Secrets: Web of Sin

by Aleatha Romig

  She tilted her head to the far wing. “There are plenty of rooms down there.” She reached for my hand. “Thank you for letting me fly.”

  Sterling and Patrick had walked away, yet we had an audience. I returned her smile. “Thank you for flying with me. It wasn’t as scary as I anticipated.”

  Jana scoffed. “It was better than the drive.”

  “Ms. McCrie.”

  It took the words a moment to register.

  Oh, she meant me.

  I followed the older woman across the slate patio to the glass doors surrounded by more windows. The glass panes went all the way up to a tall peak another story high. Warm yellow light that I’d seen upon our landing flooded the interior in a welcoming glow. Once inside, I stood motionless for a moment, in awe of what I assumed was a living room, complete with pine wood paneling and a giant antler chandelier. Rustic chic would probably be the best way to describe the furnishings. Dark leather sofas and heavy wood tables surrounded a huge stone fireplace that like the ceiling was at least two stories high. In front of us and on the next level was a banister walkway connecting the different wings.

  “This way,” Rita said.

  “Oh, my carry-on. It’s still in the helicopter.” I’d been too overwhelmed to remember.

  “It will be brought to your room.”

  I sighed. This was not the way I was used to living. Even when traveling, I was completely content to wheel my own luggage.

  As we progressed, she pointed out the important areas like a professional tour guide. I wondered how many women Sterling had brought here. How many times had she done this same speech?

  Was I jealous?

  Of course not. Simple curiosity was all.

  “The kitchen is stocked with most things you’d want. You’re welcome to help yourself, but know we’re here to help also.”

  She went on pointing out the kitchen as I took in the particulars—a stainless steel and hard-surface beauty accented with copper. We continued the tour to a dining area too large for one man, a library that took my breath away—complete tall shelves filled with books and overstuffed chairs and lounges perfect for reading, and finally Sterling’s office. We didn’t go inside as the door was shut, and Sterling and Patrick were already within. All of these destinations were located in the wing with the room where I would apparently be staying. Up the stairs we went until I was looking down on the room we’d entered. With the reflection of the interior lights, I questioned what was beyond the windows, farther than I could see in the darkness as we landed.

  “I wish I could see the view,” I said, stilling at the banister.

  “You’ll see it after the sun rises. Even after all the years of living here, it takes my breath away. From this elevation, the lake is spectacular where the mountains come together.” She resumed walking. “Legend has it that the valley was dry until early pioneers rerouted the rivers. Today the lake has a surface area of over one hundred miles.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Ontario,” she replied with a purse of her lips. “Surely you knew that?”

  I was reminded of the flight attendant on my trip from Wichita to Boulder. “I did. Sterling...Mr. Sparrow said that. I was hoping for a more specific location.”

  “We’re in northwestern Ontario. I suppose it would be easiest to say north of Minnesota.”

  I shook my head as I continued to follow her along the hallway, the walls covered with more of the knotty pine, a shade lighter than that on the floor. We passed multiple closed doors as we walked upon long rugs, red in background filled with black bears.

  Finally, she came to a stop and opened a door. The spacious bedroom was complete with a four-poster king-sized bed, one that I was pleased to see was a normal height. The decor fit the cabin, rustic with warm shades of red, gold, and brown. Windows lined one wall covered by wooden blinds.

  “There is a bathroom right over there,” she said, pointing the opposite direction of the windows. “And if you need anything, there is a phone on the bedside stand. It rings to the kitchen or our rooms. We can help you out no matter the time.”

  “Maybe some water. Other than that, I believe I’m ready to get some sleep.”

  Rita nodded. “I’ll bring you a bottle of water. In the morning let us know when you wake. We’ll bring you coffee or tea or whatever you want. You may eat in here or in the dining room. Mr. Sparrow said to let you know that you’re free to roam wherever you would like.”

  “Tell me, Rita, where is there for me to go?”

