Sparrow(82)

I shook my head trying to make sense of Brock’s words. Troy didn’t even know my mom.

“You lie,” I seethed, turning around to face him. I couldn’t stand on my injured foot, but I no longer cared. Not about anything, really, other than what I have just heard.

“I really wish I was, sweetheart.” He cupped his bent knee, leaning forward and giving me one of his glorious smiles. So calm. So, obnoxiously calm. “He wrapped her in a white sheet, so even if you don’t find her rotting body and she’s all bones, maybe you’ll still be able to spot her. Maybe you’ll find a little souvenir of mommy dearest. Of course…” He scratched his forehead with the barrel of the gun, deep in thought, “That wouldn’t do you any good, considering the fact that you’re not going to stay alive for much longer.”

“I know he didn’t kill her,” I told him. And me. “He was just thirteen when she took off.”

“That’s true. He didn’t kill her. He just buried her out in the woods, oh, fifteen or so years later, so that no one would find out Cillian died in his mistress’s bed. Right, I forgot you still have some catching up to do. Your mother? She dumped you and your miserable excuse for a dad for Cillian Brennan. Robyn used to meet up with him in a cabin in the middle of f*cking nowhere, in these very same woods. Worked the lunch crowd at a diner in Amherst, but came here every Tuesday to start her second shift as Cillian’s bitch. Yeah, this was her kingdom.”

He opened his arms and gestured around him. “Must’ve been really crazy about him, and what good did it do to her? After Troy found them shot, he buried her right here in a deep grave. Come to think of it, you are awfully similar to Robyn, aren’t you, Sparrow?” He strolled toward me. “You like to cook, and you’re about to be buried here because of Troy Brennan, Cillian’s son. Of course, you, at least, were his legal wife.”

“Still am. Don’t talk about me in past tense.”

Brock dragged the gun gently along my cheekbone, his eyes drinking in my face. “I like that you’re optimistic. It’s a quality not a lot of city mice possess.”

I didn’t have to believe Brock. I just had to keep him talking. And even if he was telling the truth, it didn’t matter now. Was I appalled at the thought of what Troy might have done? Yes. But even if my husband hadn’t put me out of my misery and told me why my mother had left, where she was and what he’d done, it didn’t matter because soon I probably wouldn’t be able to feel a thing.

“So why did Troy marry me?” I heard myself asking Brock. That really didn’t make any difference either, which is why I asked. No matter the pain, I could take it, because it wouldn’t last very long. Not more than an hour, anyway. And Brock seemed keen on making conversation. It was more time among the living, something I wasn’t exactly opposed to.

Brock twitched his nose and wiggled his index finger back to the hole I dug, which wasn’t very big yet. “Keep digging and I’ll tell you.”

I picked up the shovel but only pretended to make any progress with my grave, mostly just movingthe soil around. In the back of my head I remembered him telling me that he would kill me when I least expected it.

I knew the cabin Brock was talking about was here somewhere. That’s why he brought me here. He wanted Troy to find my dead body, right here.

“Even though your mom was just Cillian’s mistress, he apparently loved her. But she struggled with leaving her family, with leaving you especially. Guess it wasn’t that difficult to walk out on Abe. Not that much of a catch, what with all his drinking and low-life friends. But you…she missed you. Talked about you a lot. At least that’s what Troy told Cat and what Cat told me.”

“Cat?” I choked. Of course. Troy’s only true love. Not me, her. He told her everything, I reminded myself, hurting myself a little more.

Can Sparrows die of heartache?

“Oh, yeah…” He grinned, his face dipping closer to mine when he whispered, “Troy was so in love with my wife, he gave her his balls on a silver platter, and Cat, like the disloyal stray cat she is, spilled everything when we were in bed, while she was coked up to the max on drugs I personally smuggled into the rehab facility Troy checked her into in Malibu.” He threw his head back and laughed, glee written on his face. “I was her counselor there. God, it was so easy to ruin him. He was Samson and she was his Delilah.”

The fact Cat had been an addict was news to me, but one thing was clear. Brock planned this revenge a long time ago.

“Go on.”

“So Cillian did the noble thing and made Troy swear that he’d take care of the little girl his mistress deserted for him. Marry you, to be exact. Fucked up, isn’t it? But that’s mobsters for you. And Cillian was one hell of a f*cked-up man. The worst of ’em.”

“You hate him,” I said, turning to look at him.

“Of course I f*cking hate him. He killed my dad, so I hired someone to kill him.”

The missing name on Troy’s list. The answer to Troy’s question was Brock.

“Aren’t you even a little bit sad?” I asked. “You were orphaned. Your dad was killed. Then you sent someone to kill Troy’s dad, and now…” I trailed off, exhaling. “Now you’re going to make Sam an orphan, too, because we both know Troy will hunt you down and make sure you’re deader than dead after this. What about Sam? What about Cat?”