by J. D. Mason
“I don’t mind,” he said, speaking calmly. “She’s got to eat, Naomi.”
Naomi recalled earlier today. The woman had been able to eat only half the sandwich. They’d promised those people to keep her fed and safe. If any of them expected to get paid, the woman needed to be taken care of. Naomi didn’t have time for this today. She needed to think this through better and to find a way to make it work for her and to keep Thomas from getting suspicious.
“You’re wasting time, Naomi,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I could’ve been gone by now.”
He was right.
“I just need to figure out a better schedule for myself,” she said, turning to him. “But I can do my part, James.”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, sounding unconvinced.
She rushed into the house and came back moments later with the bag she’d packed and handed it to him. “Don’t come back here,” she scolded.
“Key,” he reminded her. “I need the key.”
She reached into the pocket of her jeans and shoved it into his palm. “Leave it on that shelf next to the door when you leave. I’ll get it in the morning.”
Seconds later, he was off her porch and headed back to his car. When she went back into the house, her oldest son, TJ, was standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Who was that, Momma?”
A chill ran up her spine. He had no business asking her that. She didn’t have to answer him, but Naomi stared back at the mirror of her husband’s demeanor and unwittingly dipped into a familiar place.
“Man from work,” she began to explain. “One of the drivers. He’s new and he needed to me to remind him of which rig he’d be pulling off in tonight.”
Was it her imagination? Or did he look like he didn’t believe her? The boy walked back up the stairs to his room.
Like father like son? If so, then she might already be too late to save this boy.
The beatings had started before the two of them had gotten married. She was a freshman in high school when she met Thomas. He was a junior. The first time he hit her wasn’t long after the two of them started having sex. Naomi was fifteen.
“I love you, Nay,” he’d whispered to her the first time they made love. He stared into her eyes with those big brown, soulful eyes of his. “I love you more than my life.”
Before he came along, she’d never even kissed a boy. But that night, the way he’d held her, and the careful and patient way he made love to her, made it impossible for her not to believe that he loved her.
“I love you too, Thomas,” she murmured, pressed against his chest.
And she meant it with all of her heart and soul.
The first time he’d hit her had been an accident. They’d been together for six, seven months. Naomi was giddy about something. She was young, happy, and silly sometimes. Looking back now, she couldn’t remember what had her acting so silly, but he was grumpy. Which wasn’t unusual. Thomas was having problems keeping his grades up and his father was giving him a hard time about it because the football coach was threatening to suspend him from the team.
He apologized to her, profusely, as soon as it happened. Thomas had slapped her across the face so hard that she fell to the ground. But he hurried to her side to help her up and pulled her close to him, then apologized over and over again, rocking her back and forth until she finally stopped crying.
“It won’t happen again, Nay,” he promised. “I promise. I didn’t mean it.”
She went back into the kitchen knowing that if her son made mention of the man at the door, then tonight was probably going to be a long one.
Much Too Much
THAT WHITE WOMAN, Nay, was a waste of space, unnecessary, and a potential liability. But DJ was too stupid to see it or he felt sorry for her ass. James had seen it. She was scared to death of being caught with James standing at her door. His guess was that her old man was knee-deep into that ass of hers. She was so desperate to get him off her porch that she’d have probably handed over her firstborn to him if he’d pushed the issue.
James followed the rules. He’d brought the sandwich and water to that woman in the room, set it in the middle of the floor, and waited for her to come and get it. He even kept on that dumb-ass ski mask, too. It wasn’t like this shit was hard.
“I know you’re hungry.” He motioned to the food and bottle of water. “Go ahead,” he coaxed her from the corner of the room. “Eat up, baby girl.”
She was even prettier than he remembered, beautiful dark chocolate skin, big brown eyes, and a mouth ripe for kissing and a few other things. She was tiny, much smaller than he’d remembered, well, in most places. Parts of her were … damn!
She plastered herself against that wall behind her, making it clear that she didn’t trust him. But he hadn’t given her a reason not to. James had entered the room as cool and chill as possible, making slow and deliberate moves to keep from spooking her. He’d really come here to satisfy a curiosity that he had.
“We promised to make sure you were all right until it’s time to let you go,” he explained. “You can’t be all right if you don’t eat.”
Lovely wide eyes fixed on his, and James melted a little inside. Full, soft lips pursed together, and then parted. She knelt down on her hands and knees and crawled out of that corner just far enough to reach for her meal and pull it back to the blanket spread out underneath her.
She ate cautiously, keeping her eyes on him the whole time, but she was starving and ate so fast that she gagged.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he gently warned her. “It ain’t gonna sprout legs and run off.” He chuckled.
Tiny but thick. All she had on was a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. No bra. Panties? Not likely. It was odd seeing her again. James watched her, putting her into perspective for the very first time. Lovely. Soft. A rich man’s woman. How in the hell had that man found her? And would he actually give these people what they wanted to get her back?
