Hush Little Baby

by Alex Gates

  Reissing didn’t flinch. “Such determination! London, you are relentless, aren’t you? We need more people like you on our side.”

  And which side was that? No platitudes could hide the unspoken threats. No sense disrupting the party. I’d sing and dance for their little puppet show, but once the night was over, so was the pretending. I’d end this, once and for all.

  “I’m just doing my job.” The thought ached in me. How much champagne and caviar could I inhale while Hannah starved and shivered on the streets?

  If she had escaped.

  Reissing nodded. “You’re doing good work, London. And lately I keep hearing your name. Everyone is talking about you, my dear.” A warning? I’d take it as the only real compliment of the evening. “You’ve become the city’s lucky penny. I might have to borrow you.”

  A laugh interrupted the fun. Kent Travers slapped a hand against Reissing’s shoulder. The stylish lobbyist had abandoned the bar and joined the fun. Every bit as handsome as Harding, his dark skin and darker eyes boasted a more effervescent confidence. The sort of man who’d wear a suit to a fancy party, then change into jeans with rolled up sleeves on a dress shirt to prove what an everyday sort he could be.

  “Lucky penny?” Travers hooted. “With your luck at the tables, Ed, she better be hiding two rabbits’ feet in those heels and a horseshoe in her purse.” He winked at me, so much charm oozing from his laugh that I worried the floor would slicken with all the bullshit. “Only one way to find out, sweetheart.”

  “Shouldn’t have crossed under that ladder to avoid the black cat this morning,” I said. “I’ve never been particularly lucky.”

  Travers swirled his bourbon, but he didn’t drink it. “Ed, learn to count to twenty-one first, then worry about your luck.”

  “Got a little trip to Atlantic City planned, Kent. And, once I’m back, I’ll ask you if want any ketchup or A-1 sauce to help you eat those words.”

  “Atlantic City? You’ll break Geralt’s heart.” Kent chuckled at the group. “Ed practically financed the Rivers Casino with his losses.”

  Esposto grinned. “And who was the bastard who lobbied and made sure the good judge had a place to gamble away his future pension?”

  “Guilty as charged.” Travers drank to that.

  Interesting.

  I met James’s gaze. He nodded too. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen evidence of Reissing’s penchant for gambling—especially as he was one of the most vocal voices in support of Pittsburgh’s casino and the economic opportunity it presented to the region. Reissing’s hobby was an open secret. So were his losses. He wasn’t counting cards, he counted busts. Strange luck for man with that much money.

  Must have had one very benevolent guardian angel picking up his tabs.

  A chorus of voices called for the judge. He offered me one final stare—nothing kind, nothing revealing. Just a solid, patronizing gaze that simmered me into silence.

  “I should greet more of my guests,” he said. “London, I am absolutely honored that you were able to attend this event of mine. It’s a shame we didn’t have more time to talk.”

  “Oh, don’t worry.” I hummed. “I think we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

  “As I say to all my friends on the police force…” He playfully wagged his finger. “It’d be best for the city if our professions didn’t bring us together. I’d rather an empty courtroom.”

  But I didn’t mind a jail jam-packed with all the right people.

  James excused us, though we paused once more to shake the hand of Grant Harding. Adamski would’ve been proud of me, making friends with politicians. A lot of good that did. Difficult to expose the men as the slime they were while trapped within the formalities of polite society.

  More cautious than me, James waited until we claimed our own private corner of the party before speaking. He angled his broad shoulders as if he could shield me from the bullseye painted on my forehead. It was sweet, but I didn’t need his protection. I just needed to know what he’d heard—to tell me I wasn’t crazy.

  At least, not any worse than usual.

  “Care to tell me I’m paranoid now?” I asked.

  His mocha voice caressed me like the back of his fingers on my bare arm. Casual, comfortable. Worried? “You should be careful.”

  “Did you get a read on Reissing?”

  “Yes.”

