Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (16 page)

Ivy

Jacade's tense departure this morning put me on edge. My mind races as I stroll into the waiting room at work Wednesday. Why did he have to leave at four in the morning?

Aunt Helen glances up at me through the check-in window and smiles. "Hi, sweetie."

"Hey." I refuse to talk to her because she only hurts me when she speaks.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

I walk down the hallway and stop at the threshold to my office. Forget it. No more avoiding the issue. I stride back to the waiting room. She doesn't look up from her work. "Jacade told me Uncle Bernie shot Viktor at Mogul Thursday night."

Her spine stiffens, and her expensive floral blouse tightens on her petite shoulders. She lifts her head and peers at me. Her pale face and thin lips emphasize the shock in her wide pupils.

"I'll be in my office if you want to talk." I turn from her with a sense of pride. All these family secrets have to stop.

"Ivy, wait."

"What?"

"We discuss these matters in proper settings." What the hell is she talking about? "Follow me."

She walks into Uncle Bernie's office and shuts the door behind us.

"Ivy. Sit." Her voice is weary but stern. She sits at Uncle Bernie's desk, leaning forward on her elbows. "Don't ask questions out in the open. Ever."

Oh, hell naw! I'm the one living on the island of obfuscation.

"Why?"

She glares at me. "Because you don't. End of discussion."

"Aunt Helen, Bryn was held at gunpoint Thursday night, and Uncle Bernie shot Viktor. I want the whole story."

"I wasn't there, Ivy." Oh whatever. You're his wife. You know more than anyone does.

"Why are you lying to me?" We stare at each other over the desk.

"Safety."

I throw my hands up in the air. "If no one tells me what they're protecting me from, how will I know to avoid it?"

She looks up at the ceiling, then back at me. "Fair enough, Ivy. You win." She stands and pulls a flip phone out of her pocket. She presses a few buttons and mutters, "It's time." She snaps the phone shut and looks at me. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

"You wanted answers, right? I'm going to give them to you."

She shuffles past me and out the door. Throwing my purse over my shoulder, I catch up with her at the check-in area.

"Leave your cell phone here." I place it on the desk at the same time she leaves her cell phone. Not the flip phone.

Ping
.

The neon-green display lights up, and the chrome doors of the private elevator open. We step in and Aunt Helen holds the
G
button for the parking garage.

"Here we go," she mumbles as the doors meet and conceal the office from view.

Ivy

The last time I rode shotgun in Aunt Helen's Lexus was three years ago when she drove me home from the hospital after my harrowing, near-death experience. The plush leather seats warm my buns and thighs.

Aunt Helen keeps her mysterious flip phone hidden in her Dolce and Gabbana tote as she attaches an earpiece to her right ear, leaving the cord dangling.

"Hey. Okay." She ends the call, pulls the earpiece out, and drops it in her handbag.

She rummages in her tote. Maybe she's secretly Mary Poppins and a Tiffany lamp is about to appear out of thin air. She hands me a black silk ergoBeads eye mask we use for eye-surgery patients.

"I'm sorry, you have to wear this."

"Why?" The soft, cushy beads in the material of the mask are meant to massage swollen eye muscles.

"If you want answers, then you can't know where we're going or tell anyone you were there." This is absurd. I'm not a child. "I'm sorry, Ivy. Those are the terms. For your safety."

Ugh! That damn word again. I can protect myself. I want to scream,
I've killed people before
!

She wants to help. I need to simmer down and make an effort to cooperate. If wearing a mask gets me some info, then a mask I shall wear. The elastic strap clings to the back of my head as I slip the cool silk over my eyes, and the Lexus moves forward.

The seat mashes the cool beads into my cheek as I roll my head to the right. All blindfolds remind me of him. His humid breath on my neck. His scent as my vision disappeared and my sense of smell heightened.

He was cocksure. Unflappable. A connoisseur at securing blindfolds. Not once has he ever tangled my hair in the knot. Not once.

After about twenty minutes, Aunt Helen touches my left arm. "Okay, you can take it off." My eyes adjust to the light after I rip the mask off. This park doesn't look familiar. "From here, we go on foot."

She hops out of the Lexus and gestures for me to follow. We must be north of the city because I've never seen a park this big in the concrete jungle. We trudge across the dewy fall grass before we walk four blocks down a residential street flanked with rehabbed warehouse lofts. Puddles reflect white clouds and red bricks as we turn down a narrow alley. At least it's not raining anymore.

She stops at a propped-open, rusted metal door to our left. Aunt Helen looks me directly in the eye. "Still want to know? 'Cause once we do this, you can't go back."

"Yes."