DJ had a heart of gold. He was everything that James wasn’t and never would be. He was kind, a good man, a family man. And he wanted to believe that this pretty woman would walk away from all of this and go back to her sugar daddy and go on living her life. But DJ was playing at the dirty end of the pool this time. The people who’d put all this together had no intention of letting her live. They told DJ what he needed to hear to get him to do this, but James knew better.
“Believe it or not, we’ve met before,” he said as soon as she finished eating.
Ms. Rhodes looked as surprised to hear it as he was to admit it. James wasn’t supposed to talk to her, but he couldn’t help himself. Few women in this life caught and held his interest, but this one did, and she was beyond anything he’d ever experienced before and he wanted to relish every single minute of the time he had with her.
“How do we know each other?” she asked softly.
It took every bit of restraint in him not to tell her. He wanted to, though. And he wondered if she’d remember him. Had he left as big an impression on her as she had on him? He doubted it.
“If I told you that”—he paused and grinned—“I’d have to kill you.”
The look on her face was priceless. James had only said that shit for effect. She was already scared. He’d just scared her more with a joke.
“Your name is Abby,” he told her.
He damn near burst out laughing at the shock on her face.
“Who are you?” The question trembled in the back of her throat.
He sighed. James worked delivery and had dropped off some lumber for her once at a house where she and another dude were putting up a deck.
“You need a hand with that?” she’d asked him, starting to follow him from the backyard and out to the truck parked in the driveway.
“Nah, I got it,” he said.
“How about I give you one anyway,” she joked, and helped him to unload all that lumber.
“My name’s Abby, by the way. What’s yours?”
“Call me James.”
“I will do that.”
He’d thought of asking her for her number before leaving, but that big man hovering over her gave him pause, so he left, never thinking he’d see her again. As fate would have it, here she was.
It was nearly impossible to ignore those beautiful titties pressing against the fabric of that shirt. She saw him staring and folded her arms across herself. Was she really worth all this effort? Why? he wondered. A beautiful woman, yes, but beautiful enough to pay big bills for? He tilted his head to one side, then the other, trying to get a different kind of perspective on Miss Abby, maybe to see something in her that only a man with millions of dollars in his bank account could see. Or maybe he was looking at this from the wrong perspective.
He slowly stood up and so did she. James stood six one. Ms. Rhodes was a foot shorter. She couldn’t have weighed more than 130, maybe 140. She backed so far into that wall behind her that she’d probably left a print of herself on it.
He just wanted a closer look. Just a look.
Don’t put your hands on her, James, he warned himself.
He wasn’t allowed to touch her, and for some reason knowing that made his dick hard. She sucked in air as he got close, close enough to—
He hovered over her, raised one arm over her head, and leveraged himself with it against the wall. “Damn,” he whispered at the energy he felt warming between the two of them. She gave as much as he did. James lowered his gaze to the V neck of her shirt; then he bent slightly until his lips were close to her face. What he wouldn’t give to suck on those lips of hers.
“I think I see it,” he whispered, staring into her eyes, eyes filling with tears. James lowered his face to the crook of her neck and took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. “Smell it on you, too.”
James hated perfumes and colognes on women. They didn’t need it because they had their own natural scents that appealed to the core of a man. Those tears ran like track stars down her pretty cheeks. Oh, she was shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind, but James still hadn’t laid a finger on her, and he wanted to. He wanted to so bad.
He straightened up and took a step back, then eyed her up and down. “Of course he’ll pay whatever they ask him to. Won’t he, sweetheart? Because you’ve been good to him. I’ll bet you loved him with your whole self.” James licked his lips. “Am I lying?”
Sweet Abby and her hidden treasures, her sweet gifts. His dick bucked in frustration. What he wouldn’t give to taste what that rich motha fucka had become addicted to.
“Life ain’t fuckin’ fair. Is it?” he said introspectively to her. “It landed you here for fucking and falling in love with the wrong dude. Every woman’s dream. Rich as hell and able to give you the whole world if you asked him for it. Or you could end up here, a pawn, being traded for some cash.” He laughed. “Cash for ass. That shit would be funny if it weren’t true.”
She didn’t laugh.
“I wondered about you the first time I saw you. Wondered how it would be to get this close to you.” He laughed. “And now here we are.”
James took one last, lustful look at her before finally turning and heading for the door.
And then he stopped. Shit. What if this was his last chance? His only chance? Fuck DJ and his rules.
“Aw … what the hell?” James groaned, turned around, walked back over to her.
“No!” she said, pushing at him, kicking, and trying to swing. “Get— No!”
He grabbed hold of her wrists, pushed her back into the wall, pressing all of him against all of her, and pressed his lips against her lovely mouth, laughed, and took a quick step back.
Damn! He loved a good fight. James stared at her and then reared his head back slowly, closed his eyes, and licked his lips. “Thank you. Thank you for that, sweetheart. You’ve got my heart racing, girl and I think I’m in love.”
She had his heart pounding like bass drums. He wasn’t supposed to touch her, but how could he not? James backed away slowly, keeping her in his sights the whole time. He swallowed, knowing deep down inside him that he wouldn’t be able to control himself around her. He couldn’t. And he didn’t want to.
