Dan
George is out of sick bay and resting in his room. I knock on the door because I’m polite, not because he deserves it.
When he opens it, George looks wrecked: dark shadows under his eyes, hair sticking out every which way, and a beard covering his jaw that wasn’t there a few days ago. He’s given up hope.
“Can I come in?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah, please.” He steps back.
George’s hands are still bandaged—the white gauze the cleanest-looking thing about him. His room smells musty, the blinds are closed, and there are no lights on. Sympathy churns in my stomach. He’s not a bad man. Just a coward.
“Can I get you anything?” George asks, gesturing toward his kitchenette.
“No, I came to tell you that we’ve found and rescued your sister. Lenox called twenty minutes ago. He found her in a makeshift prison on an estate in Romania owned by a sex trafficker named Petra. They managed to escape through the surrounding woods and wave down a driver willing to take them to the closest city with an international airport.”
George’s mouth drops open, his eyes instantly glazed with tears. He raises one of his wrapped hands up to them, looking almost like an animal swiping with a paw. “Thank you,” he says, his voice tight. He keeps his head bent, hiding his tears from me.
I nod, my own throat tightening. He risked all of us for her. To spare himself the pain of losing her. My hands itch to comfort him, but I fight my instincts, refusing to offer any consolation.
I’m still not sure what to do with George in the long term. Given what he knows, he’s far too dangerous to release, but we are not set up to hold him captive. George hasn’t asked to leave—appears to be willing to take any punishment we mete out.
I don’t want revenge, though. I just want everyone to be safe. Shit. Turning, I head for the door. “Can I tell my parents?” George asks, his voice choked.
Standing at the door I look back at him. “Your sister already called them. She’ll be back with them soon. Lenox is going to escort her back to Texas himself.”
“Will she be safe?” he asks, straightening.
Worry pulls my lips into a frown. “I hope so.”
He takes a step forward and then stops. “Can I talk to her?”
My heart aches at the pain in his voice. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He nods, accepting my decision without argument…without even a sigh of resistance. I let myself out and close the door, hearing the lock click automatically into place.
Hank, a tall African American guy, sits in a folding chair in the hall, guarding George. “Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, has he given you any trouble?”
Hank shakes his head. “Super quiet in there.”
“Has he been eating?”
“Not really,” Hank says with a frown. “He looks depressed to me.”
“He should be.” Hank nods, silently agreeing. “You need anything?”
“Nope.”
Looking back at George’s room one more time, I take a deep breath. I don’t have the time or bandwidth to worry about him.
Back in my rooms, I boot up my computers before grabbing a pizza out of the freezer and throwing it in my toaster oven. Communication with the outside world is open again but with a lot of controls. Every email is being read, every conversation listened to. It’s like we’ve become a freaking apocalyptic novel. Next we’ll be burning books and controlling thoughts.
But how else can we trust each other?
We’ve learned nothing so far, though. It’s so frustrating. Anita suggested this morning that maybe there wasn’t another mole. That perhaps the people blackmailing George lied.
In a way, that would be worse. Because if there is another traitor or two in our midst then we can find them and end this. But if there isn’t, then the doubt will remain forever.
I head back to my computer and check the logs. No new emails or calls since I went to talk to George. Mitchel is in the control room and has everything in hand.
Checking in on Sandy’s feeds, I find her getting ready for work. She seems to be doing okay. Hasn’t heard from Mulberry but also isn’t staring at empty wine bottles in the evenings. She even went out with some girlfriends last night. Nothing like bitching about your love life with friends to make things better.
Switching screens, I look in at Mulberry’s bank and credit card accounts. No action. He’ll turn up eventually. He’s pissed but at the end of the day will call, even if it’s just to yell.
My hand hovers over my mouse for a moment. Then I give in to my urges. I haven’t indulged since this all started. But I need to check in. Just to make sure she’s safe.
Sydney is living with Robert Maxim—a snake in tailored suits. I log in and the video feed opens. She’s sitting on her bed, hair falling over her face as she leans down to put on a pair of shoes. Blue sits by her side, and his two puppies are lying behind him.
Sydney sits up and reaches out to pet Blue.
