Dusk Page 2

  “You’ve searched the house and grounds?” I asked again.

  “Yes, sir.” He stared into the camera. “It seems like it was a fast snatch. Mrs. Sparrow and Mrs. Murray were the most easily accessible. The kidnappers didn’t search for the other two women.”

  My teeth ached as I clenched tighter.

  “I’ve double- and triple-checked,” Garrett continued. “No one came on the property via automobile. All the access roads are locked and gated.”

  “How about by horse?” Mason asked. “They could come from any direction on horseback.”

  Horseback was a common mode of transportation as well as off-road vehicles. Mason’s property covered over ten thousand acres, complete with mountains and valleys. It was quite the increase from his original property. If he had his way, he’d acquire more to keep it from being turned into anything other than its natural beauty.

  “There are hoofprints,” Garrett said, “but sir, you have a corral. We can’t differentiate your horses’ prints from someone else’s.”

  Sparrow turned to me. “Trackers? Why aren’t they broadcasting?”

  The signals we could isolate were either coming from the tower in Chicago or the main house at the ranch. “Garrett,” I said, “Mrs. Murray’s and Mrs. Sparrow’s purses and shoes. Did they take them with them?”

  “I haven’t inspected their private rooms other than to know they aren’t there. I don’t know what was taken with them.”

  “They were wearing shoes at least,” Sparrow said, referring to the trackers all of the ladies knew were contained in their shoes and purses. It wasn’t an overt mode of control. It was what we all said, for their safety. “They should be able to be isolated.”

  I shook my head. “If they were wearing them, the only way to stop the transmission would be to destroy their shoes or block the transmission.”

  “That’s not easy to do,” Mason added. “Only a container lined in a special polymer could do that.” Mason stood and ran his fingers through his long hair. His colorful bicep bulged beneath his sleeve as my brother-in-law worked to contain his anger. He faced me. “I know we’re all stressed out, but I need to access my security system. It’s fucking insane that there are parts still off-line.”

  I turned to the screen. “The ladies are groggy. What does the doctor think caused it?”

  “She couldn’t say. She did take blood and saliva samples to do a toxicology screen.”

  “Go through all the food and drink, find out what they consumed,” Sparrow said.

  “Mrs. Pierce has already begun,” Garrett said. “If it’s all right with you, for now I would feel better staying close to Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Pierce. No one will get near them.”

  We all nodded.

  “Please let us know when you land,” Garrett said. “I know the ladies are anxious for your arrival.”

  “Yes,” Patrick replied. “Stay in the home office. It’s secure.”

  The office in the original home was secure too, but that’s another long story.

  The screen went black as Garrett disconnected.

  The entire room exhaled.

  The four of us had been together for nearly two decades, meeting on our way to basic training. In a nutshell, that time spent together in training and our tours of duty solidified our bond. Once we had satisfied our military obligations, we all came back to the States, and with the help of the GI bill and Sterling Sparrow, we went to college, completing our degrees while pursuing and perfecting our knowledge and skills in preparation for the next step.

  We spearheaded the coup to take over the Sparrow outfit.

  Sterling Sparrow’s father, Allister Sparrow, had been in charge for too long. When it came to his son, Allister wore blinders, underestimating both Sterling and his chosen ring of advisors—us.

  On a cold winter’s night, Allister Sparrow met his demise, falling from a construction-site beam, a tragic accident. Or so it appeared. As luck, providence, or maybe karma would have it, his fall came after Sterling Sparrow secured his father’s golden ring, the one with the family crest, as well as his father’s empire.

  From that day forward, Sterling Sparrow reigned in his rightful position as the kingpin of Chicago. At the time, the dynasty was shared with another outfit. It was an agreement Allister had made when the four of us were children.

  Over three years ago, the other kingpin was exposed for his role in human trafficking, and Sparrow became the sole ruler of the third-largest city in the United States.

  Every day since has been a challenge to maintain that status.

