Mark settled back down. He stared at his beautiful wife, and thought about all of those beautiful black votes her beautiful black ass was going to get for him someday. “At least you never told Sinatra that he was the father. He didn’t know you were ever pregnant. And I know that to be a fact because I had my man investigate it. Sinatra doesn’t even know he has a six-year-old son. And he will never know. Because you know what else these results prove?”
Denise didn’t respond. “Do you know what else these results ---”
“What?” Denise asked angrily. “And let me go!” She snatched away from him. “What do they prove?”
“These results prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there’s nothing I can’t do even before my political career takes off. Imagine my capabilities when my career does take off.”
She stared at him. Instead of being frightful, instead of being angry that his reach somehow managed to alter her son’s official DNA paternity test, she smiled. She actually smiled! She was getting some kind of serious high from the mere thought of the power they would one day wield, and they both knew it. That was why he smiled too. And pulled her into his arms.
“That’s right baby,” he said as he held her. “If we do this right, the sky is going to be the limit for us.”
“And for our son,” Denise added.
Mark nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And for our son.”
They held each other tighter. Denise knew what she was doing was wrong on every level. She knew she was making a deal with the devil himself. But what could Brent do for her? He didn’t want her. She tried to call him countless times after he discovered her with Mark in that hotel room. She tried to reach out to Brent even more after she and Mark reconciled and she realized Mark was still lying and cheating on her. But Brent wouldn’t even pick up the phone. Mark was her ticket out.
Mark, she knew, was all she had.
Brent parked his big truck a block away and made the slow walk to Grogan’s Bar at the end of the street. He had knocked off, had showered and changed, and wanted a stiff one to get this Friday night started. He was either going to call a female and spend the night with her, or hook up with some of the boys over on Spelling for another round of poker. Or both, he thought with an inward smile as he pulled open the heavy door and entered the crowded bar. The night was young.
Makayla Ross saw him long before he saw her. She was sitting in a booth seat while her date, Eddie Rivers, went to pick up their drink orders.
Brent Sinatra, she thought, as she watched him head for the counter. She had come to town expecting to have to deal with some police chief with ideas as old as he was, one of those nobody was going to come into my county telling me what to do good-old-boy types, and she was expecting a knockdown-drag-out just to get the information she needed. She was expecting that. But she got Brent Sinatra instead. Newly-appointed, young for a police chief, and not just gorgeous. Oh no. That would have been too kind. But this Brent had the nerve to also be fine as wine with that muscular, thick-thigh body that was Makayla’s weakness. She was not expecting that.
She kept her eyes trained on him as he small-talked with the bartender. Unlike Monday morning, when he appeared all-business and no-nonsense, he seemed far more casual tonight. He wore jeans, a tucked-in maroon polo shirt that highlighted his upper body strength and his ripped stomach abs, and he walked with that muscular confidence that separated the men from the boys as far as Makayla was concerned. He was a force of a different kind. A force to be reckoned with.
Not that she was some slouch either. She was not. She was known around Augusta, Maine’s Capital, as a tough cookie in her own right, a force to be reckoned with herself, and a gorgeous one to boot. She was so well-regarded that the state’s Attorney General, her boss, had already informed her that she was going with him to D.C. should the president appoint him, as was widely expected, to be an assistant in the U.S. Attorney General’s office. Which meant she was going places. Which meant there was no hick on earth, not even one as hot as Brent Sinatra, that was going to slow her down.
And he was hot, she thought, as he listened attentively to one of the bartenders yap about whatever he was yapping about. She couldn’t help but admit that Brent Sinatra was hot as hell. Strong, tough, and with his fierce green eyes and long, wavy black hair, he possessed beauty with his strength. As if he was a badass from way back who didn’t have to flaunt shit, because he was the shit.