  Not a lot of people got to sleep with their secret weapon. “And what did you think? Is he threatening me? Is he dangerous?”

  “He’s a coward.”

  That didn’t sound right. “Are you sure?”

  James tended to be reserved, but even he got a little cocky when he knew he was right. “Reissing is a coward, but he thinks he can face his own demons. And that makes him exceedingly dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  He scanned the party. “Reissing uses his position as a judge to project his authority. But after decades of commanding his court rooms, he’s beginning to realize his power is a result of his job, not his presence. He fears the limits of his control, the end of his authority, and how fragile his influence has become.”

  “You got that from some small talk over champagne?”

  “Think about it, London. Every day he subjects children to his rulings. Children. The weakest members of society with the fewest rights and least representation. He commands them with his interpretations of the law and how he believes a life is meant to be lived. That’s a tremendous amount of power over those who can’t oppose him, but now Reissing realizes it doesn’t extend beyond the court house. Every day he’s amazed by his own importance, how easily he controls a person’s future…but he knows the power isn’t absolute. He controls nothing outside of the court’s set hours and earns no respect unless he is trapped within his own prison—the four walls of his courtroom.”

  “And that terrifies him,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “So, he’s desperate to expand his control. Is that why he gambles?”

  Right on the money. James nodded. “He likes the rush and excitement and lights and reward and camaraderie. Just like any other gambler, he gets a high from that split-second of adrenaline that comes before the flip of the cards.”

  “But he loses more than he wins.”

  “Nearly everyone does.”

  I spied through the columns and tables, searching the crowd for the judge. “You’d think he’d be smarter about it.”

  Always the professional, James hid his amusement well. But I knew his mind—how it twisted in dangerous fascination of mental insecurities, obsessions, and illnesses. It was why he was good at his job. Why he protected so many people. Why it took me so long to trust the only man who understood the monster lurking in my memories.

  “He’s smart,” James said. “No one can master luck, but Reissing believes he has that power. He thinks he can read the cards, feel the room, and instinctually know when the odds turn to his favor.”

  “It’s superstition.”

  “It’s supernatural to him. Outside of the court, he has nothing. So, in the casino, he’s invented his own realm of authority. Master the cards, and he masters his superiority over most others.”

  Pathetic. “Is it the same with big game hunting? Shooting elephants, lions, hippos?”

  “Never underestimate a man’s eternal longing to showcase his masculinity—the root of all authority.”

  I snorted into my champagne. “He’s just measuring his dick?”

  “Pride. Power. Control. Take your pick.” His breath escaping in a tense sigh. His fingers brushed my cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Stay as far away from him as you can, London.”

  “I can’t make that promise,” I said.

  “No. You don’t want to make that promise.” He frowned, uneasily gazing over the rich, powerful, and dangerous mingling in the party. “Honesty means nothing if you end up dead.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “And if it come
s down to protecting yourself or protecting those girls?”

  I didn’t want to answer. The swallowed sip of my champagne delayed my response long enough for us to get swept into a mindless conversation of small talk and banter with a few couples eager to hear the salacious details of Baby Hope’s case. Conversations led to dinner, dinner to coffee, coffee to more cocktails, and cocktails to awkward, bumbling dancing.

  Our cue to leave.

  James and I snuck from the party and into the cool April air. My heels clipped against the sidewalk, and I regretted wearing my prettiest—and least comfortable—pair of heels.

  Over the years, Station Square had become one of Pittsburgh’s more commercial and exciting districts, revitalized from the old rail yard. The city had changed over the years, once industrial and caked in ash, now trendy and bathed in bright lights. At least the night was nice for our walk across the Smithfield Street Bridge, crossing the Monongahela River to the parking lot on the opposite bank.

  Bad shoes and bad parking. At least the Mon Wharf—the stretch of land bordering the river—had decent prices. Usually I wouldn’t mind the walk, but two blisters on my pinky toes later made me wish a flood on the wharf. We should have just circled the parking garage outside of the restaurant for another half an hour to find a better spot.

