Secrets: Web of Sin

by Aleatha Romig

  My meeting tomorrow with Vanessa couldn’t come soon enough. I was ready to go home to Boulder and leave that image—this whole city—behind.

  Looking forward, my gaze met Patrick’s reassuring smile in the rearview mirror, reminding me that I was protected. Though I didn’t really know the man who was now my driver, there was something in his demeanor that calmed me. Probably ten or more years my senior, he was obviously fit beneath his dark suit. That and his almost-military-cut short hair gave him a distinguished and capable air.

  “Are you stuck with me for my whole trip?” I asked, trying to take my mind off the man from before.

  “Hardly stuck, ma’am.”

  “You’re very kind, Patrick. You don’t need to enter the dinner with me.”

  “I don’t, but I would like to do just that. I’ll stay out of sight, but, Ms. Hawkins, you are my job.”

  His determination comforted me. “Thank you.”

  My attention went outside of the sedan’s darkened windows. Although it was nearly seven-thirty at night, the sky was still light and the sidewalks were filled with pedestrians as we approached Navy Pier.

  Pulling to the curb, Patrick said, “I’ll be happy to drop you off here, and then I’ll slip into the dinner after I park. You can always reach me by phone.”

  Holding my clutch purse, I nodded. “Thank you again.”

  Lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders, I moved gracefully but determinedly along the walkway. This was my company—well, half—and though I didn’t know the investors within the restaurant, my job tonight was to show them that Sinful Threads could handle any situation.

  Walking toward the restaurant, I mentally replayed my earlier conversation with Louisa. Franco was accommodating in my requests, yet not enthusiastic. Everything that he showed me was accurate. I insisted on opening freight ready for departure. It was a useless procedure. The manifests matched perfectly. After hours of investigation and inquiry, there wasn’t as much as one bangle, scarf, or woven brooch unaccounted for.

  I nodded to the gentleman manning the entrance to the waterfront restaurant as he opened the door. Despite the large windows allowing in sunlight, it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness.

  “Ms. Hawkins.”

  I turned to the voice coming above the din of the other guests and music seeping from speakers in every direction. Although she was dressed completely different from this afternoon, I recognized the person greeting me.

  “Connie, thank you. It’s good to see you again. You look lovely.”

  A far cry from the woman with a ponytail, polo shirt, and khaki slacks, tonight she was dressed for the occasion. For only a moment, her long tan dress reminded me of her khaki slacks—but only in color. The strapless dress with the fitted bodice was attractive, as was the Sinful Threads silk-spun bracelets on her left forearm.

  I reached for one with a smile. “I see you’re wearing Sinful Threads.”

  Her cheeks pinkened with a rush of blood. “I wish I could afford more.” She took a step back. “Is that dress...is it...?” Her voice grew higher in excitement. “Oh my gosh. It’s Sinful Threads.”

  I nodded. “It is. A new prototype. I thought it might be nice to show the investors.”

  “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Ms. Hawkins,” Franco said as he stepped closer. “My, you look, if you don’t mind my saying, beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Franco. Please call me Kennedy, and hopefully very soon, you’ll see dresses like this one as well as others coming through our warehouse.”

  “We have to let the investors see this.”

  I grinned. “That was my hope.”

  With a flute of champagne in one hand, I allowed Franco to escort me around the room, introducing me to both local and potential investors. Real estate moguls as well as politicians were all forthcoming with their praises of Sinful Threads. The discussion of a storefront in the Loop was brought up by many.

  Remaining on the periphery, Patrick was rarely seen. Yet occasionally, his reassuring presence would come into view.

  Before dinner, I spoke to the room, introducing myself to everyone, thanking them for their support, and vowing to keep Sinful Threads a viable contributor to the Chicago economy. Dinner was spent discussing our creative process and how important it was for Louisa and me to keep it in Boulder where we could oversee our operation.

  During the meal, I was seated with Franco on one side and Mrs. Pauline McFadden, Senator Rubio McFadden’s wife, on the other. Her husband was seated to her left. Mrs. McFadden praised Sinful Threads, certain the dresses would be perfect for the campaign trail as her husband tested the waters for the White House. I knew I should be thinking about the aspirations of the man across the table, but instead my mind was on the publicity a first lady could give to our company.

  Just when I’d decided that this trip was most likely a success, my phone buzzed.

  “Excuse me a moment,” I said to the senator and his wife.

  The screen of my phone said DRIVER. There was no reason to add Patrick’s name.

  “Hello?”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to be the one to inform you that there’s a situation at the distribution center.”

  My mind reeled. The distribution center had a first and second shift, no third. At this time of night, there shouldn’t be anyone there. “What kind of situation? How would you know that?”

  “When your assistant couldn’t reach you, she called me.”

  I looked down at my phone, and sure enough, I’d missed three calls from Winnie. “What kind of situation?” I asked again. “I need to get there. Do you have the car?”

  “Ma’am, I slipped out as soon as I was notified. I’m already out on the street, ready to take you there.”

  My heart raced as I imagined fire and destruction. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ll be right out.”

