by M. S. Parker
Kowalski was on to something. He had to be. He'd just been cautious when he'd told me there wasn't any actual evidence. But if he hadn't been right, I had nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that was something I didn't even want to consider. I had to fix this. I had to find Isadora. No matter what.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see the agent moving to the door.
Finally.
Marcum paused. “I hope she’s as tough as she looks, Mr. Lang.”
“Isadora is tough,” I answered automatically.
“Not your sister,” Marcum said. “Toni Gallagher. She better be way tougher than she looks.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“In case it’s escaped your notice, it’s Friday afternoon.” She made a show of checking her watch. “By the time they get done processing her, it'll be pretty late. And she punched a cop. Nobody’s going to be rushed to get her arraigned. She’ll be spending some time behind bars. All weekend, to be blunt.”
“What the hell ever. They can set bail on weekends.” I tried not to think about how much that idea bothered me.
Marcum gave me an incredulous look. “I'd forgotten what world you lived in. Judges don’t work weekends. Lawyers might. If a case fits certain, shall we say, criteria, she might be let out on bond. But I can tell you now, hitting a cop? Any kind of assault? That ain’t gonna fly. No matter the circumstances. She’s going to have to see a judge before they even come close to letting her out.”
My gut started to get a little queasy as Marcum studied her slim gold watch, her lips pursed.
“She’ll get through processing in a few hours if she’s lucky. Then she’s got all weekend in holding. She might see a judge on Monday. Tuesday is more likely. Her paperwork will probably get lost. And when she does see a judge, they're not going to do her any favors for bail. Now, I don't know the details of her family's financials, but I think it's safe to say that they probably can’t afford whatever bail the judge sets.” Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “See, she doesn’t know all the big-time important people like you. She’s just a regular person. She’s fucked, in short.”
“Am I supposed to care about that?” The thing was…I did. Even as I said the words, I knew I cared. What the fuck? Why did I care? I’d been thinking about Isadora when I'd called in my favors, but now…
Now, I was just…
Shit.
“Pretty, mouthy girl like that, tucked away behind bars. She’s never had to sit in the holding tank before, I bet. Neither have you, I'm sure.” Her eyes gleamed. “It can get pretty ugly, especially since the cops will probably put her in with some unsavory people.”
“She kidnapped my sister!”
“No, she didn’t.” Marcum’s voice was cold and clear…and so certain.
I was torn between wanting to believe her and not wanting to. If the agent was right, then Toni was exactly who she'd always seemed to be…but that also meant I'd royally fucked things up.
“And here’s the thing, Mr. Lang. It doesn't really even matter how the next couple days play out, because she’s probably going to jail anyway.”
“But here you stand insisting she didn’t do anything.” I snorted. “Some faith in the justice system you have.”
Marcum started to laugh. It was caustic, bitter. It ended quickly though and she shook her head. “Educate yourself on the law, Mr. Lang. She struck a police officer while said officer was carrying out her civic duty. That’s second-degree assault. Granted, there was no arrest warrant, no legal way for the cops to force her to come in. And never mind that, in all fairness, she'd told them not to touch her and they really didn't have a legal right to. Or the fact that she'd probably felt trapped, with no way out.”
Trapped…
Toni had a reason to feel trapped. I’d lured her here. I’d told the cops to wait, then used them to ambush her. I’d set this all up and I had no doubt the cops had received the order to make sure Toni was brought in for questioning.
“Never mind that there was no reason for her to even be here in the first place,” Marcum added softly. “No attorney will ask about that, I’m thinking. Why bother trying to set up a clear defense? There were witnesses. You were one of them. I was one of them.” Her smile went even colder. “I guess she won’t be finishing that degree…ever. She hit a cop. That’s a felony.”
Now, in slow motion, I saw it happen again.
The way Toni had stared at me, the anger and betrayal in her eyes. The pain. Then had come the panic as the cops had closed around her. The hurt under the fury when she'd told them not to touch her.
“Have fun,” Marcum said, interrupting my mental reverie. “Explaining, I mean. Once I find Isadora – and I will – have fun explaining to her why her intelligent, caring, assistant is in jail. Why Toni Gallagher will never be a psychiatrist. Congratulations. You helped ruined that girl's life. Have a good day, Mr. Lang.”
I stumbled backward and barely managed to catch myself on the couch. “That’s…shit. She’s…”
But Marcum was already gone.
I shook my head and focused on what I knew. Marcum was speculating. I had a good investigator.
He had pictures.
I looked down. My gaze landed on one of them. It was Toni. Toni and that brother of hers. An older woman, it had to be her mother, bent over both of them from behind while the two siblings were sitting down. The picture caught them laughing.
“Fuck, what were you doing, Kowalski, family portraits?”
It’s family dinner.
Toni’s voice echoed in my ear.
The way her voice had caught. The pain in the words.
Once again, I saw her driving her fist into the cop’s nose.
Slowly, I stood up. I made my way over to the cabinet and helped myself to a bottle. It wasn’t my favorite bourbon, but it didn’t matter. I carried it over to the couch and sat down.
