from slivers of ice chips.
“You must rest. The baby isn’t ready,” Irina soothed, as another woman injected something else into the IV.
“Andros?” I managed to ask during one fit of lucidity.
“Is on his way, sweet girl,” Irina said. “He wasn’t expecting this so soon. None of us were.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated to Irina and my child.
I was sorry.
I was sorry I hadn’t taken better care of my baby.
I was sorry I’d gone with Kristine.
I was sorry I was surrounded by strangers I barely understood.
I was sorry that this was the world I was bringing my child into.
Whatever the woman injected into the IV worked. Warming me from the inside, the medication calmed and lulled me to sleep. When I woke, Andros was sitting in a chair beside the bed. His dark eyes stared at me with the venom of a snake. Silently, his gaze scrutinized and judged.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.” My head shook as more tears filled my eyes.
“When I left, Dr. Katov said you were fine.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Sir, this happens,” the doctor said.
“The child,” Andros said, standing. “Save the child.” With a brief, dismissive glance, he walked away.
What was he saying?
He’s promised I could stay with my baby.
Before I could speak, Irina did.
“And the mother.” She smiled reassuringly as she laid another damp cloth upon my forehead. Though Andros was out of my range of vision, I knew her next sentence was meant for him. “A baby needs his mother.”
“His?” he questioned.
“We do not know,” she said sternly. “But we will soon. She’s closer every minute.”
“I am?” I asked. The pain wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been.
The sky was still bright, yet the clock on the stand read after eight at night. I’d been in labor for over sixteen hours and actively pushing for two when the decision was made that the baby must arrive. The tapping of the baby’s heartbeat coming from the monitor had slowed.
It went without saying that any previous or future course of action would be decided without my approval. Truly, I wasn’t thinking straight. The exhaustion was all-consuming. Though I wasn’t in a position to make my opinion known, I tried.
“Hospital?” I asked Irina.
“Shh, child, it will all be all right. Close your eyes.”
“Save my baby,” I pleaded. “If it’s me or my child, do what Andros said.” My eyelids grew heavy and my words formed slowly. It was difficult to make my lips and tongue cooperate. My last plea to the kind woman who looked after me came in a whisper. “Please take care of my baby.”
Patrick
Present day
Romero drove along the streets of Chicago, taking Sparrow and I from the tower in the sky to the mansion in Lincoln Park. The limestone monstrosity held the original command center of the Sparrow outfit—Allister Sparrow’s inner sanctum, his office within. The night Allister met his demise, Mason, Reid, Sparrow, and I began our search of everything related to the outfit.
Search.
Discover.
Remove.
Today, that same office was the shell of what it had been during Allister’s reign. At the time, Sparrow wanted it all, including the giant wood desk. That desk now sits in Sparrow’s office on the first floor of the penthouse. The reams of incriminating documents were scanned for us and destroyed so others wouldn’t learn their secrets. Within those scans were the answers we hoped to find.
“We’re five minutes away, Molly,” Sparrow said into his phone.
Molly was Genevieve Sparrow’s most trusted employee and longtime house manager. The woman deserved saint status for the years she put up with Sparrow’s mother.
“Inform my mother we’re arriving shortly.” His head shook. “Her schedule can make an exception for her son.” With that, Sparrow disconnected the call.
My lips curled upward. “Five-minute warning shot.”
Sparrow shrugged. “It’s written in stone that Genevieve Sparrow never leaves the house before 10:00 a.m. Waiting to announce my arrival at 9:55 mandates that she’ll be available to see me.”
I feigned shock. “Someone refuses an audience with Sterling Sparrow?”
“More like the other way. As much as I loathe the woman, she’s still my mother and has been at this longer than I have. She has first- and secondhand knowledge that would take us much longer to learn.”
My thoughts went to what Madeline had mentioned about her parents’ car crash. Could it be possible that Mrs. Sparrow had any knowledge of Allister’s conquests and attempts at ridding himself of unwanted heirs?
I worked to separate the man at my side from his father. I owed that to him. If I