Returning inside he picked up the phone and dialed nine.
“Front desk.”
“This is Lucian Patras. I need a town car and driver brought around right away.”
“Yes, Mr. Patras.”
He hung up the phone and went to his closet to find another coat. Dugan had driven for over eight hours yesterday and would likely still be sleeping. He could take the second shift.
A young man by the name of Clint met him out front with a Lincoln Town Car. “Good morning, Mr. Patras,” the man said, holding the door.
The interior was still cool. He climbed behind the wheel. “Where will you be going today, sir?”
“Head down to lower Folsom. Drive slow and be prepared to stop if I say so.”
The driver’s mouth opened, but he kept his questions to himself. He shifted and merged onto the street. The town car bumped and glided over the snowy streets as the vacant walkways passed by.
By eight, the streets were all plowed and he had still found no signs of Evelyn. “You know where the old St. Christopher’s church is?”
Clint nodded and navigated in that direction.
The sky was a cocoon of gray, wrapped tight around the city. Snow was never a beautiful thing in Folsom. It was discarded as an inconvenience and stained black as soon as the plows forced it aside. Wet, salted walkways had pedestrians clumsily skipping puddles and drifts. The only good thing about the snow was where the plows wouldn’t go, footsteps could be found. There were trails leading in and out of abandoned buildings and cutting across chained-off industrial parks. It gave away where someone without proper shelter might be hiding.
He’d visited over a dozen shelters. No one recalled seeing a woman that met Evelyn’s description, not with her eyes or length of hair and petite frame. The town car pulled into the broken parking lot of St. Christopher’s. The construction crew was in full swing. “Pull over by the steps.”
Clint maneuvered the car as close to a snow-embanked curb as possible, and Lucian climbed out before he had a chance to get the door.
“Wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”
“Yes, sir.”
Taking the steps two at a time, his tension eased slightly at the sound of hammers hammering, drills boring into fresh Sheetrock, and saws trimming. Progress was being made, and that was a good thing. Lucian stilled when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
Someone was lying in the brick embankment that was once a flowerbed alongside the building. Wool skullcap and a thickly wrapped scarf were all he could see at first. The bulk of the body was disguised by layers upon layers of clothing. When the person shifted to sit up, Lucian caught his scruffy profile and saw that it was male. Several days’ growth of beard covered his chapped red cheeks. His light green eyes turned on him and he stilled.
“Parker?”
A rattling cough preceded his sardonic greeting. “Well, well, if it isn’t prince charming. She’s not here. No one is.”
Dropping all underlying disinclination, Lucian looked at him with all the humility he possessed. “Do you know where she is?”
The other man glared at him for a moment, clearly taking his measure. Lucian poured all his worry and concern into the space between them, and Parker sighed. “No. I don’t. I haven’t seen her in three days.”
Three days. That was something. Eleven days less than the time that lapsed since Lucian had seen her.
“Where was she?”
Parker’s lips pressed tight into a thin, silent line between the scruff of his beard.
“I want to help her, Parker. I swear it. I . . . I care for her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
Lucian hesitated a moment, then leveled with him. “Look, I know how you feel about her. I could let her go and give you my blessing, but you and I both know I can offer her more. If you really love her, let me help her. Help me find her. Please. I swear I only want to do right by her.”
When several minutes passed and Parker said nothing, Lucian figured he wouldn’t help. Then he surprised him by saying, “You hurt her.”
“I did,” Lucian admitted.
“I don’t know what you did or said. Scout has a habit of fixing everyone else’s problems and not letting anyone help her with her own. What I do know is that whatever you did, it hurt her bad. Scout doesn’t cry and you changed that.”
Guilt and shame cut through him. “I’ll make it right,” he vowed more to himself than to anyone else. “Please just help me. I’m begging you here, Hughes.”
Parker smirked. “Not something a guy like you does often, I imagine.”
“You’ve got me. I’m putting it all on the table. My hands are tied here. I’ve been driving around for days searching for her. I’m out of ideas. You have an idea of where she might be. What do I have to do to get you to help me?”
The other man’s lips pursed and his green eyes jerked away, then back again. He exhaled noisily. “Fine. You want to help her? Well, I don’t trust you. Guys like you don’t do anything without an ulterior motive. Scout needs . . . stability. She’ll do anything to get it. Problem is, she associates stability with money.”
“She’s right.”
“Says you. Judge me all you want, but I want to see you fail. However, if you fail so does she, and that’s not what I want. I want her to have the life she’s after. I want to see her keep a good job, have her own home, and never have to worry when she’ll eat next.”
“I can do all that for her. That’s the plan.”
“Ah, but I won’t see it.” Parker stood and Lucian noticed him limp slightly. No matter how strong he pretended to be, it was obvious his circumstances left him quite weak. “You’re an audacious fellow. I have a proposition for you. I’ll take you to her, but I want to be there when she gets everything she wants. I want to see all those dreams of hers come true. I want a job. You give me a job and I get back on my feet. At that point, you give me a fair shot at her. I’m not saying right away. I’ll need some time. But when I’m ready, I say the word and you back off and give me a fair shot. One month where you don’t interfere.”
