The Edge of Dawn

by Beverly Jenkins

  She looked up to find Saint studying her instead of the quilt. “I thought you wanted to look at the quilt?”

  “I did, and my mind is supposed to be on the job, but having you around makes that hard.”

  “Good,” she said with soft triumph. “Every woman wants to be memorable.”

  “Well, you’re that and more, believe me. But.”

  “But.”

  “Me being distracted by your curvy little body could get us killed.”

  “Which means?”

  The coolness of her tone made him search her eyes. “It means, I need to keep my stuff in my pants until we find the Eye.”

  She smiled. “You do have a way with words.”

  He grinned.

  “Coming from any other brother, I’d say you were just making excuses to quit it now that you’ve hit it.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “But I don’t think that’s what you’re about. At least not with me.”

  Pleased by her accurate assessment, Saint inclined his head.

  “What you said makes sense, though, so I suppose I should keep my stuff in my pants, too.” Then she added, eyes shining temptingly, “If I can.”

  Saint felt his manhood rise. “All right, now. What did I just say?”

  She sidled close enough to smell the soap on his skin. “Something about keeping this…” and she slid her hand provocatively over the front of his jeans, “in your pants.”

  Saint’s eyes drifted closed.

  Narice purred, “I’m just trying to make a point. With all that superhero discipline, you probably don’t even notice my hand.” She squeezed the hard promise of him gently, “Am I right?”

  He captured her wrist and guided her hand over him with more purpose, “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Narice’s arousal flared between hot and scalding. “If I slipped off this robe, you probably wouldn’t even notice.”

  Fitting actions to words, she undid the belt at her waist, then let the robe crumple noiselessly to the floor. She was naked as a jaybird underneath.

  At the sight of all that chocolate loveliness, Saint drew in a shuddering breath. Mission be damned, all he could think about was the taste of her nipples and bringing her to orgasm. With that in mind he pulled her close, kissed her possessively, then eased her down onto the expensive cushions of the loveseat. Soon they were playing one last round of Make the Principal Hot.

  An hour and a half later they were ready to leave the suite. He had on his coat and shades. She had on a white sleeveless blouse and a snug-fitting pair of capris. With her purse over her shoulder and her suitcase in hand, she waited for him to finish one last walk through the suite to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Room service,” a male voice called out. “I’ve come for the dishes.”

  Narice started to the door, but Saint walked out, saying, “I’ll get it.”

  Ever cautious, he looked through the peephole first. To his surprise he saw The Majesty’s prime minister, Farouk, standing on the other side of the door. He was wearing a hotel-staff uniform and pushing a cart filled with dirty dishes and table linens. The cart’s bottom shelf and legs were hidden by the thick white cloth draped over it. Saint wondered what he was doing here, and more importantly how he knew he and Narice were in the hotel. He’d given his location to Portia, but that was only a little while ago. Farouk was looking up and down the hall nervously, as if afraid of something or someone. Had The Majesty sent him here with a message? Had something happened that he needed to know about?

  Farouk solved the mystery by saying, “Please, Mr. St. Martin, I bring an urgent message from The Majesty.”

  Saint hesitated before undoing the locks; something about this didn’t smell right. “Hold on a minute,” he called, then told Narice, “Go back in the bedroom and take this.” He tossed her a gun. She caught it as if it were a dead rat.

  “Don’t come out unless I call, and if anybody comes in that room beside me, shoot them. Period. Okay?”

  She nodded reluctantly, then hurried back into the bedroom.

  Only after he was sure she was safe did Saint draw his gun and open the door.

  Farouk entered pushing the covered cart. When he saw the gun he smiled. “That isn’t necessary, Mr. St. Martin. I’m a friend.”

  “Then you won’t mind me hanging on to it. How’d you find us?”

  “The Majesty has her ways.” Farouk then looked around the suite. “Where’s Ms. Jordan?”

  “Out shopping.”

  “At a time like this?”

  Saint shrugged. “Who understands women?”

