The Sparrows—before our current leader wiped out the old regime—and the McFaddens agreed to share the market. We’d worked to close down the Sparrow side. While we weren’t the ones who uncovered all of Rubio McFadden’s dirt, we simply exposed it to the world and let the authorities do their job.
Sometimes it was nice to remind ourselves that while we didn’t play by conventional rules, we also didn’t advocate the sale of women and children. I realized it wasn’t a high bar, but it was one we exceeded—Sparrow’s passion. He’d come into wealth because of his parents, his mother’s money and father’s business sense. That didn’t mean he approved of all his father had done.
Closing down the Sparrow side of trafficking in Chicago had been Sterling Sparrow’s mission since he was young. When we all met in basic training, we found we had similar desires. Mason lost his youngest sister. It’s never been proven that she was placed in that horrific world. Of course, it was never proved that she wasn’t. Sometimes the unknown is worse than the known. While I never told the others about Maddie, I would suspect that losing her when I did and believing she was dead helped shape my longing to end that particular corruption involving women and children. Reid had his own reasons, and together, we vowed to stop at nothing.
The ripples Sparrow’s abrupt shutdown created exceeded our expectations, creating an even more dangerous world involving others who were determined to take back Chicago and reinstate business as usual. It’s easy to concentrate on the victims. They should be the focus. Currently, that was Sparrow’s wife’s mission. She began a foundation centered on helping victims of sex trafficking. Mason’s wife’s mission was more scientific, a drug to suppress traumatic memories. She was fucking brilliant, and while her formula had awakened turmoil, she was still determined to succeed. Now with the help of the Sparrows, she was closer to her dream.
We were prepared for what would happen in Chicago, we thought. In reality the shock waves occurred throughout the merchandising chain. Shutting down the core outfit, the stables—as Allister Sparrow’s men referred to them—were the first dominos in a long line to fall.
Anger and violence flared up all around the city and country. Customers lost their ability to act upon their sick-as-fuck desires. Finders and suppliers lost their source of income. Managers who ran the facilities where people paid a price to live out their sick fantasies, as well as those who transported the victims to willing customers, were affected.
We uncovered that victims were typically used until their usefulness expired. According to some of the records we found in Allister’s safes, the reasons for their dismissal varied. It ranged from mental instability to physical infirmity. Often, he or she was damaged by a customer or sometimes despite the attempts to stop it, pregnancy occurred.
Sales channels for all of the various situations had been established. A healthy baby could be sold for a profit above that of sustaining the pregnancy. When it came to selling the victims, most channels led beyond the border of our country. Again, it was a network of people, transporting and delivering.
Truly the fallout mushroomed larger than we’d anticipated.
For years it was a tempest, waxing and waning with the focus on retaliation against Sterling Sparrow. And through it all, we prevailed, keeping Chicago under Sparrow reign.
That wasn’t to say Chicago was without crime or to insinuate that the Sparrow outfit didn’t profit handsomely from illegal activities. It simply meant that as a young boy, the leader of our outfit sought to right one wrong, and while he—we—were guilty of a million sins, that one point of redemption still remained.
“Mr. Kelly,” Romero called from the dining room, “are you watching Ms. Miller’s GPS?”
I had been earlier, but since confirming her safety in the car, I’d been concentrating on other things. “Why?”
“I wasn’t watching or listening,” he said. “I’ve been watching the island retreat. I’m sorry.”
My skin bristled beneath my linen shirt. “Why are you sorry?”
He pointed to one of the screens. “It’s no longer recording a heart rate.”
I took a step closer. “What about the audio?”
“It’s muffled, sir. Like it’s been placed inside of something.”
Did she take it off?
Would she do that?
Why?
I reached for a pair of earphones. “I want the recording and keep monitoring the live feed.”
A few hits on the keyboard and I was able to go back in time to before the necklace stopped broadcasting. Closing my eyes, I listened as I followed the GPS indicator en route to Elliott’s ranch. I’d listened to most of this in real time. There was nothing to hear as Madeline’s heart rate remained steady.
The corresponding map showed the car entering the ranch. According to satellite footage, the road to the house was rather long. Finally, the car came to a stop. A minute passed and then another.
Why wasn’t she getting out of the car?
After nearly four minutes, the sound of a door opening could be heard.
“Madeline.” Even with only one word, I recognized Elliott’s drawl. “Madeline, dear.”
I sat taller, my eyes opening wide as I waited for her response.
The voices were now farther away, coming through a vacuum. There was more than one, some raised and others steady. I couldn’t make out their words as I waited for Madeline to speak.
“Lift her carefully.” Again it was Elliott. “Take her upstairs.”
“Sir, is she all right?” It was a woman speaking.
“Eloise, as I mentioned, Ms. Miller has undergone a difficult time. I’m sure she’s simply exhausted. Follow David upstairs and help her to rest comfortably.”
A difficult time?
I sat taller. Without confirmation, I could assume Madeline was unconscious, most likely drugged. Yes, you asshole, that was a difficult time.
Madeline wouldn’t take off the necklace of her own free will.
“Yes, sir.”
I paused the recording. “They fucking drugged her. She’s unconscious.”
All three men were standing near me. Garrett had his phone out, relaying my findings to someone in Chicago.
The next few minutes were nothing more than footsteps and breathing. I could only assume she was in this man David’s arms.
“You may go now,” the woman said. “I’ll help Ms. Miller.”
The heart rate upon the screen stopped. A few minutes passed, and the sound grew muffled as it had been when I listened live.
Unable to stay seated, I threw off the headphones and stood. “Goddamn it. She’s unconscious and a woman removed the necklace.”
“Do you think she knew it was a transmitter?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say. I heard Elliott, but he wasn’t alone. I don’t know if the other voices were Ivanov and Hillman or maybe his drivers and staff. Whoever is responsible for this has her now at Elliott’s ranch.”
“Sir,” Garrett said, handing me his phone, “Mr. Pierce would like to speak to you.”
I reached for the phone and putting it to my ear, I stalked into the fourth bedroom. “What? Tell me you’re still in Chicago.”
“I am. You’re right. I’m staying with Sparrow, but you need to get your fucking head on straight.”