Myk didn’t think any of this was remotely funny. He wasn’t about to confess that the woman barely reached his shoulder; he’d endured enough tonight.
Drake asked, “How are you going to find her?”
“How the hell do I know!” Myk snapped. “But I will, and when I get my hands on that little—thief, she’ll pay.”
Although Drake did find some humor in Myk’s plight, in reality this woman, whoever she was, could present quite a problem. She would probably recognize Myk if she saw him again, and that might put NIA and all its participants and projects in jeopardy if she were to let it be known that Myk had the diamonds.
Once Myk’s wounds were tended to Drake’s satisfaction, Drake put away his supplies, sat back, and watched Myk pace.
“Drake, I want every available person on this. She could’ve killed me.”
“I know, man. We’ll find her.”
“Were there any prints on the toolbox?”
“Not any we can use.”
Myk’s mood became more grim. “She could be anywhere.”
Drake agreed. Finding her in city of over a million people would not be easy—providing she was still inside the city limits. “You need to get some sleep. It’s been a long night. We’re watching all the known jewel fences, just in case she tries to dump them.”
“I’m not sleeping until I find that little—girl. She not only has the diamonds, but my gun, too. That’s all the city needs—one more weapon on the streets. Dammit, I want her found.”
The mayor shook his head at his brother’s single-mindedness. “Okay, don’t sleep. I’ll go home and sleep for both of us. I’ll call you in the morning.”
Drake showed himself out. He doubted Myk even noticed.
Three
When Sarita awakened the next morning, the clock on her bedside table read 6:30 A.M. The sun seemed to be sleeping in, but she didn’t have that luxury. The sooner she met with Fletcher, the sooner she could get it all over with. Thinking about him made the memories of the previous night’s close call surface again. She pushed them away. Her conscience could have its pound of flesh later—right now, she had business to attend to. Throwing back the quilts brought the predawn chill against her warm skin. Shivering, she lifted her robe from the bedpost and quickly drew it on.
To safeguard her bare feet from the cold kiss of the wood floor, she pulled on the socks she always kept by the clock. This particular pair didn’t match, but they were warm. A yawn escaped her and she stretched in response. In midstretch, the sight of a man in the rocker on the far side of the room made her tighten and gasp with fear, but recognition immediately calmed her down. Seeing the familiar face did not calm the urge to strangle him for scaring her so badly though. “I won’t ask how you got in here.”
Number one, she knew he wouldn’t tell her, and two, he had a habit of appearing out of nowhere. She’d grown accustomed to his magical appearances; almost.
“Good morning to you, too,” Saint tossed back with a crooked smile.
Sarita had known him most of her life. Her was her foster brother; Sarita’s late grandmother had raised them both, and they were close as siblings. Lately, though, he seemed to get a real kick out of freaking folks out with his silent-as-smoke entrances and exits. Rumor had it he’d learned the tricks working for military intelligence in the Middle East, South America, and Johannesburg. Many swore Saint still worked for some entity’s intelligence arm because he seemed to know everything about everything. After being gone for three years, he’d returned to the neighborhood eighteen months ago. During his first few months back he gave the local dope peddlers fits by tipping off the police to deliveries, showing up unexpectedly in rooms during big transactions, and threatening the lives of gangbangers trolling for recruits at the nearby middle school. Word was, some eastside crews had placed a five-thousand-dollar bounty on Saint’s head. Far as she knew, no one had been stupid enough to try and collect.
Sarita dearly hoped he hadn’t gotten wind of her little escapade last night because if he ever found out, there’d be hell to pay. “I thought you vampires had to be in by dawn,” she cracked. He might be legendary to some, but to her he was plain old, Anthony St. Martin.
Her gruff response made him smile, and ask, “Slept that well, huh, Sarie?”
She wanted to growl but didn’t. She didn’t want to give him any reason to inquire about her mood or her evening. To distract him, she got off the bed and went into the kitchen. He followed. She flicked on the overhead light, then set the old coffeemaker to earning its keep. She didn’t drink the stuff, but knew he lived on little else. When it was ready, she poured him a cup, then led the way back out to the front room.
She sat down on the sofa that had been her granduncles’ favorite, pulled her feet up, then said, “At this time of the morning, I assume you’re here for more than chitchat.”
He’d taken a seat on her grandmother’s old recliner. Sarita waited while he took a few cautious sips from the steaming cup. She didn’t rush him—he’d answer eventually.
While she waited, she looked him over with sisterly concern. There were deep circles beneath his eyes, and he’d stopped shaving. He looked tired, making her wonder what he was mixed up in now. His attire offered no hint because Saint’s clothes were always the same: dark jeans, dark turtleneck, and on top, an old, once-green, Army-issue bush coat that brushed the ankles of his scuffed boots. He once told her he could live for weeks on the contents hidden in the coat’s many pockets, and she didn’t doubt it for a minute. In the nineteenth century he would have made a great cowboy. His attire and sexy, unshaven face made him look as if he’d just stepped out of a spaghetti Western. Here, in the twenty-first, women drooled over him like Häagen-Dazs.
