Myk wanted to whisk her back upstairs, undress her, and slowly finish what they had left unfinished. “Good morning. I did,” he lied. Only he knew that he’d dreamed about her in such hot and wicked ways that he’d awakened this morning hard as a concrete beam.
Sarita could feel the heat in his eyes licking over her, but she forced herself to not to show it. “Are we going for breakfast?”
“Yes, the St. Regis, if that’s okay?”
“That’s fine.” Even a poor girl like Sarita knew about the St. Regis Hotel’s fabulous Sunday Brunch. She’d never experienced it, but she’d heard about it.
Myk couldn’t take his eyes off her in her hot black leather pants. The red cashmere sweater unwittingly emphasized the soft roundness of her breasts. The hoops in her ears made him remember the warm scents he’d discovered there the previous night. “I eat there pretty regularly on Sundays.”
“No church?”
He shook his head, “No. You?”
“Yes. Most Sundays in fact. St. Mary’s on Canfield and Van Dyke.”
“Catholic?”
“Episcopalian.”
The simple conversation was nothing more than small talk to cover the volatile undercurrents flowing between them. She sensed it wouldn’t be much longer before everything exploded. “I’ll get my coat.”
When she went out into the foyer, it was if she’d stepped into a kaleidoscope. The sun was shining through the stained-glass atrium above her head, casting rays of tinted light onto the dark wood below. For the first time she could see the patterns in the leaded glass clearly, and her mouth dropped in awe. Dragons. Beautifully entwined dragons, some purple, others gold. The night of Sarita’s first visit, Lily had mentioned something about the dragons being asleep, and Sarita hadn’t a clue as to what the housekeeper meant. At last, Sarita understood. The dragons looked as if they were playing in the sunshine.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen them?” Myk asked.
Sarita had been so fascinated she hadn’t noticed him walk out to join her. “Yes.”
He pointed up. “The indigo-colored ones are the females. The gold ones, the males. This glass has been in my family over a hundred years.”
Sarita had never seen anything like it before. “Why dragons?”
“My many-greats-grandfather had a thing for them. The purple ones represent his wife Hester, the gold ones, himself. His name was Galeno Vachon.”
Sarita met his eyes. “He must have loved her very much to commission something this beautiful.”
“He did. She was a conductor on the underground railroad, and he was a slave stealer.”
“He owned slaves?”
“No, he helped slaves escape and led them north. That’s how they met. He was pretty famous in his day, according to my grandmother. They lived here in Detroit after they married.”
Sarita thought she could stare up at the dragons all day. “They’re beautiful. He must have been pretty well-off to be able to afford this back then.”
“He was.”
“Is that where you get your extravagant ways?”
He shrugged and smiled wryly. “I suppose.”
Their eyes met, and once again Sarita could feel her body responding to his unspoken call. “Did Faye like the dragons?”
“No, she thought the stained glass was old-fashioned. Wanted me to replace it with something clear and modern.”
“I’d never take it down.”
That pleased Myk. “My grandmother would be happy to hear you say that.”
“Is she still alive?”
“Yep. Eighty years old and still kickin’. She loves the dragons.”
Sarita wondered if she would ever get to meet this grandmother. “This can’t be your grandfather Galen’s original house, can it?”
“No. The original house stood about where the mayor’s mansion is now. When Galen’s descendants moved back to his home in Louisiana in 1900, they dismantled the glass and took it with them. The dragons were part of a huge door back then.”
“Well, they’re fabulous. Very cool.”
In her own way, she’s fabulous too, Myk thought to himself.
The brunch at the St. Regis Hotel turned out to be just as wonderful as Sarita had imagined. There was an endless array of breakfast and lunch fare, with everything from the standard eggs Benedict and sausage, to waffles, fried catfish, grits, and four different varieties of cheesecake. There were so many mouth-watering dishes to choose from she had a difficult time deciding, but she managed to build a plate to her liking. Once she was done, she walked over to join Chandler in the small booth, and took her seat.
He surveyed her plate, and said with amusement, “You don’t eat enough to keep a ladybug alive.”
Sarita looked down at what she considered a piled-high plate. “I may go back for more later, but a buffet is all you can eat, Chandler. Not all you can carry,” she cracked, indicating his bulging plate.
“Hey, I’m a growing boy,” he explained.
Grinning, she shook her head, then started in on her food.
“I didn’t get the chance to ask you last night, but did you have a good time?”
Sarita raised her eyes to his. “I did. It’ll probably be my only wedding reception, too, so thanks for the memories.”
“You’re welcome.”
Sarita didn’t want to discuss the more sensual details of the evening, so she concentrated on cutting her waffle into manageable pieces. “Where does your grandmother live?”
“Outside Baton Rouge.”
“I’ve never been to Louisiana.”
“I try and get down there once or twice a season. She fusses if I don’t.”