Not a chance.
Lucian learned a long time ago how to act unaffected during the negotiations stages of a deal. “She may have a problem with that, you realize. Evelyn doesn’t like being maneuvered without her feelings being considered.”
“Then I suppose we both lose.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. Patient Parker had a very shrewd side to him. Something told Lucian the other man had no problem letting him walk away and never telling Evelyn he was here. Every hour of cold made a difference. This wasn’t a situation where one could wait out the other.
It would backfire on Parker, of course. Lucian never broke his word once given, but Parker would somehow break the deal on his own. There was something about the kid that didn’t stem from growing up on the streets. Something . . . informed, innate. Careful not to underestimate him, Lucian would do some research of his own and make sure he never got what he was after without cheapening the value of his word.
“Okay, Hughes. You’ve got yourself a deal, but let me give you some free advice. One, she’ll eventually find out you only agreed to help her after securing your own chance at gaining something, and I give you my word I won’t be the one to tell her this. Two, she won’t like it when she does find out. Three, I haven’t gotten where I am today by giving in easily. A challenge is just that to me. And four, I always get what I want.”
“Keep your fucking advice, Patras. All I’m interested in is a job and your word.”
“You have it.” Lucian extended his leather-clad hand.
Parker eyed it and then grudgingly shook it with his own. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 31
Hanging
Unprotected and exposed
Adrenaline coursed through Luci
an’s veins at the twin snap of the doors on the town car slamming out the cold. “Clint, this is Parker Hughes. Hughes, this is Clint. Mr. Hughes is going to be your copilot. Talk.”
The car kicked into drive, as did his heart.
Parker leaned forward. “Take Wisely two blocks and keep going. Don’t turn left until you hit the tracks.”
Clint drove for several minutes as Parker navigated through a winding labyrinth of neglected roads surrounded by dilapidated buildings, until they parked in front of a condemned old mill. Boards concealed the windows that weren’t shot through, and graffiti was scribbled over everything that was reachable from the ground.
“She’s here? You’re sure of it?”
Parker pointed to a banged-up, rusted garage door at one of the raised bays. “See that door there? She slides under it. It’s dark and there’s worse things than glass to cut yourself on if you aren’t careful. She’ll be in the last room at the last corridor on the other end. Ready?”
Parker leaned forward and Lucian pushed him back with his palm. “Wait.”
Parker sat back and scowled.
“Clint, call Dugan and tell him to meet me here. Take Mr. Hughes back to St. Christopher’s. He’s no longer necessary.”
“We had a deal!”
“And I gave you my word. Be at Patras tomorrow at six a.m. Someone will meet you there to orient you with your new position. I’m giving it to you, Hughes, but mess up, show up late, do anything that’s unacceptable and, like any other employee of mine, you lose it. Keeping the job’s on you.”
“And what about the other half of my deal?”
“You have until she agrees to marry me. Wait too long . . .” Lucian shrugged. “But Hughes, if she doesn’t want to go to you, I won’t make her.”
Lucian noticed the front the other man had been putting up so far shifted. No matter what, the cards were always stacked in his favor when it came to something he wanted. He made sure of it.
He gripped the handle of the door and Parker quickly asked, “What if she isn’t there?”
“Then both of us are fucked.”
Lucian climbed out and slammed the door. Clint drove off. One fortifying breath and his legs were moving. He hoisted himself onto the cement bib outside the door. Like Hughes had said, it was propped open enough for a person to slide under. Sighing, his knees dropped to the cold ground, he gathered the tails of his coat to his body and slid under the opening.
The acrid stink of urine and waste practically choked him. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he headed in the direction Parker had pointed. People lurked in shadows, and small fires burned here and there. No one seemed to pay him any mind, their focus purely on keeping warm.
There was a dense area that was set up like a compound of sorts. He pushed through the putrid odor of human waste, and the smell dispersed as the individuals thinned out. When he reached the last corridor, the silence seemed impenetrable. It was as if he’d left the last of the living and traveled somewhere altogether worse, some circle of Dante’s, he was sure. Except it was so fucking cold.
The reverberation of his steps echoed down the quiet corridor, and the sound of a muffled cough trickled from the very end. His steps grew faster and soon he was running. He slowed as he approached the last door. Needing a steadying breath before he faced whatever he was walking into.
Turning the corner, Lucian found what looked like a dead body sprawled on a collapsed stack of cardboard boxes. Emaciated fingers protruded like sticks from fingerless gloves, and breath was sucked audibly from the rank cell, followed by a rattling cough. Not Evelyn.
As his eyes shut he heard a slight clatter and jerked around. There in the corner, back to the wall, curled in a little ball was his Evelyn. Taking two long steps to reach her, he fell to his knees and pulled her to him. She jerked, startled and weakly struggled.
“Shh, shh, Evelyn, baby, it’s me. I’m here.”
Her body shook violently. Her skin was chilled right through her clothing. Her eyes were surrounded with purple shadows and her chin quivered as her teeth chattered.
“L-L-Lucian?”
