Secrets: Web of Sin

by Aleatha Romig

  “Yes, I just received the same message.”

  “I hope you know who booked it,” she said with a sweet smile.

  I smiled. “I do. Same person who booked this flight.”

  “Well, maybe someday you’ll learn more about his employer.”

  “In time,” I said, remembering Sparrow’s repeated phrase.

  “Thank you for flying with us. Hopefully you’ll use our service again.”

  I didn’t have an answer. Sinful Threads couldn’t afford private charters and neither could Kennedy Hawkins. Our company was doing well, but that meant that most of the profits went back into the business. We had rent on facilities. We had shipments of silk.

  That reminded me that I’d meant to visit the Port of Chicago, where most of our silk entered the United States. Louisa had been there before, but I hadn’t. I supposed that if I followed the instructions I’d been given, that opportunity was still in my future.

  The popping sound filled the plane as the entry door was released, opening forward and creating the stairway to the tarmac. All at once cooler, fresh Colorado morning air filled the plane, reminding me why I loved where I’d been living.

  “Ms. Hawkins,” Janet said, “let me show you to the office and where your car is waiting.”

  Stepping to the edge of the plane, I stopped, taking in the beauty. From the clear blue skies to the mountains, I was awed. Could I leave all of this for Chicago? My heart told me no.

  “Ms. Hawkins,” an attractive woman with dark hair said as Janet and I entered the small office off the hangars.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Shelly, I’m here to drive you to your apartment. I’ve also been instructed to get your luggage from the Boulder Airport after I take you home.”

  “You were? The airline said they’d deliver it to me. Is it in?”

  “Not yet, but it will be soon.”

  “And you know that...?” Before she could answer, I shook my head. “Never mind, I know how you know.”

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “It’s fine. I’m very tired. I’d like to go home and to sleep.”

  Once we were in the car, I asked, “How long am I your job?”

  “Just until I deliver your luggage. I would be happy to give you my card, and you’re welcome to call me anytime.”

  I didn’t need her card. I was beginning to understand that one text to Patrick could get her or anyone else to my door in record time.

  When we pulled up to my two-story apartment building, the driver stopped at the curb. “I’ve been asked to accompany you to your apartment.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve never had a problem.”

  Though she tried to convince me otherwise, I remained resolute, refusing to allow what happened in Wichita to frighten me in my everyday life. That didn’t mean I didn’t think about it, listening to the quietness as I entered the building.

  The secured door opened to four apartments, two on each floor, and a staircase to access the ones above. I glanced to the downstairs door on the left, the apartment below mine. Mrs. Powell had lived there longer than I had. While the other two apartments seemed to have renters come and go, Mrs. Jeannie Powell had been living there for over ten years. She and her husband moved in when they decided they were too old to take care of their home. He passed away less than a year later, and while I’ve tried to convince her to move to one of the new senior communities, she refused. I often worried about her being lonely, yet with her two cats, she always had a smile on her face. About once a month I accepted her invitation to dinner. We always ate the same thing: salmon patties and peas with a white sauce.

  My lips curled upward, thinking how I’d grown accustomed to the routine. There was something about her I found comforting. Her stories were as repeated as her menu. I supposed not having family or a grandmother of my own, I enjoyed her company more than another woman my age would.

  My chest hurt as I imagined telling her I would be going away. I wasn’t ready to do that as I tiptoed by. Within a minute, I was atop the stairs and unlocking my door.

  Pushing open the door, I peered inside the darkened apartment.

  Everything was just as I’d left it.

  Collapsing on my bed, I typed out a quick text to Louisa.

  * * *

  “HOME NOW AND OFF TO SLEEP. HAD A SLIGHT DELAY, BUT ALL IS GOOD. I’LL FILL YOU IN TONIGHT IF YOU HAVE TIME FOR DINNER. LET ME KNOW YOUR SCHEDULE.”

  * * *

  Did I need to tell Patrick I was home? And why did I even think of that?

  I’d met Sparrow less than twenty-four hours ago and already he was affecting my everyday thoughts. Since Patrick had been the one to hire the driver who’d delivered me to my apartment, my guess was that not only did he know that I was now safely home, but so did Sparrow.

  I turned off my phone.

  Kennedy

  I wrung my hands under the table as I stretched my lips into a smile. Across the table, staring intently my direction was Louisa, her back periodically arching and tummy protruding as she tried to make herself comfortable. The fact that she’d asked me to meet her at the same restaurant where she and Jason were dining in the picture Sparrow had given me made this all the more difficult.

  “You know, I keep craving this restaurant,” she said. “They need to keep a table open for me until this baby arrives.”

  “When was the last time you were here?” I asked.

  “Jason and I were here...” She hummed in thought. “...I think it was Wednesday night.”

  I’d been right that the photograph was recent. It had been taken the day before it was given to me.

  “So you got a weird vibe from Franco?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she lifted her water to her lips. “I’m always so thirsty. I hope that’s normal.”

  “Honey, I don’t know what’s normal. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I wish I could sleep better.”

