Blind Vigilance Read online

  Blind Vigilance

  A Sydney Rye Mystery, Book 13

  Emily Kimelman

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Sneak Peek

  A Note From Emily

  About the Author

  Emily’s Bookshelf

  Blind Vigilance

  Copyright © 2020 by Emily Kimelman

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Heading illustration by Autumn Whitehurst

  Cover Design: Jun Ares [email protected]

  Formatting by Jamie Davis

  For Lauren Troppauer Gavioli, the most courageous woman I know. Vulnerability is your super power. Thank you for being my friend all these years. Thank you for being you.

  The only morality of the algorithm is to optimize you as a consumer, and in many cases you become the product. There are very few examples in human history of industries where people themselves become products, and those are scary industries – slavery and the sex trade. And now we have social media.

  * * *

  — Christopher Wiley, Cambridge Analytica Whistleblower and author of MindF*ck: Cambridge Analytica and the Plot to Break America.

  Chapter One

  Dan

  Blood. It’s blood. The dark stain circling Sydney is blood.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I grab my phone, unlock it, navigate to favorites, and touch Mulberry's name without even fully registering the thought.

  It rings. How am I going to explain knowing Sydney Rye needs help?

  I’m thousands of miles away, stationed on a private island in the middle of the fucking Pacific. And yet—

  "Hello?" Mulberry's voice, gravelly with sleep, cuts through my thoughts.

  "Sydney is bleeding."

  My phone beeps. I’m getting another call.

  "What?" Mulberry's voice clears as sheets rustle in the background.

  A dog barks. I focus on the monitor with the live feed of Sydney's room. Blue is up and going wild. Sydney, her shoulder length hair splayed out on the pillow, the white of the hotel sheets only a few shades lighter than her blanched skin, remains motionless. Shit.

  I didn't even need to call. The dogs would have alerted Mulberry. Foolish. Careless. Shit.

  "What’s going on, Dan?”

  I don’t answer.

  The door between Mulberry and Sydney's rooms flies open—I watch it on the screen and hear the hinges swoosh over the phone line. Reaching out, I slide my finger along the stylus bar to raise the volume. Mulberry stumbles into Sydney's room, unsteady on just his one leg.

  She didn't lock the door. That isn’t like her. Except it was Mulberry on the other side. A subtle invitation?

  "Fuck!" Mulberry’s voice echoes between the phone and computer speakers. He lunges toward the bed.

  Sydney lies on her back, a dark stain spreading around her hips. Mulberry drops the phone when he grabs her shoulders, his broad back blocking Sydney’s face from my view.

  I swivel to a different monitor and bring up Mulberry's phone screen. I dial 911. Someone has to. I can always be counted on to do what needs doing. Overstepping saves lives.

  "What's your emergency?" the Miami 911 operator asks.

  I clench my fist on the glass surface of my desk. Answer her, you asshole. Mulberry doesn’t follow my mental command. Fine. I take full control of the phone. "My wife is pregnant and bleeding. We’re at the airport Marriott, room 523," I say, my voice even and clear. I say it like it's my baby. Like it's my life. Not something I’m watching on a screen. My eyes flick back to the live feed of her room. "I can't wake her."

  Dear Jesus. Mulberry sits on the edge of the bed, face tear streaked.

  Sydney isn’t moving.

  She isn’t moving.

  Don't let her die.

  Sydney

  "It's time to wake up, Joy." James smiles at me, his hand warm in mine.

  "Wake up?" I ask. He nods. "Wait." Tears thicken my voice. "This isn't real?"

  He shrugs, eyes sad. "It is, but you're sleeping. And now you have to wake up." James smiles; it's subtle, not like the grins he used to offer so freely. There is a film of sorrow around him now. We didn't understand the price of joy or its fleeting nature.

  "I'm so sorry you're dead," I say. The words are like glass in my throat, leaving behind a thirst that a million gallons of water will never quench.

  His smile widens, and he reaches up to swipe a tear from my cheek. "Me too, me too..."

  I awaken from the dream in a wash of confusion. Blue's nose is wet against my hand. Mulberry looms over me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. "Get off." I raise my arms to push him away. They are heavy… too heavy.

  I'm cold.

  This is shock.

  "Sydney!" Mulberry is yelling.

  "What?" My mouth is full of cotton, that raging thirst still there.

  "You're bleeding."

  He swings his arm down to indicate my lower half. I struggle to lift my head. There’s a red stain around my hips. The baby.

  Panic seizes my chest. "Mulberry," I eke out.

  He’s holding his phone now. "She's awake," he says. "She's lost a lot of blood."

  Blue whines softly next to me, and I meet his eyes. "I'm okay," I promise him, my speech slurred. My eyes slip closed, and the darkness takes me again. But this time, I'm alone. James is gone.

  Really gone.

