by L.J. Shen
A kick to the stomach sent me backward into the shallow hole. By the time I managed to blink the dirt away and regain my sight, he was already standing above me.
Brock stared me down like he wanted to smash his boot into my face. His gun was tucked into the waist of his jeans, the shovel in his hand. “Left or right?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Crap.
I swallowed. “Don’t bother, I won’t try to run again.”
“Thanks a fucking bunch, like I’d take your word for it.” He tried to laugh, but held his lower ribs. I’d hurt him. “You did a good job on Connor, and I should have done it before I even gave you the shovel. Left. Or. Right?”
I sighed, closing my eyes. Whatever he wanted to do, he’d do it with or without my permission. I didn’t want to beg.
“Right,” I answered.
“Good choice,” he said, grunting as he swung the shovel and slammed it straight down into my right foot.
I was still lying in the hole.
I didn’t cry out.
I didn’t even wince.
I felt sharp poke in my skin, inside my running shoe, like something had shattered or snapped. A bone, probably. I knew it was bad, but the pain felt distant, removed. I stared at him, my eyes cold, my expression aloof, and awaited further instructions. The fact I barely felt any pain hurt me more than anything.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now you get up, and you continue digging.”
TROY
WHERE COULD THEY be?
Anywhere. An apartment I don’t know about that Brock had rented? A hotel, a motel, a barn somewhere, the woods, a lake, a basement? The options were limitless.
Where could they fucking be? Were they still in Boston? Were they on a plane going somewhere? No, they weren’t on a plane. I would know. That’s what I paid Jensen for. To let me know shit like that. Anyway, Sparrow didn’t have her passport. I did. And her new driver’s license would be in her wallet. She wouldn’t go jogging at five a.m. with a wallet.
What was I worrying about planes for? If Brock had her, she for damned sure wasn’t with him willingly. They wouldn’t be strolling through security. I felt sure they were somewhere close enough to drive, and wherever they were, I needed to find her fast.
The cab pulled up to the curb at Cat’s house, and I jumped out, instructing the driver to wait for me. I pounded on the front door so violently the windows rattled. Cat opened up, wide-eyed and obviously startled. She knew I meant business, because she looked more concerned than pleased to see me.
“What’s going on?” Her forehead wrinkled, her short, skanky skirt swaying from rushing to the door.
“Where’s your husband?” I strode right in. I wouldn’t put it past Cat to let Brock keep Sparrow here. Didn’t trust either of them. I might have been paranoid, but fuck it, they gave me every reason to suspect them.
“I have no clue. What the hell? Why are you looking for him?” She rushed behind me.
I climbed the stairs two at a time and started throwing doors open upstairs, Sam’s room included. When his door flew inward and banged hard against the wall, he looked confused. He sat at a plastic children’s table, with little trucks lined up neatly in front of him.
“Umm, hi, Mr. Troy?”
“Hey, Sam.” I hesitated for a moment to take one last look at him before I did something I knew he might hate me for the rest of his life. “Have you seen your dad around?”
“Not today,” he murmured, wheeling a truck to the edge of the table. He let it drop to the floor and made an explosive sound with his little mouth.
“Okay, bud. Be good.” Don’t do any stupid shit, I wanted to add. None of the stuff Brock and I did. None of the crap Cillian and David Kavanagh did, either.
“I will.” He smiled at me as he picked up the truck from the floor and placed it back on the table.
Crap. So innocent. And Brock wasn’t here. Fuck.
I turned to Cat, who was watching us from the hallway, and joined her pulling the door to Sam’s room closed us so he wouldn’t hear us. “You tracking your husband through GPS?”
“No,” she said. “Why?”
“Let me ask again.” I put my hand on her neck, not applying any real pressure, but hating the fact that I was losing control over the situation, and fast. “Can you tell me where his phone is through GPS or not? You don’t want to lie to me, Cat. This is the one time I won’t be so forgiving.”
She looked down, chewing on her lip. “Is it about her?”