  I knew the feeling. I’d fallen asleep on and off on the planes, and then when I first made it back to my apartment. That was until a few hours later when the driver—I couldn’t recall her name—knocked on the door with my luggage from the flight. I couldn’t wait to look inside to ensure that nothing had stayed behind in my hotel room. Since even the safe had been emptied—which still freaked me out—I hoped I wouldn’t be disappointed. As it turned out, everything was present and more. In the pocket inside my suitcase was another photograph, this time of Louisa’s parents with her younger sister, Lindsey. They were walking together on a sidewalk in front of buildings that I didn’t recognize.

  “Hey,” I asked, hoping my question sounded casual, “how is Lindsey doing?”

  “Oh, you know, busy with college, her job, and guys. I think most of her time goes to guys—plural, settling down isn’t her thing—rather than the real work. Her classes don’t start again until fall term.”

  Something about the picture in my suitcase came to mind. Lindsey was about to start her junior year at Boston College. Their parents lived in a stately home in Superior, Colorado, halfway between Boulder and Denver.

  “Gosh, she hasn’t been home since Christmas.”

  In the picture, the three of them were all together. They were wearing short sleeves, and on the sidewalk, there was a tree with leaves. Definitely not Colorado in the winter.

  “No,” Louisa said, “but she plans to come back before classes start to meet her niece or nephew.”

  “That’s great. I know you miss her. From December until now seems like a long time for Lucy.” Lucy was their mother and had stepped in as my surrogate on needed occasions. Sometimes it’s nice to have a mom, even when you don’t. I always wished I’d told her that before I got out of the car.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Mom and Dad went to Boston. They’re there right now.”

  A spittle of tea flew from my lips as I choked on my drink.

  Louisa went on, “Jeez,
Kenni, are you all right?”

  “Sorry,” I said, reaching for my napkin and cleaning the table.

  “Yes, they’ve been there for a few days. Mom wanted to go see Lindsey before the baby arrives. I’m sure you know she won’t be leaving...” Louisa rolled her eyes. “...probably my house for the next ten years after the baby’s born.”

  “She just wants to help.” I couldn’t stop thinking about the picture as my blood chilled. Sterling had people watching everyone I loved.

  “I’m sure I’ll appreciate it,” she said.

  “You know, I told you everything was good in Chicago?”

  “Yes, but now you’re saying you’re worried about Franco.”

  “I am. I think I might need to go back there for a little while.”

  “What? You always said you’d never go there. I figured that was why you came home so fast. And now you’re saying you’re going back?”

  My lower lip momentarily went between my teeth as I contemplated the million different stories I’d tried to concoct. I didn’t want to go back. I sure as hell didn’t want to stay in Chicago and definitely not with him. However, Sterling Sparrow was making it abundantly clear that my compliance had a direct correlation to the safety of the people I loved. Protecting them, perhaps at the risk of my own safety, wasn’t even a choice as I looked at my eight-month-pregnant best friend. Besides, there was more. He had something I couldn’t forget. He had information about me—secrets I thought disappeared when my mother drove away.

  My decision to comply had dominated my thoughts since our impromptu meeting and what happened in Wichita. The tone of his voice on that call, even the memory of it, sent shivers down my spine and through my entire body as the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. In one short meeting, I’d assessed that he had power and had no problem wielding it.

  His power had the ability to direct or influence those around him. And yet it seemed by his tone on that call that his power could also be unstable and volatile, like a volcano on the brink of eruption when pushed the right direction. In that call, for no reason that I could surmise, he sounded worried about my safety. At first. I didn’t realize the insight he’d given me. The pictures were his way of capitalizing on my weakness—my love for Louisa and her family.

  I would go back to Chicago.

  Not to stay but to learn.

  And while I was there, I would capitalize on what seemed to be his weakness—me.

  “I don’t want to worry you,” I said. “The move won’t be for forever or even for a long time for that matter. I love being here with you. I just think that for Sinful Threads we can do more with division. You know, divide and conquer.”

  Her nose scrunched. “But what about the designs? I’m going to be a little preoccupied...” She rubbed her midsection.

  I lifted my hand.

  Although I was not certain how the future would work, I did know that Sparrow wouldn’t be the only one to make demands. I had them too. “We will Skype or FaceTime. I’ll be in contact with our designers. The only thing I can’t do from Chicago is run the silk through my fingers. However, as long as everything is well with our material shipments, the designs will be fine. The prototypes can be overnighted to me. It will work.”

  Louisa shook her head. “I don’t understand your change of heart.”

  “It’s not a change of heart. It’s about what’s best for Sinful Threads.”

  Her eyes grew glossy. “What about me? I want you here with little Kennedy.”

  I forced a smile. “You won’t be able to keep me away.”

  My list of demands was growing. Mr. Sparrow and I needed to have a talk.

  Kennedy

  The call rang twice before the growingly familiar voice answered. “Ms. Hawkins.”

  “Patrick,” I said into my phone. “I need to talk to him. I want to talk to him—now.” I’d waited two days since my dinner with Louisa to call. I wanted to be certain of my demands before I wasted my chance to voice them.

