had fucked-up wants, ones they were willing to pay good money to exercise.”
“There’s no economic barrier to perversion. It’s just that the rich can hide it better,” Patrick said before he crossed his arms and paced a few steps. “My list was long—my personal shit. Are there others you plan to visit?” His lips curled. “I wouldn’t mind working with Kader again.”
I looked over at my brother-in-law. “Talk about a sick bastard, Kader fits that bill.”
“Yeah,” Sparrow said. “Glad he’s on our side. Are there—others?”
“Not that I know of,” I replied. “The thing is, the memories Lorna has had were what Laurel calls those flashes. I think some of them are recent. Like Araneae, she has mentioned a dark-haired man. But she said some other things and” —I gestured between me and Mason— “we put it together that it had to do with a man they lived with as kids. And when given the chance at redemption, Maples didn’t deny it.”
“What are the odds,” Patrick began, “that the Ford truck from Montana with the dark-haired man—who may or may not be Andrew Jettison—who shows up on traffic cams near a liquor store where illegal firearms have been delivered is that same Ford truck that left Nancy Pierce on the verge of death to be found with her daughter, and now the clerk at the same liquor store ends up living across the street from where you and Lorna lived with this Maples?”
“Darrell Stephens didn’t have an old black Ford truck, did he?” I asked.
Patrick retrieved his cell phone from his suit coat pocket. “I’ll send Sparrows back to check it out.”
I sat back down and turned to Mason. “What happened to Zella?” When he didn’t answer, I went on, “And her kid?”
“Right now, they’re in a halfway house guarded by some capos.”
“What?” Sparrow asked. “Who is Zella and if she witnessed it and won’t back up the police story, why is she still breathing?”
“She has a kid,” I said.
“Three,” Mason said. “New info. First two are adults.”
“Adults?” I asked. “How old is she?”
Sparrow shook his head. “No. Definitely, without question, no.”
We looked in his direction.
“I don’t care if you’re fucking long-lost siblings or some other shit, no one is moving into the tower.”
“Oh hell no,” Mason said. “I’m not confident of her continued oxygen intake right now. She was a bitch when she was fourteen, and I doubt that has changed. But she might have information.”
“Is the kid with her?” I asked.
“Right now.”
With a groan, I turned my chair back to the computer and moving my mouse to the other side, I brought my screen to life. “Darrell Stephens. What do we know about him? Or Zella? Is her last name Maples?”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Sparrow asked.
“What I do.” Holding my breath, I forced my right arm up to the keyboard.
“No,” Sparrow said. “You’re going to your apartment, and Renita is going to check you over.”
My head shook. “No, for the first time, answers feel close.”
A large hand landed on my shoulder. When I turned, I saw a small cuff of colors coming from beneath his shirtsleeve. “We’re going to your apartment now. Don’t make me carry your sorry ass.”
Lorna
“Ruby said that?” Madeline asked as we gathered the ingredients for dinner, both of us walking in and out of the pantry in the penthouse kitchen.
Biting my lip, I stilled by the large island. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
She stopped and surveyed the items we’d accumulated.
“Is this all we need?” I asked.
Madeline nodded as a smile blossomed over her lips. “I’m excited that I can teach you something, but to be perfectly honest, I never baked pirozhki before. I have enjoyed eating it.”
I made a sad attempt at repeating the name of what we were about to make, my poor attempt eliciting a genuine chuckle from both of us. “I guess it’s fair to say when it came to languages, Mason got the talent.” I looked at the recipe Madeline had found online. “I’ll just call them mini-pies.”
“Yes, that works. And what’s so great is we can make all different kinds. That way everyone can try different ones. Salmon is a typical ingredient, but we can make some without any meat and others with vegetables, and there’s always potato.” She took a deep breath, standing taller, and placing both hands on her lower back.
“Why don’t you sit? I can make the dough.” I looked at the recipe again. “I’m pretty sure I can handle yeast