“You sound like you care for her a lot?”
“I do. She’s a real firecracker.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“No.”
The terse response made her think he didn’t want to discuss his parents, so she left it alone.
Myk sensed he’d spoken more harshly than he’d intended. “Sorry, if I snapped.”
“Apology accepted. I didn’t mean to pry.”
They ate in silence for a few moments more, then Myk said, “I never knew my father. My mother abandoned me at the hospital the day after I was born.”
Sarita felt her heart break.
“My father’s mother raised me.”
“Drake, too?”
“No. Drake’s mother was a widow with four daughters when our father blew into her life. He left her with a broken heart and a son.”
“You two seem to get along well.”
“Yes, we do, strangely enough. We’re pretty different though.”
“You think so?”
He nodded, “Drake’s pretty laid-back. Me, I’m more—”
“Intense?”
He chuckled. “I’ll take that. Yeah, intense.”
They ate in silence for a few more moments, then Sarita said, “You didn’t have to tell me all that.”
“I know. I wanted you to know.”
“I was raised by my grandmother, too. It’s something we have in common.”
Myk realized she was right. “Did your grandmother make you take piano lessons?”
“No, did yours?”
“Yes, from age four.”
Sarita stared. “You play the piano?”
“Yes. Hated it at first. Loved it after I learned to appreciate it. Only music she allowed in the house was Duke Ellington. By the time I was twelve, I could play all of his standards and many of the not so standard.”
“Like what? I’ve heard of the ‘A Train’ and ‘Satin Doll,’ but that’s about it. What would be a nonstandard to someone like me?”
“Ever heard of a tune called ‘Passion Flower’?”
“No.”
“Written by Duke’s boy, Billy Strayhorn. It has more horns than piano, but it’s one of my grandmother’s favorites.”
“I’d like to hear it sometime.”
“Okay.”
Sarita couldn’t imagine him as a little boy practicing chords while his grandmother looked on. Only hours earlier she’d bemoaned the fact that she knew very little about him, but now? She knew he’d been abandoned as an infant and had a thing for Ellington. There was more to him than she’d imagined.
His voice interrupted her thoughts, “I know I promised you we’d go to the center tomorrow, but I’ve meetings, until three. It’ll have to be after that. Sorry.”
She sighed. She’d wanted to go first thing in the morning.
“If I could dump the meetings, I would, but I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” she lied. At least it would be tomorrow and not next week sometime.
He asked then, “I’ve a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you know a Candy Shaw or an Iris Pierce?”
“Nope. Should I?”
“They’re the dead women I told you about last night. Thought since you knew Fletcher Harris, you might know them, too.”
Sarita shook her head, saying, “No, I don’t. What are you trying to find out?”
“Just trying to fit all the pieces into the puzzle.”
When he didn’t say anything else, she knew the conversation was closed but decided to press a point anyway, “Suppose you’re not around when whatever is going on reaches out and grabs me? Don’t you think I could maybe defend myself better if I knew what was going on?”
Myk did, but he was torn. The night before, on the phone, he and Saint had toyed with the idea of telling her everything, but Myk wanted to run it by the others before making a decision.
When he didn’t respond, she said, “I can’t fight what I can’t see, Chandler.”
“I know.”
But it was all he said. Sarita sighed her frustration.
He told her frankly, “I won’t let anybody hurt you.”
“Thanks, and I mean that genuinely, but sometimes a damsel in distress doesn’t need a knight. Sometimes she just needs a map of the castle so she can get out on her own.”
He grinned softly. “I hear you.”
“Does that mean I get a map?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I know.”
They went back to their meals.
When they returned to the house, Myk walked her back into the den. “I have some work I need to catch up on, and it’s going to take me most of the day. So I’m going to apologize up front for leaving you on your own.”
Sarita told herself she wasn’t disappointed, but she was lying. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You won’t try and leave the minute my back’s turned?”
She studied him for a moment, then smiled ruefully. “Worried, are you?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. I don’t want you taking me for granted.”
“Never.”
His husky tone made her heart beat fast. “Go to work, Chandler. I promise to be here when you come up for air.”
Myk had never met a woman like her. She was playful, sexy, and cockier than any female had a right to be. He wanted to kiss her until she pleaded his name. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
“Is there anything in your freezer?”
He eyed her curiously. “Probably. Why?”
“Because I’m cooking dinner.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“You have a problem with that?”
“No. As long as my kitchen is still standing when you’re done.”
Her hand went to her hip. “I’m not the one who set off the smoke detector.”
He had the decency to look embarrassed. “What time’s dinner?”
“Six or so okay with you?”
“That’s fine. The fire extinguisher’s under the sink there.”
Sarita cut him a playful look of warning. “I’ll see you later.”
Myk watched her head upstairs to her room. Who knew having a woman in the house would be so delightful.
