“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.”