  Her stoic expression cracked as her cheeks rose and eyes shone. “Ms. McCrie, the cabin is rather isolated, but there are plenty of places to go especially this time of year. If you decide to hike, please let us know. We have bear repellent and a tracker. It’s too easy to get lost.”

  Bear repellent.

  I shook my head as my eyes opened wide. “That will be a definite no for hiking.”

  Again she smiled. “Come see me tomorrow. I’ll give you a better tour.”

  “Thank you, Rita.”

  As soon as she left, I turned a complete circle, taking in my surroundings. Sterling had said I wasn’t kidnapped, yet wasn’t I?

  Stepping to the windows, I peered out into the darkness. I couldn’t even point to a map and place my current location. My phone came to mind. Could Google Maps find me? From what I’d been told and could decipher, an additional two and a half hours of flight and a helicopter ride had me on the edge of some legendary lake created by Paul Bunyan.

  In the morning I’d learn more. Currently, I was too tired to care.

  I made my way to the bathroom. Sterling’s wealth was difficult to ignore. The attached bath was bigger than the one in my apartment, complete with a claw-foot soaking tub and glass-block shower that could easily fit me and four of my closest friends. If I hadn’t taken two showers in the last five hours—three since I woke—I would have given that tub some serious consideration.

  The day had been long and the evening longer. My tired muscles and mind told me that I was ready to go to sleep and take a reprieve from whatever life and Sterling Sparrow could throw at me. However, my carry-on with my nightgown was still missing. It was then that I noticed a thick white chenille robe hanging from an ornate hook in the bathroom.

  No matter how many questions I had going through my head or how difficult it was to make sense of what was happening, exhaustion was winning.

  Five minutes later, my face washed and teeth brushed—yes, of course the bathroom was well stocked—wearing only my bra and panties under the robe, I stepped back into the bedroom.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed as the man in the shadows became visible. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  In an armchair in the corner of the room, my carry-on by his side and a bottle of water in his hand, was the king of the house. Complete with his smug expression, he sat in a plush chair, leaning back with his ankle over his knee.

  He didn’t answer, remaining silent as his dark eyes searched me up and down. Suddenly, the robe no longer felt as though it were soft and thick. From the way his gaze sizzled, I had to look down to be sure it hadn’t magically become transparent.

  Finally, the silence shattered as his deep tenor asked, “Are you ready to talk?”

  Araneae

  Wrapping the robe tighter, I walked toward him, took the water bottle from his hand, and made my way across the room. After placing the water on the bedside stand, I sat near the end of the bed facing him. “I’m exhausted. Don’t you sleep?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Will you tell me what the fiancée remark was about?”

  He lowered his leg and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “I’ll tell you more than that.” When I didn’t respond, he went on, “Like everything else, it was for your protection.”

  I tried to ignore how even in the middle of the night, Sterling Sparrow was strikingly handsome. His dark hair was more mussed than usual, reminding me of the times I’d watched him run his f
ingers through the now-wavy mane. His cheeks had more beard growth than when he’d first appeared on the plane or even the first time I saw him in the parking lot. And with the way he was seated, the defined muscles in his biceps bulged as his large hands balled in fists under his square chin.

  It was nearly impossible to not think about what those hands had done to me. Though we’d been together in the plane hours ago, it now seemed like a lifetime. That was how it felt to be near Sterling Sparrow, as if we’d known each other for a lifetime, not simply a week. Yet that wasn’t the case. It had been only a week since Patrick tricked me into going to the distribution center. A week since my breath was first stolen at the sight of his dark stare.

  Seven days later I was sitting on a bed in his remote cabin, wearing only a robe and underwear; that reality was difficult for my tired brain to fathom.

  “Protection from whom?” I asked, attempting to focus on our conversation.

  Sterling stood.

  I smiled as his fingers again raked his hair. Maybe I was beginning to figure out at least a small bit of this complicated man.