  There was no doubt that whatever was occurring with Lorna and Araneae was related to Sterling Sparrow’s reign. No one would take the queen of Chicago without expecting a fight. If that was what they wanted, we were on our way to give it.

  Mason’s ongoing words pulled me from my thoughts. “...need access. Once I have it...”

  Technology was my thing. Artificial intelligence was his. Money trails were Patrick’s. As a team we were nearly unstoppable. However, at the moment, I wasn’t thinking straight. My mind wasn’t on the possible culprit or how to find them through technology and possibly the dark web. My thoughts were zeroed in on one woman. When I closed my eyes, I saw her vibrant green stare, tasted her luscious lips, and felt the warmth of her soft skin under my touch.

  I remembered every word from our telephone conversation earlier this morning. I recalled the last time we were together, when we kissed goodbye before I returned to Chicago, leaving her on Mason’s ranch. I recollected our first kiss and the last time we’d made love. Every minute we’d shared was right there in my thoughts, every fucking scene, the way Lorna looked, smelled, felt, and tasted, the sound of her voice, her laughter, and her noises she made during pleasure.

  “Reid,” Mason said, reaching for my arm, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I yanked my arm away as I set my jaw. “What?” My gaze darkened. “You said your ranch was safe.” I stood. “My wife is missing.” I’d said the word—missing.

  I fucking hated it, but I said it.

  “Man, she’s my fucking sister. Do you think I would have purposely put her or” —he looked to Sparrow— “Araneae in danger? Lorna’s my sister,” he repeated.

  Standing to my full height, my chest met his. “She’s my wife.”

  “She was my sister first.”

  Patrick stepped closer, moving his gaze from me to Mason and back before he nodded. “Now that we have all the family relationships settled, we need to concentrate on finding them.”

  Neither Mason nor I blinked, both still staring at one another.

  It was Patrick who spoke again. “Lorna is someone special to all of us. She’s my friend and Sparrow’s. Hell, she put up with us when...”

  “When she wasn’t wanted?” I said, finishing his sentence.

  “No,” Patrick said.

  I turned to Sparrow, my dark eyes narrowing. “You didn’t want her in the tower. You tried to send her away, some other place where you didn’t have to see her every day.” I didn’t add the most important part, the part where Lorna reminded him of Mason and how Sparrow had screwed up. That reason no longer applied, but the memories were there and fuck if I could forget them.

  Forgive and forget.

  Hell, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

  Sparrow turned to face us. “You’re right. I wanted Lorna someplace else, someplace safe” —his volume rose— “nine fucking years ago.” He stepped closer. “In case you’ve forgotten, my wife is also missing—my pregnant wife. I’d sell what’s left of my fucking soul if I could have them all right now in a villa in the South of France or on an isle in Greece. So instead of bitching, maybe you can admit I was right.”

  Mason, Sparrow, and I exchanged looks. There was so much that could be conveyed with just our eyes. While Mason had been the one to bring Lorna to our tower, he wasn’t the one who convinced her to stay. That was me.

  I was the one who put and kept her in danger wi
th that first kiss.

  I lifted my hand. “You were right.” I took a step back and collapsed into one of the four secured chairs ringing the round table.

  Farther back in the aft of the plane was a large media area, bedroom, multiple bathrooms, a kitchen area and a lounge the crew used. Yes, this was an airplane, but it wasn’t your standard Cessna. This one was customized, all the way to the bird-like paint job on the exterior. We weren’t arriving to Montana undercover. We were making a statement, as were the two other planes of capos. No fucking stone would be left unturned.

  I peered up at my friends. “This is my fault.”

  “How the fuck are you to blame?” Sparrow asked.

  Reid

  Sparrow’s question rang in my ears as the plane continued flying west. “How the fuck are you to blame?”

  “I was the one who wanted Lorna to stay. If I would have walked away from her and let you have your way, she would be safe and happy in a quaint English village.”

