Patrick had informed me of his concern—that there had been someone else in the hotel room with Winnie. He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to confirm it with Araneae, but that didn’t matter. We had our ways.
We had Reid.
Seventy-two minutes before Winnie returned to her hotel, Andrew Walsh entered her room, using a master key. Prior to the meeting, Reid hadn’t looked back in time, only forward. Our facial recognition system confirmed him as Andrew Walsh, the one of McFadden’s outfit, the one from Wichita. The difference between the man at the airport and now was that currently there was a badge hanging from his belt that hadn’t been there before. Closer inspection of the badge through the security footage confirmed that it was FBI. With that new bit of information came a new search by Reid.
A few minutes ago on the telephone~
“Sparrow, I’m sorry. I didn’t look backward,” Reid said through the phone.
I tried to rein in my anger. Araneae was safe and back with Patrick. That was the ultimate goal. Now I needed to know what happened in that room.
Why did Winnie have an FBI agent in her room?
“Find out who the fuck he really is.”
If anything had happened to Araneae, I would need a new set of trusted right-hand men. They’d both fucked up. Reid hadn’t researched the security footage well enough, and Patrick had allowed her to go in the room alone.
Hanging up with Reid, I called Patrick. “What the fuck part of don’t let her out of your sight was difficult to understand?”
“Sparrow, she can be...convincing. It was a one-room hotel room. I never would have done it if I couldn’t be right outside. I was. I would have kicked the damn door in if necessary.”
I knew too well how convincing Araneae could be.
“It was a direct order to both of you.” I reminded him.
“You also told me, in front of her, to listen to her. She likes to remind me of that.”
Rage and hysteria must be closely related. While I was on the verge of taking out my wrath on my trusted friend, listening to him speak about how convincing, how conniving Araneae could be, made me smile—hell, I almost laughed.
Almost.
“Where is she now?” I asked.
“She and Winnie went in her office and closed the door. I told Araneae I wanted to speak to her and she...well, she went in her office with Winnie to complete the conversation from the hotel. She said they’d been on a time limit there. Now she wanted to talk.”
My head shook as I listened, imagining Araneae’s pert lips and straight-as-a-stick neck with her shoulders squared. When she was determined, it radiated from her every pore.
“So you haven’t confirmed with her the presence of the FBI agent?”
“No.”
“I’m on my way to Sinful Threads. Earlier, Araneae said she wanted to take that getaway. I’m all for that. After this FBI business and dealing with Pauline McFadden, my mother, and Judge Landers—”
“Your mother?” Patrick asked. “How did she get in the mix?”
“I’ll fill you and Reid in together. Basically, the old guard of Chicago busybodies convened. They tried to convince Annabelle that Araneae is an imposter. Annabelle wasn’t sure that I’d meet with her if she called for an appointment, so she asked my mother for help. Before I spoke to the judge, Genevieve ran interference, asking me to tell Annabelle the same story the old biddies had concocted.”
“Did you?”
I looked up at the front seat at Garrett. “Like I said, I’ll fill you both in. I’d prefer to only tell a story about my mother once. Don’t let Araneae or Winifred leave the office. I’m on my way.”
I shot a quick text off to Stephanie, telling her I’d meet with the contractors on one of our projects this afternoon at the job site and to send me anything else via email. I planned to be out of town for the rest of the week. There was a yacht waiting at the Columbia Yacht Club still tethered to a dock, one that should be floating in the blue waters of Lake Michigan.
The damn car was not moving. The downtown traffic was at a fucking standstill. I watched the pedestrians as they hurried by. I could get to Sinful Threads faster if I walked.
My mind went to Andrew Walsh or whoever he was. In Wichita, he’d told Araneae his name was Mark. I sent that in a text to Reid, to see if it would help.
My phone vibrated. REID was on the screen.
“WESLEY HUNTER, AGE 27, FIELD AGENT FBI, CHICAGO FIELD OFFICE.”
The only word coming to my mind was fuck.
Apparently, it was on repeat, working for each situation.
Hunter wasn’t even the same age as his alias. What did this mean? What had Hunter learned in McFadden’s outfit? What did he learn about the Sparrow outfit? Why was he with Winnie, and more importantly, what did he say to Araneae?
The car finally sped up, increasing to a breakneck speed of over ten miles per hour. When we stopped again, I spoke to Garrett, “Fuck it. I can see the damn building. I’m walking. Park in the garage—if you ever can get there—and I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.”
“Will you need me or Patrick?” he asked.
“You. I have a meeting this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be waiting.”
The heat of the summer washed over me as I opened the backdoor and stepped onto the street. Dodging barely moving cars, I made my way to the sidewalk. With long strides my loafers clipped along the concrete, crossing the bridge over the canal, until I reached the building on South Wacker. An elevator ride later and I entered Sinful Threads.
Nodding to Jana, I made my way to Patrick and closed the conference room door. “Tell me they’re both still here.”
“They are.”
“Did you get Reid’s message?”
“About Hunter?”
“What the fuck do you think this means?” I asked, taking a seat.
“We need to learn what happened in that hotel room.”
I wasn’t planning on chastising Patrick again over his mistake. Instead, I let my glare do the talking. Finally, I asked, “How long have they been in there?”
He looked down at his watch. “Twenty to twenty-five minutes.”
Taking a deep breath, I stood. “This is done. Book Winifred a flight. She’s headed back to Boulder this afternoon or tonight. Whatever you can get.”