  Walking to the windows and back, he began, “I wanted this conversation to wait.”

  My pulse kicked up a notch at the possibility of what he had to say. I too stood. Now in my bare feet, I was easily eight to ten inches shorter than the man before me. Yet despite his size and power, unlike the first time I met him, I held no fear of him, only of what he could tell me. Tentatively, I moved closer. Laying my hand on his forearm, I repeated my question. “From whom do I need protection?” When he didn’t answer, I questioned, “From you?”

  His lips quirked. “Most definitely.”

  I pulled my hand back, shocked at his honesty. “What?”

  “Oh, Araneae, it should be obvious by now that not all of my intentions are honorable.” He teased the opening of the robe. “With everything in me, I want to open this wrapping.” With just one finger he traced from behind my ear to my collarbone and to the valley between my breasts. My skin burned in the wake of his touch, the heat flooding my core as he pushed back the soft chenille robe and exposed the lace of my bra.

  My tongue darted to my lips as my breathing deepened. His dark stare wasn’t looking at my eyes. Its laser precision was focused on my breasts, almost as if he could see through the material.

  “Sterling,” I said, bringing his gaze back to mine. “You said talk.”

  He took one step and another as my feet moved backward in sync, and our stare stayed locked upon the other. My retreat was short-lived as my shoulders collided with the wall. The faintest remnants of cologne mixed with the scent of night air and helicopter fuel lingered around him, creating a masculine concoction. Leaning forward, his arms came to rest on either side of my face. With each second, his gaze darkened. With every ticking of the metaphoric clock, I reconsidered my earlier thought about fearing this man. Sterling had just admitted I needed protection from him. Maybe I did.

  “If you had any idea of how long I’ve waited for you...” His deep voice resonated, echoing off the walls. “Sunshine, you’ve always belonged to me.”

  Sunshine?

  His lips brushed my forehead. “Your mind is fighting it, but your body knows it’s true.”

  I had to turn this around or there was no going back. My battle wasn’t with the man who had me caged but with myself. I detested his forwardness and proprietorship, and at the same time, those were only two of the qualities that made me want Sterling Sparrow. The list was growing by the minute, and the fog of his presence wasn’t helping.

  I lifted my hand to his hard chest. “I don’t know how long you’ve waited. That’s what you were going to tell me.”

  His eyes blinked as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re right. You need to know...about more than that.” He stood taller, moving his arms and releasing me from his hold.

  “Will you tell me?” I asked.

  He took a step back, removing the masculine scent and clearing the space between us. “You tell me first.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Tell me what you know about your past. It will help if I understand what you’ve been told.”

  Walking to the center of the room, I let out a breath and spun. “Fuck, Sterling. You’ve told me more in the last week then I’ve known my entire life. I only heard the name Araneae once before you. Once. I’d never heard the name McCrie...” I shrugged. “...I mean, I guess I’d heard it, but not in relation to me. And tonight, Rita is calling me Ms. McCrie.” My hands slapped the sides of my robe-covered thighs. “Really...how totally fucked up is that?”

  His head bobbed as the cords in his neck pulled tight and jaw clenched. “I’m trying to see this from your perspective, but I’m failing.”

  “Tell me who besides you I need protection from.”

  For the first time, I saw the fatigue in his expression that I was feeling.

  “My team has been working on learning more, but at this time I’m not prepared to give you a definite answer. All I can tell you is that you have been targeted.”

  I shook my head. “Targeted for what? Why?”

  “You really don’t know? Tell me what you do know.”

  Did I trust Sterling Sparrow with what little I knew?

  I’d been willing to trust him with my body—I supposed I had—and seconds ago, I was on the verge of doing it again. Were my secrets more precious?

  I’d trusted other men with my body, yet I’d never shared the truth of my childhood with them. Was Sterling different?

  “Araneae.” His dark stare was as penetrating as it had been in the parking lot.