  Sharp pain strikes through my chest like a lightning bolt, and I hear the sizzle of the electric current, feel it writhe through me. Love will destroy us if we let it.

  Dan

  They take Sydney out on a stretcher. Mulberry has the presence of mind to close the hotel room door, locking the dogs inside. He forgets to grab Sydney's phone, computer, and bag. That won't blind me though.

  Blue sniffs at the bloody sheets before herding Nila and Frank into Mulberry's room through the still-open connecting door.

  I watch Mulberry's text scroll across the screen—he’s letting Anita know they are on the way to the hospital. I use my app on Anita's phone to turn on the cameras and microphone. Her face fills one box and her rumpled sheets the other.

  Dark brown eyes flanked by thick black lashes read the text. Her lips part, and the wrinkle she gets between her brows when she's upset appears. Anita clamps her teeth down on her bottom lip, worrying it as she responds to Mulberry's text. I'll meet you at the hospital.

  His phone is in his pocket, but the siren wails through the speakers. I'm leaving the sound up in case the paramedics say anything important.

  Anita takes her phone with her into the bathroom and puts it on the counter so that one camera darkens and the other shows the light fixture an
d mirror.

  I silence Anita's phone and turn away from the screen, offering her some privacy. On a different monitor, I shoot Anita a quick text to remind her to take Sydney her phone and computer—I'm sure she’ll want it. I'm being thoughtful.

  My phone chimes to remind me I have a message. My mom. I glance at the transcription. Hi honey, just calling to check in. Call me back when you can. I know how busy you are, so don't feel any pressure. There is something kind of (unintelligible) so call.

  The siren turns off, and there is motion in Mulberry's pocket. Anita throws her phone into her bag. I turn up the volume on Mulberry's device, straining to make out what is being said. I grab my headphones and slip them on.

  Sorry, Mom, you'll have to wait.

  Sydney

  "She's going to be fine, sir."

  My eyes are glued shut, but it's bright out there.

  "What about the baby?" Mulberry's voice—edged with anxiety—asks.

  "We'll know soon."

  I want to speak, but I can't. I want to scream, but I have no voice. I want to sit up, run out of here, be away from all of this… but I can't move.

  I hear James's voice. Relax, everything is okay. Rest.

  And I slip back into darkness.

  "Hey." Mulberry leans over the bed, his face coming into view. "You're awake."

  I blink. He turns and grabs a cup of water, offering me the straw. I suck, my head feeling light and my body weak. The water slips down, soothing my burning thirst.

  Lying back against the pillows, I close my eyes. "The baby?" I ask.

  "It's fine," Mulberry says. Relief hits me like a ray of sunlight bursting through cloud cover. "Hold on, I'll get the doctor."

  He leaves, and I cradle my stomach, gratitude welling inside me. Tears burn my eyes, and I let them flow, don't even try to stop their slow march down my cheeks.

  Mulberry comes back. “He will be here in a minute.” He sits in the chair next to me and points to a bag next to the bed. “Anita brought your phone and stuff. She had to run but plans to come back later.”

  I nod, too tired to speak. A knock at the door and a doctor walks in. “Good to see you awake. I’m Dr. Hope," says the tall, bronze skinned, graying man. He smiles like he's heard everything one might say about an OBGYN named Hope so there is no need to add to the repertoire. I rub at my eyes, pulling myself together.

  "The baby is fine for now, " Dr Hope says from the end of the bed. "You've had a subchorionic hemorrhage, so we need to take some precautions."

  Mulberry squeezes my hand so hard I wince and try to pull it away. He looks at me and then down at our hands. "Sorry," he mumbles and lets go.

  "I'd like to keep you overnight, and then bed rest for the next few weeks while we keep an eye on this."

  "Can we move her out of the city?" Mulberry asks.

  Dr. Hope nods slowly. "Yes, she should be fine to leave the hospital tomorrow, just no carrying any heavy bags. Did you lose your home in the storm?" His brow furrows as he references the hurricane that recently tore through Miami, leaving it devastated.

  "Yes," Mulberry lies easily. We didn’t have a home here. The only thing we share is a fraught history and the new life growing inside of me. "What does bed rest mean exactly, like how much movement?"

  "She doesn't need a bedpan or anything, but restrict movement as much as possible."

  Mulberry nods, mulling this over with a furrowed brow. "So, she should get a wheelchair at the airport. And she should stay still. But a couch is okay?"

  "Yes, that's fine."

  "I'm right here," I point out. Mulberry turns to me, all male confusion. "You two are talking about me like I'm not here." I switch focus to the doctor. "What is a subchorionic hemorrhage?"

  He clears his throat. "A hemorrhage that forms between the placenta and uterine wall. You had a medium-size hemorrhage. Lots of women go on to have healthy pregnancies, but the blood loss is frightening for the patient."

