The Night Before

Chapter 13:

I couldn't sleep.

That's not a surprise. I'd slept maybe four hours in two days and my body had gone past tired into that weird electric state where your eyes hurt and your brain won't shut up.

Lily was out cold in the crib. Marisol had found a nightlight somewhere and plugged it in and the room had a soft yellow glow. I stood there for a minute and watched my daughter breathe.

Then I went downstairs.

The house was quiet. The kitchen light was on. My mother was sitting at the table with a cup of tea going cold in front of her.

She looked up when I came in.

"Can't sleep either?" she said.

"No."

"Sit down."

I sat down.

We didn't say anything for a while. The fridge hummed. Somewhere outside a motorcycle went past on the road beyond the wall.

"I need to ask you something," I said.

"Okay."

"You said the man who paid you wrote you letters."

"Sometimes. Mostly it was just the money."

"Do you still have any of the letters?"

Colleen looked at me. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Not the note from tonight. Something older. Soft with handling.

"I kept one," she said. "I don't know why. I told myself it was proof. In case I ever needed proof."

She slid it across the table.

I unfolded it.

Handwriting. Black ink. Same handwriting as the letter at the gate.

Mrs. Donnelly. The first payment is enclosed. You will not contact your daughter. You will not return to this city. If you do, the payments stop and my protection stops with them. You are not the only woman in this city with a daughter. Remember that.

I read it twice.

"Protection," I said. "What protection?"

"I don't know. I never asked."

"Mom."

"I didn't want to know, Ella. That's the whole point. I didn't want to know what he meant by protection. Because I knew—" She stopped. Cleared her throat. "I knew that if I asked, he'd tell me. And then I'd have to do something about it."

I looked at the letter.

"Did he ever sign anything?"

"No."

"Was there a return address?"

"No."

"Did you ever hear his voice?"

Colleen was quiet for a second.

"Once," she said. "The first time. When I called the number. He picked up himself. He said—" She frowned. "He said my name. Like he knew me. And then he said, 'I'm glad you called, Colleen. I was hoping you would.'"

My skin went cold.

"What did he sound like?"

"Older. Calm. Not loud. He didn't need to be loud." She looked at me. "And he had a thing in his voice. Like he was smiling when he said it. Like he was enjoying himself."

I sat with that.

"He was enjoying himself," I said. "When he told you to leave your daughter."

"Yes."

I looked at the letter in my hand.

"Mom," I said. "Why did you keep this?"

Colleen looked at me.

"Because I knew one day I'd have to show it to you," she said. "And I wanted to be able to say 'I'm sorry' with something in my hand."

---

I was still sitting there when I heard it.

A sound outside. Not a bike. Not a car. Something softer. A voice.

I stood up.

"What?" Colleen said.

"Shh."

I walked to the window. Pulled the curtain back an inch.

The yard was lit by a couple of floodlights. The gate was at the far end of the driveway, maybe a hundred yards away. There was a shape standing at it. A figure. Small. Hands up.

And Benny, the prospect, walking toward it with his hand on his hip.

I ran to the door.

"Ella—" Colleen started.

"Stay here. Stay with Lily."

I went out.

The night air hit me like cold water. I ran down the driveway in my bare feet.

"Benny!" I yelled. "Benny, wait!"

Benny turned. Saw me. His hand came off his hip but his face was tight.

"Get back inside," he said.

"Who is it?"

"Get back inside."

"Benny."

The figure at the gate moved. Hands still up. A voice came through the bars.

"Ella?"

I stopped.

It was a woman's voice. Not old. Not young. Tired.

"Who are you?" I said.

The figure stepped closer to the gate. The floodlight caught her face.

Dark hair. Tall. Thin. A hoodie.

The woman from the photo.

"Sierra," I said.

She nodded. Slow. Careful.

"I came alone," she said. "I'm not armed. I'm not here to hurt you. I just—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I've been waiting three years to talk to you."

Benny said, "Boss is on his way. Don't say anything."

Sierra looked at him. Then at me.

"Ella," she said. "Please. Before he gets here. I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"Your ex. Damon. He's not working alone."

"I know that."

"No. You don't." She stepped closer to the bars. "He's working with Marcus. And Marcus isn't the one in charge. He thinks he is. But he's not."

I stared at her.

"Who is?" I said.

Sierra looked at me.

And then I heard footsteps behind me. Boots on gravel. Kael's voice, low and hard.

"Sierra."

She looked past me.

"Hello, big brother," she said. "You look good."

Kael walked up next to me. Close enough that his shoulder was against mine.

"You've got a lot of nerve," he said.

"I've got a lot of nerve and no time." Sierra's voice was shaking. "Please. Let me say it before he finds out I'm here."

"Before who finds out?" I said.

Sierra looked at me.

"Marcus," she said. "But not the Marcus you think. There's a man with him. A man who's been making the decisions. And he's not family. He's not a Blackwood."

Kael went very still.

"Then who is he?" he said.

Sierra looked at me. Right at me. And she said the thing that made the whole world stop.

"He's your father, Ella."

Chapter 13 Ends.