by Nova Rain
“I know you’re scared, baby, but we’ve got to go,” she told him in a soft voice. “Sean is my friend. He’ll take us someplace safe.”
“Hey, buddy! Look at me!” I raised my voice in an attempt to get his attention. “I’ll catch you,” I added, holding my arms out in front of me as he turned his head in my direction.
“Promise?” he asked, his lips quivering.
“I promise,” I said with a nod.
Monica twisted his body and eased him through the window. She lowered him down, her gaze fixed with mine. Loosening her grip, she watched the boy, his arms flailing in the air. My feet bolted to the ground, I grabbed his small body, the impact causing my knees to bend.
Still staring down at me, Monica bent her back to fit under the window. Raising her knees, she brought them over the windowsill, until both of her legs dangled over the edge. I set Timmy down just before she pushed off. I plucked her body from the air, my pulse rate rising more and more by the second. I put her down and picked the child back up, looking back at the van. Kate had already opened the door of the cab, while Jessica hurtled towards the vehicle.
I spun around, with Monica just inches behind me. I could feel the boy’s chin bumping onto my shoulder, my hurried strides leading us to safety. Jessica lunged into the cab as the crackling sound of a bullet filled my heart with terror. It hissed past my ear, the image of the black van getting larger. Monica left me behind and jumped in, before I slowed down. A view of two bullets ricocheting off the side of the Transit fueled my fear. I didn’t stop; I couldn’t stop. Instead, I lunged into the van as well, holding Timmy in a tight grip. We rolled over on the floor of the vehicle, until my body hit the side with a thump.
“Go!” Jessica commanded with her eyes on Kate.
“Are you okay, kid?” I whispered, more bullets lodging into the aluminum sides of the van as the engine growled into life. Timmy nodded assent.
“Come here,” Monica spoke in a broken voice, reaching her arms down. She pulled him out of my embrace and held him close, her eyes shut. With the van swallowing up the distance, I noticed a tear streaming down her cheek. I rolled on my back, breathing sigh after sigh.
“You’re safe now,” Jessica remarked, pulling her friend and her son in for a side hug.
“Yep. You owe me fifty bucks, Jess,” Kate claimed with a grin, looking at her friend in the rearview mirror.
“I thought you wouldn’t do it. She thought you would,” Jessica’s explanation brought a smile to my face.
“Take us back to Manhattan, Kate,” I said, leaning against my shoulders.
“Manhattan?” Monica breathed. “We’re going to your house?”
“Don’t worry; we’re not spending the night there,” I assured her. “I just need to get my car.”
“Mom, what’s his name?” Timmy asked in his sweet little boy voice.
“It’s Sean, sweetie,” Monica whispered in his ear. “I told you about him this morning; remember?”
The boy faced me and smiled. “Thank you, Mister Sean.”
“Anytime, kid,” I addressed him in a low voice, rubbing his head, “anytime.”
“Thank you,” Monica said with a whisper, scooting closer to me.
“Get some rest,” I advised her, unwilling to have any tough conversation in the back of a van. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”
Choosing silence over commenting any further, she hugged her child once more. I could still feel the adrenaline running through my veins. My fingers were twitching, and I was sweating in the November cold. However, that powerful hormone didn’t prevent me from feeling happy and proud of myself. Our gamble had paid off. I was looking at my prize and her boy, knowing in my heart that I had liberated them.
Chapter Eighteen
Monica
Freedom…
It was something that others took for granted, which had been eluding me for a long time. Now, thanks to my friends and Sean, I could finally enjoy it. They had pulled me out of misery, and given me the world. That’s what that scheme meant to me: the world. At last, I wasn’t under anyone’s control. No Congressman or his brother could pull my strings anymore. I was free to live my life the way I wanted.
Of course, I had no illusions. They wouldn’t let this just slide. On the contrary, they would leave no stone unturned until they found Timmy and me. What’s more, they would be outraged. A girl from the lower class had defied them. She had broken the terms of their agreement. Questions like “why” wouldn’t matter to them. Correction: they didn’t give a damn about them. To Robert and Chris Davidson, I was a nuisance. Robert was forced to keep me around, because I was good for his image. Chris had to tolerate me, because I had given my son the truth.
Upon arriving at Sean’s house that night, I thanked my friends for the guts they had shown back in Sands Point. I meant to express my gratitude to Sean, as well, but he insisted on leaving right away. I was disappointed, but I couldn’t blame him. My good doctor was the Davidson’s primary suspect. Sooner or later, they would knock on his door, looking for Timmy and me. So, I decided to speak to him on the drive that would follow.
Sadly, though, I couldn’t do that, either. We hadn’t even left Manhattan yet, when the comfortable passenger seat of his M3 had an effect on me. My eyes were crossing. One minute, taillights were three hundred feet away, and the next, they were twenty. Cars, vans, and trucks blurred nearby. I couldn’t tell shape or size for that matter. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, and Sean wasn’t much help with that. He kept the heater on and his mouth shut, as if he wanted me to doze off.
