Neil swallowed hard. He’d’ve ignored the now-shrill ringing of his phone, but he’d already ignored calls from Ashley twice today. She’d notify the cops if he didn’t answer this time. The woman was a pistol.
Neil thumbed the Answer button. “Hi, honeybuns.”
“Where are you, Neil Maurice Janiowski?” his wife demanded.
“Uh, I’m heading down a county highway in southern Illinois.”
“Toward home, I hope.”
Neil winced. In fact, he was heading sort of north and west. He’d just decided that probably it’d be better not to tell Ash that fact when the cell crackled in his ear.
“You’re not heading home, are you, Neil?”
“See, honeybuns, I had some trouble—”
“I don’t want to hear about your trouble,” Neil’s bride blasted in his ear. “You want to see trouble, you keep my baby from me one more night, you hear me, Neil?”
“I—”
“What were you doing taking Neil Junior on a hit in the first place?”
Ash had asked the same thing the last time she’d called. It seemed to be a sore point with her. “I had to pick him up from day care, Ash. You know that.”
“And you didn’t have the time to bring the baby home to his mama before going to shoot it out with the FBI?”
“No. See, I—”
“I can’t believe my own husband took my own baby on a hit,” Ash muttered.
“Well—”
“And what kind of hit gets this messed up, I ask you?”
“Uh . . .”
“You think Uncle Tony was setting you up, Neil? Do you think?”
Neil blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that Tony might want him dead. The thought made his mouth all dry, which was pretty fucking uncomfortable.
But Ash hadn’t waited for his answer. “Uncle Tony sets you up, I’m telling Mama about it. This’s no way to treat family.”
“Now, don’t get too excited, honeybuns. You know the doctor said—”
“I want my baby back, Neil!”
“Just as soon—”
“I want him back like
yesterday!
”
“It’s just that—”
“I miss him so much, and I want to hold him and know he’s safe. Neil?”
Neil breathed through his mouth, because he thought he’d heard something over the crappy fucking cell line. “Honeybuns?”
“I want my baby.” Ash’s words ended on a little squeak.
Neil felt his face go hard. She was crying. His Ash was crying. He hated when Ashley cried.
“Look, I’m going to bring the baby back. You know I fucking will. Just as soon as I—”
“Neil, you do have the baby, don’t you?” Ash’s voice was cold. Cold like winter in fucking Siberia.
One thing Neil had learned in his marriage to this woman: don’t come between Ash and her baby.
“I’m going to get him just as soon as I can, honey.”
There was a silence, broken only by Ash’s harsh breathing. Neil felt his blood run cold. Really. Like he had fucking cubes of ice clunking along in his veins and crashing into his heart. Ash’s hormones were kind of berserk at the moment. Neil could’ve gone his whole life without the knowledge of what berserk hormones could do to an otherwise sweet-as-sugar woman.
Finally, Ash spoke. “You better do that, Mr. Boo. I’m giving you until tonight, and then I’m coming after my baby and I’m coming after you.”
She hung up.
And even the knowledge that she’d used her pet name for him couldn’t keep Neil from shivering. He needed to find Neil Junior. He needed to find the Spinoza kid again. And he needed to bring them back to Chicago in the next twelve hours. Or one very angry, very hormonal woman was going to do it for him.
Neil turned the big pink Caddy onto the next road. He was headed south now, toward I-57. Towards Cairo.
Saturday, 8:31 a.m.
Z
oey pulled off the county road and killed the purple minivan’s engine. Then she just sat, staring at her hands on the steering wheel. They were shaking. She would put it down to over half an hour of stereo baby screaming from the back seat, but she knew it was more than that.
She’d betrayed Dante.
It was a stupid thought. She’d known the man for only two days. He was an FBI agent doing a job. This was work for him. He didn’t care about Pete the way she did. To him, her niece was a missing piece he needed in order to bring a mobster to trial. He might care for the baby’s safety, but he didn’t care for Pete herself.
Zoey did. Her first loyalty was to Pete and her sister, Nikki, plain and simple.