She was impressed with Chief Sinatra from jump. But she was nobody’s fool either. There was something kind of dangerous about him too. She felt it when they first met Monday morning, and she was feeling it even now, as he stood across the room from her. It was that feeling that something was brewing inside of him; that something was percolating so fiercely beneath his smooth exterior that it could blow at any moment. But instead of being repulsed by the possibility of such an explosion, Makayla thought with a smile, she was oddly thrilled by it.
“Here you are, my dear,” Eddie Rivers said as he returned to the booth with their drink orders.
“Thanks, Captain.”
Eddie stopped all motion and looked at her. “I told you to call me Eddie. I’m not Captain Rivers, the second-in-command, tonight. I’m Sweet Lovin’ Eddie tonight!”
Makayla almost wanted to puke. This man was almost old enough to be her father, for one thing, although she’d dated many older men before and enjoyed it. But he was too blatant with the sex talk for her taste. He even joked about the size of penis. He was quite attractive, she’d give him that, and had that smooth dark skin that was usually her preference, but he was also slightly ridiculous with his Sweet Eddie this and Lover boy Eddie that. But he was the cop Brent had appointed to assist her with whatever information she needed to obtain, and she agreed to this “date” for that very purpose. But even as Eddie sat down across from her, and continued with his sexual prowess talk, Makayla couldn’t help herself. She glanced over at Brent, who was just receiving his drink.
“Special just the way you like it, Chief,” the bartender said as he slid a glass shot of liquor across the bar counter.
Brent took it up and swallowed it with one long gulp, and then banged the small glass on the countertop and shook his head.
“Told you it was special,” he bartender said.
Brent slid the glass back across the counter. “Special it up again,” he said.
The bartender laughed. “Will do, Chief,” he said.
Brent wiped his mouth and belched, just as his cell phone began to ring. When he pulled out his phone, saw that it was a female he knew, he let her call go to his Voice Mail. He didn’t know who he wanted to be with tonight, or if he wanted to be with anybody, and he was not interested in any persuading.
But as he looked up across the bar at the festive crowd, and waited for the bartender to mix his drink, he realized, clean across the room, Eddie Rivers was in the house. He was sitting in a booth across the way. And he was not alone. Which wasn’t unusual at all. Eddie and his ladies frequented Grogan’s more than Brent did. But what caught Brent’s attention was the woman with Eddie. Makayla Ross. The very woman Brent had considered calling tonight himself, but decided she was not the hit and run type. But here she was with Eddie of all people, the hit-and-run King. What the fuck?
Brent left the bar counter before his drink could arrive and made his way to Eddie’s booth. Makayla saw him coming first, and then Eddie’s eyes followed her gaze. And he smiled. “Well you old rascal,” he said as Brent arrived, “I thought you were going over to the poker game on Spelling tonight.”
“I thought about it,” Brent said, looking more at Makayla than he was looking at Eddie. “Hello, Miss Ross.”
Makayla was pleased by his presence. She smiled. “Hello, Chief.”
“I didn’t realize you guys had planned a meeting tonight.”
“Because it’s no big deal,” Eddie said. “I asked if she wanted to get together for drinks and discuss just what she would need from the department, and sh
e agreed.”
“Did she?” Brent asked, unable to take his eyes off her. She wore red, a beautiful red chiffon blouse tucked into a pair of black slacks, and that red against her brown skin was electrifying. What a gorgeous girl, he thought.
“Would you care to join us?” Makayla asked.
“I’m sure he has other things to do,” Eddie quickly interjected just as Brent’s cell phone notified him of a text message. “You have places to go, people to see. Don’t you, boss?”
Brent looked at his text message. An armed robbery on Allendale in need of a supervisor. He took robberies more serious than most any crime, because anything could go wrong. He looked at Eddie. “There’s a robbery in progress over on Allendale,” he said. “They need a supervisor on scene.”
“Okay,” Eddie said. A supervisor was anybody with any rank, including a sergeant.
“What do you mean okay?” Brent asked, a little perturbed now. “Get your ass over there and check it out.”