  Farouk smiled. “I certainly don’t, but I have a message for her from my queen.”

  “Give it to me and I’ll make sure she gets it when she gets back.” Saint didn’t believe him for a minute.

  The man appeared frustrated then.

  Saint asked, “What’s the matter? This not playing out like you thought it would?”

  Farouk’s eyes hardened. “No. I didn’t expect you to have your gun drawn.”

  “Oh, you just expected to waltz in here and do whatever it was you came to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be new at this.”

  Saint raised the gun higher. “If you have a weapon, I want you to place it on the table beside you, real slow now, this gun will splatter you all over that wall.”

  Moving slowly and precisely, Farouk raised the top of one of the dishes and revealed the Luger hiding beneath.

  Saint said, “Just leave it there. Back away.”

  Farouk did so, then Saint called out, “Narice. Need your help out here, angel.”

  Saint was so busy concentrating on Farouk he saw the movement of the cloth draping the cart a split second too late. Fulani was hiding beneath it, and the dart from the blowgun in her mouth was already on its way. The tiny arrow pierced his hand. He growled and tried to get off a shot but the world was already spinning.

  Narice came out of the back pulling her suitcase just as Saint hit the floor. With wide eyes she saw Fulani and the now armed Farouk standing over him. They both looked over at her pleased.

  Farouk said, “Drop the gun, Ms. Jordan.”

  She didn’t protest. Saint was the only thing on her mind.

  Fulani came over, picked it up.

  Farouk said, “Now, have a seat.”

  Narice hurried to Saint’s side instead. She placed her hand on his chest. Mercifully, his heart was beating. “What happened to him?”

  Fulani showed her the small blowgun. “He’ll be asleep for an hour or so, no longer.”

  “But long enough for us to do what we came to do, which was to fetch you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He raised the gun. “Oh, but you are.”

  Narice was worried about Saint. She hoped Fulani had been telling the truth about the drug. “I thought you loved your queen.”

  Fulani scoffed. “No servant ever loves her master, no matter how privileged the service may be. Besides our country doesn’t need an old woman running the government. When the rebels come home with the Eye, we will decide Nagal’s future.”

  Narice shook her head. She didn’t care about the politics, just Saint’s welfare and her own.

  Farouk took out a phone and dialed. When he got his connection he said, “We have them.”

  Narice wondered who he was talking to. A few minutes later a knock sounded on the door. While Farouk held the gun on her and the sleeping Saint, Fulani moved quickly to answer the summons. In walked Gus Green, his partner Jacobs, and Ridley. All three had bruises and welts on their faces. The silent Narice was pleased to see she’d done some damage, but the big gun in Ridley’s hand brought her back to earth.

  Ridley said to Farouk and Fulani, “Good work. Let’s get them out of here.”

  Narice was dragged to her feet by Ridley. “Jacobs, Green, bring Mr. St. Martin along. Farouk get out of that uniform.”


  He stripped it away and revealed the casual shirt and khaki pants beneath.

  “Ms. Jordan, I assume you still have the keys to that SUV of yours.”

  She did.

  “I want them please. That vehicle will be far more comfortable than all of us piled together in Green’s car.”

  Narice didn’t move.

  Ridley saw the defiance in her face and said brittlely, “The keys, Ms. Jordan, or Mr. St. Martin’s dead body will be found in an alley in the morning. You may not be expendable, but he certainly is.”

  An angry Narice glanced over at Saint hanging between Green and Jacobs like a passed-out drunk and steeled her feelings of concern. She had to stay strong if she wanted to help him, so she dug into her purse for the keys and tossed them to Ridley. He caught them and winced. Narice wondered if he had a busted rib, too. She hoped so.

  Farouk grabbed up her suitcase and Saint’s gun, then they led her to the door. She shot the smiling Fulani a sinister glare, then walked with them down to the elevator.

  The ride down was a silent one. Narice kept glancing Saint’s way to make sure he was still breathing. He hung between Gus and Jacobs with his toes dragging the ground.