And yet she still felt guilty. Dante had trusted her. He’d told her to stay in the car while he went out to face gunfire. She’d lied to him, betrayed his trust, and stolen Pete. By now he might very well be in the back of a patrol car under arrest. She blew out a breath and closed her eyes. Well, it was over and done now. There was no going back—Dante would never trust her again after this.
She straightened and twisted to look into the back seat. The babies were both slumped in their car seats, having cried themselves to sleep. Pete’s head was tilted to the side, one finger caught in her mouth. Small pink lips pursed around the digit. Neil Junior’s chin was on his chest, both pudgy baby hands stretched on either side of his car seat, limp. Zoey found herself almost smiling. He looked like a passed-out drunk. What was she going to do with him? He wasn’t hers to take care of. He had parents—presumably. Or at least a homicidal father who wanted him back. The last thing she needed was to give Neil Senior another reason to follow her. If only there was someone to care for the baby, just for a little while. Someone who would look after—
A cell rang in the car, a tinkling melody. Zoey looked wildly around before realizing that there was a cell in the console. She picked it up and looked at the screen. It read SAVITA, except Mrs. Savita Gupta didn’t have her cell phone at the moment.
Zoey answered. “Hello?”
“Where are you, Zoey?” Dante’s voice was quiet, which only made her nervous.
She closed her eyes, relief washing over her. “Dante. You’re okay.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Now tell me where you are.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you take her back.”
“Jesus, Zoey. You knew I needed to bring Pete back to Chicago so Ricky can testify. I’ll be taking her to Nikki Hernandez, as well. Don’t you want Pete to be with her mother?”
“I want Pete alive, and I know Nikki wants that, too.”
“I’ll keep her safe, Zoey.”
“You didn’t before.”
There was silence from the other end. Zoey closed her eyes. God, she hadn’t wanted to say that, but it was true. The FBI had failed Pete, failed
her.
That was how Pete had ended up with a gunman in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Zoey,” he said low, “don’t do this.”
She inhaled. “What happened after I left?”
“Neil carjacked a pink Cadillac, and what looked like most of the Illinois highway patrol took off after him.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Just my feelings.”
She winced. “How did you get out of there?”
“There was enough confusion that I slipped away and drove off when the highway patrol went to question the guy with the two boys. I didn’t think it was a good idea to stay and get picked up by local law enforcement. My BMW has a bullet hole in the passenger-side door now, by the way.”
“That was there from yesterday.”
“Really? You didn’t tell me.”
“I forgot.”
There was a brief silence on the line, and the wind whistled past the doors of the purple minivan.
“Zoey, bring her back,” Dante said.
“I need to keep her safe. Chicago isn’t safe for Pete.”
“I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
“You can’t.”
“You mean you don’t believe I can.”
She was silent, because there really wasn’t anything to say to that, was there?
She heard him sigh. “Please, Zoey.”
She inhaled to steady her voice. “I’m sorry.”
And she hung up.
She stared at the cell phone in her hand for a moment. Then she inhaled and punched in a number.
The other end rang five times before Nikki answered. “Hello?”
“Nikki, I’ve got Pete.”
“Zoey?” Nikki’s voice sounded dazed. Then she seemed to understand. “You have Pete? Oh, God. Oh, God.” She started crying.
Zoey blinked hard, staring out the window of the van. “Are you okay?”
“Okay?” Nikki choked. “Yeah, we’re okay. How’s my baby? Is Pete okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
“God. I’ve got to tell Ricky. Wait until he hears—”
“Nikki, you can’t tell Ricky.”
“What? Why not? You should see Ricky, he’s been so sad without the baby.”
Zoey rolled her eyes at that. Ricky-the-jerk had never been particularly loving with Pete before. “You can’t tell Ricky because I’m not bringing Pete back to Chicago.”
“What do you mean—”
“Shhh. Listen. The FBI’s crooked in Chicago. We can’t trust them to keep Pete safe.”
“But Zoey,” Nikki said quietly, “Ricky’s told me he won’t testify unless he can see Pete with his own eyes. You keep her away and he’s not going on the stand.”
Zoey swallowed. “I know the trial is important. I know Tony the Rose is an evil man. But Pete’s safety has to come first.”
“And how’re we going to keep her safe by ourselves?”