  “If that’s the case,” Sparrow said, sitting beside me, his dark brown orbs looking directly into mine, “Araneae is my fault. If I could have walked away from what my father promised and allowed Kennedy Hawkins to continue her career in fashion, she could have met a nice, safe man, and right now be living a regular life in a small house in Denver, with a dog and 2.5 kids.”

  “I brought Lorna to the tower,” Mason said, also sitting. “She’s my sister. If anyone is responsible for her, it’s me. It always has been.”

  “Fuck this, you assholes,” Patrick said.

  We all turned his direction.

  “Yes, Mason,” Patrick began as he paced back and forth, “you brought Lorna to the tower—why? Because you thought it was best.” Patrick turned to me. “And you, hell, Reid, you fell in love with her. How fucking terrible for you both. I’m sure isolation in a country where she had to drive backward would have been a better route.” His blue gaze went to Sparrow. “And I’m damn sure Araneae hasn’t lamented the loss of safe and boring. That woman is many things; none of them is boring. You two fucking belong together.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took us all in. “Get your goddamned heads in the game. It wasn’t that long ago you basically told me the same thing. I don’t have to guess what it feels like to have the woman who you love missing. I know. I knew for longer than” —he looked at his watch— “six or seven hours. I pray to God—if he exists—that you never have to live with that feeling for as many years as I did.”

  The room fell silent. Only the roar of the plane’s engines humming in the background registered as Patrick’s words settled around us.

  He was right—the voice of reason.

  Infighting wouldn’t benefit Lorna or Araneae.

  Mason spoke. As he did, his cadence was calmer than before, his words more pronounced, thought-out, and distinct. “I know it’s not Laurel who is missing, and I’m thankful for that.” He turned to Patrick. “Or Madeline.” He looked at Sparrow and me. “They’re your wives, not mine or Patrick’s, but as I’ve mentioned, Lorna’s my sister, and I’m not losing another one of those.” He looked directly at Sparrow. “Or my best friend’s wife. Fuck, Patrick’s right. I wasn’t here when you two found one another, but I’d bet she gave you hell.”

  Despite the circumstances, we all briefly grinned.

  “I am certain,” Mason continued, “there’s no other woman in the world who would put up with your sorry ass.” He smirked. “She gives you as much shit as you shovel out, which is glorious to watch. You two were meant for one another. And that kid she’s carrying, he or she has an empire to inherit. We’re getting them all back.”

  Patrick exhaled and took the final seat at the table. He placed his hands palms down on the surface and leaned forward. “Are we good?”

  We all looked around, to our friends, our colleagues, and the men we all trusted more than any other souls on this earth. We hadn’t let the US Army, a war, organizing a coup, or even the death of a close friend separate us.

  “I’m good,” I said. “I guess I want to kick your asses because you’re here” —I grinned— “and because I can.”

  Scoffs and murmurs of disagreement abounded.

  “Whoever did this is dead,” I said, the humor suddenly absent from my voice.

  Everyone nodded.

  “I’m good.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m good.”

  Patrick nodded. “All right, we move on. Whether Lorna and Araneae are the loves of our lives or simply women we love—because whether there is blood or not, we’re a fucking family—we all have a stake in their safe recovery. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” came from all around the table.

  “After we sit down with Garrett,” Patrick said, back on business, “and learn all he knows, we’re sending him back to Chicago.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We need him there,” Patrick said. “If this is a diversion” —he looked around the table— “it’s fucking working. Look what it’s doing to us. Imagine the rumors flying through the ranks. We can’t leave Chicago without a leader. Garrett is the closet capo we have to a number three, or in our case number five. That’s why we trusted him with the women. With all four of us in Montana, Chicago is vulnerable. And that might have been the fucking plan.

  “We need him there. The Sparrow capos know and respect Garrett. We can’t have anyone further down the line fill that position.” Patrick sat taller, pulling his hands from the table. “Plus, I trust him.”

  “He fucked up,” Mason replied.

