“We’re paying an unexpected visit to the Millstones.” He stood and straightened his suit coat. “They’re retired. Utilizing home security cameras, we know they have one maid. GPS on her car shows that she leaves each afternoon for errands. If her recent history stays true, she’s gone from near one until four each day.”
“And the Millstones?”
“Should be home,” he said. “You asked our plans? First, information. Second, extermination. This won’t be only for Madeline. If they’re both guilty of supplying product for the sexual exploitation in Chicago and have incriminating evidence, it will implicate not only McFadden but also the Sparrow outfit.”
“So we’re on our way to some seaside house on a cliff…” Mason had sent us the address and pictures of the residence. It was impressive. “…to save the Sparrow outfit from negative publicity.”
“Yes and no. We’re on our way for the same reason we went to my mother’s—for information that only they can provide. What do you want from them?” Sparrow asked.
“I want to know what happened to Roberto and Kristine from the Charitable Heart Mission. Because as much as I want to watch the Millstones take their last breath, I want to see the pastor and his wife suffer. Hell, if we still had your father’s stables, I’d personally deliver Kristine to the door.”
“Then it’s settled. In and out. This isn’t a job I want to trust to anyone else,” Sparrow said.
“In and out.”
Madeline
Over sixteen years ago
Wakefulness came slowly, as if I were present in mind but not in body. My heavy eyelids tried to open, to blink away the slumber, yet each one weighed too much. The weight wasn’t only in my eyelids; it was a blanket keeping my arms, legs, and body in place. Nerve endings that once alerted me to stimuli were muted. My ability to speak didn’t transmit to my tongue and lips. Thoughts formed and evaporated into nothingness. Scents and sounds disappeared before they could register. Neither warm nor cold, I was engulfed within a cocoon of nothingness.
I wasn’t certain of how long it lasted, how long I floated outside the boundary of consciousness, until the tightly constructed shell around me began to crack. Small splinters at first fissured until foreign sounds penetrated the darkness.
A cry.
A baby’s cry.
My name.
“Madeline.”
It was repeated over and over as I searched the darkness. Such as wandering through a forest on a pitch-black night, I couldn’t find my way to the child.
Was it the baby that called out to me or someone else?
I was trapped in the darkness, eager to wake.
Finally, I willed my eyes to open. Just as quickly, I blinked them shut.
The room around me was bright with sunlight, and beside the bed, where once there had been a chair, was now the small baby bed they called a bassinet. A groan came from my dry throat as I attempted to move. My hands came to my midsection and my fingers splayed. Beneath my nightgown, my flesh was tender and soft. My abdomen was no longer enlarged; my baby was gone.
“Help,” I called, quietly at first, but with each attempt my volume rose.
Scoot by scoot, I made my way to the side of the bed. My once-muted nerves came back to life as pain radiated from my midsection. Ignoring the warning, I pulled myself to the edge of the bed and lowered my feet to the floor. Before I could stand, the door behind me opened.
“Madeline, you must rest.”
I quickly turned to Irina. “My baby.”
“Yes,” she said, rushing toward me. “Lie back. You must be careful of your stitches.”
“No.” I didn’t care about my stitches or the pain or anything other than my baby. I forced myself to stand.
Peering down into the small bed, my knees gave out.
The bed was empty.
“Where is my baby?” I cried, fighting the onset of emotions. There were too many to recognize, creating a tidal wave capable of submerging me until I was tossed about like a buoy freed in a turbulent storm only to be lost at sea.
Irina rushed to the side of the bed. “She’s in the nursery. Dr. Kotov has looked her over…”
She.
Her.
My baby was a girl.
“A girl,” I said, looking up at the woman before me.
“Yes, and she is small, but the doctor is confident she’ll be well.”
“I need to see her, Irina.” When she didn’t respond, I did all I could do. I begged. “Please, take me to her.”
“You must rest, too, for her.”
“Please, Irina.”
Her expression cooled as her lips came together, yet despite that, she reached for my hands and with an arm around my shoulder helped me stand. “Slowly,” she instructed.
“Thank you.”
My teeth clenched as with each step, what had been a dull ache throbbed to life inside me. Fire streaked through me, shooting pain until tears teetered upon my lids. “Did I have surgery?”
“Yes, your daughter became distressed.”
“But she’s all right?” I asked.
As we came to the pocket door separating my suite from her room, I saw the clear bed where the bassinet had been. There were boxes near it with monitors and numbers. The bed was enclosed with a light above it.
I took another step closer. “What are they doing to her?”
“The bed has oxygen. Her lungs are too young. She needs help breathing.”
My fingers splayed over the glass as I peered down at the beautiful baby within. Even being early, her small head was covered in a fine layer of dark hair. Her eyes were covered by a small blindfold as a light shined down upon her. Only wearing a tiny diaper, her skin was almost translucent, showing a network of red and blue lines beneath.
“Can she hear me?” I asked.
Irina nodded.
“Baby,” I said aloud, turning my full attention on her. “It’s me, your mommy.”