Eddie frowned. “Me? Why would I need to go? You can send Lieutenant Macklin over there, or even Sergeant Graham. Why do I have to go?”
Brent gave Eddie a hard, cold look that even Makayla recognized as serious shade. “Could I see you for a minute?” Brent walked away, without waiting for an answer.
Makayla smiled. “You’re in trouble.”
Eddie exhaled. “It would appear,” he said, stood up, and followed his boss near the entrance.
When Eddie arrived, he could tell Brent was steaming. “What did I tell you to do?” Brent asked him.
“You told me to go on scene. But I don’t see why it’s necessary for me to go.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Brent said angrily, but had to lower his voice. “I don’t give a fuck what you don’t see. There’s a robbery in progress and our men need a supervisor to direct a response. You get your ass over there and direct the response. You know how serious I take armed robberies. You know how easily things can go wrong, there could be hostages, anything could happen.”
“Okay, understood. I just thought . . .”
“You just thought what?” Brent asked.
“I thought you might be interested in Makayla.”
“I am interested in Makayla,” Brent admitted. “But that has nothing to do with this.”
“So you’re going to try and get her for yourself?” Eddie asked.
Brent frowned. “What is that your business?”
“Do you realize how rare it is for a black man in Jericho to find a gorgeous, available black lady? I was out of my mind with excitement, man!”
“She’s young enough to be your daughter, Eddie.”
Eddie smiled. “Nobody’s too young for Sweet Eddie.”
“More like Fast Eddie. Now take off.”
“Ah, man, I forgot. I picked her up from her rental house. She’s renting that place over on Stoneridge. I’ll tell her I’ll come back after I finish up. I’m her ride back home.”
“I’ll get her home,” Brent said. “And I’m going to work with her from here on out, so you can back off of her entirely. You go handle that call. I’ll handle her.”
Eddie smiled. “Oh, I’ll bet you will. I’ll bet you’ll handle her all the way to the bedroom. But hey, I’m not mad at you. I had the same thought myself. But I don’t think she was feeling me.”
“Not feeling Sweet Eddie? I wonder why.”
“She’s a tough one, in my opinion. She’s going to make you work hard for every inch of pussy she gives up. She’s not like our regulars. There’s nothing easy about her. Don’t expect anything easy with that one.”
Brent had already suspected as much. They were constantly warning off the other one when it came to a potential bedmate. It was the way men operated in Jericho. “Okay,” he said, patting his friend’s back. “And Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you ever again speak vulgar like that about Miss Ross.”
Eddie smiled. “Oh, yeah. You’re hooked already. But I hear ya’. I’m out of here. Give her my apologies.”
“Will do.”
Then Eddie smiled and shook his head. “Lucky dog,” he said as he left.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Makayla could tell there was a bait and switch going on. That was undoubtedly why Brent wanted Eddie to go to that crime scene and Eddie didn’t want to go. But she was pleased when she saw that it was Eddie who was leaving. He was a good looking guy to be sure, and an African-American male professional, which was definitely her preference, but his fun-loving personality was nowhere near the kind of man she preferred. Brent, on the other hand, had the kind of personality, and especially the kind of body, that was spot on.
And as he began heading back toward her booth, she immediately felt that hidden undercurrent he exuded. There was something explosive about that man. Her eyes even moved downward, to that substantial bundle between his legs, and she began to wonder if that was it. Did this man possess the kind of rage that only came out in bed, and it was such a fierceness that women couldn’t get enough of it? She’d met guys like that before. Her ex, before she left him, was that kind of guy. Did Brent Sinatra have that kind of skill in him too? A part of her wanted to find out. A big part of her. But it would be a disaster if she went down that road with him. It could destroy their business relationship. So she decided she wouldn’t go there, as he arrived at her table.
“He gives his regards,” Brent said as he took the booth seat that had been vacated by Eddie.
“I rode with him,” Makayla said. “But it won’t be the first time I was stood up at a bar.”
