he ascended the stairs until the footsteps disappeared.

  Quietly, I stood and scraped the remaining food from the plate into the trash can and put my dishes in the dishwasher. Taking a deep breath, I looked up to the ceiling. Even though I wasn’t sure what I’d find upstairs, the part of me that refused to be the bigger child in this argument knew that was where I needed to be. It was time to come to terms with this debacle of a night.

  A quick peek under the paper towel told me that my finger was
still bleeding. Holding the paper towel tighter, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and took another breath. As I rounded the corner to the foyer, his deep voice came into range as he called my name.

  With my hand on the banister I took one step and then another. From the direction of his voice and the slamming of doors, he was moving around upstairs, going from room to room.

  As I reached the top landing, Sterling rounded a corner, his phone at his ear, and our gazes locked.

  “I found her,” he said into the phone. Disconnecting the call, his voice rose. “Where the fuck were you?”

  My hand went to my hip. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sterling. Is it not enough that I’m locked in the apartment, I also need to check with you before I leave the bedroom?”

  His eyes closed as he turned. Even though he was still wearing his suit trousers, shoes, and white button-up shirt, he was more casual than before. The cuffs of his shirt were now rolled to below his elbows, his collar open, and tie completely gone. His hand went through his hair as he completed a full spin and our eyes again met.

  The muscles of his forearm flexed as the buttons of his shirt strained at the depth of his inhale. “Araneae, come to bed. It’s been a fucking long night.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “This might be one of those times you consider making an apology.”

  His focus went from my face to my hand and the paper towel wrapped around my finger. “What happened to your hand?”

  I brought it down in front of me. “Nothing. It’s fine. I just cut it.”

  Sterling took a step forward and seized the hand with the wounded finger. “On what?”

  Biting my lip, I flinched as he unwrapped the paper towel.

  “Have you cleaned this?” he asked.

  “Sterling, it’s fine. It’s a little cut.”

  “It’s still bleeding.”