The next morning, I woke up to a wonderful sensation of softness on my cheek. Timmy’s forehead was brushing my skin, tendrils of his hair splayed out across his pillow. Opening my eyes to slits, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. Wood logs, fitted together on the ceiling surprised me. They were nothing like the crystal-white wall I had been used to seeing. They had faded to brownish-gray, but were polished. A wooden window to the right intensified the feeling of age.
I cast a glance through the open door across from me, scooting over to the side of the bed. More logs on the far wall met my gaze. A mere look at myself revealed to me that I was still in the red sweat suit I’d had on the night before. I shuffled off across the bedroom, scanning the hall outside. The entryway led into a living area with an open kitchen on the left. In the corner of that room was a stone hearth. Sitting on his knees, Sean was using a poker to shift the sizzling logs.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said in a low tone, offering me a big smile. “Did you sleep well?”
“I’ve forgotten the last time I slept so well.” I returned the smile, my lazy footsteps closing the gap between us. “Where are we?”
“We’re in Shandaken,” Sean stated. “It’s one hundred-and-thirty miles from the city. My father used to live here. He…”
“Hold on,” I requested, dropping to my knees in front of him. Curling my arms around his neck, I leaned in. The feel of his full lips on my mouth swept me off my feet. It sent tingles down my spine, reminding me of what I had been missing while we were apart. Sean set the poker down and cupped my face in his hands, his fingertips less than an inch from my temples. All the tenderness, all the emotion we had been suppressing enveloped my existence with every gentle move of his lips.
He let out a sharp laugh and leaned back. “If that’s your way of saying “good morning,” feel free to do it every day.”
“You did the bravest thing last night,” I whispered, gazing into the greenness of his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“I didn’t do it alone,” he stated, shaking his head lightly. “Your friends’ help was invaluable.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“How did Timmy and I end up in your bedroom? I can’t remember anything.” I confessed, a smile of embarrassment forming on my face.
“You were both asleep when
we got up here,” he started, putting some force in his voice. “I carried you inside. Although I would’ve loved to have waked up with you, I thought you’d like it better to wake up with your boy. I figured it’s not something you got to do pretty often.”
“Again, true,” I responded. “It’s been months since the last time Timmy spent the night in the mansion. Okay, one last question: How does a laid back guy like you beat up on a goon like Carl Bender? You really did a number on him.”
“He made the mistake of hurting Melissa,” Sean uttered, anger sending his voice two octaves down. “Family is everything to me, Monica. You mess with my sister? You pay the price: simple as that.”
I whistled at his statement, admiration written all over my face. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Which part?”
“The baddass-ery part,” I giggled. “Sean, you’re a doctor. You’ve learned to handle your problems with your mind, not your muscles.”
“Yeah, but when someone barges into your home and punches you in the face, you don’t have much choice,” he countered. “Believe me, I’d love to beat up on him some more, but if I did, he would’ve wound up in the hospital: my hospital.”
“Speaking of which, do you have to go to work today?” I asked, sweetening my tone.
“No, it’s my day off,” he answered. “Why?”
“Never mind,” I shook my head sideways after a quick scan of the cabin. Along with the bedroom Timmy was sleeping in, there was another room right next to it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Sean maintained, a wicked smile giving away his thoughts. “There’s a basement. It’s just that its stairway is outside. My dad did that to save space.”
“Awesome,” I commented, my voice lowering as I realized we would have some much-needed privacy.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you naughty girl,” he requested, his smile staying on. “We need a babysitter. What if Timmy wakes up in the middle of the night? You guys also need clothes. Last, but definitely not least, I have to go back to the city and find a PI.”
“Oh, my God…” I sighed, averting my gaze from him. “How could I forget that? You must think I’m a terrible mother.”
“No, you’re just new to this. Plus, you just woke up,” he disagreed. “Anyway, buying some clothes for Timmy won’t be a problem, but I don’t have a clue about women’s sizes. I’m going to need some help with that.”
“Actually, I have a better idea,” I spoke in a relaxed tone. “I’ll call Kate and ask her if I can borrow some clothes from her. She’s my size more or less. About the babysitter, I’d ask her that, too, but I think it’s just too much trouble for her.”
“Call her and ask,” he suggested. “What do you have to lose?”
“I will,” I nodded in agreement. “Let’s get back to the ‘PI’ part. What do you want a PI for?”
“Do you want to divorce him and get custody of your child?” He answered my question with a question of his own, somewhat confusing me.
“Of course I do,” I exclaimed, giving an emphatic nod. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Then we have to find something we can use against him and his brother,” he pointed out. “He won’t divorce you unless you threaten to expose him.”
“You mean blackmail?” I wondered, narrowing my eyes up at him. “No, no, no! Sean, you don’t know what kind of people the Davidson’s are! They’re both rotten to the core. Robert is being controlled by the banking cartel, and Chris has ties to gangsters across the State. You just can’t blackmail these people.”
“Do you have any better suggestions?” He asked, his eyes darkening with anger.
“No,” I whispered, dropping my gaze to the floor.
“Listen, I have to go, all right?” Sean softened his tone and pecked a swift kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be back tonight. In the meantime, try and think of an alternative. I should warn you, though. I’ve been wracking my brain since last night, and I still haven’t come up with anything else. Kiss your boy for me.”