That had been something she was worried about, too, but Zoey kept her tone brisk. “I’ll hide Pete. It’ll be okay.”
“But—”
“You can’t tell Ricky, though. If anyone finds out where I am—where Pete is—she’s in danger again.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Nikki?”
“I just want to see Pete.”
“I know, honey, I know. But she’s safer this way. If I bring her back to Chicago, we can’t protect her.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. But you can’t tell Ricky.”
A long sigh.
“Nikki?”
“Okay. Okay. I won’t tell Ricky. But Zoey, you’ve got to promise to keep her safe.”
“I will.”
“Kiss her for me,” Nikki whispered. “Tell her I love her.”
Zoey closed her eyes. “I will.”
“Bye.” There was a click as Nikki hung up.
God, what had she done? Zoey leaned her head against the seat back and watched the snow blow across a field. The wind knocked against the purple minivan, rattling it. It looked like another snowstorm was brewing. Was this the right choice? Dante was strong and determined, and she knew that if it was in his power he would keep Pete safe. But it hadn’t been in his power before, and if he took Pete back to Chicago, at some point it wouldn’t be in his power again. Her real problem was that she didn’t trust his instincts, didn’t trust his decision to take Pete back to Chicago. Maybe she couldn’t let herself trust him.
Or anyone but herself.
What a thought. But this wasn’t the time to sit debating whatever emotional baggage lay inside her. She had two babies in the back seat, bad guys and one really good guy after her, and no plan.
Okay. The first thing to do was to find a safe place for Neil Junior. Someone who would take care of him temporarily until Dante or social services could take the child. And now that she thought of it, she already knew the right person. The Gupta ladies were still at their nephew’s motel, and Mrs. Savita Gupta had obviously been sad to see Neil Junior go. Zoey could drop Neil Junior there and then call Dante and let him know where the baby was when she was far enough away.
Zoey looked around. She was in a little wooded area off some kind of farm field. She’d left the highway as soon as she could after escaping with the babies. If she headed to the motel again, it would be best to do so without getting back on the highway. The motel was west of where the van sat, but these back roads twisted, not always going straight west or north.
Zoey reached over and popped the glove compartment. An avalanche of papers fell out onto the floor of the van. She whispered a curse and started sorting through them. Car maintenance bills, insurance forms, and the manual to the minivan. No maps.
She got out and went to look in the back of the van. The snow was about a foot deep, compacted by the wind and crusted. Her boots crunched through the top crust unevenly, and she held on to the van’s sides to keep her balance as she made her way to the hatch. Inside the back were a big bag of disposable diapers—hallelujah!—a small cardboard box with Indian writing on the back, an old blanket, and a giant bag of kitty litter. Crumpled under the diapers was an Illinois state highway map. Ha! She grabbed the map, shut the hatch, and waded back to the driver’s-side door. When she looked in the back, Pete had turned her head to the other side, but both babies were still asleep.
Zoey fastened her seat belt and started the engine.
Saturday, 8:45 a.m.
R
utgar drove down the flat highway toward Cairo and thought about his favorite subject.
Guns.
In Poland, where he had grown up in a colorless rat-infested tenement, one was not allowed to own guns. The communist government forbade it. This was not to say that there were not men who possessed guns, for there were. Hard men, men who ruled the tenements like barbarian kings. But even these men had access only to old guns. Guns that had been made in the old Soviet Union. Their guns were not like the guns one could own in America.
In America one could be a connoisseur of guns.
The first time that Rutgar had attended an American gun show, his heart had stood still in his body. There were many guns there. Thousands of guns. Perhaps millions of guns. Guns manufactured to shoot wild elephants. Guns so small one could fit them entirely in one’s mouth like a hard candy. Guns with scopes and tripods and silencers. Guns made by armies, and guns made to defeat armies.
America was rich with guns, Rutgar thought. He smiled a small smile.
He drove south toward the state of Missouri, although that was not his destination. The car he drove was a black Mercedes-Benz G500 SUV. It was a big car. It was an expensive car. If Rutgar could take this car across the ocean to Poland, to that dirty tenement he had grown up in, those barbarian kings would bow down to him. He would be the king of all the barbarian kings.
But there was nothing in Poland, so he did not do this.