Saint set his cup aside, and finally spoke. “First, some news: Fletcher’s dead.”
Her eyes widened. “What? When?”
“Last night about three.”
Sarita was speechless. Dead! Good lord! What would she do about the eviction notice now; more importantly, what would she do with the diamonds? She knew she shouldn’t’ve done gotten involved with Fletcher. Fate had a cruel, warped sense of humor. “What happened to him?”
“Had his door kicked in. Seems he was trying to cut into the business of a westside crew who didn’t want to share. Sent him to hell along with some of his boys and a lady friend.”
A chilled Sarita felt someone walking over her grave. Did the diamonds belong to this westside crew? She’d never heard of any local crews moving gems before. “Do the police know who the shooters were?”
“Not yet. Folks are saying the rest of Fletcher’s crew flew down south.”
Sarita was having trouble breathing.
Saint quipped, “So I guess you’ll be burning down some other crew’s houses now. The buzzards are already circling over Fletcher’s old turf.”
She cut him a look. “I didn’t burn those houses.”
“Yeah, right.” He took a draw from the cup.
Sarita didn’t bother arguing. No matter how many times they had this discussion, he never believed her claims of innocence.
He asked her then, “So, have you found the money to stop the eviction?”
She shook herself free from the problems caused by Fletcher’s death. “Nope.”
Silence.
Saint set his cup down. “Well, I have this friend who just might be willing to offer you the cash you need.”
An excited Sarita sat up straight. “Really?” Then she narrowed her eyes. Dealing with Fletcher made her decidedly wary of out-of-the-blue “gifts.” “In exchange for what?”
“A year or so of your time.”
“Oh, is that all?”
Saint smiled. “Always did like your dry wit. Like your mind, too. I’m sitting here wondering if I’ve anticipated all your questions.”
Sarita grinned. “Probably not. You always did underestimate me. Remember that Christmas Gram gave us the Monopoly game?”
He did.
/> “I was only nine, and you were twelve, but I whipped you with one Boardwalk arm tied behind my back.”
He hung his head at the memory.
“And then, your twelve-year-old male ego wouldn’t give up, so I had to beat you again and again and again.”
He looked up. “I remember you bragged for weeks.”
“I remember you never played me again.”
They shared a smile of mutual affection, before she asked, “So, who is this friend?”
“Technically, he’s my half brother.”
Once again, she stared speechless, then echoed, “Your half brother? Since when?”
“Since a few years ago.”
“And you never said anything?”
Their gazes met.
He looked away. “When I got the letter from the lawyer, I tossed it. I never knew my father, so why should I care if folks claiming to be my family wanted to meet me.” He turned to her. “I already had family. You.”
Her heart swelled, “But Saint—”
He held up his hand. “Wait, let me finish. They tracked me down. Usually, that’s pretty hard to do, but they did it. I have two half brothers.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re your family.”
He went silent for a moment, then said, “What’s funny is, I met one of them about ten years ago in Thailand. Had no idea we were blood.”
“Did you get along?”
“Sure. He wasn’t a bad brother. In fact, I came to respect him a lot.”
“So why the issues with him being family?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve always been the lone wolf. Now I find out that not only am I not alone, but I’m the baby wolf.”
She smiled. “You’re the youngest?”
“Far as we know.”
“What are your brothers like?”
“Rich. One’s a doctor, the other’s an architect. They live right here in the city.”
“And one of these brothers wants a year of my time. What’s his name?”
“Can’t tell you that right now.”
She looked at him for a moment then asked, “Oh, you’re supposed to lure me in with this heart-tugging story first?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “He needs a woman.”
“To do what?”
“Pose as his wife.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Pose as his wife.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say, he wants to settle down for a while, and a wife will help with that.”
Sarita decided that her inability to understand Saint’s explanation had to do with her being shellshocked by his startling news about Fletcher and the long lost half brothers. “Start over.”
He obliged. “He’s a well-known wealthy brother, and because of his status, the women won’t leave him alone. He figures if he gets married, the babes will go after other prey.”
“And that’s the only reason he’s doing this is because the babes won’t leave him alone? Since when does any man find that a problem?”
“Well, he does. All the attention is keeping him from his work.”
“Is this the doc or the architect?”
“The architect.”
“Uh-huh. Well, since I don’t claim to know anything about the minds of the rich and famous, explain why you think I’d do this?”
“Because in exchange, he’ll buy your building from the city and hand it over to you free and clear.”
Sarita searched his face for hints that he might be joking. His bottle green eyes stared back innocently, or as innocently as a man like Saint could appear. “Free and clear?”
He nodded.
Sarita’s imagination began to mine the possibilities. If the building came to her unencumbered, she’d find a way to keep it open. Somehow. But the exchange? Could she really play some rich man’s wife? Her brain kept echoing, “Free and Clear.” She had to admit the proposal sounded awfully tempting. She looked over at her foster brother’s handsome golden face. “Now, tell me the real deal on this.”