God-fucking-dammit. I didn’t have time for this
“Catalina!” I slammed my fist against the wall behind her. I was lucky it was the opposite side of the hall from Sam’s room, because it sounded like a bomb had exploded. “Answer me before I tear your fucking house apart.”
“Fine! Yes! Of course I can freaking track him through his phone.”
I knew it. If there was one miserable thing Cat and I had in common, it was that we craved control over our lovers. She wanted to track Brock for the same reason I wanted to know where Red was all the time. We both knew we weren’t good enough.
“Get your phone for me. Now.”
She was stupid enough to motion me toward her bedroom, but I stayed put in the hall. Pacing, I texted Lucy, Daisy and Jensen. None of them had any news, and I hated every single one of them for not being more helpful. It wasn’t their fault, but I didn’t have a single lead on where to look for Sparrow. She wasn’t at Abe’s. She wasn’t in our old neighborhood, she wasn’t at Rouge Bis, or the penthouse, or anywhere else around.
When Cat gave me her phone and showed me the app, I had a moment of hope. I quickly pinned the whereabouts of Brock’s phone, but it was the address for Rouge Bis. The bastard hadn’t taken any chances. He left his phone behind.
“Okay, Cat, listen to me, this is redemption time, okay? Every bit of bad shit you’ve ever done to me is about to be erased and forgiven, your place in heaven secured, if you can just answer one question.” I held her shoulders, pinning her against the wall, my gaze hard. “Who might know where Brock is right now? Give me anything you think would help. Does he have any friends? Family I don’t know about?”
Tick tock. Tick tock. Time was slipping away like sand between my fingers. I felt the walls of the hallway closing in, suffocating the shit out of me. I couldn’t lose her. Wouldn’t lose her. Red was the one thing I wouldn’t let anyone take away from me.
Cat thought about it, raking her fingers through her hair and sighing loudly. It was all an act. She didn’t want me to succeed. Didn’t want me to find them. She knew whatever it was I was looking for had nothing to do with her and everything to do with my wife. I guess it killed her to know I’d moved on to better things. That she was no longer the center of my personal life.
“Cat, please…” I couldn’t help it—my voice shook.
“My mom,” she said finally, her voice brittle. “Mom might know where he is. They’re close. She loves him, probably more than she loves me. That’s why she hates you so much.” She smiled bitterly, blinking away her tears.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “Thank you,” I whispered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Take care of Sam. He’s the best thing that happened to you.” To us.
“What? Wait, where are you going? Why did you say that?”
But I was already out the door, hopping back into the cab and throwing more money at my driver.
Maria was at my penthouse.
And she had some explaining to do.
SPARROW
I FELT LIKE I’D been digging forever when Brock motioned for me to drop the shovel. “I’m going to the car to get some pain killers,” he announced, rubbing his side. “For me, not you.”
He hauled me over to a tree and tied my hands to the trunk.
That bought me time. I wriggled and pulled at the rope, and desperately prayed that somewhere in Boston, Troy was using that time to try and find me.
When I heard Brock returning
, I slumped to the ground, pretending I’d been passed out all along. He untied me and put me back to work, but now he decided to be chatty. He sat on the stump, clutching his side every now and again, but generally as cheerful as a freaking girl scout.
“Oh, I just can’t wait for you to get to her.”
Cold and exhausted, I felt so physically sick, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. I didn’t answer.
“I just love it when families reunite,” he continued, his face glowing with a smile.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I spat out. The blood on my forehead was beginning to dry and itch. I wanted to scratch it off but was afraid the psycho would think I’m was making some kind of move and shoot me. After all, I tried it before.
“Shit, I forgot he didn’t tell you.” He put a hand over his mouth like he had just let a secret slip and was now beyond embarrassed. “You’re digging up the same grave where your husband buried your mom.”
I shook my head trying to make sense of Brock’s words. Troy didn’t even know my mom.
“You lie,” I seethed, turning around to face him. I couldn’t stand on my injured foot, but I no longer cared. Not about anything, really, other than what I have just heard.