With her foot, she pushes away a rock wedged between the door and the frame. Inside the stairwell, cement stairs zigzag to the upper floors. She bends to remove her shoes. "Take off your heels. We need to be quiet."

I glance up as I remove my shoes. Well, at least I have mini socks under my heels and won't have to go barefoot up those grimy stairs. Our breathing and the rustling of clothes are the only sounds as we scale the concrete stairs.

At the third-floor landing, she cracks the door open and peeks through. She must be happy with what she sees because she gives me the all clear, and we enter. We pass three closed office doors in the carpeted hallway before she stops and inches open an unmarked door on the left. As she reaches in, she turns and whispers, "I'm turning off the motion sensor for the lights."

We tiptoe through a narrow kitchen with a stainless steel sink, microwave, and fridge. She hurries to a door with a one-foot square glass window at eye level. When I come up behind her, she shuffles over, so I can see through the window into the room beyond.

"Stand here. Watch and listen."

"But there's no one in there." I am not amused. Why can't anyone tell me what's going on without all the games? I lean my head on the wall and sigh.

The door on the far side of the room swings open, and fluorescent office lights flicker on, illuminating a wooden conference table surrounded by red leather chairs. A tall man with a beer belly, probably in his late forties, enters with a purposeful look on his narrow face. His rust-colored suit bunches up around his arms and legs as he paces the perimeter while crouching over an electronic device that blinks red and green.

"Shit! He's searching for bugs." Bugs, bugs? Like spiders?

"Hurry." We scurry back into the hallway and crouch against the wall by the door. Aunt Helen's forehead furrows. "He's going to check the kitchen too. I hope he doesn't wonder why the lights didn't come on." After a few tense moments, she checks the room again. "He's gone."

As we resume our viewing spot, two men wearing black suits and ties stroll into the conference room. I recognize Judge Conroy right away. He was at my college graduation and gave me a grand in cash in a card. I saw him at the fight between Jacade and Viktor last week.

The other man is familiar, but I can't place him. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his pants and exposes a gun and a police badge. Several other men of similar age and appearance file in until all the seats are filled except two. I believe the man in the gray suit is Dr. Momen, a gynecologist. I squint at a short and plump man—Senator Thurman.

My eyes widen when Uncle Bernie strides in clutching a crumpled manila folder to his chest. He straightens his tie and tucks in his shirt before he sits in one of the empty seats, a weary expression marring his features.

Why is Uncle Bernie in a clandestine meeting with doctors, judges, cops, and senators on a Wednesday morning?

A low din of murmuring fills the room, and I strain to hear, but I'm unable to make out individual conversations. Uncle Bernie keeps his head down and flips through his file folder, not speaking to anyone.

"You're late, playboy," the rust-suited man says looking toward the door. The room quiets as everyone turns to look at the new arrival to the meeting.

"And with good reason." Jacade saunters in with a carafe of coffee in one hand, a box of pastries and his briefcase in the other. At the sight of him, my stomach sails on a zip line through a rainforest in Costa Rica, dipping in and out of the tree canopy.

"You're forgiven. I need coffee." The rust-suited man lunges for the coffee, and the others follow suit like vultures on a deserted highway.

Jacade appears unruffled as he shrugs off his pinstriped jacket and hangs it over the last remaining chair. Jacade stands out as the youngest and most polished dresser of the group. His suspenders and tailored alabaster dress shirt look sharp on his mammoth frame. He runs his hands through his spiked sable hair and flattens his thin coal tie.

He pulls his chair out and sits. He uncouples his cuff links and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. His veins throb under the fluorescent lights.

Sweet Jesus.

"Can we get started? I have patients to tend to," Dr. Momen says to the men lingering over the pastry box.

Uncle Bernie looks up, and his gaze travels the room, stopping to focus on the rust-suited man. "Colonel Mahoney, can we proceed?" Colonel? Another cop.

"Yes, we can." Colonel Mahoney regards the room. "I assume you all left your personal cell phones someplace else." They all must have remembered because no one moves or responds. "Good." He motions to Uncle Bernie.

"Thank you, Colonel." Uncle Bernie stands and clears his throat. "All right, gentlemen, I called this meeting today to discuss an urgent matter." He nods to Jacade.

My hot ass doc pulls an eight-by-ten photograph from his briefcase and passes it to his left. The man's eyes widen, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

Uncle Bernie continues, "This happened last night and into the morning. Amber is one of our call girls under my medical care."

Judge Conroy passes the picture without even a glimpse down. "I don't need to see it again. Amber called me first, and I called in our medical staff. Bernard, we're sure Viktor's behind this?"

"Yes." Uncle Bernie focuses on Judge Conroy.