  Disconnecting the call, I began to phone Winnie when Franco approached. “Kennedy, you’re not leaving already, are you?”

  A situation.

  Did Franco know what was happening?

  I plastered a smile on my lips and nodded. “I’m afraid I am. It’s been a very long day.”

  “Will I be seeing you tomorrow before you leave for Boulder?”

  The tips of my lips turned upward as I decided. My answer depended upon the current situation. Depending on what it was, another unplanned visit could be possible. “I think that will be a game-time decision.”

  “Have a safe trip.”

  After quickly saying goodbye to many of the guests, I made my way out to the sidewalk. Night’s darkness had finally fallen, yet the lights of Navy Pier created a false daylight. Beyond the illumination, out over the water, the black velvet sky dotted with stars reminded me of my love for the lake. There was something about the scent of the fresh water that revived my spirit.

  Taking a deep breath, I hurried toward the row of cars. First and foremost, I needed to learn what was happening at the distribution center.

  As I walked, I hit call on my phone, returning my assistant’s calls. Instead of answering, Winnie’s phone went straight to voice mail. I debated about leaving a message, deciding to simply disconnect. She had tried to reach me. Seeing that I’d called would hopefully let her know that I knew about the situation.

  I would have tried to call again, but my driver was in sight. He must have seen me too because in another step, Patrick’s door opened, and he hurried my direction to open the back-seat door.

  “Thank you, Patrick. I’m capable of opening the door.”

  His lips twitched. “It’s my job, remember?”

  “I might miss you after I go home tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  I waited until he was back in the car and we started to pull out into traffic. “What situation is happening? Franco didn’t seem to know anything.”

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t.” Once my answer wa
s out, I wondered if I’d made the right move. Was this like the warning we’ve all heard about going to another location without telling anyone? No. Patrick was with me. He knew. Winnie knew. And as he’d said, I was his job.

  Patrick cleared his throat. “I was only told that your presence was imperative. The situation was crucial.”

  I opened my purse and looked down at my phone. It wasn’t as late in Boulder. There was a good chance Louisa was still awake. With what she’d said about her restless sleep, there was a better than good chance.

  Should I call her?

  Chicago was her baby.

  I closed the purse.

  Stress free.

  That was what I wanted to do for her.

  There was no need to worry her until I knew more. I’d call her when I had news to report.

  Besides, I was concerned enough for both of us.

  I’d been given a card that allowed me entry to the distribution center’s grounds for my earlier meetings, and I suddenly wondered if I’d brought it to the dinner. My pulse kicked up at the sight of the empty guard shack and secured gate.

  Where was the night guard?

  We didn’t have a third shift working, but the building was to be secured 24/7.

  Something in my senses was on alert. “Maybe we should call the police?” I said, my tone fluctuating, making it sound more like a question than a statement as the car slowed.

  The tall lights illuminated the empty parking lot as Patrick lowered his window, inserted the card, and the gate moved to the side.

  “How did you get that?”

  His eyes met mine again in the mirror. “Ma’am, it’s the one from this morning. You gave it to me.”

  I did?

  I was correct when I told Franco it had been a long day. With everything happening and my unsuccessful detective work, I must have forgotten to retrieve it. “Well, I’m glad one of us is prepared.” I surveyed the side of the building. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. My earlier concerns of fire or destruction were quelled. “I was imagining fire engines and flames,” I said aloud.

  Patrick parked the car near the door we’d entered earlier in the day.

  “It looks empty.”

  “Ma’am, I’d like to accompany you inside.”

  “I think I’d like that too.”

  As we approached the door, I stopped. “We can’t get in.”

  Patrick held up the same card he’d used to gain us entrance to the parking lot.

  “That will open the door, but each facility has a specific code to enter into the alarm system. They’re changed routinely and only known by the top building administrators and security. Our system is top-notch.”

  My driver held up his phone. “Your assistant, Winifred, sent me the code.”

  I sighed. “She did? I wasn’t able to reach her.”

  Patrick shrugged as he inserted the card. As we stepped through the door, the faint beeping of the alarm system alerted us to its presence. In another fifty-eight seconds the police would be notified of a break-in.

  I started to wonder how Winnie was able to get the code, when all at once, the beeping stopped.

  “I guess the code was correct?” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The dim entry and hallway had scant illumination with only security lighting. The effect was a shadowed tunnel as we retraced the steps I’d taken earlier in the day and made our way back toward the offices. Yellow light spilled from beneath the closed door to Ricardo’s office, the same one I’d visited earlier. “Is Ricardo here?”

  Instead of answering, Patrick reached past me, turning the knob and pushing open the door.

  Taking one step beyond the doorframe, I froze. We were no longer alone. My mind reeled at the man behind Ricardo’s desk. “What? Why are—”

  “Patrick, you may go.”

  I didn’t recognize the deep voice commanding my driver, and in the darkened room with only a circle of light from the desk lamp, I couldn’t see the whole of the man behind the desk. However, as my knees grew weak, I knew.

  I knew he was the man from before in the parking lot.

