the country, you could be hiding all your life. Do you want to chance that?”
Star groaned. “Oh, my God, this hell is never going to end.”
“Try not to be afraid. We’ll have someone undercover on the floor at all times, and we’ll be back before nightfall.”
“And I’ll get Sammy back when we leave?”
“As soon as we get you settled in a safe place, yes. You don’t want him in any danger, right?”
“He was born into danger,” Star said. “I need him with me.”
“Okay, yes...just rest and heal. We’ll be back, and soon,” Gleason promised.
He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile and nodded at Powers to follow him as he exited the room, glaring at the guard again for good measure as they left.
Star was relieved to know Sammy was safe. She’d been given a reprieve, of sorts, but she was impatient and deathly afraid of the timing. And her pain was getting worse, not better. When the nurse came in a few minutes later with her pain meds, Star closed her eyes and thought of her son as she drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Anton sent a text to Luis, asking if all was well with Star. Luis sent a quick text back saying she was in her room and had no visitors other than medical personnel. Anton nodded in satisfaction and sent back one more text.
Make sure she stays there.
The threat was implied, but Luis understood. His life was at stake if anything went wrong.
Now that Anton had Star back in his grasp, he began to send out feelers to all his snitches, trying to find where the police had taken his son. They likely had him in some kind of foster home at the moment while they tried to work out who his family was, and if that was the case, he’d get word soon. If he didn’t get Sammy back, there was no way to know what Star would do. Her mothering instinct was strong. As long as she was still alive but without her baby, she would try to destroy Anton. But if he got rid of her before he got his son back, Anton was sure he would never see Sammy again. Now that he’d publicly tied himself to Star, he would be the prime suspect if she died under suspicious circumstances.
He went to the bar, bypassing his usual shot of whiskey and picking up a bottle of Grey Goose instead, a nod to his Slavic roots. He poured himself a stiff drink and took it to his office, sat down to check the stock market, then moved to email, cruising through the messages as the vodka in the glass slowly disappeared.
He was getting up for a refill when his cell signaled a text. He frowned as he read the message—this was not the news he wanted to hear. His son was in federal custody, and the woman who’d found him in the desert was in the hospital on the same floor as Star, and under police protection.
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