“I really wish I was, sweetheart.” He cupped his bent knee, leaning forward and giving me one of his glorious smiles. So calm. So, obnoxiously calm. “He wrapped her in a white sheet, so even if you don’t find her rotting body and she’s all bones, maybe you’ll still be able to spot her. Maybe you’ll find a little souvenir of mommy dearest. Of course…” He scratched his forehead with the barrel of the gun, deep in thought, “That wouldn’t do you any good, considering the fact that you’re not going to stay alive for much longer.”
“I know he didn’t kill her,” I told him. And me. “He was just thirteen when she took off.”
“That’s true. He didn’t kill her. He just buried her out in the woods, oh, fifteen or so years later, so that no one would find out Cillian died in his mistress’s bed. Right, I forgot you still have some catching up to do. Your mother? She dumped you and your miserable excuse for a dad for Cillian Brennan. Robyn used to meet up with him in a cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere, in these very same woods. Worked the lunch crowd at a diner in Amherst, but came here every Tuesday to start her second shift as Cillian’s bitch. Yeah, this was her kingdom.”
He opened his arms and gestured around him. “Must’ve been really crazy about him, and what good did it do to her? After Troy found them shot, he buried her right here in a deep grave. Come to think of it, you are awfully similar to Robyn, aren’t you, Sparrow?” He strolled toward me. “You like to cook, and you’re about to be buried here because of Troy Brennan, Cillian’s son. Of course, you, at least, were his legal wife.”
“Still am. Don’t talk about me in past tense.”
Brock dragged the gun gently along my cheekbone, his eyes drinking in my face. “I like that you’re optimistic. It’s a quality not a lot of city mice possess.”
I didn’t have to believe Brock. I just had to keep him talking. And even if he was telling the truth, it didn’t matter now. Was I appalled at the thought of what Troy might have done? Yes. But even if my husband hadn’t put me out of my misery and told me why my mother had left, where she was and what he’d done, it didn’t matter because soon I probably wouldn’t be able to feel a thing.
“So why did Troy marry me?” I heard myself asking Brock. That really didn’t make any difference either, which is why I asked. No matter the pain, I could take it, because it wouldn’t last very long. Not more than an hour, anyway. And Brock seemed keen on making conversation. It was more time among the living, something I wasn’t exactly opposed to.
Brock twitched his nose and wiggled his index finger back to the hole I dug, which wasn’t very big yet. “Keep digging and I’ll tell you.”
I picked up the shovel but only pretended to make any progress with my grave, mostly just movingthe soil around. In the back of my head I remembered him telling me that he would kill me when I least expected it.
I knew the cabin Brock was talking about was here somewhere. That’s why he brought me here. He wanted Troy to find my dead body, right here.
“Even though your mom was just Cillian’s mistress, he apparently loved her. But she struggled with leaving her family, with leaving you especially. Guess it wasn’t that difficult to walk out on Abe. Not that much of a catch, what with all his drinking and low-life friends. But you…she missed you. Talked about you a lot. At least that’s what Troy told Cat and what Cat told me.”
“Cat?” I choked. Of course. Troy’s only true love. Not me, her. He told her everything, I reminded myself, hurting myself a little more.
Can Sparrows die of heartache?
“Oh, yeah…” He grinned, his face dipping closer to mine when he whispered, “Troy was so in love with my wife, he gave her his balls on a silver platter, and Cat, like the disloyal stray cat she is, spilled everything when we were in bed, while she was coked up to the max on drugs I personally smuggled into the rehab facility Troy checked her into in Malibu.” He threw his head back and laughed, glee written on his face. “I was her counselor there. God, it was so easy to ruin him. He was Samson and she was his Delilah.”
The fact Cat had been an addict was news to me, but one thing was clear. Brock planned this revenge a long time ago.
“Go on.”
“So Cillian did the noble thing and made Troy swear that he’d take care of the little girl his mistress deserted for him. Marry you, to be exact. Fucked up, isn’t it? But that’s mobsters for you. And Cillian was one hell of a fucked-up man. The worst of ’em.”