  I didn’t need to see all of him.

  This man filled the office with an overpowering aura. In the circle of light, I saw large hands steepled beneath a strong chin covered in trimmed dark hair and a white starched shirt stretched over a wide muscular chest.

  “And close the door.”

  His commands held no room for debate, yet that was exactly my plan. “Wait,” I said, turning back, but Patrick was already on his retreat. The man I thought to be my protector wasn’t looking at me, but nodding to the man behind the desk. He wasn’t my protector at all. He was my traitor.

  “Sir,” Patrick said as he disappeared into the hallway.

  As the door shut, I managed to make my feet move. Inch by inch I stepped. As I did, the circle of light grew, until my vision met the dark gaze and granite-like features of the man in the parking lot.

  “Who are you?” My voice wavered, threatening to expose my unease. I looked back at the door, contemplating if I could escape, if Patrick would stop me, if this man would stop me.

  “Don’t even consider reaching for that handle.”

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I turned back, my neck straightening. The spicy scent of his expensive cologne filled my senses as the small hairs on my arms stood to attention, and my skin peppered with goose bumps. Ignoring the fear that being alone with this man elicited, I feigned strength and demanded to know more. “Tell me what the hell you’re doing in my distribution center.”

  The man stood, slowly pushing himself away from the desk as the small office chair rolled back. As he rose, his body passed through the light. The suit coat from earlier was gone and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up near his elbows, revealing toned, tan forearms.

  Like a monster in a sci-fi movie, he grew, his presence towering above until he dominated the room. Though most of him disappeared into the darkness, I was dwarfed in his presence.

  His deep voice came from beyond the light. “Araneae, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day. Welcome home.”

  Kennedy

  Araneae.

  Araneae.

  His pronunciation was different than the spider, a syllable less—uh-rain-ā. The name reverberated off the walls of the small office, drowning out whatever else he’d said. Or perhaps it was the rush of my blood coursing through my ears.

  In the whirlwind of emotions, my mind filled with thoughts—my mother’s warning, the name Sparrow—but voicing any of them wasn’t possible. In a matter of seconds, my tongue had forgotten its role. Instead of speaking, the useless muscle became glued to the roof of my mouth as saliva evaporated.

  No longer lost in the darkness, this mountain of a man walked around the desk, his movements graceful and predatory until he came to a stop before me, his prey. Lurking nearly six inches taller than me in my heels, the dark gaze from earlier in the parking lot shone downward as if I were merely a child under his admonishing stare.

  Before my words could find their way out of my mouth, his large hand grasped my chin and pulled it upward. The room no longer existed. All that I could see was him—his gaze on mine. With each tilt upward, my pulse kicked up more and more, until under his stare my breathing slowed, and my knees grew weak.

  I was going to faint.

  No.

  Taking a step back and away, I found my voice and demanded, “Tell me who you are.”

  The way his lips curled sent a chill down my spine. If he were smiling, his eyes hadn’t received the memo. Again he lifted his hand, but this time it wasn’t for my chin but to run a ringlet of my hair through his fingers.

  “This is promising,” he said.

  Another step back.

  My attempts at strength were failing miserably. In another step or two, I’d be backed against the wall. And while there was something about this man that had my emotions stirred in a way I bare
ly recognized, the smarter part of me knew I needed to get away.

  “Stop touching me.” I sounded like a child, but I didn’t care.

  “Oh, Araneae, soon you will be begging for just that.”

  I lifted my palm to his chest. The gesture was meant to stop his forward progress, but it did more than that. Beneath my touch and despite his calm, calculating demeanor, his heart too was racing. Leaving my hand pressed against his solid chest, I tilted my face up to his. “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’ll do better than that.”

  My hand dropped. “What’s better than that?”

  “I will tell you who you are.”

  I shook my head slowly as tears prickled the backs of my eyes, and emotions I’d kept suppressed for nearly a decade threatened to unfurl. I swallowed once and then again. I didn’t know this man or even his name. He didn’t deserve my tears. He hadn’t given me any reason to believe him.

  Or had he?

  He knew my real name.

  “Fine. First tell me who I am and then who you are.”

  This time as his full lips curled upward, his dark eyes shone, joining in his amusement. “In time. The most important thing for you to know is that you’re mine. Tomorrow you’ll travel back to Boulder and make the necessary arrangements to move to Chicago permanently. After all, this is where you belong.”

  “What? No.”

  His finger stroked my cheek. While I wanted to remind him not to touch me and explain what he’d just said, deep inside of me, I somehow knew the truth: what he was saying was right.

  It wasn’t right as in right versus wrong, good versus evil.

  No, the man before me was neither right nor good.

  It was the twisting in the pit of my stomach that told me that his words were accurate.

  “You’re crazy. I’m not yours. I’m no one’s. I don’t even know who you are.”

  The finger that had caressed my cheek, trailed lower to my neck and collarbone, each inch combustible. Like a match head being dragged across a striking surface, his touch caused a chemical reaction. The flame was lit as heat sparked within me, stealing my breath and twisting my insides.