  “Him?” Patrick asked.

  “Are you really going to act like you don’t know to whom I’m referring?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m certain I know. He’s not available at the moment.”

  “He’s not available because he’s not with you or because he isn’t used to having someone tell him what to do?”

  “I will inform him of your request.” His tone sounded amused.

  “No, Patrick. Inform him that I’m waiting for his call, and I expect it this evening. This isn’t a request.”

  “I will relay the message.”

  “This evening,” I repeated before disconnecting the call and letting out an exaggerated breath. I tossed my phone onto the couch, watching it bounce over the cushions.

  Did I hear Patrick smile? Is that even possible?

  I didn’t find my demand amusing.

  Infuriating was what this was. Sparrow actually expected me to submit to his orders and move across the country and live with a man I didn’t even know?

  Yes. That was what he expected.

  He expected more—my compliance to his every order.

  Don’t search for more information. All of your devices are monitored.

  Tell me your name. In time.

  Well, fuck you, Sparrow.

  I knew his name. And since learning that, I’d learned more.

  On Saturday, I’d gone to the local library and using one of their computers, searched Sterling Sparrow. While I was tempted to search McCrie, technically that was the search he told me not to do. He never said I couldn’t search for information on him.

  The picture that filled the screen confirmed his identity, complete with the dark stare I remembered and was now seeing in my dreams—or were they nightmares? I found myself falling down a rabbit hole of information, not at all what I’d imagined. I expected mobster or mafia, as Louisa had alluded to before I left. That wasn’t what I found. Then again, I don’t think that information was something people listed on their LinkedIn page.

  Sterling Sparrow: kingpin.

  Nope.

  The information that popped up surprised as well as intrigued me.

  A military veteran and University of Michigan graduate, Sterling Sparrow was listed as CEO of Sparrow Enterprises, one of Forbes list of richest people in America, and one of the top real estate developers in Chicago and beyond. Sparrow Enterprises was built by Sterling’s father, Allister, reportedly beginning with family money from Sterling’s mother. One article mentioned speculations of Sterling’s political aspirations, yet from all I read, those were unconfirmed rumors. According to another article, those speculations were because of his father. It stated that Sterling was following in his father’s footsteps. The older Sparrow had not only owned property all over the world, but prior to his death had begun a campaign to run for the mayor of Chicago. With his money and connections, the columnist believed that Allister Sparrow would have been a shoo-in, until his unfortunate accident ended his life. There were rumors of a hit by his political adversaries; however, the official investigation ruled his death a tragic mishap, occurring at a construction site on one of his many properties.

  The death of her husband hadn’t stopped Sterling’s mother, Genevieve, from maintaining her newsworthy, elite Chicago status. As a member of numerous influential boards and commissions, as well as an alderman on the City Council, she was well-known for assisting the family business by influencing everything from planning to zoning. She and Allister had been considered to be among the city’s uncrowned royalty. Sterling was now well-established in that rank.

  All of my research confirmed my suspicions: Sterling Sparrow was wealthy, influential, and powerful. What I couldn’t understand was if that were true, why the hell couldn’t he find a woman the normal way? Why did he want me? What was I to him?

  Basically, my research gleaned information that instead of bringing me answers raised more questions.

  In my mind, as the days passed, my agree
ing to his demands had less to do with his threats of people who I loved and more to do with the realization that Sterling Sparrow was the only person capable or somewhat willing to give me answers. He’d already given me more than I had previously known.

  I stared down again at my phone. Something told me that he wasn’t accustomed to being told what to do. Would he call? “Come on, Mr. Great and Powerful Sparrow. You like giving orders. Can you follow them as well?”

  I paced the length of my living room, taking in the familiar four walls and the closed curtains keeping the rest of Boulder from seeing inside. I’d lived in this apartment for over two years, moving in after the breakup of my only long-term relationship.

  The walls were dotted with art and photographs. The leather sofa was worn where I usually sat. This was my home. I didn’t want to leave it. I scoffed. Obviously, I hadn’t made any attempts to do so. After all, it was Monday night, and I had nothing packed. I’d spent more time at the office than I had at home. My work would need to travel with me, not my personal belongings. It was as if packing were an outward sign of surrender.

  Sterling Sparrow didn’t know me. I wasn’t the white-flag type of woman.

  My decision to go ahead with this ridiculous plan was temporary. I would be back. There was no need to pack all my possessions. Each day I’d received another message. Yesterday’s was a bouquet of flowers delivered to the office with a card devoid of the sender’s name. It only read two words: In time.

  I’d wadded the card in a ball and thrown it into the trash just as Louisa peeked her head around the doorframe. “Secret admirer?”

  “Funny.”

  “Well, it’s not your birthday.”

  “The card didn’t have a name. I bet it’s one of the companies trying to get our business.”

  “Probably from someone who was at the party in Chicago.”

  “Why would you say that?” I asked.

  “Maybe because the orders for the dress you wore are through the roof. I can’t wait to showcase the other styles our designers are dreaming up. There’s another design we both liked about to be sent.”