The burn of that first drink didn’t undo anything.
So I had another.
Then a third.
Somewhere along the way, I passed out.
Then I woke up and it was dark, so I had another drink because I could still think, still remember.
I could even still hear Toni’s voice. It’s family…
At some point, I finally passed out and this time, I stayed that way.
***
I lurched awake, unsure what had pulled me from the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness.
A knock on the door?
I practically bolted to my feet, and the second I did, I regretted it.
My stomach rebelled and I swayed, slamming both hands against the wall as I struggled to stay upright, as I tried to make my stomach stay in control.
What was…?
My head abruptly cleared. Oh, the pain was still there. Plenty of that. And the headache, the nausea, the misery…
But I could think.
I’d heard something.
A knock.
Shuffling on stiff legs, I moved into the hallway and stared at the front door. Doug wasn’t here. None of the staff were. I’d given them the weekend off. Normally, Doug wouldn’t have left no matter what, but he’d overheard me going over what I planned with the cops and he'd given me a look that said he wanted no part in it.
Toni. I saw her driving her fist into the officer’s face.
I heard her voice as she said, It’s family dinner. And the look of complete and utter betrayal that had slid into the deepest loathing.
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the empty house. My headache pounded harder and harder and I bent over, thinking I might get sick. I deserved it.
Swallowing the bile in my throat, I straightened. I had to brace a hand on the wall to do it, but I was upright. I took one shambling step, then another. Out into the foyer. I squinted at the door.
Somebody had knocked.
&nb
sp; That was what woke me up.
Somebody had knocked.
Swearing, I opened the door.
Nobody.
Absently, I glanced down. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen it.
But there it was.
A large padded manilla envelope, crumpled and battered, like it had been mailed to hell and back.
Mouth dry, I bent down and picked it up.
Blood started to roar in my ears and it wasn't from the alcohol. I knew what it was without needing to see my name scrawled in black marker on the front of it.
I half fell against the door to shut it as I opened the envelope with shaking hands.
“Sir—”
I vaguely recognized Doug’s voice. I’d been wrong. He hadn’t left.
Several things fell out.
“Sir, you shouldn’t touch—”
“Shut up,” I said dully as I sank to my knees.
The thick, gleaming locks were tied together messily with a piece of what looked like twine. I had no trouble recognizing the heavy curls.
“Iz,” I whispered, broken.
“I’ll call the police.” Doug’s voice was quiet, oddly gentle.
My hand shook as I picked up the folded paper that had also fallen out and read it.
Printed on plain paper, block letters, it listed demands, simple and stark. Money in exchange for Isadora.
I read it through once, twice, three times.
I’d be contacted.
I’d better be ready.
The letter fell from my numb hands as I sat down. It was only then that I noticed the other envelope that had also dropped to the floor. It was smaller, bound closed with rubber bands. I picked it up.
Doug's voice came from above me. “If I tell you again, you shouldn’t touch, will you listen?”
“No.” I was careful though, only touching the rubber bands as much as I had to, handling only the edges of the envelope. Once I had it opened, though, the weight of its contents did the rest.
Photographs spilled out. Dozens of them. My eyes tracked over them, trying to make sense of what I was looking at.
It was Doug who started to reach out this time. I caught his wrist just before he would have touched the one lying nearest to us. The very sight of it chilled me right to the bone. It was Isadora and me, her hand tucked inside mine. I couldn’t see either of our faces, but it was no puzzle as to who it was. It was us.
So was the next one, and the next one…
More than a dozen.
“Some of these are old,” Doug said softly.
I nodded, staring at the photo of the younger images of my sister and me. Standing together, dressed in our finest, as we went to visit our parents' graves. It had been raining that year. I didn't remember anybody photographing us. But then again, I wouldn’t have. Not on the anniversary of their death.
Whoever had taken this had wanted to make sure they weren’t seen. There was something stealthy, secretive, about the pictures.
That feel was echoed in every last one of them, reading right up to the most recent one. It, like the others, had been taken on the anniversary of our parents' death, which had been three months ago.
It didn't matter if that one had been taken before or after Isadora and I met Toni. Even if she'd been some mastermind criminal and had been stalking us for months, there was no way she could've taken those old photographs. She would've only been twelve or thirteen when the first one had been taken. Her brother wouldn't have been much older. Their involvement didn't make any sense.
I closed my eyes, but I could still see the hurt on Toni's face. “What in the hell have I done?”
Marcum's voice answered my rhetorical question. Congratulations. You helped ruin that girl's life.
Blindfold Vol. III
By Cassie Wild and M.S. Parker
Chapter 1
Toni
The burn from my injured knuckles was keeping me from falling asleep at the moment. Admittedly, I didn't think it would work for long because I was exhausted. Adrenaline had long since drained out of me, taking with it all of the numbness that'd been protecting me. All I could feel now was defeat, disgust, and more than a little despair.
