Chapter 31

“What about this one?” Sylvia held up an infant-sized dress—pink, with a white lace bib, and thick white tulle lining the underside.

Earlier this morning Sylvia had phoned Debbie in a panic—she’d been overwrought, desperately needing to prepare for the quickly approaching birth of her second child, claiming she didn’t have nearly enough clothing, or bedding, or toys.

Debbie, having still not mastered the art of talking her way out of something Sylvia had her mind set on, found herself inside Macy’s department store, rifling through racks of overpriced infant clothing.

Debbie eyed the dress skeptically. “You don’t even know if it’s a girl. What if it’s a boy? You’re going to dress him in that?”

Sylvia shrugged. “Who’s gonna know when they’re that young?” She laughed. “Besides, I just got a feeling about this one.”

Tiny pried his eyes away from the blonde he was ogling. “You can’t be puttin’ boys in dresses, Sylvie.”

Scowling at Tiny, Sylvia slammed the dress back on the rack and huffed.  “I just want a little girl so bad,” she said. “I can’t very well be doin’ hair and nails with this one!”

They both glanced at Trey—seated in his stroller, he was grabbing fruitlessly at the clothing on the racks. In a covered carriage beside him, Eva lay sleeping soundly.

Debbie reached out and touched Sylvia’s arm. “I know you want a girl, but a little boy is just as good… and you’ll always have Eva. I’m sure she’ll love having an aunt to do hair and nails with.”

Smiling, Sylvia covered Debbie’s hand with her own. She opened her mouth to speak, then frowned. Eyes wide and mouth falling open, she grabbed Debbie’s hand and squealed.

“That’s the ring?” she shouted. “Oh my God, Debbie, it’s huge! Why didn’t you tell me that fool had finally gotten you a ring?”

Embarrassed, Debbie snatched her hand back. “He just gave it to me last night.”

Weeks had passed since Preacher had asked her to marry him, and Debbie had all but forgotten his promise to get her a ring. She’d been shocked when he’d come home from the club early last night and proposed to her all over again.

Shaking her head, Sylvia’s eyes gleamed with envy. “It’s just gorgeous,” she breathed. “How many carats is it? Two? Three?”

Debbie glanced down briefly at the sparkling diamond adorning her ring finger, then at the butterfly ring on her index finger, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

 In truth, she much preferred her own ring—the little silver butterfly that Preacher had proposed with meant more to her than a diamond ever could.

“So when’s the big day?”

Debbie looked up. “What day?”

“You’re wedding, silly! When are you and Preacher planning on gettin’ married?”

Debbie bit down on her lip. “Um…”

“Oh, and you’ve got to let me go dress shopping with you! My aunt owns a boutique in Jersey City—she can get you whatever you’re lookin’ for… What kind of dress are you lookin’ for?”

Debbie only stared at Sylvia.

“Well, it’s gotta be beautiful,” Sylvia continued. “And white. Or, maybe pink? I was reading this magazine the other day and… oh! Speaking of beautiful things, did you see Burt Reynolds on the cover of People? Mm-mm-mm. I don’t know what it is about a man with a mustache. I keep tryin’ to get Joey to grow one.”

“What kinda mustache we talkin’ ‘bout here?”

Sylvia’s eyes were like ice, frosting over as her gaze snapped to Tiny. “Who asked you?” she bit out. “Mind your own business.”

Whereas Debbie had long since grown used to Tiny’s presence, Sylvia had begun to resent it and made no effort to hide her feelings about what she perceived as a needless nuisance. Coupled with her contempt for the club, Tiny didn’t stand a chance.

Shrugging, Tiny stroked his cheek. “I’m just sayin’, I think it all depends, you know? Are we talkin’ about a Fu Manchu or a John Holmes? And is this mustache on a big guy or a little guy? ‘Cause us big guys can pull off most mustaches, but those scrawny little assholes can’t do it. They’re walkin’ around lookin’ like a broomstick with a squirrel on top. But I’m thinkin’ Joe could probably pull off a John Holmes—he ain’t so scrawny.”

