Sparrow (34 page)

A half hour later, Lucy stormed through the backdoor of Rouge Bis, her face flushed. “It’s all your fault. You, her stupid dad… For God’s sake, I’ve never seen someone with as little luck as Birdie when it comes to the men in her life.”

I couldn’t agree with her more, so I gave her a nod, throwing my set of keys into her hands from where I stood. She caught them in the air, cocking one eyebrow in question.

Daisy, Red’s other friend, followed her into the restaurant and looked around like it was the first time she’d walked into a fucking room. All wide-eyed and smiling, you wouldn’t suspect her friend was missing.

“Go look for her in your culinary school, at her dad’s, where-fucking-ever. Where does she usually hang out?”

“Yeah, why would you know?” Lucy growled. “You’re only her husband, right?”

I saw Sparrow had taught her friend how to be snarky, too. I didn’t answer her, and I ignored Daisy when she asked me how much it costs to rent Rouge Bis. I just shook my head and paced, trying to calculate my next move.

Instinct told me Red was with Brock, but I tried to convince myself I was being paranoid, thinking he’d harm her. Maybe they were just having an affair. Maybe Brock’s goody-two-shoes façade got to her, too. But I knew that wasn’t it. Red was pretty much bullshit-proof. She had more Boston in her fingernail than Brock had in his whole body. She was not to be messed with. And she couldn’t be having an affair with him.

Because I knew it was only my name she screamed in bed.

“Lucy, just fucking cooperate, okay? You don’t know what we’re dealing with here.” And neither do I, I refrained from adding.

Lucy’s pulled out her cell. “That’s it, I’m calling the police. This is my best friend we’re talking about.”

Daisy swung from staring at one of the paintings in the restaurant to staring at Lucy, her expression confused. “I thought I was your best friend?”

Idiot.

“No one calls the police,” I said calmly, though inside, it felt like my heart was going to explode. I knew what I needed to do and didn’t want to do it. “Now get your asses into the car and go look for her everywhere you can. In our old neighborhood. At her culinary school. Where she usually runs. Do whatever you can do and keep me updated.”

That was also my order to everyone else around me. Employees. Colleagues. Ex-mob soldiers. Every single person on my payroll was already looking for Brock and Red. If they really were together, they’d be found—hopefully before I completely lost my shit.

I’d called Sparrow’s friends because I was worried that I might be missing something, a place I might have overlooked, some place she could stay. Though deep down, I knew she hadn’t run away.

A chill ran down my spine as I dialed Jensen’s number for the fourth time that day. “Any news?”

“Didn’t cash the check. Rowan’s money is still there. I still can’t track Greystone’s license plate. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid to use his own car, if he did kidnap her.”

The word
kidnap
alone made me want to do to Brock things that would make Billy Crupti’s death look like a pleasant stroll in the park.

“Brock is no criminal. He knows zero about shit like this. He only knows how to detox druggies.” And it’s not like he was doing that all that well either. Flynn was the perfect example. “Keep looking. Try the toll records. I bet you anything he drove his own fucking car.”

There was a way to find out for sure, though.

I didn’t want to do it, but I had no choice. I rushed into a taxi and gave the driver Cat’s address. Lucy and Daisy had my car, because anyone seeing the Maserati would think of me and know they had my authority behind them. I needed as many eyes in Boston as I could get.

I shoved a fistful of money into the driver’s hand. “Make it quick.”

The cab flew so fast past the tall buildings, I actually thought it was going to take off.

And it still might not be fast enough, I thought as the streets flashed through my window.

That’s what I was afraid of.

SPARROW

I
DIDN’T BUDGE.

“No,” I said for the millionth time. “I’m not digging.”

If Brock wanted to kill me, he’d have to do it the hard, messy way. I wasn’t going to cooperate, and why would I? Even if every person I ever knew was looking for me, their chances of finding me were slim to none. We were so deep in the middle of nowhere I wasn’t sure how Brock was going to find his way back from here when he was done.

“No?” He finally lost his patience. He hit me with the back of the gun, a smack straight to my face.

I fell to the ground. Blood trickled from my forehead, dripping into my eye, but I didn’t feel a thing. I was so cold I was past feeling my skin. Blissfully numb. Maybe I wouldn’t feel it when his bullet tore through my skin.

“Another one’s coming your way if you don’t start digging.” He pointed at me with the gun, sounding cheerful.

Goddammit, how did I not realize the man was so sick? He’d hidden it really well, that’s how. I used the shovel to push myself to my feet and stuck it into the soil, biting back a moan. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

“That’s it. Now keep digging. Every time you stop, I’ll smack you with this little baby.” He kissed his gun, then took a seat on a stump with a white mark, crossing his legs

Yeah, Brock had tried extra hard to get me to like him. It had almost worked. But then it didn’t. Even with Troy’s awful reputation and obnoxious behavior, I was still more interested in him.

I started digging my hole, wincing every time the shovel hit the ground. I barely had any strength in me. I was weak, scared, hungry and furious. My body temperature was so low, I was afraid that I’d faint and Brock would finish me off while I’m unconscious. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe I wouldn’t feel a thing after all.

“Good job,” he said.

“Screw you,” I muttered under my breath. He heard. Even though it was weak and faint, Brock heard.

“What did you just say?”

My back was to him but I could still see him from my peripheral vision, and it was a good thing I could, because my rage boiled my blood back to a warm enough temperature for me to keep functioning. The digging helped, too.

“I said…” I answered slowly, trying to control my chattering teeth and shoving the tool deeper into the mud. “Screw. You.”

He bolted up and strode to my direction. For the first time in months, I actually welcomed his proximity. I thrust the shovel blade into his stomach as hard as I could.

I stumbled backward from the impact as he rolled to the ground, his ass hitting the mud with a thud that almost made me smile. By the way he held his middle, I knew I’d managed to hurt him. I groped for his gun, eyes zeroing on the deadly weapon as it slid from his hand. I felt my fingers curling around the cold metal, so close to saving myself, so close to freedom…

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.