  "Why didn't she wake up?" Mulberry asks. "It took a lot to get her to come to."

  "Again," I say, my voice tight, "I'm right here."

  "Sorry." Mulberry sighs. "I'm upset."

  "That doesn't give you the right to stop treating me like a person."

  His lips thin, and color raises into his cheeks. "I'm worried about you. I am very aware you are a person."

  "Good. Feel free to use my name."

  A tight smile tugs at his lips, and he raises one brow. Which name? his expression questions. I return my attention to the doctor who seems used to couples squabbling. "Why bed rest?" I ask.

  Mulberry stiffens next to me. Dr. Hope cocks his head, surprised that I'm questioning his prescription. "We want to avoid this happening again."

  "Are the hemorrhages caused by movement?"

  "We don't fully know what causes them, but rest is important during the early months of pregnancy."

  "Exercise is almost always a good thing," I say.

  "Are you really arguing with him?" Mulberry asks, his voice growing louder.

  I glare at him, and his eyes narrow to mere slits of anger and frustration. "It's my body."

  "It's our baby."

  I may punch him in front of the doctor. I don't want to, but I might have to. "I'll let you two discuss," Dr. Hope says, removing himself from the room posthaste. Smart man.

  "I will go insane sitting around for months, Mulberry; you know that."

  "I guess you'll have to dig deep."

  I bark out a laugh, and the tension around his eyes lessens. He reaches out for my hand, and I let him take it.

  I take a deep breath. "Here’s the deal. I'm going to do my own research. But from everything I know about my body, being still isn't good for it."

  "Maybe this is its way of saying it wants you to slow down." Mulberry drops his gaze to our linked hands. "Your body may need something different than it ever needed before."

  Hold up. What are we talking about?

  He looks up at me. Yellow bands of color radiated from his pupils, carving a path through the green irises. I drop my gaze. He wants things I can't give him.

  The door opens, and a nurse enters. "Hello, Tara," she says, using my alias. "I'm Maud. I'll be your nurse for the next twelve hours. How are you feeling?" She walks up to the machine next to me and checks the IV.

  "Fine," I say.

  She looks at her watch and then across to Mulberry. "Visiting hours are over in fifteen minutes. Just a heads-up."

  "I'm her husband," Mulberry says.

  The nurse shakes her head. "Not according to my paperwork, honey." She smiles but isn't falling for anything.

  "We're engaged," he says. Damn, he's good at lying. When did he get so good at that? Maybe always and I just never noticed.

  "Don't lie to me," the nurse says, not falling for any of it. "I've got five kids."

  "Five?" I sputter out.

  She pats my hand. "It gets easier," she says before returning her attention to Mulberry. "Tara needs to rest, and while you two might be having a baby, it seems you're also having some disagreements." Mulberry's cheeks brighten. Oh my God, she’s making him blush. This woman is my hero. "So get ready to hit the road, son."

  With that she leaves the room. I’m grinning. "I'll be back first thing in the morning," Mulberry promises. "I'll take care of the dogs; you don't need to worry about them."

  "Thanks."

  He stands, looking down at me. I tilt my chin to maintain eye contact. "You scared me." His words hit me right in the chest.

  "I'm sorry."

  He nods then turns toward the door but pauses when he reaches it, refocusing on me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  I nod.

  He opens the door and leaves. I reach for my phone, grateful that Anita thought to bring it for me. Time to turn to Dr. Google...

  Chapter Two

  Lenox

  A unicorn stands with its head bent, the mythical creature's horn directing the viewers’ focus to a gangly foal at her feet. Mountains in gol
d and green rise up behind the new mother. Intricate flowers, each petal shimmering in pale pink, create a border around the central image of the tapestry.

  I cross my arms. "$23,257," I offer, a specific and final amount.

  The salesman doesn't respond immediately; he wants more. Doesn't everybody? But my voice leaves no room for bargaining. We've gone back and forth over several cups of tea—the mint scents the air, along with the wool rugs. Fiber dust motes drift in the shafts of sunlight that filter through the stained skylights.

  One of my first regular clients, a rug salesman's wife, liked to get fucked on her husband's stock. The scent of this showroom brings the sweet perfume of her to my nose, reminding me that I, too, was once stock to be bargained over and sold.

  The dealer and I have reached the end of negotiation. He must decide: should he sell to me or wait for another offer?

  A low thud vibrates through the room. Someone in the market dropped something heavy. And though only a few feet separate us from the busy passageways beyond, the tapestries on the walls and rugs layered on the floor keep the sales room suspended in near silence.

  "That is a good deal," Petra says, her heels quiet on the rugs as she moves across the room.

  She stares at me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. Now that Petra no longer pays me, it's as if her gaze has become that much more riveting. She has me, yet her longing grows.