Later that afternoon, Sarita went to start dinner in a kitchen she considered a cook’s heaven. She’d only had a brief encounter with the space the morning she’d cooked breakfast, but now had the time to check out the place at her leisure. Every modern appliance known to woman was either built in or hidden inside the banks of buffed-wood cabinets covering the walls. In the middle of the room was a large black marble island complete with double sink and a gas cooktop. There was a big walk-in pantry and a stand-up freezer filled with meat. Sarita found everything she needed from measuring spoons to baking powder.
Sarita spent a moment just taking in the kitchen’s beauty. She liked the soft yellow paint on the walls; the old-fashioned sheer white curtains on the French doors; the many many cupboards. After washing her hands in the other double sink near the dishwasher, she went to work.
Sarita was standing over the stove stirring the sausage in a skillet for the jambalaya when the back door opened. In walked Walter McGhee. Seeing him made her remember last night, and she was embarrassed all over again.
He didn’t appear comfortable either, but he nodded politely, “Afternoon, Mrs. Chandler.”
“Hi. Call me, Sarita, please.”
“I’ll do that.”
There was an awkward silence, then he asked, “Where’s the man?”
“Working.” Sarita had no idea where his room was, or if he worked in a separate office area, or what. Much of the big house was still a mystery to her.
Walter said quietly, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you last night.”
Sarita tried to concentrate on the browning meat. “I know.”
“I didn’t expect—”
“It’s okay. You had no way of knowing—” Sarita really wanted this conversation to be over. She felt as if her face was beet red.
Walter added with sincerity, “Myk and I spend a lot of time together and—I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”
Sarita faced him. “We’re fine, Walter. Really we are.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, “Good.” He then added, “So, what’s in the pot?”
She grinned. “Sausage for jambalaya.”
“Jambalaya? You can cook?”
“Stay for dinner and find out.”
He smiled. “I’ll do that. Now, though, I need to see the boss.”
“Before you go? Do you know if there’s a small TV somewhere I can put in here?”
“Yeah. Use Lily’s.”
Before she could ask where it was kept, Walter picked up a remote from the island top and pointed it. Out of the edge of the island a TV rose.
Sarita stared in amazement.
Walter smiled at the awe on her face. “Lily had Myk install it last year so she could watch her stories in here.”
“Now that is cool.”
He grinned. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
“Punch up the game. Let’s see how bad the home team’s going to get whipped this week.”
“A fan?”
“’Til I die. My great-uncles started taking me to games when I was eight. Loved football with a passion ever since.”
“Well, all right,” he said with approval. “You’re a lady after my own heart.”
That said, they put Saturday’s embarrassing event behind them and started anew.
Walter watched the game for a few minutes, then headed off to find Chandler.
Upstairs, Walter knocked softly on the door to the War Room, identified himself, and walked inside.
Myk was going over reports. He looked up. “Hey, is my kitchen on fire yet?”
Walter grinned, “Not so far. She’s making jambalaya.”
Myk’s surprise etched his face. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. She invited me to stay and eat. If that’s okay with you
, of course.”
“That’s fine with me. Jambalaya, huh?”
Walter nodded, then said, “I apologized for embarrassing her last night.”
“Good. I wanted you dead.”
“I figured that. What’re you doing?”
“Looking over the numbers from our charm school.”
Walter chuckled, “How are the debs doing?”
“Called out there earlier this morning and talked to Blue. He said things are going well. Considering.”
Blue Reynolds was an ex-Marine. He and his handpicked staff ran the NIA rehab camp. “He says the gangbangers weren’t too happy finding out they were now living in the middle of nowhere. Ninety percent of them don’t even know where Wyoming is. The first group we sent spent the first morning cursing and threatening the staff—until the instructors came in.”
“Nothing like fifteen or twenty retired drill sergeants to change your attitude,” Walter put in with a grin.
Myk smiled. “After a few days of doing laps and push-ups, he says everybody’s starting to settle down.”
The rehab camps were parts of Drake’s vision. He wanted to take those kids who were the hardest core and try to mold them into productive, contributing members of society by physically removing them from their home environment and plunging them into one filled with hard work, strict discipline, and education. Since there was not a gang member in the city who would willingly go along with such an idea, given the choice, the mayor’s program eliminated choice with the help of the juveniles’ parents, child social services, and the courts. At present there were thirty-five enrolled, aged twelve to fifteen. The camp, set on a ranch in Wyoming, began operations less than a month earlier. Drake had no doubts the program would succeed; Myk hoped his brother was right.
“Saint call back?” Walter asked.
“Not today, so far. He’s trying to run down Fletcher’s boys.”
“The ones who went south after Fletcher got popped?”
“Yeah. Our friends at the FBI think whoever killed the ladies may now know about Fletcher’s role, and, if so, we need to find his boys first.”
“And we still don’t know who gave the bookies the diamonds?”
The Edge of Midnight Page 18