  James didn’t hide his amusement, loving my teetering, shuffled steps. Not quite the lean, mean cardio machine he’d fallen for. “I can bring the car to you.”

  With his low light vision? No way. “I’m tougher than a pair of heels.”

  “You look good.”

  “I clean up well.”

  “No reason we couldn’t do things like this more often.” He slowed his pace for me. “Dinners out. Dressing up. Going to all the exclusive places in the city.”

  “What about our pizza and six-pack Fridays?” I shrugged. “Didn’t think you liked the fancy stuff.”

  “I don’t, but you deserve it. And I want to be the man who provides it.”

  “I don’t need to be provided for.”

  “That won’t stop me from doing it.”

  I hobbled to the car without much bloodshed. I tossed the heels into the back and sunk behind the wheel with a relieved sigh. James took my hand.

  “I’m serious, London,” he said. “I want to spoil you. Fancy dinners. Vacations. I think it’d be good for you.”

  “You’re good for me. That’s all I need. Don’t go comparing us to others, James. You know I’m…we’re different.”

  “You don’t think we could have a more normal life? Date nights in the city? Vacation to the beach twice a year? Stable hours?” He smirked. “Not asking for the marriage and kids yet. Just for less…”

  I started the car and checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror, flinching as a pair of douche-bag high beams blinded me from across the lot. “Less what?”

  “Risk.”

  “I have a risky job. But you have to trust me.” I squinted as the truck’s high beams made it impossible to see behind me as I pulled out. “I can take care of myself. I know I have nothing to prove.”

  But now…I had everything to lose. Career. Life.

  James.

  I edged our car out of the space. “It’s sweet that you’re overprotective, but nothing is going to—”

  Tires squealed. Headlights flashed in my mirrors.

  James and I lurched forward, shouting as we were slammed against the wheel and dash.

  The truck with the high beams collided with us at full speed. Metal crunched and crashed as the truck surged forward. The impact twisted the car, but stomping the brakes did nothing. Rammed across the parking lot, we slid, the tires squealing against asphalt and loose gravel.

  Within seconds, I lost control.

  The truck reversed only to gain more momentum. It bashed into my side once more, careening our car forward, beyond the spaces and through the rusted loop of metal chain protecting the edge of the wharf from the lapping Monongahela River.

  We twisted over the edge, the wheels spinning over nothing as the car shuddered and dropped.

  Into the river.

  We sunk beneath the water.

  13

  “Are you afraid of death…

  Or do you fear losing control?”

  -Him

  “London! London!”

  James never yelled. Never panicked.

  He shouted now.

  “London, talk to me! Are you okay?”

  I blinked hard.

  Christ. What the hell hit me?

  My head throbbed and my neck ached like someone had coiled my spine like a twist-tie. The blast of light hadn’t faded from my vision yet. Twin headlights—high beams—were forever seared into my retinas.

  James ripped off his suit jacket and barreled over me, ripping at my waist. I groaned, trying to push him away as he tangled with my seatbelt.

  “London…wake up,” he ordered. “The car’s flooding.”

  His words didn’t make sense until my toes chilled in a spilling wetness. I lurched. My left leg didn’t. The crumpled door of James’s Ford Taurus pinned my knee between the metal and the seat.

  “James…” My ankle was twisted but not broken. Couldn’t say the same for my pounding head. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  The car’s electrical system shorted, spiraling us into blackness. The darkness flooded the cabin as quickly as the water. The parking lot’s sickly yellow lights did nothing but cast a glare against the water licking the windows. The windshield darkened. A curtain of roiling blackness boiled over the glass.

  The river.

  The vehicle had plunged nose first into the cold, choppy water of the Monongahela River. Dark and dirty, it swallowed us whole, sinking us deep down in the ten-foot channel that sliced through the heart of the city.