To be honest, I kept hoping I'd wake up and discover this had all been a bad dream. But I couldn’t wake up without falling asleep, right?
But a holding cell at the one-nine New York City Police Department wasn’t exactly the kind of place I’d ever want to close my eyes.
My temper had always been a nasty one, but I’d usually been able to keep it under control. I’d always been the cool-headed one in the family – on the surface at least. This was the sort of thing I'd expect from one of my brothers. Vic, maybe. Or Franky. Even though Vic was the ex-con, Franky had always been the one our older brothers had to pull out of fights. My temper paled in comparison to his...but I was the one who’d hit a cop.
It wasn't entirely my fault, though. It wasn’t like I’d expected to ever face a situation quite like the one I'd found myself in a couple hours ago.
The one I knew I should regret.
Part of me did.
I regretted hitting the cop. It hadn't been her fault Ashford Lang was an asshole. I regretted going over there and making it easy for him to set me up.
And it had been a set up.
I regretted humiliating myself like that.
Most of all, I regretted having taken that job in the first place. I wished I’d never heard of the Winter Corporation, or Isadora Lang…or her older asshole brother Ashford. Even as the guilt flooded me, I didn't stop wishing it.
My eyes started to burn, but I held the tears back through sheer stubbornness alone. Crying in here was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd grown up with four older brothers, and I knew how dumb it was to show weakness.
I rubbed at my gritty eyes and tried analyzing the situation even though I'd already gone through it a couple times already. I was still in holding. I hadn’t gone through booking and processing yet. Thanks to Vic, I had a good idea of what happened once the cuffs went on. I sighed. I would've been more than happy to keep my knowledge all second-hand.
Why in the hell had I hit her?
I should have hit Ash.
He'd been the one who deserved it.
The woman sitting next to me shifted, her short skirt hiking up high enough that if she turned towards me, I'd have a good idea of her grooming habits. She’d been escorted in not long after I’d been unceremoniously shoved inside and I didn't have to ask to know what she was in for. After all, I could see her nipples through her barely-there halter-top.
I jerked my gaze away, but not quick enough because she saw me looking at her.
She shot me a look and smirked. “I do girls if you got the money. Could be a good way to pass the time.”
My face went red and I cursed my fair skin. I wasn't usually so easily embarrassed, but I also wasn't used to being propositioned by women. In jail.
The other women in the cell laughed and I just sat there, not knowing what to say or do. Fortunately, once they'd finished, they went back to whatever it was they'd been doing before I came in.
I wasn't sure how much time had passed, only that I'd gotten lost in my thoughts when I felt a pair of eyes on me. I jerked my head up and saw the cop I hit looking at me.
“Have you been making friends?” Her voice sounded funny and I wondered if I'd broken her nose.
“I’m sorry for hitting you,” I said, sincerely. “My temper got the better of me, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“You think that’s going to help?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“No.” I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug and looked away. “I did something stupid, and now I’ll have to deal with the consequences.” After a pause, I muttered, “If you were Lang, I sure as hell wouldn’t be apologizing.”
She lifted a brow. “Maybe you shouldn’t have kidnapped his sister.”
I gave her a withering look. Now I was regre
tting the apology.
The prostitute next to me started to laugh. “You, a kidnapper? Bitch, you ain’t never broke a law in your life. You can’t even look at me without blushing.”
I glared at her this time, but she held my gaze without wavering. It was the officer who walked away without a word.
“Who did you kidnap?”
The question came from a belligerent, heavy-set woman sitting on the bench across from me.
“Nobody.” I sighed and dropped my face in my hands.
“Not what the cop thinks. Who does she think you kidnapped?”
“Does it matter?” I didn’t want to talk about the Langs.
She asked again and I pretended not to hear.
Probably not the best action.
She came up off that bench. She was massive, easily six and a half feet tall. She’d break me in two. I was just about to tell her the answer – hell, I'd tell her anything she wanted – when the girl at my side stood up and got in front of me. “Leave her alone, Rita. She ain’t causin’ you no problem just sittin’ there anyway.”
The woman about to kick my butt – Rita, apparently – took a menacing step toward the prostitute. I hadn't realized how tall the woman next to me was and I suddenly felt smaller than I ever had before. If these two started a fight, there was no way I’d walk away without a scratch.
“What’s it matter to you?” Rita took a step toward my unexpected savior, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe you should just sit down and shut up, Passion.”
The prostitute responded by folding her arms and jutting out her chin.
I didn't want to know what might have happened if an officer hadn’t appeared at the cell at that moment. “Gallagher, Toni.”
I practically jumped up, thinking something was finally going right. Except it wasn't an answer to my prayers. I was simply going to booking. It was...humiliating.
I got my phone call first, though. Fun fact: it’s not true that you’re entitled to one phone call when you get arrested. The cops don’t have to let you call anybody. But if you’re polite, you can make a call, or even two or three. I went out of my way to be as polite as possible, and I made two phone calls. Neither call was to Ash because I planned on never speaking to him again.