Irina pulled the rocking chair close to the bed. “Let me help you to the bathroom, and then you can sit here if you’d like.”
I turned to the older woman. “Is she…will she be all right?”
“Dr. Kotov believes she will.”
“Andros?” I wasn’t certain of what I was asking. I just knew that while living here, within his compound and home, all decisions were his and his alone.
“Mr. Ivanov wants you both to get well. Perhaps you will have more children—boys next time.”
I couldn’t be hearing correctly. “He wants me to have other children? I-I…”
Irina covered my hand with hers. “Not soon, child. In the future. Now you both must heal.”
Heal.
It was what Andros said when he bought me. It was my task then and now.
I looked again at the little baby. “How much does she weigh?”
“Her weight is good for her gestation, four pounds and two ounces.”
That was so small.
Panic bubbled through me. “Can she eat?”
“See the tube,” she said, pointing to one in her nose. “She’s eating that way now. When she’s bigger, she’ll be able to eat. Let me help you to the bathroom.”
I didn’t want to look away now that she was here. I didn’t care if she was early or about her tiny size—I cared that she survived. “Baby, you’re part of your mommy and daddy. You’re a survivor. Never forget that.”
I’d not considered that Irina was listening or that according to the story I’d held true, I didn’t know my baby’s father. My eyes flashed to Irina’s.
If she heard, she didn’t respond.
“Do you have a name chosen?” she asked.
A small seed of joy burst in my chest. “Do I get to choose her name?”
“You’re her mother.”
“Andros?”
“He said it’s up to you. Her last name will also be Miller.”
Miller.
This innocent baby didn’t deserve the name Miller. She wasn’t
one of Dr. Miller’s girls. She wasn’t an offspring resulting from being one of his girls. She was a Kelly, like her mother and her father. I decided to concentrate on the positive. “Andros said I could name her?”
Despite my circumstances, it wasn’t difficult to see the positive.
Two months ago, I didn’t know if I’d ever see my child, and now I was not only with her but also naming her.
Irina smiled. “Yes, child. Give it some thought.”
“I will.”
The next ten days were spent in constant vigil. I slept when I could, taking small naps in my bed and longer ones in the chair at my baby’s bedside. The summer heat continued outside, yet I stayed within the confines of my suite and the nursery. While Irina and Dr. Kotov came and went as well as others of Andros’s staff, I hadn’t seen him, not until the tenth night.
I was in the rocking chair when the door to the nursery opened. Being used to the coming and going of others, I didn’t move until I heard his voice.
“Do you have a name for the girl?”
Quickly, I turned and stood. During the time that had passed, I’d healed, and my daughter had grown bigger and stronger.
There Andros stood, one hand on the doorknob with his width and height filling the doorway. The light from the hallway created a silhouette, and yet his dark stare came my way.
“I’m sorry if you wanted a boy.” I recalled the senator’s comment about a boy.
“It makes no difference,” he replied. “I gambled. It wasn’t a loss. You will have more.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. His statement was just that, a command. “Andros, right now, may we concentrate on her?”
“Her name?” he asked again.
I’d given her name days of consideration. I thought of Patrick and female derivations—Patrice, Patricia, or even Trisha. While I loved the idea, saying them made my heart ache. Each time I looked at our daughter, my heart would know she was his. It was too much and too raw to allow my lips to repeat his name.
However, there was one recurring thought that I had when thinking about the time Patrick and I’d been together; it was our meeting. I recalled the young boy who pulled me into his safe place, his hole in the wall. I recalled the police chase and what I’d stolen—a ruby-red apple.
When I was young, my mother had bought me an inexpensive birthstone ring. Being born in January, my birthstone was a garnet—a deep blood-red stone. Thinking of the apple, I recalled the lighter red stone that represented the month of July—ruby.
Her first name was decided. I’d call her Ruby, for both the apple and the month of her birth.
My job wasn’t complete. Ruby needed a middle name. I’d gotten mine from my mother, Alycia. I could give Ruby my name or her grandmother’s, but someone else came to mind, someone I wanted to believe with all my heart was a survivor like my Ruby. Maybe using her name would give my daughter the same will to survive.
While it was true that I’d never know her fate for sure, I wanted to believe my friend Cindy was with her child and healthy. I wanted to think of her with clean clothes, skin, and hair. When I closed my eyes and thought of her, I wanted to believe that her dream came true. Maybe it could if I let her live on in my daughter.
“Ruby Cynthia Miller,” I said.
“Then we will have a birth certificate made.” With that Andros turned to leave.
“Wait, don’t you want to see her?”
He turned back. “I was there when they brought her into the world.”
“You were?”
Taking a deep breath, his chest expanded and contracted. “She is beautiful and resilient like her mother.”
I reached toward him, extending my fingers. “Please.”
Step by step, he crossed the nursery until he stood at my side, both of us peering down at the infant inside the clear bassinet.
“For a short time,” I said, “we can open the top if you’d like to touch her.”
Andros’s body stiffened at my side.
I looked up, not sure what I’d see.