  Ridley said to Narice, “When we get off this elevator, I wouldn’t try and enlist anyone’s help if I were you. Remember what I said about that alley where St. Martin will be found.”

  Narice remembered, so when the doors opened, she kept her mouth shut.

  Because it was two in the morning, the fancy lobby only had a skeleton crew of clerks behind the desk, and a couple of bell man outside the big gold framed, glass doors.

  A brother in a red-and-gold uniform stepped up and opened the door for Narice’s party. He shot a questioning look at the unconscious Saint, and Green offered an explanation, “Never could hold his liquor.”

  The brother smiled knowingly. “Got a brother-in-law the same way. You folks have a good night.”

  When the men replied in kind, Narice’s jaw tightened angrily but she didn’t say a word.

  Under the lights of the parking lot, Ridley used the remote to spring the locks on Lily’s doors. Narice saw him smile triumphantly in response, then look inside. He eyed the jumble of items cluttering the second row of seats and said to Green and his partner, “Clear this mess.”

  The two eased Saint to the pavement, then spent the next few minutes tossing tools, coolers, blankets, and the rest into the back. With the job done, they stepped away. Ridley motioned impatiently for Narice to enter. Before climbing in, she shot a quick look back at Saint lying so still. Green and Jacobs hustled Saint to the vehicle and propped him up on the seat next to her. He immediately listed over, so she eased his weight down and gently cradled his head on her lap. She carefully removed his glasses and placed them in her purse. Stroking his brow with a slow hand, she prayed he’d come to soon.

  Ridley climbed in next and sat beside Narice. Farouk took the wheel and Fulani rode shotgun. Green and Jacobs got into a nearby black sedan and started the engine. Their car swung in behind the Caddy.

  As the SUV rolled out of the parking lot, Narice’s concern for Saint equaled her concern for herself. Without a doubt, once Ridley and his crew got the Eye her value dropped to zero. She’d always been a take-charge kind of girl and being around Saint for the past few days only added to that attitude, so as she looked down at her unconscious Cyclops she vowed she’d get them out of this mess as soon as the Lord made a way.

  Ridley had been observing Narice stroking Saint’s face and said, “He’ll be all right, you know. A few years ago, I gave him fifty strokes with a cat-o’-nine tails, and he survived. A simple sleeping drug won’t kill him.”

  “Why’d you lash him?”

  “He stuck his nose in something where it didn’t belong.”

  Narice remembered the story about Ridley and his sex parties, but when had Saint been beaten? “So you beat him.”

  “Like a runaway slave.”

  His smugness made Narice’s mouth curl with disgust. She turned away and looked out of the window at the darkness and the city’s lights.

  From the front seat, Farouk asked her, “Where in this swamp are we going, Ms. Jordan, and how do we get there?”

  Narice tossed back grudgingly. “Your guess is as good as mine. The town isn’t on the maps.”

  Ridley asked, “What’s the name?”

  “Grey Swans.”

  He replied with a knowing tone, “Ah, that’s right. I remember now.”

  Narice turned to him with a puzzled look. “You remember what?”

  “Your father talking about Grey Swans when I met him in North Africa.”

  Narice remembered him mentioning knowing her father that night in the cab. “Why were you there?”

  “I was a journalist covering the war for Canada. I flew in to do a story on America’s Negro troops, and he and I struck it up. We became friends or as much friends as men of different races could be back then. I’d heard rumors that he’d taken the Eye, but it never occurred to me that he would hide it and refuse to reveal the location.”

  It was obvious to Narice that her father didn’t consider Ridley as much of a friend as Ridley believed. Narice didn’t pull her punch. “Did you kill him?”

  “No, his stubbornness did.”

  That answer just pissed her off. “Did you set the fire?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Did you?”

  “Let’s just say I gave him every chance to live a long life but he chose otherwise.”

