“Fuck,” I said. “That number was in Montana three weeks ago to a month.”
“No shit,” Patrick said. “I think we should cross-reference dates and locations. Ten bucks says this is Jettison.”
“How in the hell would Zella Keller know Jettison?”
“I’m not sure, but if she does, it’s a connection that I didn’t see coming.”
As I compiled the data for the program to accomplish what Patrick mentioned, he spoke. “Speaking of connections, last night, we had some success at Dino’s Liquor.”
“Some?”
“The Sparrows that accompanied Romero made the owner an interesting offer.”
I took a drink of my coffee. “Let me guess, help us or lose your business.”
“Something like that. And since the owner lost his nighttime cashier earlier in the day, the capos made a rather convincing argument. The problem is that the store’s security is ridiculously old. There’s a literal tape, and it’s been recorded over so many times, the quality is shit. That said, I’ve confirmed the presence of the black truck and a dark-haired man. He was the only one present.”
“Do we still believe that too is Jettison?”
“Other than the fact he’s officially dead, I do. And the good news is that as we speak, Dino’s Liquor Store is getting new security cameras.”
“And you’re sure the owner won’t inform the delivery person?”
“I’m not sure, but if the deliveries stop, we’ll know he did it, and then things won’t work out well for him or his business.” Patrick stood and stretched his arms over his head. “The circumstantial evidence connecting Andrew Jettison to the kidnappings, arms sales, and somehow Maples and Zella is stacking up.”
“It makes no fucking sense, but I agree.”
Patrick took a deep breath. “Is Lorna having any memories of the kidnapping?”
Numbers and codes were running in sequences upon my screens. I turned to Patrick. “It seems as though she fully remembers talking to Nancy Pierce.”
“Then there has to be more.”
“Laurel’s the expert on this,” I said, admitting my deficiency on the subject.
“I get your and Sparrow’s apprehension,” Patrick said, “but I think it’s past time we encourage memories from Araneae and Lorna. I realize this hasn’t been easy, but I think that between the two of them they may be able to piece more together.”
I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what’s best for Lorna. She’s dealing with a lot.”
Patrick’s blue eyes turned my way. “She’s strong. Hell, she wouldn’t have put up with all of us for this long if she wasn’t.”
There was no denying my wife’s resilience, but how much was too much, even for someone like her?
What had she said...something about the dark not lasting and dawn coming?
If there were windows on this floor, we’d see that sun rising in the next few hours. I took a breath. “Lorna’s pretty certain that the recent resurrection of childhood memories came about because of whatever she suffered in that bunker. She’s also mentioned a dark-haired man.”
“We could show them pictures, like a lineup. I’ll put together pictures including Jettison from six years ago and ones more recent. I’ll also add some fillers. We’ll question the women separately.”
The thought of causing Lorna more distress ate away at me while at the same time I wanted to discover more concrete evidence. “Why would Jettison have Nancy Pierce and take Araneae and Lorna? Why would he want Laurel?”
“We’re assuming it has to do with her research.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I sat taller. “Think about it. Whoever took them has a formula. We know the Order has a formula. What other reason was there to take Laurel, Lorna, and Araneae?”
“Sparrow?” Patrick answered.
“Laurel offered to be a target.”
Patrick shook his head. “Mason told us. No one supports that.”
“Even if it is connected to Sparrow, how in the hell does Nancy Pierce fit this equation?” I asked.
“I agree that seems like an outlier.”
“The only connection is Zella and Maples. He said that he’d seen Nancy and that she’d been in Englewood.”
We turned as the steel door opened, and in walked Mason with a tangle of freshly wakened hair. When his early-morning green stare met mine, he shook his head and lifted his phone. After typing a text message, he said, “I figured this was where you were.”
“Shit, did Lorna wake you?”
“Since your phone is AWOL, yeah.”
“I should have left a note. I figured she’d stay asleep.”
“It wasn’t only her who woke me,” Mason said, making his own trip to the coffee machine. “I got a message from Top.”
Lorna
Mason’s text message telling me that Reid was on 2 was exactly what I needed to lull me back to sleep. One would think after all of these years I would know my husband was safe. While that had always been a constant worry, today I realized it was more than a concern—it was a reality. Waking to his empty side of the bed filled me with more apprehension than I was willing to deal with alone.
I’d told Reid that even when we were young, Mason and I were protective of one another. I think it was and still is more than simply protecting; it was that sense that no matter what, we could depend on one another. Knowing that Reid’s phone wasn’t available and accessing 2 was beyond my ability, texting my brother, even before five in the morning, was my next thought.
A smile came to my lips as I read my brother’s text message one more time.
“VISUAL CONFIRMATION, SIS. HE’S ON 2. GO BACK TO SLEEP KNOWING ARANEAE WILL CHEW HIM A NEW ONE LATER TODAY.”
I replied.
“HE DESERVES IT. THANK YOU. SORRY I WOKE YOU.”
Mason:
“I WAS GOING TO GET UP EVENTUALLY. GET SOME MORE SLEEP.”
My alarm was set for less than an hour from now, yet a little more sleep sounded too good to do without. Cuddling under the covers, I scooted to Reid’s cool side of the bed, laid my head on his pillow, and inhaled his scent. There were too many specifics to name, yet with my eyes closed, I knew the aroma was him. It was a combination of clean and fresh bodywash, the kind they advertised with clothes on an outdoor clothesline, and the spicy scent of his cologne. His aroma was never overpowering, but there.
The morning melody from my phone woke me as if I’d only seconds before fallen asleep. Yet the clock told me it had been almost an hour, an hour of bliss with no thoughts or dreams. As I made the journey into consciousness, I noticed the light streaming from beneath our bathroom door.
Throwing back the covers, I wrapped my robe from a nearby chair around me and with bare feet, padded across our bedroom. With a slight push of the door, I had the perfect view of the man inside. I could concentrate on the bandages around his torso, the ones Dr. Dixon told him not to get wet, or the wound on his arm, the one he was now dressing with fresh gauze. Instead, I did as I’d asked him to do for me weeks ago and looked past his injuries and saw him.