  Sterling Sparrow was different. He knew more than I did. That was why I’d agreed to come with him to Chicago—and for my loved ones. My heart told me that I could have found another way to protect those I held dear. However, in twenty-six years, I’d never been given another opportunity to unlock my secrets.

  Swallowing, I sat back at the end of the bed. “Fine. All I remember of my childhood were my parents.”

  His eyes grew wide. “You remember your parents?”

  “My adoptive parents, not biological.”

  He nodded.

  “I can’t remember anything or anyone before them. They never lied to me. I don’t remember when they told me that I wasn’t biologically theirs, but I always accepted it.” A memory curled my lips. “They used to say that not everyone could create a baby, but they were blessed to have been given theirs. They called me their gift.” Sniffing, I wiped a renegade tear. “They were the only family I ever had.

  “When I was sixteen years old, my dad—my adoptive father—died in an automobile accident. The next few days were a blur until one afternoon my mother told me we were going to go for a drive. I had nothing prepared. I didn’t know where we were going—I thought maybe to Dad’s grave. We hadn’t had a funeral, and I was having a hard time understanding what was happening.”

  Sterling was back in the chair where I’d found him. The distance gave me strength to keep talking, telling a story that I’d never before spoken aloud. Ever. Not even to Louisa. She, like everyone else, had been told the story of Phillip and Debbie Hawkins. Over the years those fictional parents had taken on Byron and Josey’s traits and characteristics. It was easier to tell stories and only change the names. At some point the Hawkinses and the Marshes had become synonymous for my parents.

  Ironic, especially when in reality, neither biologically were.

  “Where did she take you?” he asked.

  “To the airport. I recall that she was driving like a bat out of hell.” The decade-old scene replayed in my mind. I crossed my arms over my midsection to ward off the chill that accompanied it. “I was scared. Her behavior was odd—out of character. My mom was one of the most sensible and determined women I’d ever known, and she was swerving in front of semi-trucks, and acting like...” The idea of what I was about to say had never really mattered before. Now it seemed important.

  “Like what? I need
to know.”

  “Like we were being followed.”

  Small lines grew deeper around his dark brown eyes as again he gripped the arms of the chair.

  Shaking my head to clear the memory, I moved my hands to my lap and went on. “She handed me my new identity. Just like that. On a cold afternoon, I suddenly had a new name with all the supporting documentation.”

  “Until that time you were Araneae?”

  I looked down at my hands and back to his gaze. “No. I told you that I only heard that name once before you. I grew up believing my name was Renee, Renee Marsh.”

  “And when did you hear your real name, other than from me?”

  I half laughed because this reality was as they say, stranger than fiction. “I suppose if I hadn’t heard it that afternoon from my mom, I wouldn’t have believed you when you said it.”

  “She told you?” he asked. “Your adoptive mother knew who you really were?”

  I nodded.

  “Did she tell you anything else?”

  I looked back at my hands as I wrung one and then the other. Though I didn’t look up, nor did I hear him, I knew Sterling had stood. As strange as it sounded, I felt it—a shift in the force surrounding me as he moved closer.

  His hand reached out, lifting my chin, changing my view from my lap and hands to him. “Tell me.”

  “I asked her why I had to go, and she said there were dangerous people after me. It had something to do with my biological father. I never understood exactly, and...” More tears fell from my eyes as I swallowed. “...I never spoke to her again to learn.”

  “Dangerous people?” His thumb gently wiped the tears from my cheek.

  “I asked for a name.” The air around us quivered with expectant energy as Sterling waited for me to finish my thoughts, my limited knowledge of what life had dealt me. I met his gaze. “She said Sparrow.”

  A micro-expression of shock flitted across his features at my confession. Perhaps not shock, but pain. It was as if I’d physically struck him with my words instead of my hand. This time I reached for the large hands before me as I stood. “She said a man named Allister was in charge, but one day it would be his son, Sterling.”