The bed is made, and the room tidy. A dress is draped over an armchair. That must be what she’s wearing to Hugh’s wedding.
A smile pulls at my lips. Sydney Rye is helping plan a wedding. Maybe she is finding some peace. A knock at my door makes me jump, and I quickly turn off the feed, guilt making my fingers clumsy.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and head to the door. It’s Mitchel. “Hey, man,” he smiles. “I’ve been sent to drag you outside.”
I lean against the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, your mom”—he laughs—“I mean Anita, pointed out you’ve been missing your paddleboarding.” He punches me on the shoulder. “How you gonna think clearly without exercise?”
I shake my head, smiling. “Fine, let me get dressed.”
“I’ll wait in your living room. I don’t want you trying to weasel out of it.”
I laugh again, leaving the door open and stepping back into my space. “Fine.”
“Anita is scary when she’s serious,” Mitchel says, following me in.
“Tell me about it.” I head to my room to get changed.
It’s good to have people who care about you. Watch out for you. That’s all I’m doing with Sydney. Keeping an eye on her.
Sydney
A storm blew in this morning, the sky churning with clouds and lightning flashing, illuminating the sky in deep purple, pale yellow, and the sickly green of a fading bruise. Gray swirls still hover off the coast, turning the ocean into glinting silver, ruffled and dangerous, the wind pressing down upon it—almost as if the sky has taken temporary dominion over the sea.
Hugh paces nervously, sweat lining his brow. The heat and humidity surround us like an electric blanket with the dial turned all the way up. “Where is he?” Hugh asks, his voice high and worried.
“I’ll find him,” I say, standing up from the loveseat, my skirt swishing around me. Hugh nods, his eyes worried.
Stepping out of the guest room, I make my way down the hall and peek out to the patio where Hugh and Santiago’s wedding guests are gathered. Santiago’s mother and grandmother are here—he must plan on showing up. He wouldn’t stand Hugh up at the altar. Would he?
No. No way.
He’s probably in traffic. Or something happened to him…
Footsteps behind me draw my attention. Robert is coming down the hall. He’s wearing a light gray tailored suit and his green-blue gaze flashes with concern. He pulls at his left cuff, straightening it, and frowns at me.
“Santiago?” I ask.
“There’s been an accident.” My heart hammers. “He’s on his way to the hospital. Get Hugh. We’ll take him there now.”
I nod but don’t move. “Was it really an accident?” I ask.
Robert doesn’t answer for a moment, the lilac on his lapel making his gaze almost violet. “I don’t know.”
“Could this be our fault?” I ask, my voice low, a whisper.
“I don’t know,” he says again, his eyes hard. Robert does not like not knowing. “Go get Hugh.”
I suck in a deep breath and nod again, turning back to the bedroom where Hugh waits. “Did you find him?” he asks as I enter. Hugh’s hair has fallen over his brow, and his eyes are frantic.
“There was an accident.” Hugh’s face crumples into a pained grimace, and tears well in his eyes. I hold out my hand and Hugh grips it. “Let’s go. We need to get to the hospital.” I tug, leading Hugh forward. He follows blindly, holding onto me like I’m a life preserver and he’s just pitched overboard.
My phone rings as we climb into one of Maxim’s SUVs. Brock is driving, Robert sitting in the passenger seat. I pull my phone out of the little clutch—it’s a blocked number. Fuck me.
“Hello.”
“Ms. Rye,” it’s a woman with a thick accent.
“Who is this?” My voice comes out harsh and low, almost angry except with a note of fear that I loathe.
She laughs, low and quiet. “You are as brash as they say.”
“Who says?”
Robert turns around in his seat and is watching me, his gaze sharp, the flower on his lapel fluttering in the air from the vents.
“Your friend…Santiago. I have him.”
My breathing slows, and I force my eyes to stay straight, to concentrate on the flower. To not look at Hugh. I can’t be responsible for another person he loves getting killed. No fucking way. Nope. I refuse.
“What do you want?”
I hear her shifting, the sound of leather wheezing as if she’s resting back into a chair. “Your organization. What do you call yourselves?”
“I’m a Rotary Club member. Used to be in the Girl Scouts, but they kicked me out. Couldn’t sell enough cookies.”
She laughs, louder this time. “Oh, you are fun.”