Fighting to keep a straight face, Debbie slapped her hand over her mouth. Beside her, Sylvia made a choking noise.

“Somethin’ funny?” Tiny glanced between them, genuine confusion crinkling his features. “You bustin’ my chops, Debbie darlin’?”

“It’s nothing,” Debbie remarked, still fighting a laugh. “I just never realized you put so much thought into men and their facial hair.”

“It’s not nothin’,” Sylvia practically growled. “Here we are talkin’ ‘bout dignified men like Burt Reynolds and this idiot is talkin’ about John Holmes—a goddamn porn star!”

At that, several fellow shoppers glanced in their direction. A woman holding a small child gasped and hurried away.

“Whatever,” Tiny muttered. “I gotta take a leak. You two wait here.” Turning away, he noticed the nearby shoppers eyeing him—their expression ranging from amusement to disgust.

“What?” he shouted. “All you uptight broads wanna pretend you ain’t never watched a skin flick before, that’s fine with me!” Throwing his arms up, he stormed away.

“Debbie,” Sylvia groaned, “Preacher has got to give you a new babysitter. I can’t take that revolting man another second. Tell him anyone but Tiny.”

Debbie watched as Tiny disappeared down the escalator. “I don’t really mind him so much anymore. He kinda grew on me.”

“Like fungus or something?” Rolling her eyes, Sylvia patted at her perfectly coiffed curls and sniffed imperiously. “I’ve known that man for years and I still can’t stand him. You know he smells like ketchup, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who smells ketchup on him!”

While Sylvia continued to rant, Debbie turned away, laughing and shaking her head. After browsing through several racks of clothing and nothing catching her eye, Debbie continued on. Noticing a nearby doll display, a slow smile split her lips. Eva was still too young to enjoy a doll, but Debbie hadn’t yet bought her anything frivolous—something she suddenly wanted to remedy.

“Mama’s going to get you a dolly, baby girl,” she said, pushing the carriage toward the display.

Plucking a box from the shelf, Debbie peered through the plastic covering at the creamy-skinned, dark-haired doll. “If only she had gray eyes,” she murmured and set the box back on the shelf.

She traveled further into the toy department, looking over the fun, colorful displays until something caught her eye. Going up on her tiptoes, Debbie reached for a porcelain doll dressed in an elaborately beaded gown.

“Miss Reynolds.”

Dropping down on her heels, Debbie whirled around. An older man stood nearby. Tall and slim, he wore a dark gray suit. His hands and face were spotted with age, and he was nearly bald, with only wisps of gray hair remaining.

Debbie gripped the baby carriage and jerked it in the other direction. Another man was fast approaching—short and stocky, he had messy brown hair and thick sideburns the same dull brown color as his suit coat.

Debbie’s eyes bounced between the two men, alarm bells going off inside her. She thought she might recognize them, though she couldn’t recall from where.

“Agent Willis of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Miss Reynolds,” the older man said, briefly flashing the identification he’d pulled from his pocket. “And this is my partner, Agent Parker. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

The FBI? Debbie’s reeling thoughts fell into place. She had seen them before—parked outside the clubhouse. Preacher had told her to never look their way, to act as if they weren’t even there.

“Or should we say ‘Miss Stephens’?”

Debbie’s shocked gaze swung to Parker. His condescending smile told her she hadn’t misheard him—he had, in fact, called her Miss Stephens.

Her name. He knew her name—her real name.

“Do you have any idea how many people go missing every year, all over the country?” Shaking his head, Parker smacked his lips together. “Too many to keep track of. Like finding a needle in a haystack. Lucky for us, sweetheart, you’re a high-profile case.”

Gooseflesh rippled up and down Debbie’s arms and legs. Still clutching the baby carriage, she pressed her back against the display behind her and tried hard not to shake.