  My heart seized, rocketing against my chest. A little too quick, a little too painful. I touched my ribs. Sore. Insanely sore. How hard did I smack into the wheel?

  How hard did the truck hit us?

  The driver’s door was completely crumpled. The glass spider webbed, one good shake from shattering. A thin stream of water trickled inside as the river splashed against the car.

  Oh God.

  How long did we have before it filled the interior?

  “Are you hurt?” James shouted, but I couldn’t hear him over the rush of blood in my ears and the unsettling, nauseating glug glug glug of water flooding the engine. “We gotta get out before the water gets any higher. You think you can swim?”

  I was a lifeguard in high school, but I trained for chlorinated, well-lit pools, not the swirling depths of a muddy river full of fish and silt. Not like I had a choice. As soon as James opened his door, the water would pour in. If I couldn’t get out of the car then…

  The panic moved me. James braced against his door. I did the same. Grabbed the handle. Pushed.

  It didn’t budge.

  “James!” I bashed a hand against the door, but it stuck, bent awkwardly against the wrecked frame. “I can’t! It won’t move!”

  James clenched his jaw, but he didn’t get upset. “It’s fine. You’ll have to get over to my side. Get up. Start crawling.”

  I twisted, pitching the seatbelt further away from me. But I couldn’t get free. The darkness ensnared us, and I had to smack the dash, steering wheel, door to learn where I was and what pinned my knee. The wetness running down my leg mixed with the water surging up.

  Blood?

  I bled, anchored in place by something sharp.

  I shoved my hands between the seat and my knee. The thick plastic of the dash bent, but it wouldn’t move. The door wedged me between the wheel, the seat, and whatever remained of my side of the cabin.

  “I’m stuck!”

  The water rose like black ink, blotting us into the nothingness that lurked beneath the ripples. I grunted, sucking in a breath of chemical-tainted air. Oil, dirt, and grime leeched into the water, polluting it with all the dust clinging to the filters. It taint
ed the surface with a terrifying scent of gasoline.

  “Push the wheel.” James reached for me. “Can you move the seat back?”

  No.

  God no.

  I couldn’t bend. Couldn’t twist out of the door’s hold. I lurched to the side. It did nothing but agonize my torn skin and dizzy my whiplashed head.

  I forced a calming breath of acrid air. It only terrified me more. It’d be one of the last good breaths I’d be able to take before the car sunk like a stone and trapped us beneath the river’s unforgiving waves.

  How much time did we have? A car could bob for a minute before sinking. But I’d lost consciousness after the impact. How many precious seconds were gone, blacked out and worthless?

  The water poured into the creaking cabin, rising inches with my every savored breath. I fought to keep the champagne and fancy salad in my gut. As the hood tilted down, my stomach twisted tighter.

  This wasn’t happening.

  Not like this. Not when I couldn’t focus, couldn’t free myself.

  Couldn’t prevent the waters from rushing into our dwindling pocket of air.

  “Get out!” I pushed at James. “Go now, while you can open your door!”

  “And then the water will fill the car. I can’t open it while you’re pinned.”

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. “It’s fine! I can get out. I just gotta wiggle. Don’t wait for me.”

  “Like hell.” James dove over the center console, whipping his phone out of his pocket for the flashlight. “I’m not moving until you’re free.”

  Then they’d haul his corpse out of the car too.

  He pulled at the dash, ripping a piece of plastic from under the wheel. It didn’t help. The door pinned my knee within the wreckage.

  My voice wavered as the water poured into the car.

  Fifty degrees? Maybe? Too cold to function. It seized every muscle in my body.

  I pleaded with him, shouting over my own racing heartbeat. “What are you waiting for! Go!”

  James didn’t listen. He slammed his hand against my door as the river flooded the cabin. Nothing. Completely stuck. The water passed to my waist. He sat up to catch his breath.