Chapter 31 Jordan
Jordan
The blinding white hallway stretches in front of us, causing the ballroom to seem like a fever dream. The gala noise fades fast, swallowed by the quiet of endless marble and climate-controlled air.
My mother’s heels beat a crisp, relentless tune. Kirill follows, silent but palpable, pressed close to my spine. They’re on either side of me.
I admit, when I asked the universe for a path forward, I never could have imagined I’d wind up here, thrust between my past and present.
But, honestly, even with the mess this has been, with Kirill’s warmth firm against my back…I don’t think I want to be anywhere else.
We wind through turn after turn, delving deeper into private hallways. I’m starting to wonder how much farther, how many more lefts and rights, when someone blocks the path ahead.
Damian, the estate’s head of security. The same man I had to learn to outsmart as a teen. I hope he doesn’t hold a grudge.
He’s tall, all square edges and broad shoulders, his gray hair trimmed over a face that’s used to dealing with more than polite socialites. His perfect, expensive suit fits him like battle armor, not party attire. His stare zeroes in on Kirill as if he recognizes a fellow predator.
But above all else, he’s a professional. “Mrs. Hearst, there’s a Detective Colvin at the service entrance who insists on speaking with you.”
The name jolts me. Detective Colvin. The cop who questioned me at the hotel. The one I turned away from for Kirill. For this.
Shit.
Goosebumps prickle up my arms. “The detective’s here?”
This is no accident. He followed my trail, and he won’t stop until he gets the truth out of me.
My mother doesn’t waste a second. Her gaze flicks from me to Kirill and back, calculating lies, lining up the story, and setting the chessboard for trouble.
“Mom, please.” I step in close, urgency strangling every word. “It’s a long story, but we can’t talk to him again. He’ll just slow us down. We have to get to Dad’s safe. It’s the only way.”
“Talk again?” She doesn’t argue or ask why. “Jordan, you and your friend should wait in there.” She points to a side door that leads to a storage room. “I’ll deal with the detective.”
Kirill finally joins the conversation. “How long?”
Her eyes reveal nothing. “Five minutes. Maybe less.” She glances at Damian. “Bring him here. Stay visible but out of earshot.”
His mission accepted, Damian vanishes.
My mother gives us both a final, chilling stare before narrowing her eyes at Kirill. “I don’t know what you’ve dragged my daughter into, but we’ll discuss it later. For now, get in here.” She opens the storage room and guides us inside.
The tight, claustrophobic space swallows us, the air thick with the scent of cleaners and starched tablecloths. With a decisive snap, the door closes, sealing out light except for a thin strip beneath the frame.
Kirill plants himself by the door, ready to explode into violence if necessary. I hover next to him, hyperaware of his heat and heady scent.
His hand finds mine, and he tightens his grip.
I squeeze back. “She’ll handle it. She always does. Everything I know, I learned from her. How to talk without saying anything. Smile without being friendly. Insult without being rude.”
I never realized how vital those lessons would become. I guess I should thank her.
Footsteps stop just outside the room.
“Mrs. Hearst, thank you for making time.” Detective Colvin keeps his voice as mild as cream. “I know you must be busy with your guests.”
“Not at all, Detective. I’m always happy to assist Chicago’s finest.” My mother is all silken hospitality, yet every syllable contains a tinge of annoyance that suggests she’s doing him a huge favor and that he should hurry up.
“Sorry to talk here, but I’m in the middle of something. What can I help you with?”
Colvin clears his throat, and his shoes squeak as he shifts. I can just imagine my mother’s pointed glance at his feet.
“I appreciate your time. I’m here about your daughter.
We had reports of a violent incident near her apartment earlier this month.
I spoke with Jordan at the Soul Journeyers Conference over the weekend, but I had a few additional questions.
However, I haven’t been able to reach her. I hope she’s all right.”
Kirill, a gun on a hair trigger, stiffens beside me, every muscle locked and loaded.
I press my palm to his chest, trying to radiate calm through my own aura.
