"You don't seem to understand the gravity of your situation." Willis's voice was firm, and his expression hard. "You are, quite literally, in bed with a known criminal. Damon Fox is under suspicion of racketeering, money laundering, and drug smuggling, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. On top of that, you're a runaway and considered a minor in the state of New York. You don't have a leg to stand on here. Either you help us, or we will take you in and contact your parents."
Willis glanced down at Eva, still sleeping soundly in her carriage. "What that'll mean for your little one, I don't know. Social Services might-"
"There's a warehouse!" Debbie blurted out. "In Green … Green something-I can't remember!"
If she could have, if she hadn't been pinned against the shelving unit behind her, she would have thrown her body over the baby carriage. They couldn't take Eva from her-they'd have to kill her first.
The agents glanced at once another. "Greenpoint?" Willis asked.
"Yes!" Debbie nodded emphatically. "Greenpoint. But that's all I know. I swear it."
The two men exchanged another look. "I knew it," Parker hissed. "I knew-"
"We'll be in touch." Willis grabbed his partner's arm and practically shoved him down the aisle. Just as suddenly as they'd descended upon her, they were gone.
Debbie stared after a moment, before dropping to her knees beside the carriage. Bowing her head, her threatening tears slipped free.
"Are you alright, dear?" An elderly lady was peering curiously down at her.
Swiping at her eyes, Debbie nodded jerkily and hurried to her feet.
"Yes, fine," she said. "Thank you."
Blurry-eyed and shaking, Debbie gripped the baby carriage and hurried away. She sped blindly through the store, nearly knocking into several people. Everything felt wrong. Her previous life and her current life had just come to unexpected blows in the middle of Macy's- one second she'd been shopping and laughing, and then the next … everything had crumbled to pieces at her feet.
She remembered this feeling well-the unrelenting, heavy hand of fear pressing down upon her. She'd lived with it every day for years-afraid to go home, afraid to speak so as not to be noticed, afraid to tell the truth, afraid to lie, afraid of what lay in wait for her in the dark, afraid of her own reflection, even.
Debbie brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. She should have told Preacher the truth when she'd had the chance. Now … it was too late. Her truth had just been used against her, and against Preacher. Debbie's pace quickened. The hand over her mouth tightened. Her vision blurred further. She had to get out of here. Out of the city. Out of New York. She had to get away-as far away as possible.
"There you are!"
The sight of Tiny jogging toward her had Debbie skidding to a stop. Dropping her hand, she quickly composed herself.
"I told you to stay put!" Tiny wheezed. Huffing and puffing, Tiny was red-faced, and his brow was dotted with sweat. "You tryin' to give me a heart attack?"
Despite herself, Debbie managed a nervous laugh. "Sorry Tiny. I got distracted."
"You can't do that to me, Debbie! What if somethin' happened? You know Preacher would kill me, right? He still hasn't forgiven me for that shit you pulled months ago-runnin' off with Sylvie to the clubhouse after I fell asleep? I lose you again and he's gonna have my head-"
Only half listening, Debbie followed mutely behind Tiny. Appearing calm and collected on the outside, her insides were a twister of emotion-anxiety, fear, and an ominous sense of foreboding swirled to new heights inside her.
Feeling nauseated, she pressed a hand to her stomach and swallowed hard.
Oh God, oh God, what had she done?
Chapter 32
Humming Van Morrison's Brown-Eyed Girl, Preacher cradled Eva in his arms, softly swaying her. Sucking on a pacifier, she stared up at him from beneath heavy, fluttering eyelids. Looking at her angelic features, one would never know just how truly diabolical she was.
Death by insomnia was his baby girl's superpower, as Preacher was fairly certain he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep since her birth.
He was so exhausted he was daydreaming about sleep. So goddamn exhausted that he'd chosen to stay home today rather than head to the club. Although considering the sort of bullshit that awaited him at the club, choosing to stay home hadn't been a hard decision to make.
With the gaping absence of the Rossi family, the Columbo family was now the reigning mafia in New York. Typically Preacher wouldn't have given them a second thought-they were just a school of sharks in a vast sea filled with predators. Only these particular sharks had recently severed what little business relationship the Silver Demons had with them and gone radio silent-an aggressive move he translated to mean that a storm was brewing off in the distance. Another storm that Preacher didn't want to have to face just yet.