  Patrick shook his head. “Whatever the fuck happened would have happened whoever was on the ranch.” He turned to Mason. “We need to figure out who is capable of hijacking your security. Someone knows their shit. This wasn’t a chance kidnapping. This was planned and well executed. Garrett was probably right. The two most accessible women were taken. We need to figure out by whom.

  “First, we are getting Lorna and Araneae back. Despite the way it looks, I believe Garrett and Antonio are the reason all four women aren’t missing. Their presence made the kidnappers act quickly.”

  Mason nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the security system we put into place when we rebuilt the house on my ranch. I was fucking sure it was hack-proof. But right now, with the data we retrieved, we’re missing nearly thirty minutes. It’s a black hole. There’s no fucking way to hijack the entire system, not unless you know exactly what we did to create it.”

  I thought about that too. What we’d done was unique. We’d created the system as a hybrid of multiple top-notch systems. I nodded as I hit a button to lift the screen before me. Even though we were on our way from Chicago to Montana, I could access our main system back in Chicago, the one in our tower. It wouldn’t be as fast. That was why I usually stayed behind. I worked the keyboards while Sparrow, Patrick, and Mason hit the ground running.

  This time was different.

  This was my wife.

  There weren’t enough chains to keep me in Chicago. I had to be wherever my wife was. I began to type upon the keyboard, accessing our mainframe.

  “Seven hours since the system went black,” Sparrow said, standing with his grip on the back of the chair, his knuckles blanching from the pressure. “Six fucking hours since we got the first call.” He looked at Patrick. “I need a list of everyone and anyone that knows that fucking ranch exists and belongs to Mason.”

  Patrick nodded as he too began typing away at another keyboard.

  We were flying above the clouds.

  Beyond the small rectangular windows, the sun shone brightly, reflecting off the billows of white. On the ground, it could be gray and cloudy, yet we couldn’t see it. That was how this scenario felt. The answer could be as close as the underside of the clouds, yet we couldn’t see it.

  The plane continued west, toward the sun.

  The first call had come to us at 2:20 p.m. Chicago time, an hour ahead of Mason’s ranch. The first message was that Antonio wasn’t responding. I
immediately tried to access the ranch. When I couldn’t, I called Mason. He was away from the tower, as were Sparrow and Patrick, all three in three different locations.

  They’d all had fires to extinguish.

  Day in and day out, there has been so much shit happening lately. Little fires—some literally—everywhere. Explosions. Missing merchandise. Raids. Warrants. Fighting among the ranks. Gang against gang disputes. The list went on and on.

  It wasn’t only the Sparrow outfit that had been inundated.

  Our allies—the Detroit bratva, a smaller organization in the region, our cohort in Denver, and even those in New Orleans—were also fighting a barrage of stupid incidents. For the last two months, it had been as if we and our allies were being systematically tested.

  One incident was a series of small car explosions in the public parking garage of our tower. That was too close to home for any of us. It was then that Sparrow decided our wives needed to be away from the tower, away from Chicago. We analyzed each of our retreats. I used the term our, yet I didn’t own a retreat, not like the other three men.

  Patrick’s, on Padre Island, Texas, officially belonged to his daughter. Sparrow’s, in Ontario, belonged to him through an LLC. Travel to his cabin required crossing the border, something that of late was getting more complicated. Mason’s in nowhere Montana made the most sense.

  He’d purchased the ranch through a shell company a few years ago, from himself. Of course, when he’d owned it at first, it had not been under his legal name. The trail of transactions was long and difficult to navigate. Taking our wives to the ranch seemed to be the best answer.

  Lockdown could be arduous within three stories of a glass tower. All of the women had expressed their dissension on multiple occasions. The four of us agreed that having fresh air, mountains, and thousands of acres would help the women feel less cooped up.

  I stopped typing upon the keyboard and looked up.

  Patrick and Mason were working on the keyboards before them. Sparrow was standing, his hand on the wall above a window as he stared out the small pane of glass. His expression was a combination of rage and sadness, determination and helplessness. His wife, the woman he vowed to love and protect, was in danger. I knew what he was thinking because I was thinking the same thing.