My mother’s a master at playing this game. She’s dodged bigger bullets than this.
“Thank you so much for your concern, Detective. She’s just fine.” Mom doesn’t miss a beat, her voice immaculately modulated.
Colvin’s demeanor sharpens. “So, you’ve spoken to her recently?”
“Yes.” She offers no more than that one-word response.
I can almost see Colvin’s smile, the same placid, prodding expression he wore at the hotel when questioning me.
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s just…there was another, similarly violent event a few weeks ago with a different young woman.
In Willow Creek, a suburb just outside the city.
Both incidents seem to involve a well-known Chicago crime family. ”
Kirill tenses again, a shark smelling blood in the water. My hand tightens on him.
“What does that have to do with my daughter?” My mother’s tone adopts that cool, measured confusion she’s perfected.
Just the right touch of maternal worry wrapped in social outrage.
“It sounds like the police department needs to have more officers patrolling the streets instead of barging into the parties of their superiors.”
She just subtly reminded him that the captain of the police force is likely drinking in her ballroom. Along with the mayor, the district attorney, and maybe a few judges.
Colvin hesitates. “Both women’s names came up in relation to a cold case I’m reexamining that happened fifteen years ago. From Isla de Huesos, an island in the Atlantic.”
Isla de Huesos. The place where my father died. The place where everything began, though I didn’t know that then.
For the first time, my mother’s composure slips.
“I know precisely what Isla de Huesos is, Detective.” Now she’s all ice, every syllable a razor.
“My late husband died there. My daughter was a child at the time, and she was not on that island.” Brick by brick, my mother builds the defensive wall, her voice frigid and lethal.
“If you’re attempting to connect her to a gangland feud based on a tragedy that happened fifteen years ago which did not involve her, then you are not only mistaken, you are overreaching. ”
She draws out that last word like a threat. No need to raise her voice. The kind of power that comes from wealth, connections, and reputation hums beneath her calm.
And it flattens Colvin. “Ma’am, I…”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she’s already dismissing him, “the governor is waiting for a word.”
“I’ll show the detective out.” Hearing the familiar click of Damian’s boots confirms that not much has changed over the years. He’s always prepared for any situation.
“Thank you, Damian. Good evening, Detective.”
Footsteps track down the hall. Colvin first, then Damian.
Mom waits on the far side of the door, guarding us until the coast is clear.
Time scrapes by. My ears start to hallucinate as I think of all the things I might hear. Doors opening. Running. My mother calling for help.
Why is Colvin so interested in the island? And who’s the other woman?
When the door cracks open, I clap a hand over my mouth to smother a yelp.
Mom steps back into the hall to make space for the two of us.
Kirill slips out first. After checking the corridor, he reaches a hand back for me. He positions his body between me and the unknown.
My mother watches the way he moves, filing it somewhere deep. “I know men like you.” Her icy, even voice contains a dry edge.
Kirill just meets her stare. “And I know women like you.”
She almost smiles. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have allowed my daughter to get caught in the cross fire.”
He maintains her gaze but can’t argue.
A warm, fierce, and unexpected emotion creeps up from my chest. Love, I think. For the woman who constructed walls to protect me, who never let the real world in unless she could curate it first. Who tried so hard to keep me safe, even as I fought to break away.
She shifts to me, and for the first time in years, she really sees me. Her expression softens. Understanding, regret, and perhaps relief sweep over her features. Maybe she’s always known I’d have to run.
“The storage room with your father’s things is this way. Richard is with the governor. I’ll shut off the cameras so nothing gets recorded.” She checks her watch. “You have twenty minutes before he wonders where I’ve gone. Move quickly.”
I can’t stop myself. I lurch forward and wrap her up in a hard hug.
She squeezes for a split second before letting go and retreating a step.
I swallow down the rising sting of tears. “Thank you.”
She brushes her thumb along my cheek. “Let’s go get what you need. And Jordan?” Her eyes flick to Kirill, then back to me. “Be careful who you trust.”