I wished I could figure out an ingenious plan to avoid blackmail. I wished I could find some magical way to prevent this clash. As Sean left me alone in his cabin, however, the realization hit me like a battering ram: even if I did, this clash was inevitable. The Davidson’s were too powerful to stand back and let me live my life. They would come after Sean and me with everything they had.
Chapter Nineteen
Sean
I couldn’t understand why Monica was objecting to my plan. Those bastards had taken away her child, along with her right to a personal life. She had been answering to them for years. In essence, they were her puppet masters. Hadn’t she suffered enough at their hands? Didn’t she wish to get rid of them once and for all?
Perhaps it was fear that motivated her to speak to me like she did. I saw it in her eyes when she mentioned their “activities.” She was afraid that we were entering a battle we just couldn’t win. Nevertheless, in my mind, we had to fight. We couldn’t just give in, because if we did, we would lose more than just our relationship. Timmy would disappear from her life, for good this time. My career as a doctor would go down the drain. Our relationship would become nothing more than a—painful—memory, something that would cost us both everything.
Pulling up at a roadside diner, I started going over the long list of investigators based in New York. Flashy banners of the most successful ones paraded in front of me. Their web pages were full of their greatest hits, like the apprehension of organized crime bosses and serial killers. The chief investigators had given interviews, smiling for the camera, and bragging about their accomplishments. All this seemed very promising indeed. Moreover, their rates weren’t so steep. For instance, Thomas Baldwin & Associates charged eight-thousand dollars per case, plus any expenses made along the way. It wasn’t what I’d call “cheap,” but it wasn’t too expensive, either.
Still, there were quite a few, and important, disadvantages in choosing an established investigator. First and foremost: their age. They were all in their fifties. Yes, they had experience on their side, but they all lacked something I considered vital.
Ambition.
They had already made a name for themselves. Their firms were netting seven figures a year. By taking this case to them, I would be asking them to gamble all of that. Digging up dirt on a US Congressman would not go unnoticed. According to Monica, the Davidson’s were powerful and well-connected. It would be easy for them to take the fight to a simple investigatory firm, no matter its stature.
Secondly: their attitude. The smugness on their faces was beyond belief. They looked like they had just been through a battle against a pride of lions and had triumphed over them. I was sure that once I talked to them about Monica and the Davidson’s, they would laugh at me. Exposing a gay Congressman and his brother wasn’t as juicy as apprehending a career criminal. I could double their fee, and they would still tell me to go somewhere else.
Taking these factors into account, I opted for someone less high-profile. The name of a firm in Queens stirred my interest. It was catchy, and whoever had come up with it sounded intelligent.
“Suburban Fox – Private Investigations”
The city was well under the veil of darkness when I crossed its limits. With the rain as my constant companion, I set a course for Queens, hoping that I wouldn’t have to address any of the hotshot investigators I had rejected. Apart from everything else, setting up an appointment with one of those would take time, and time was a luxury we couldn’t afford.
The neighborhood of my chosen investigatory firm offered me a sense of satisfaction. There were quite a few, modern apartment buildings, and the older ones were well kept. Once my eyes landed on the address I was searching for though, my satisfaction evaporated. The rain was pelting down around me, and the nearest light pole was at least fifty feet away, but even so, I could see the ridiculous sign on the door of a ground floor apartment. Wedged in the gap between iron bars and the
glass, a piece of cardboard read:
“Suburban Fox”
I rang the bell, questioning my decision. I wasn’t dealing with a professional; that much was clear to me. And the person who emerged from the apartment supported that theory. Her long, black hair was messy, and she was wearing a red-and-blue tracksuit. Once she had pulled the door open, she tucked a few tendrils behind her ear, revealing her puffy, brown eyes.
“Yeah?” She uttered in a hoarse voice as she scratched her head.
“I’m looking for a PI,” I told her, raindrops running down my scalp. “My name’s Sean Granger.”
“You’ve come to the right place. I’m Isabelle Wilks,” she stated as she introduced herself, taking a step back.
“I’d say ‘it’s a pleasure,’ but I’d probably be lying,” I confessed, joining her inside. “That cardboard outside is a joke. And it’s just 6:30pm, for crying out loud. Who sleeps at this time of day?”
“Someone who’s had a rough night,” she responded, her tone sharp, the pungent smell of stale tobacco making my stomach churn. “Have a seat.”
Strolling towards her office through the living room, I threw a few glances at the walls. The first picture gave me a clue as to who she once was. Isabelle Wilks was in a police uniform, smiling, with the American flag in the backdrop. Next to it was another picture of her and a male colleague of hers.
“Ex-cop,” I concluded, seating myself to her left.
“That’s a long story,” she croaked, the tip of a cigarette between her lips. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Can I open the door?” I requested, disliking the idea of breathing in her second hand smoke.
“Why? Do you want to kill me or something?” she scoffed, lighting up the cigarette. “I’m waiting, Mr. Granger.”
“Right,” I said on an exhale. “Just out of curiosity…” I paused. “How long have you been a PI?”