“Am I?”
Robert begins to text on his phone, his jaw tight. He’s guessed what’s happening.
“Joyful Justice.” She drops her voice—there’s almost a sneer in it. She’s not a fan of vigilante justice.
“Bless you.”
“You are the one who needs a blessing.”
“You’re the one who sneezed.”
Robert is smiling, his fingers flying. I’ve got to keep her on the line. Somehow Robert is going to trace this. Somehow he is going to figure out where Santiago is being held. And we are going to get him back. Somehow.
Faith is a powerful drug.
“Do not play games with me.” The first hint of anger edges her voice.
“Then how about you cut to the fucking chase?”
“I have Santiago. And he will die unless you back off.”
“Back off who? What? I have no idea who you are or what you want. Is this your first time blackmailing?” Hugh turns to me quickly, but I refuse to look at him. “Get to the point and stop wasting time. I am busy.”
My free hand is fisted so tight that my nails are cutting into my palm. “My associates received one of your packages.”
“Your associates must be scum bags.”
“Your friend will be dead if you don’t listen closely.”
“Threatening me and the ones I love never works out for anyone. You know my name. Do you know my reputation?” Anger wells in my chest, and suddenly my mouth is running with it. “You will die. Your associates will die. Don’t fuck with me, bitch.”
“You don’t know my name.” Her voice is quiet, still, flat…dangerous. “You don’t know my reputation. And that’s because I am wise, I am dangerous, and I am the boss. So, you will stop any and all activities against the McCain brothers. You will pack up your little operations and go back to the Brooklyn hipster neighborhood you crawled out of, and you will disappear.”
These McCain boys are going down.
“You need all that before you return Santiago?”
Hugh lets out a little whimper.
“You do all that, and I’ll consider letting him go. I’ll consider letting you live.”
“Petra, Petra…you underestimate me.” She doesn’t react to my using her name. Have I guessed wrong? “Usually it’s just men who do that. But I guess that’s because women are usually on my side. The McCain brothers are buying women from Isis.” The same bastards who took George’s sister.
“They are not.” She snaps at me, that edge of anger cutting through like a samurai sword slicing butter.
“Believe their lies or believe my truth. Either way, you’ll die, and Santiago will live. This is my city. You can’t hide him from me.”
“I don’t need to hide him. I can just kill him.”
“But then you’ll have no leverage. Let’s meet. I can show you evidence of what your business partners are doing. Then you can decide if you want to fight me…or join me.”
“You are a fool.”
“Really, Petra?” I decide to double down. How many female super villains with thick Czech accents can there freaking be? “You choose the location. I’ll show you what your friends are up to. Then you can return my friend and the wedding I’ve squeezed myself into a tight ass dress for can go on.”
She laughs. “He’s in no shape to wed today.”
“If he dies, you will suffer.” My voice comes out strange, strangled yet terrifying in its own way. Petra doesn’t answer. She can hear the truth in my words.
I stare at the flower on Robert’s lapel—so delicate yet strong, holding its own against the force of the air trying to loosen it—as I wait for her reply.
There is more shuffling. “Okay, I’ll meet you.” There is a smugness in her tone. “There is an abandoned parking structure at the shuttered mall.”
My eyes jump up to Robert and I mouth pen. He produces one from his inside pocket and I write the address on the palm of my hand. “Meet me there in an hour,” Petra says.
We hang up, and I glance at Hugh. His eyes are wet, his hands shaking, and I swallow the lump in my throat, banishing my emotions. There is no place for them here, now.
Turning to Robert, I show him my palm. “It’s Petra,” I say. He nods, his eyes scanning the address. A smile plays across his lips, and he turns to his phone, texting quickly. “We have sixty minutes.”
“Take us to the office, Brock.”
The security officer nods and exits the highway, headed toward downtown Miami and Robert’s offices there.
“What’s happening?” Hugh asks, his voice wavering.
“Santiago is being held; we are going to get him back.” I don’t tell him not to worry because that’s impossible, but I do reach out and take his hand. I hold his gaze. “I will not let him die. I promise.”
Hugh takes a stuttering breath and nods, my promise sinking in. He trusts me.
I will prove I am worthy of it.