His dark stare met mine. “I told you that I’m not good, nice, or any of those things you want to pretend I am.”
“You saved Ruby and I from a life that wasn’t one. A life we probably wouldn’t have survived.”
“I didn’t save you, Madeline. You have a purpose here. This isn’t…” He took a step back. “I don’t know what to do with an infant.”
My head tilted. “I remember what you said on the plane. You said we’d learn together.”
His dark gaze lingered on her and returned to me. “What do I have to do to you for you to hate me?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I want…” He stood taller. “I want you to get well and…Ruby. When Dr. Kotov clears you, we will make another child.”
“We?” I asked, thinking of the night a week prior to Ruby’s birth.
“Yes, my child will be a son. He won’t be denied what is his. And through it all you may hate me, but you’ll comply for her and the others.”
He was right.
I would.
Standing above my sleeping daughter, I knew that I would do whatever he wanted to stay at her side.
Andros reached for my chin and turned me to him. “Will you agree?”
“Yes, Andros.” There were many emotions that I’d experienced since I’d been brought to Detroit. Currently, hate wasn’t one of them. With my daughter safe and cared for, the one prominent among them was gratitude. “I don’t hate you, Andros.”
“Give me time. You will.”
Patrick
Present day
Sparrow called ahead for a favor in the form of a car and driver. The call wasn’t made to any Sparrow in the area. This visit was too covert for that. The man driving us was from a cartel we’d worked with in the past. In exchange for their help once before, we’d granted them limited access to Chicago in the form of selling heroin. Since the cartel was based out of Denver, the man wasn’t local. He’d also made a trip to San Clemente and had the perfect qualifications: quiet and didn’t ask questions. Once our trip was complete, this man would head back to Colorado and we to Illinois. There would be no record of our renting a car or arriving. Our flight plans were made with an alternate identity, that of a rarely used shell company.
In and out.
Our research showed us that the Millstones had done well for themselves, complete with a home secure within a gated community that sat upon a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Each home also contained a widow’s watch patio for sunsets.
During our travels, we’d followed the sun. Though the flight was four and a half hours, the clock had only advanced two and a half. When we arrived in San Clemente, the time was early afternoon and as we planned, the Millstones’ maid was out of the house.
Reid or Mason had done what they did and cleared our car for entry into the neighborhood. The man from the cartel merely waved and we were allowed entry beyond the community gates. Fourteen houses made up the neighborhood. Only four had cliffside views, one being the Millstones’ home.
During our airplane conversations with those still in Chicago, Reid explained that he would override the Millstones’ private security system. The cameras and audio would fail to record, and if at any point an attempt to contact the authorities was made, it would be diverted and deleted.
Sparrow and I studied the blueprint of the Millstones’ home as well as the schematic of their property. The decorative landscaping of each estate created nice obstructions to the neighbors’ views. The focus of each home, whether cliffside or not, was the blue water of the Pacific Ocean. Watching the comings and goings of the street view was the job of the security. With Reid and Mason’s assistance, that would be resolved.
Our best access to entering their home was a side door partially hidden by shrubbery, off the garage. Once within, we could enter the residence through the garage directly into a coat room off of the kitchen. This entrance was mostly used by the ma
id and any other workers. It was the safest option for us to enter and exit unseen.
Initially, our driver waited in the driveway as Sparrow and I both slipped from the car.
This wasn’t our first clandestine job working as a team. Through the years, the four of us—Sparrow, Reid, Mason, and I—had worked together in every combination possible. We all had our talents. Those years developed a sixth sense where words were rarely necessary and trust abounded.
Less than a minute later, the two of us were inside the garage with our hands covered by latex gloves. With a push to the interior control button, we opened the large garage door, and the driver pulled the car inside. Once it was there, we closed the garage door. It would have been more conspicuous to stay on the street or in the driveway. Few observers question a car entering someone else’s garage.
It must be a friend or trusted employee.
The willingness of bystanders to accept the most benign reasoning made what we did much easier. No one saw things out of the ordinary and first jumped to the conclusion of malfeasance.
We removed the guns we were carrying from their holsters and opened the door to the house. Without manipulation, the knob turned.
Unlocked.
Slowly pushing the door within, we scanned the coat room. Built-in shelving, a bench, and pegs covered in jackets lined one wall. More cabinetry lined the other. Our shoes made no noise upon the tile as we quietly approached the entry of the kitchen.
The sounds from a television wafted through the air, coming from the living area. I scanned the kitchen for any sign of trouble. Nothing was out of place. According to the blueprint, the homes in this neighborhood were all given the open feel, allowing for an ocean view from many angles. At the back stairs, Sparrow gave me a nod and step by step ascended the stairs to the second floor while I canvassed the first.
The woman Madeline had named, Wendy Millstone, had her back toward the kitchen. Sitting upon a long white sofa, her mind was upon a television drama playing on a large screen before her. Her head shook as she mumbled to herself about the unrealistic storyline. Another step and I saw that her phone lay upon a large glass coffee table beside a fresh floral arrangement.
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