“You’ve heard the real deal. He just wants to get married.”
She didn’t believe him for a minute. She trusted him enough to know he would never involve her in anything dangerous—she hoped. He usually saved those roles for himself.
“Tempted aren’t you?” he said knowingly.
She didn’t answer at first, too immersed in thought, then, “Why does he have to hire someone to do this? Why can’t he pick from all the ladies on his tail?”
“He doesn’t know anyone who’ll simply walk away when the job’s done. He doesn’t want to end up in court with some woman trying to get more than her due.”
Sarita supposed that made sense.
Saint dropped the last shoe. “He’s willing to pay all your living expenses, clothing bills, whatever. He’ll also give you $50,000 when the year’s up.”
“Fifty thousand? Dollars?”
“In cash, or deposited in the financial institution of your choice.”
She had to be still asleep. This couldn’t be true. “But why me, Saint?”
“Because I think you’re discreet enough and smart enough to pull it off, and you could use the cash.”
That she could. But a year of her life? “Okay, suppose—just suppose I’m interested, what’s he expect from me?”
“The usual—be on his arm—go to fancy benefits, dinners, that sort of thing.”
“No—um, romance?”
He shrugged. “That’s something for the two of you to work out. He’s not the type of brother who’ll force a situation if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She added all of his answers to the mix. “When do you need an answer?”
“Right now. I want you to meet him tonight.”
Sarita held his eyes and tried to see what lay behind them. She thought about the center, the fifty thousand, and the good it could do, if she agreed. But—“Okay. I’ll meet him, but that’s all. If we can work it out, fine—if not, he’ll have to find someone else.”
“Sarita—”
“Saint, as much as I would love to say yes, I have to meet him first. It’s the best I can do.”
He didn’t press. “I’ll pick you up tonight around seven.”
True to his word, Saint knocked on the door at ten to seven. Sarita let him in and went to get her coat.
“That’s what you’re wearing?” he asked with a laugh.
Sarita looked down at her jeans and T-shirt. “Yes, Saint. This is what I’m wearing, or am I supposed to have on a ball gown?”
“Don’t you have something a bit more ladyish?”
Sarita ignored his implication. “You’re no representative of the fashion police yourself.” She shrugged into her leather jacket. “Let’s go before I lose my nerve.”
Seated next to Saint in the front seat of the car he affectionately called Freedom, Sarita decided only an insane person would agree to something as crazy as this. But then she’d lost her sanity the moment the eviction notice arrived in the mail; her deal with Fletcher was proof of that. Had she become so desperate she’d accept this stranger’s outlandish request? Yes, came the answer again and again. She had no choice. Simply to stand by and watch everything Pastor Washington had worked so hard to establish be turned into a vacant lot would be to succumb and surrender whole families, children, single teen mothers, and the elderly to a public assistance system stretched so thin it could hardly keep itself afloat. The governor, in his zeal to reduce the welfare budget, had swung his ax into the backs of innocents. Small children whose only sin lay in being born to a seventeen-year-old dropout were suffering from the dismantling of parenting classes, preschool programs, and education services for their mothers. The elderly, whose only sin lay in being just that, elderly, were threatened with the loss of visiting health aides, delivered meals, and supplemental funding that helped with winter heating bills. She refuse
d to abandon them. She knew in the scheme of things her efforts were nothing but a drop in the bucket, but the center provided a rallying point for their community. If it closed, there would be nothing.
Sarita had been so deep in thought, she’d paid little attention during the drive. She came out of her reverie just as Saint cut the struggling engine. She looked around at the shadows draped over the large old homes. They were in one of the city’s most historic areas. The houses, lovingly restored by their committed owners, were originally the homes of the city’s nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century movers and shakers. The integrated area was as beautiful now as it had been one hundred years ago.
Saint’s voice brought her back. “You coming?”
Gathering herself, she nodded and got out of the car.
A pleasant-faced, brown-skinned woman met them at the door. She was dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a white sweatshirt embroidered across the front with the word, GRANDMA. She gave Saint a welcoming smile as she stepped back to let them enter. “Hello,” she said to Sarita.
“I’m Lily, the housekeeper here. Please come in.”
Sarita offered a polite hello in return and looked around. The grand entranceway, with its dark woods and elegant masonry, could only be described as a foyer. The high-arched ceiling, fitted with lead-bordered panels of beautiful stained glass gave the space a cathedral-like feel.
The woman noticed Sarita’s interest in the glass, and said, “You should see it when the sun shines. Right now, the dragons are asleep. This way please. He’s been expecting you.”
Sarita’s face showed her confusion. Dragons? She threw Saint a look. He smiled but didn’t reply aloud.
They were shown into an elegantly furnished room filled with black leather furniture and sparkling wood end tables. It appeared to be a den. Books lined one wall, while a large stone fireplace, roaring with life, dominated another. The room was cozy and warm.
The woman asked, “Can I bring either of you something to eat or drink?”
Saint requested coffee, but Sarita, fighting off nervousness, declined the offer.
The Edge of Midnight Page 5