“Yes. Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”
Relief was a living thing, infusing him with energy and the strength to do whatever needed to remove her from this vile place.
The body in the corner began to hack violently. Evelyn scrambled out of his arms and crawled to the heap of flesh and bones hidden under layers of dirty fabric. She quickly uncapped a bottle of cloudy water and pressed it to the person’s blue lips as she cradled the head in her lap. The person, a woman, gasped and choked, but eventually settled back into a restless sleep, mumbling and chanting nonsense.
“Evelyn, come on. Let’s leave this place.”
“How did you get here, Lucian?” He saw that his presence cost her a chunk of pride. She didn’t want him to see her like this. He didn’t care.
He went to her and took her hand, urging her to stand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here and we’re leaving.”
She snatched her hand back. “No. You shouldn’t have come. I can’t leave Pearl.”
Pearl. He gazed down at the heap of rotting flesh. She was infected with some disease and clearly dying. He warred with choices, Darwinism versus compassion. He tried to understand the fierce loyalty Evelyn felt for this person.
“Who is she, Evelyn? She’s sick and I’m not sure moving her is wise.”
Her silver eyes, so incredibly weary, looked up at him. A sheen of tears built and trickled past her matted lashes. “She’s my mother.”
Her words cut through him with realization and sympathy. The woman was at death’s door and Evelyn wouldn’t leave her. The pain he felt for her, with her, in that moment was crippling. Lucian’s mind went back to his mother’s funeral, the agony of loss, the relentless force insisting he remain stoic and strong in the face of fear, the emptiness, the irrelevance of it all, the immeasurable consuming grief, the nothingness that had stolen all the color from his world for so long. He couldn’t ask her to walk away.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stood and surveyed the room. Mold corroded the walls. Water trickled down the plaster, leaving a puddle in the corner. There was a flipped-over box with an oxidized candle, a spoon, a strap, and a syringe. Heroin.
His eyes landed on Evelyn’s bag and he scooped it up and handed it to her. “Here.”
“What’re you doing?” Her breath formed a cloud of vapor between them in the frigid room.
Kneeling, he scooped up her mother, her body shockingly light, and stood. “We’re getting out of here.”
Her jaw shook and her eyes watered. “Lucian, w-why?”
He shifted the practically weightless body in his arms. “You ask me that entirely too often, Evelyn. Because I love you. Is that answer enough for you?”
Her face crumbled with emotion and she lowered her chin then raised it, breathing in a rough sob. “Yes.”
Chapter 32
Odds
An advantage given by the stronger player to a weaker player
Evelyn sat in the overstuffed chair facing the window, looking small and lost. Her pallid eyes were without expression. Her hair, still wet from the shower, was combed back, making those tired eyes seem huge, the soft skin appearing bruised around the silver pools. Lucian handed her a cup of coffee, and she stared at him for a moment as if she’d forgotten his presence and couldn’t quite make sense of it. Her exhaustion was so evident. It showed in her motor skills as well as her reflexes, both verbal and physical. He fit her small hands around the warm, steaming mug, and she turned back to the window.
Several long, silent moments later, the guest room door quietly opened. Vivian stepped out and pulled the door shut, at the same time managing to leave it slightly open. Her face was somber. She discreetly sent him a bleak gaze before she approached Evelyn.
With perfect bedside manner, she gently touched Evelyn’s shoulder, drawing her out of her contemplative trance. “Evelyn?”
She looked up at Vivian, desperate hope softening her features. “Is she going to die?”
Vivian’s expression softened and for the first time ever, he saw his sharp vixen friend appear more of a nurturing woman than he ever imagined her capable of. “No, sweetheart, she’s not going to die. Not today.”
Evelyn’s relief was evident. Her body crumpled as she sobbed a breath and folded her face into her hands. Vivian wrapped her in her arms and he wanted that honor, but wasn’t sure his touch would be welcome.
Lucian watched from the shadows of the room as Evelyn cried, and felt absolute impotence with his inability to fix this for her, or perhaps it was his fear that she wouldn’t want his help that had him paralyzed.
Her upset slowly faded and Evelyn wiped at her eyes, once again establishing the invisible walls that kept her apart from others and protected her from them all. “I’m sorry,” she said to Vivian. “I was certain she wouldn’t make it another day.”
“Your mother’s sick, Evelyn,” Vivian stated empathetically. “Hepatitis is something that needs to be monitored and treated. Her immunities are very low right now, fighting off infection. Her bronchial passages aren’t at their best and she’s running a fever, but her biggest issue is the withdrawal symptoms she’s suffering.”
Evelyn’s body tensed as if she wanted to stand, but she lowered her weight back into the chair. “She’s addicted to heroin. I . . . I can get it for her.”
“Absolutely not,” Lucian said fiercely. Evelyn was never going into those dark corners of the city again. She seemed startled by his comment as if it reminded her of his presence in the room once again. She was all he thought about for weeks, yet she kept forgetting his presence with every passing minute.
She’s tired. His self-reassurance rang hollow and was cold comfort.
In a much calmer manner, Vivian said, “No, Evelyn. Drugs aren’t what she needs. She needs to dry out.”