Patrick had the good sense to simply nod as he looked down and began hitting the keys of his laptop. “There’s a four this afternoon and a 7:20 later tonight, both direct flights to Boulder.”
“I’d prefer the four o’clock, but we should let her finish the day with Jana and take the 7:20 flight. Do you believe Jana can continue with Winifred and keep her cool?”
“She can,” Patrick said. “She and I spoke after we came back. I told her to be careful about any discussion not centered on Sinful Threads. She’s solid, Sparrow. She’d take a bullet before she disappointed you.”
Nodding, I stood and opened the door to the center office.
“Mr. Sparrow,” Jana said.
“Jana, I hear things are working well with you at Sinful Threads.”
“I’m trying, sir.” A smile spread over her face.
If I cared, I’d notice that it was more genuine than her usual smile on the plane. Maybe I did care because my cheeks rose too. “Thank you for your dedication.”
“Thank you for your faith in me.”
“This job was due to Patrick with the final decision being Araneae’s. Sinful Threads is all hers—well, and Ms. Toney’s.” I tilted my chin toward Araneae’s office. “I’m going in.”
Jana stood. “Sir, she asked not to be disturbed.”
Did Jana think she could stop me?
“Did she?” I asked, my eyes widening.
“Well...um...she said to hold all of her calls—all.”
I nodded. “Then continue to do that, Jana. No calls.”
“But...”
I didn’t stay to hear whatever she planned to say. Reaching for the handle to Araneae’s office, I opened the door and surveyed what was inside. Considering all that had occurred, seeing Araneae and Winnie chatting over coffee was not what I expected.
Araneae turned my way while at the same time, Winnie turned ghostly white.
“This is,” Araneae said with a smile, “Winifred Douglas. And this is Sterling Sparrow.”
I stepped closer to Araneae. “Kennedy.” The name felt foreign on my tongue.
Not only was it incorrect, but in my opinion, the name didn’t fit her. Araneae sounded strong and resilient like a spider. There was nothing wrong with the name Kennedy; it just didn’t describe the stunning, amazing woman before me, the one who was mine.
“Sterling,” she said, standing.
“Ms. Douglas, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I said, deciding I’d keep the FBI talk to Araneae.
“As have I—heard about you,” Winnie said, rising to her feet and extending her hand.
After shaking hands, she retook her seat.
I looked to Araneae—her smile, poise, and confidence.
When I’d entered this office, I’d planned to walk in and tell Winnie she had to leave today. I wanted her gone because of the FBI and because of her association with Leslie Milton. Now, however, standing here, I knew that wasn’t the right move. If Winnie was leaving, it needed to be Araneae’s choice. This wasn’t the time to make my usual unilateral decision. “Your text,” I said, referring to the one saying that we needed to talk.
“Yes,” Araneae said to me. Turning to Winnie, she continued, “If you could excuse Mr. Sparrow and me. Find Patrick and give him the information on your hotel room and safe. He’ll arrange to get all of your things. He can also book you another room for tonight and find you a flight for tomorrow.”
Winnie nodded.
I cleared my throat, causing both women to look my direction. “I believe he may have found a flight for tonight.”
Araneae straightened her neck as her eyes narrowed my direction. And then instead of arguing, she turned back to Winnie. “Find out the times. If one is late enough, you can work with Jana and not bother with another hotel room.”
Winnie nodded. “I am sorry.”
“So am I,” Araneae said, reaching out and hugging Winnie’s shoulders. “We’ll get through this. Louisa needs you back in Boulder.”
“Thank you, Kenni,” Winnie said as she hurried toward the door.
There were a million subjects ready for me to address, and yet when the door shut, my first instinct was to reach for Araneae’s hips, splay my fingers over her ass, and pull her against me. As her tits crashed against my chest, my mouth found hers, tasting coffee and sweetness. Nipping and tugging, I persisted until her lips parted and our tongues moved in sync. As her hands moved up my chest to my shoulders, her office filled with the soft sounds of her moans and whimpers.
When we pulled away, I stared down into her velvety chocolate eyes and my grin turned menacing. “I’ll be the secretary as long as I am the one fucking you.” I shook my head. “And after your stunt today, your ass—”
Her lips turned upward as she silenced me with her finger. “We need to talk first.”
I reached for her hand as we sat at the corner of the table, our fingers intertwined. “I think we need to institute a new rule.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Yes, no talking until the fucking is done.”
Her slender shoulder shrugged, highlighting her long, sensual neck. “Now, there’s a rule I could probably live with.”
“I spoke to...” we said in unison. It was the conclusion of the sentence that was different.
“...your mother,” I said.
While simultaneously, Araneae said, “...an FBI agent.”
We both took a deep breath.
“You were right,” I finally said. “We do need to talk.”
“You’re not upset?” she asked.
“That you went in that room alone? I’m livid. That you’re telling me the truth of what happened?” My head shook. “I told you before. Never be afraid to tell me the truth. We’ll deal with whatever comes our way together. Only fear my reaction to lies and half-truths because...” I ran my finger along her cheek. “...those are the same thing.”
She nodded. “I hope you mean that because I have a lot to say.” Her head tilted to the side. “And I want to know about my...Annabelle.”
“There’s something more important that I need to say first.”
“What?” she asked.
“It’s about something you said earlier today.”
“Damn, Sterling, a lot has been said.”
Lifting her hand that was in mine, I brushed my lips over her knuckles and took a deep breath. This needed to be said before anything else.