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Abby.”
He closed the door behind him and locked it. And then he stood there for several minutes, listening to her sobbing and praying.
“Oh, God. Oh, dear God.”
The Word Came to Me
“ALL THE TOP OIL, GAS, and refinery players from around the world are listed as investors, of course,” Jordan’s assistant, Phyl, explained, sitting across from him at the table in the restaurant. “Some chemical and energy corporations, and some of the major retail businesses.”
Phyl Mays had been Jordan’s personal assistant for nearly two years now, and he’d come to trust her when it came to just about every aspect of his life. The thought that she could have betrayed that trust unnerved him. A staunch negotiator and businessman, Jordan prided himself on being able to read people. He’d asked her to come to dinner with him to study her, to look into her eyes as she spoke and to make sure that she looked into his. He wanted to trust his gut that she wouldn’t be involved with the kind of people who had taken Abby. God help her if she was.
The lovely redhead looked back at him with vibrant green eyes as she spoke. “Out of all the investors that I was able to find, there was only one who seemed odd to me.”
He hadn’t told her what he was looking for specifically from the information he’d asked her to gather for him, but Phyl was exceptional enough to not need explanation.
“Which one and why?” he asked.
She shoved her dinner plate aside and took a sip of her wine. “This corporation called Variant?” She shrugged. “Ever heard of it?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“Well, they’re all gung-ho about synthetic and alternative fuel sources. You know? Like, for example, instead of dredging up oil from underground or fracking or whatever, they’re into burning corn or spinach or whatever,” she said flippantly, waving one hand in the air. “You know? Organic shit.”
“So why would they be interested in the pipeline?” he surmised.
“Exactly.”
The pipeline, if given the green light, stood to make billions. Investing in the project, for anyone, could make them a fortune. But not all money was good money as far as Jordan was concerned. That pipeline would erase a treaty and impact the Sioux nation in ways that would keep him awake at night. Considering some of the things he had done in his career to get ahead, his feelings about the pipeline surprised him more than anyone.
Suddenly, the server appeared at their table. “Would either of you care for dessert?” he asked pleasantly.
Jordan was exhausted but doubted he’d be able to sleep.
“Just the check, please,” he said, looking up from the table and across the room in time to see Senator Sam Addison standing near the main entrance, staring at Jordan. When Jordan met his gaze, he expected the man to come over to the table, but instead the senator broke eye contact and quickly left the restaurant.
Phyl cleared her throat to get his attention. “Boss, I would like a piece of cheesecake.” She shrugged. “If it’s all right? I can take it home.”
She stared at him, looking more like a six-year-old kid than the assistant he’d come to depend on.
“And a slice of cheesecake for the lady, please,” he said to the server.
“To go,” she quickly added, smiling at Jordan.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Jordan was in his penthouse, freshly showered, nursing a vodka tonic, and standing on the terrace off his bedroom looking out over the city. It was the beginning of June. The days had been warm but the nights unseasonably cool. What he did manage to eat at dinner still weighed in his stomach like lead. His eyes were tired and burned from lack of sleep.
He didn’t believe in coincidences. At a time like this, he couldn’t afford to. The first
time he’d met Sam Addison, according to Addison’s recollection, was at a Variant event. The last time Jordan had seen him, until tonight, was at the Governor’s Ball in Austin. It was the same night he and Abby made their first official appearance together in public, and Addison was there when Abby entered the room. Seeing him at the restaurant tonight set off an alarm in Jordan. He had had a feeling that he was being watched, and now he was sure of it.
* * *
“You can rest easy, Wells,” Jordan said, an hour and third drink later, wearily over the phone. “I’m doing your gotdamn job for you.”
“Meaning?”
This sonofabitch was supposed to be a miracle worker. Wells was the first and only name circulated, passed along in elite circles among men and women of wealth and influence to solve impossible problems, resolve insurmountable issues. To say that Jordan was disappointed and unimpressed was an understatement.
“What have you found?” Jordan asked, rubbing his tired eyes.
Her. Jordan willed his thoughts to the universe and silently prayed that Wells would tell him, I’ve found her.
“So far,” he said and sighed, “I haven’t found much. An emblem in the photograph you sent me. It’s barely visible and on the jacket or something that your lady was sitting on.”
“An emblem?” Jordan said curtly. “A damned emblem?” He caught himself starting to raise his voice.
“I told you it’s not much, but it’s a start.”
Jordan chuckled bitterly. “What part of ‘we’ve got less than a week to find her’ don’t you understand, man?”
Wells didn’t answer. Jordan half expected him to hang up, but he didn’t.
Jordan leaned back on the sofa and swallowed what remained in his glass. “I’ve got a lead of my own,” he finally said.
“Tell me what it is,” Wells said. “I’ll check it out.”
Jordan shook his head without thinking. “No. You keep doing whatever it is. I’ll check it out.”
“That’s not how I work, man,” Wells said with warning. “This is a courtesy call and nothing more. I’m just giving you an update. You need to stay out of my way and let me do this.”