“That big-shot daddy of yours put up a pretty penny for your return, you know that?” Parker pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his suit coat and shook it open.

It was a “missing” poster with Debbie’s face on it—a grainy black and white copy of a school photo taken nearly three years ago. Beneath the photograph was her full name, city and state of residence, her date of birth, her height and weight, and a hefty reward sum— the size of which sent shockwaves through Debbie.

She pressed her hand to the space below her neck and swallowed hard. “He’s not my dad,” she heard herself croak. It was an odd thing to say, given the situation, but she felt compelled to say it anyway. She wanted a clear distinction between the two men. One had been a good man who’d loved her, and the other… his polar opposite.

“Dad, stepdad. Don’t matter to us what he is,” Parker continued. “Only that he wants you back. And according to this…” He tapped his fingertip on the flyer directly over Debbie’s birthdate. “… you’re still a minor.”

He wants you back. He wants you back. He wants you back.

The silent screaming began. White-hot panic filled her belly. Those four dread-inducing words played on repeat in Debbie’s mind. Living nightmares crept free from the dregs of her memories. Her breaths grew thin and her vision went spotty.

“Please,” she rasped. “Please, you can’t do this. You don’t understand—you can’t send me back there.”

“Parker.” Willis moved to stand beside Parker. Eyes filled with concern, he placed his hand on the younger agent’s shoulder. “Ease up—”

Parker jerked away and took another step toward Debbie. “Oh, we can, sweetheart. You don’t turn eighteen for another couple of months. Your parents still have legal rights to you. And what you’ve been doing here in the city, underage and playing house with the likes of Damon Fox—”

Smacking his lips again, Parker’s eyes dropped down to the baby carriage, sparking with malicious intent.

“Preacher doesn’t know!” Debbie cried softly, wishing she could shield Eva from his view. “I haven’t told him anything about me!”

Parker’s answering smile was callous and cold. Shaking his head, he waggled a finger back and forth. “Well aren’t you a little minx. Doesn’t matter, though. Your parents could still make a whole lot of trouble for him if they wanted to. They got the money to do it, that’s for sure.”

Debbie began to shake, shivering despite the suffocating heat she was feeling. It was too much—it was all too much. Her palms were clammy, and her mouth had gone dry. Her heart was racing, her mind spinning, tears threatening. She wanted to shove past the agents and run. Run out of the store and disappear among the crowded streets of Manhattan.

For the first time since meeting Preacher she was aching for the safety and anonymity living on the road had afforded her.

But it wasn’t just her anymore. She had Eva and Preacher. She had a family now, and she couldn’t just leave them. But neither would she allow these men to send her home.

She couldn’t go home—she couldn’t go back to him. She wouldn’t survive it.

“There’s another way.” Willis stepped forward, moving to stand in front of Parker. Eyeing his partner with distaste, he plucked the flyer from the younger man’s hand and crumpled it beneath his slim fingers. “We could forget we ever saw this, and you can go back to being Debbie Reynolds from Akron, Ohio.”

Debbie stared up at him—scared, confused, and barely breathing. Why would the FBI follow her here, intimidate and threaten her, if they were just going to retract their threat? Something else was going on, something that went beyond her.

“Here’s the thing, Debbie,” the younger agent sneered. Elbowing Willis aside, he leaned over the baby carriage, close enough that Debbie could smell the stale coffee on his breath.

“We don’t want you. We don’t care about you and whatever it was that sent you running across the country. We want the Silver Demons. We want Preacher. You help us make that happen and we’ll leave you be.”

“I don’t know anything,” she hurried to whisper. “He doesn’t tell me anything!”

Parker made a clicking noise with his tongue. Straightening, he smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket. “That’s a damn shame,” he said. “Then it looks like you’re headed back to—”

“Please!” she cried. “You don’t understand.” She shook her head frantically. “Please, you can’t send me back there. Please. Please.”

She suddenly couldn’t seem to find enough air in her lungs. “H-he’s a m-monster,” she barely managed to finish.