  Narice could feel ugly emotions rising up in her body; emotions that wanted to strike out and hurt Ridley in ways that would leave him maimed and barely alive, but she couldn’t act upon them. She wanted him convicted then incarcerated; going off on him wouldn’t make either of those things happen. Besides, he had the guns. For now, she’d just have to live with her hate.

  In the front seat, Fulani was leaning forward and checking out the buttons and dials on the dash. “Ms. Jordan, what do all of these knobs do?”

  Narice gave her a disinterested, “This and that.”

  Ridley snapped. “Leave them alone. Who knows what kind of booby traps this car has.”

  Fulani stared him down. “The only reason you are here, Mr. Ridley, is because of your ties to the generals. You are not in charge.”

  She then pushed the button that brought up the GPS. When the glowing green screen appeared she giggled like an excited child.

  Ridley snarled, “Didn’t you hear me?”

  When Fulani continued to ignore him, he said to Farouk harshly, “Do something with her.”

  Farouk was not impressed by Ridley’s blustering. “She is just curious. I doubt she can hurt anything.”

  Fulani managed to get the two-way radio to work, but because she didn’t know the password, she couldn’t access anyone.

  Narice said, “Fulani. Open that little silver panel.”

  Ridley snapped, “Shut up.”

  But Fulani was already in motion. She opened the panel then asked Narice, “What does it do?”

  “Push that button to the left.”

  In response a red screen with a circular map complete with black grids and cursors appeared. In the center a small white light began to pulse like a heartbeat. Next came the sound of Lily’s computer-generated female voice over the interior speakers. “Target locked. Five seconds to impact.”

  Ridley’s eyes widened as did the eyes of Fulani and Farouk. Before they could react further, the metal beneath the seats began to vibrate. There was the high-pitched sound of jets (?) and then the sound of an explosion behind them. Through the window, Narice saw the fireball that had once been Gus, Jacobs, and their black sedan. Narice didn’t like being the cause of anybody’s death but these people had already killed her father and were probably going to kill her once they found the Eye. She was just evening up the odds.

  The occupants stared at her in shocked silence, then Ridley backhanded her so hard, she reeled and saw stars.
Suddenly Saint was up and his knife was at Ridley’s throat. Farouk and Fulani’s eyes went wide as plates. The car was silent again, but this time for another reason. His voice was deadly: “Farouk and Fulani, I can kill him before you can blink, stop the car.”

  Farouk pulled over to the side of the road.

  “Hand Narice your weapons, and do it real slow. My head’s on fire, and I’m not seeing real clear.”

  They did as they were told.

  Narice’s face was throbbing. She turned the guns on them and was so angry she planned on squeezing the trigger on the first one who moved.

  Saint pushed the tip of the blade far enough into the soft skin beneath Ridley’s jaw, tiny drops of blood slid down the gleaming metal. “Narice, say the word and I’ll slit his throat.”

  Furious over the slap, she snapped, “Just get him away from me.”

  Saint told him, “She’s saved your rotten life twice now. You won’t get a third one. Remember that.”

  Ridley didn’t move. Saint stuck his free hand into Ridley’s coat and relieved him of his weapon. “Reach back and open the door.” Saint wanted to carve him up and toss out the pieces.

  Ridley did as he was told.

  “Back out.”

  He stepped out and Saint went with him, never removing the thirsty point of the knife. The quietness of the night surrounded them. A few cars blew by but Saint didn’t pay them any mind. “I’m going to kill you the next time we meet, so be ready.”

  Ridley’s blue eyes glittered dangerously.

  “If you don’t believe me show up again and they’ll be measuring you for a casket. Now start walking.”

  Nagal’s prime minister glared but headed off. Saint waited until Ridley was a ways down the dark highway before going around to the driver door of the SUV and snatching it open. Farouk drew back fearfully.

  “Out! Both of you.”

  Farouk began to protest, “We know nothing about this part of your country. Suppose we offer to cut you in—”

  The speech was cut short by the sharp jab of Saint’s knife in his ribs.