"Judge, we all know she's your whore." Colonel Mahoney examines the image. "But who's to say one of her other client's didn't do this?"

Judge Conroy glares at him. "She's not a whore."

"Okay, what is she then?" Colonel Mahoney responds without taking his eyes off the photo. He scrutinizes the picture, bending it back and forth and tilting it in the light.

Uncle Bernie interjects. "Gentlemen, settle down. We're not here to discuss whores. Pass the photo, Mahoney."

He hands off the photo, and it travels the circumference of the table. I'm able to see it over the shoulder of one of the men. Amber's stomach with black writing on it. I can't make out what it says though.

"Dammit!" Dr. Momen spills his coffee and jumps up from his chair. He brushes coffee off his pants. "Goddammit." He pivots and heads in my direction.

Oh shit. Oh crap. Oh shit.

I roll my body behind the door and freeze, trying to make myself as flat as possible. Aunt Helen runs to hide at the end of the counter.

The door opens an inch, and a beam of light shines into the kitchen. Jacade's urgent voice pierces the tension as I hold my breath.

"Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen to get some fucking paper towels."

"There's a ton of napkins here. Use these." I assume the thud I hear is Jacade tossing them to where Dr. Momen was sitting.

"Fine." The beam of light disappears as the door closes.

Holy shit, that was close.

I return to my position at the door. Jacade sits down, and Dr. Momen cleans up the spilled coffee. The man to the right of Uncle Bernie returns the picture to him.

Uncle Bernie lowers his voice. "Gentlemen, this"—he flips the picture to face the room—"is a paramount threat to my family and to all of us." He clears his throat. "Viktor needs to be taken down."

I risk peeking my head out farther to see the image.

IVY & HELEN ARE NEXT

My hands fly to my throat. Viktor beat Amber and wrote a threat to Aunt Helen and me on her stomach?

Senator Thurman speaks. "Bernard, what do you suggest we do?"

"Well, we need to flush Viktor out and deal with him before he gets to Ivy or Helen."

"How do we flush him out?" Judge Conroy asks, his face turning red.

"That's why I called this meeting," Uncle Bernie says.

All the men are mute. Jacade stares at his tapping fingers and rolls his neck from side to side.

"We need to find this loser and take him out!" Judge Conroy pounds the table with his fist. "We control this city!"

Control the city? Is this some sort of cult? No. I can't imagine Uncle Bernie would be involved in anything like that. He wouldn't drink the Kool-Aid.

Uncle Bernie answers him. "Let me ask you all a question. What do you think Raymond would do if someone threatened his daughter? What do you think he would do to us if he knew we didn't retaliate? He may be in a nursing home and not know his own name, but he's still the boss until he's put in the grave. We protect Helen, his only living daughter, until her dying breath."

What the—

Aunt Helen is—

Aunt Helen's hand on my elbow startles me. "We've got to go."

No! We were getting to the good stuff.

She tugs on my arm, pulling me out of the kitchen and through the hallway.

"Stay close." I'm on her heels as we take the stairs. We push through the same rusty metal door we entered and hustle down the alley.

"Aunt Helen! Wait!" I jog to catch up with her. She ducks into a hidden garden three blocks south of the building. She digs out the flip phone and sends a text.

"Our ride will be here shortly."

"Aunt Helen, what the hell?" My voice shakes.

She stands still with her handbag draped over her forearm. "You wanted answers, so I gave them to you."

"I—I—" Wonderful. Now I'm stuttering.

Feminist Ivy stands at a chalkboard pointing to each letter I need to pronounce. Her glasses hang around her neck, and she holds a wooden pointer. With her eyes, she tells me,
Use your words
.

"Ivy, please settle down." Aunt Helen sits on a memorial bench.

I pace in the garden because I need to move. Darn my heels for getting stuck in the soft grass when I miss a step.

Think. All those men. Influential men who govern the city. Discussing an escort and killing Viktor. Raymond in a nursing home. Who is Raymond, and why is he so important? Aunt Helen. Aunt Helen is...

Holy shit.

I turn around and gape at her. "Aunt Helen, are… are you like a Mafia princess or something?"

"Let's go." Shane's voice jars my thoughts, but I hold Aunt Helen's stare.

She doesn't have to answer. Uncle Bernie and Jacade are key players in some sort of high-ranking Mafia. She's a mob boss's daughter. Am I living in a movie?

Aunt Helen holds her finger up to Shane to indicate we need a minute.

"It's not the Mafia," she whispers close to my ear.

"What is it then?"

She purses her lips and shakes her head. "Ivy, do not say a word to anyone about what you saw today. Not one word. Understand?" I nod since my voice has left the building. "We have to go. Shane's waiting."