“A monster?” Parker spat. “You’ve been spreading your legs for a fucking monster. Do you have any idea what that man of yours has done? How many men he’s—”

“Parker!” Willis’s tone was harsh, infused with warning.

Parker’s eyes shot to Willis. “You know it was them,” he growled, shoving his finger in the older man’s face. “You know it.”

Willis gritted his teeth. “We’ve got no proof. Stay on the task at hand.”

Willis faced Debbie. “Anything you can think of—a name, a location, anything at all.”

“Please, no,” she whispered, shaking her head again. Even if she did know something, how could they expect her to betray Preacher?

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of your situation.” Willis’s voice was firm, and his expression hard. “You are, quite literally, in bed with a known criminal. Damon Fox is under suspicion of racketeering, money laundering, and drug smuggling, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. On top of that, you’re a runaway and considered a minor in the state of New York. You don’t have a leg to stand on here. Either you help us, or we will take you in and contact your parents.”

Willis glanced down at Eva, still sleeping soundly in her carriage. “What that’ll mean for your little one, I don’t know. Social Services might—”

“There’s a warehouse!” Debbie blurted out. “In Green… Green something—I can’t remember!”

If she could have, if she hadn’t been pinned against the shelving unit behind her, she would have thrown her body over the baby carriage. They couldn’t take Eva from her—they’d have to kill her first.

The agents glanced at once another. “Greenpoint?” Willis asked.

“Yes!” Debbie nodded emphatically. “Greenpoint. But that’s all I know. I swear it.”

The two men exchanged another look. “I knew it,” Parker hissed. “I knew—”

“We’ll be in touch.” Willis grabbed his partner’s arm and practically shoved him down the aisle. Just as suddenly as they’d descended upon her, they were gone.

Debbie stared after a moment, before dropping to her knees beside the carriage. Bowing her head, her threatening tears slipped free.

“Are you alright, dear?” An elderly lady was peering curiously down at her.

Swiping at her eyes, Debbie nodded jerkily and hurried to her feet.

“Yes, fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

Blurry-eyed and shaking, Debbie gripped the baby carriage and hurried away. She sped blindly through the store, nearly knocking into several people. Everything felt wrong. Her previous life and her current life had just come to unexpected blows in the middle of Macy’s— one second she’d been shopping and laughing, and then the next… everything had crumbled to pieces at her feet.

She remembered this feeling well—the unrelenting, heavy hand of fear pressing down upon her. She’d lived with it every day for years—afraid to go home, afraid to speak so as not to be noticed, afraid to tell the truth, afraid to lie, afraid of what lay in wait for her in the dark, afraid of her own reflection, even.

Debbie brought her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. She should have told Preacher the truth when she’d had the chance. Now… it was too late. Her truth had just been used against her, and against Preacher. Debbie’s pace quickened. The hand over her mouth tightened. Her vision blurred further. She had to get out of here. Out of the city. Out of New York. She had to get away—as far away as possible.

“There you are!”

The sight of Tiny jogging toward her had Debbie skidding to a stop. Dropping her hand, she quickly composed herself.

“I told you to stay put!” Tiny wheezed. Huffing and puffing, Tiny was red-faced, and his brow was dotted with sweat. “You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”

Despite herself, Debbie managed a nervous laugh. “Sorry Tiny. I got distracted.”

“You can’t do that to me, Debbie! What if somethin’ happened? You know Preacher would kill me, right? He still hasn’t forgiven me for that shit you pulled months ago—runnin’ off with Sylvie to the clubhouse after I fell asleep? I lose you again and he’s gonna have my head—”

Only half listening, Debbie followed mutely behind Tiny. Appearing calm and collected on the outside, her insides were a twister of emotion—anxiety, fear, and an ominous sense of foreboding swirled to new heights inside her.

Feeling nauseated, she pressed a hand to her stomach and swallowed hard.

Oh God, oh God, what had she done?