“You hate him,” I said, turning to look at him.
“Of course I fucking hate him. He killed my dad, so I hired someone to kill him.”
The missing name on Troy’s list. The answer to Troy’s question was Brock.
“Aren’t you even a little bit sad?” I asked. “You were orphaned. Your dad was killed. Then you sent someone to kill Troy’s dad, and now…” I trailed off, exhaling. “Now you’re going to make Sam an orphan, too, because we both know Troy will hunt you down and make sure you’re deader than dead after this. What about Sam? What about Cat?”
“Don’t waste any sympathy on Cat. She’s been fucking your husband under your nose. And don’t worry about my son. ” He moved closer, stopping inches from me, and yanked the shovel from my hand. “After Troy finds your grave and sees how fucking symbolic it is that I buried you right next to your mother, I plan to kill your husband too.”
Now it was my turn to smile. It was a grim, humorless smile, but I had a point to make. “Oh, Brock…” I pretended to laugh. “Such a rookie, even by my standards. You are so fucking dead.”
“You first.” He buried the shovel in the ground and started digging. “Ladies first.”
TROY
MARIA PRETENDED NOT to speak English, but I knew her game. She did it so that no one would speak to her. Not at my mother’s house in Sparrow’s neighborhood where she originally started cleaning for us, and not at my place in Back Bay. It worked for the most part, but then I caught her at the mall, speaking fluent English to a cashier. She almost swallowed her tongue when she saw me waiting in line behind her, but I just smiled and let it slide.
She didn’t want to converse, and it’s not like I fucking needed her intellectual input in my life.
When I walked into my penthouse and saw that she wasn’t alone, I almost lost my shit completely. It was only by a miracle that I pulled myself together. I bit my toothpick so hard, the wood crushed like tissue paper.
“Mr. Brennan…” A short man with no-nonsense clothes and small eyes got up from my sofa—my fucking sofa—and reached to shake my hand. “I’m detective Phil Stratham. My partner is on his way here, as well. I’m here to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Flynn Van Horn.”
This time it didn’t even take me a second to do the math.
Bro
ck. The fucker tipped the police about Flynn’s death. This was orchestrated carefully. Wasn’t a coincidence. Red was with him and not only did he not want me to find them, he deliberately put an obstacle in front of me. He wanted to serve me my ass on a plate.
Well played, Kavanagh. Too bad I invented the game.
“We have a very strong reason to believe Van Horn was with you the last few hours before his, er, disappearance.”
The detective knew he was dead…and I had a feeling his death was a deliberate “accident” on Brock’s part. You didn’t leave a detoxing junkie alone in a cabin in the middle of the woods. His body was still fresh when I found him. Brock never answered my calls.
The walls were inching in. Closer…closer…
“Got a warrant?” My lips thinned as I walked straight to Maria. Her eyes widened. That was a good thing. She was scared. Maybe she knew something.
“Look, we got a tip and—”
“Got. A. Fucking. Warrant?” I repeated slowly, watching as the hair on his arms stood on end. “If not, get the hell out of my place right now. I won’t ask twice.”
“Brennan…” His voice pitched high. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m just here for—”
“Someone’s fed you a pack of lies,” I cut him off. “I don’t know if Brock Greystone called you, or if he sent someone else to do his dirty work for him, but I didn’t do shit to Flynn Van Horn other than to deliver him to Greystone. He was the one detoxing him, not me.”
Pretty accurate. I got rid of the body, but for obvious reasons, that wasn’t something I wanted to mention. “Look, I really have shit to do. Our little friendly talk will have to wait.”
With that, I dragged Maria by the arm into the guest room, not caring about raising eyebrows. Pinning her against the closet, I got in her face, opening my eyes wide and giving her my crazy motherfucker look.
“Where’s your son in law?”
“Que?”
“Cut the crap. I know you understand me. I know you speak English when you fucking feel like it, and you better feel like it right now, if you want to get out of this place with your tongue not ripped out of your mouth. Tell me where he is, now.”