“I’m taking you home,” Brent said and looked her dead in her eyes. That look, as if all kinds of double meanings were dancing through his head, jolted her. She looked away.
“What is this?” he asked as he picked up Eddie’s glass and sniffed his drink.
“A pipe bender was what he called it.”
Brent shook his head. “That Eddie,” he said, and motioned over one of the waitresses.
“Sir?” the waitress asked.
“A beer for me,” he said, and looked at Makayla. “Need a refresher?”
“I’m good,” Makayla said.
He glanced down at her drink and saw that it was orange juice. “That’ll be all,” he said to the waitress, and the waitress left.
Makayla smiled. “I’ll bet you drink on duty.”
“Sure do,” Brent said. “You?”
“Sure don’t. Not because of any piety, mind you, but because I don’t drink. Period.”
“Yet you meet Eddie in a bar.”
“His choice. Not mine.”
“I don’t understand why you would go at all.”
“Go where?”
“On a date with Eddie. We don’t call him Fast Eddie for nothing. You should have discerned what kind of man he was.”
“You mean he’s a man who wants to bed every woman he meets?”
“Exactly!”
“A man like you?”
“Exactly,” Brent responded before he realized he was saying it. “No! Not at all!”
Makayla laughed.
Brent couldn’t help but smile. “That was a trick!”
“No, it was not. Your mouth uttered the truth. But it takes one to know one so I’m not mad at you.”
Brent considered her. “You like to bed every man you meet? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Get real. I don’t want to bed hardly any of the men I meet.” Then she looked her big eyes straight into his. “But there’s that occasional one,” she admitted.
Brent’s heartbeat quickened. He loved a woman who didn’t mind putting it out there. She was interested, and he was, and he loved the fact that he didn’t have to pull teeth to get her to admit it. But the night was young. “Mother or father?” he asked her as he took both hands and shoved back his pile of wavy black hair.
Makayla was confused. “Excuse me?”
“Which one was the alcoholic? Your mother or your father?”<
br />
Now she was thrown. “What are you talking about? Just because I don’t drink would cause you to ask me a question like that?”
Brent continued to look at her. It was not just the fact that she didn’t drink. It was the fact that she made a point of pointing out that he did. But he remained silent. If he had read her right, he knew that truth would prevail. She would go there and tell it to him straight.
“Neither,” she eventually said when it was obvious he was not going to respond. “Neither of my parents were heavy drinkers.”
But he kept looking at her, as if he was looking through her. As if he knew there was more to her story than she was willing to tell, but if he kept the pressure on she would tell it. But could some jock like him be that insightful, she wondered. Or was she giving him too much credit? She had no intentions of telling her truth to a man who was practically a stranger to her, but his look was so darn sincere, she actually felt emboldened. “But I was,” she admitted. “I was no alcoholic, but I was heading in that direction. I had problems and was drinking as if alcohol could solve my problems. Or at least ease the pain.”
“It didn’t work?” Brent asked.
“Didn’t solve a damn thing,” Makayla admitted. “Didn’t ease it either. So I knew I had to quit altogether or deal with the consequences.”
Brent nodded his head. She was strong too. He liked that. “How long ago?” he asked her.
Makayla didn’t realize it, but Brent saw a flash of pain appear in her big, intelligent eyes that made him convinced it was still an open wound. “Not long,” she responded.
Brent immediately motioned to the waitress.
Makayla looked at him. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Yes, sir?” The waitress returned. “May I help you?”
“Cancel the beer,” Brent said. “Bring me a Coke instead. And take this with you.” He handed the waitress the drink Eddie had left behind.
The waitress glanced at Makayla with some serious attitude, as if it was all her doing. They made far more money on shots of beer than shots of Coke. “Yes, sir,” she said, and then left again.
Big Daddy Sinatra 3: The Best of My Love (The Sinatras of Jericho County) Page 8
