“Shh,” I soothe. “It’s okay. We’re home.” She looks a bit calmer, so I place her on her feet and ask softly, “Can you stand on your own for a minute, baby?”

She nods, and I make quick work of washing her and then myself. By the time I’m done, she’s swaying on her feet, and I see that it’s taking all her strength to remain upright. Swiftly, I bundle her into a large towel and carry her back to bed.

She passes out before her head touches the pillow. I tuck a blanket around her and sit next to her for a few moments, watching her chest rise and fall with her breathing.

Then I get up and get dressed to go downstairs.

Entering the living room, I see that Lucas is already waiting for me.

“Where’s Rosa?” I ask, keeping my voice level. Later I will think about our child, about Nora lying there so hurt and vulnerable, but for now I push it all out of my mind. I can’t afford to give in to my grief and fury, not when there is so much to be done.

“She’s asleep,” Lucas responds, rising from the couch. “I gave her Ambien and made sure she took a shower.”

“Good. Thank you.” I cross the room to stand next to him. “Now tell me everything.”

“The clean-up crew took care of the body and captured the kid Nora knocked out in the hallway. They’re holding him in a warehouse I rented on the South Side.”

“Good.” My chest fills with savage anticipation. “What about the white car?”

“The men were able to follow it to one of the residential high-rises downtown. At that point, it disappeared into a parking garage, and they decided against pursuing it there. I’ve already run the license plate number.”

He pauses at that point, prompting me to say impatiently, “And?”

“And it seems like we might have a problem,” Lucas says grimly. “Does the name Patrick Sullivan mean anything to you?”

I frown, trying to think where I’ve heard it before. “It’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“The Sullivans own half of this town. Prostitution, drugs, weapons—you name it, they have their fingers in it. Patrick Sullivan heads up the family, and he’s got just about every local politician and police chief in his pocket.”

“Ah.” It makes sense now. I haven’t had dealings with the Sullivan organization, but I’d made it my business to know potential clients in the US and elsewhere. Sullivan’s name must’ve come up in my research—which means we might indeed have a problem. “What does Patrick Sullivan have to do with this?”

“He has two sons,” Lucas says. “Or rather, he had two sons. Brian and Sean. Brian is currently marinating in lye at our rented warehouse, and Sean is the owner of the white SUV.”

“I see.” So the fuckers who attacked Rosa and my wife are connected. More than connected, in fact—which explains their idiotic arrogance in assaulting two women at a public club. With their daddy running this town, they must be used to being the biggest sharks in the pool.