The Central Intelligence Agency had managed to tame the beast in him for twelve years, but he was itching to be set free. He stood at his patio doors checking the locks. Next, he ensured the fridge and trash were empty and that his furniture was covered.
His career had afforded him a smorgasbord of all that life had to offer, whether the best foods and wines or beautiful women. He had the luxury of traveling the world while tracking down the bad guys. While most Americans slept soundly, he was investigating leads, identifying the movements of international terrorist groups, particularly those operating in the Middle East.
Throughout his career, he worked in many departments, but following 9/11, things had gone south. His caseload increased and the necessary manpower had decreased. He had worked at an unreasonable, and unrealistic pace leaving his home feeling like a ghost town and his family wondering if he had evaporated into thin air.
Moving across international borders and spending months and months away from his family was taking a toll on Marc. He thought he could continue until retirement, but he felt a break was in order to reevaluate his life and future plans. His original career aspirations were to train new recruits for the agency. However, he changed his job classification after his divorce to get away and submerge himself in his work.
That was ten years ago, and he had saved up a nice little nest egg, but the lure of retiring from the agency almost guaranteed a successful transition into another career. Maybe he would reconsider teaching and continue to accumulate his time towards retirement.
He made his way through his single family home and shook his head in amusement. Marc could still hear the excitement in his mother’s voice when he called last week to tell her of his plans. It had been more than three years since his last trip home. He would use the time to catch up with his parents, hit the beaches in Galveston, and try to imitate life as that of a normal person. Marc chuckled, he knew Houston would easily bore him, but his mother would be elated.
Marc answered his ringing cell phone. It was the front guard telling him his driver was outside the community gate.
He grabbed his bags and with a sweeping glance, he walked out the door meeting a female driver dressed in a tuxedo-influenced business suit. She grabbed his bags and placed them in the trunk as he activated his home’s security system. He stopped a foot from the rear passenger side of the white Lincoln Town Car, appreciating the slow sweep she gave him from head to toe. Her gaze stopped at his oblong face and deep, rich brown eyes and he flashed his signature-crooked smile. She averted her eyes; she had been caught.
“Hello, Mr. Fulton. Where to first?”
Marc hid his fascination with the slight feline purr in her voice.
“I need to stop by my office and then the airport,” he said, as they stood face-to-face. “I‘ll need you to wait at the office while I run in. It should take about twenty minutes or so.”
“Yes, Mr. Fulton.”
“Please call me Marc. Mr. Fulton is my father. And you are?”
With a slight nod, she opened the passenger rear door. “Yes, Marc. I’m Aisha. Nice to meet you.” She grasped the hand he extended. Her husky tone made him smile again.
Yes, this little break is starting on a good note, he thought. He didn’t have a specific type of woman that interested him, but he valued the chase.
“Nice to meet you Aisha. Let’s get moving.”
At his curt response, she snapped back into professional mode. She closed the door behind him and rounded the car. The car started with a soft hum. He caught her gaze in the rear-view mirror as she stole glances at him during the drive.
Marc was ready for this break from his normal pace. He worked for the past month clearing his cases and transferring the remaining ones to a co-worker. He would spend a few months away and explore what he planned to do for the rest of his life. Working for the agency curbed his need for adventure, but the hours were long and the politics of it all was becoming a bore. He didn’t like bullshit, and the more he advanced, the more it seemed to become a bigger part of his job description.
He caught Aisha’s glances several times. He knew most women found him attractive, but he had played and failed at love. He married early and divorced before celebrating his third anniversary after learning his wife was unfaithful. He decided to cut his losses, knowing that he could not sit around babysitting his young bride and still stay focused on his career.
That was nearly twenty years ago and his mother, God help him, was hinting about grandchildren. He loved his mother, but he didn’t see having children without a wife. He had done that once and didn’t plan to subject himself to such chaos again. He knew people that enjoyed being married, like his parents who had recently celebrated their fortieth anniversary. His pops seemed happy and so did his mother. It was possible for some, but not for him.
His cell phone interrupted his musing. “Fulton.”
A smile spread across his face. “Yes, Mom. I have to stop by the office and check in and then I’m headed to the airport.”
He watched the scenery roll past as his mother went on and on. She wanted to pick him up from the airport, but he planned to go straight to the hotel before seeing his family.
“Don’t worry about meeting me at the airport. I need to get a rental car and I have some plans to meet up with a few college buddies. So, I’ll come by for dinner later tonight.”
He caught Aisha’s eyes again as the car stopped in front of the CIA office. He pointed to an open parking space, and she maneuvered the car into it as he reached for the door handle.
Marc bid his mother farewell as he walked into the discreet field office. He was excited about the break awaiting him in Texas. He increased his pace adding pep to his step and began the silent countdown to his much-needed vacation.
Chapter 2
“Good morning, Ms. Carmichael.” The security guard greeted Camille as she entered IJDC’s headquarters. As usual, he smiled with a hint of appreciation in his eyes. The building was not open to the public and entering the private offices required passing through a metal detector. Mr. Donovan further ensured their safety by having security guards around the clock.
She sat her travel coffee mug on the security counter and searched her purse for her employee badge. Camille usually kept it clipped to her suit jacket, but today she dressed casual since she planned to head over to the happy hour directly from the office. The boring badge seemed to clash with her blouse so she tossed it in her handbag.
“Good morning, Richard. How are you this morning?” She continued to fumble through her purse, tossing its contents from side to side.
“I’m all right. You look nice today. What’s the special occasion?”
He patiently waited while openly staring at Camille observing everything about her from her soft sandy ringlets to her professionally wrapped blouse to her fitted dark jeans and black boots. She located her badge and looked up to find his warm smile. He watched her every move.
He always spoke to her and she knew he had a crush on her. Camille learned that he only planned to work security until he completed his master’s degree. He was cute and although there was nothing was finer than a brother in uniform, he was too young for her. She had a job to finish and relationships while on assignment were strictly off-limits. Camille quickly reasoned that it didn’t that looking never hurt anybody.
“Today’s my second anniversary with the company and we’re celebrating at Club VIP for drinks around six-thirty. You’re invited to join us.”
“I wish I could, but I have class tonight.”
“Too bad...” Camille dropped her badge back into her purse and walked to the elevator bay. She selected her floor and looked back to find Richard still standing where she left him. Why not? she thought to herself shooting him a wink over her shoulder.
“By the way, you look really nice today,” he called out to her while leaning against his desk. “Congratulations and have fun.”
“Thank you,” she responded as t
he elevator doors closed and ascended to the 23rd floor. The office dress code on Fridays was business casual. Most employees wore jeans, but she usually stayed with a standard black or navy pantsuit.
Camille assessed her reflection in the mirrored elevator as she fluffed her hair. She ran a pinky finger across her glossy lips to eliminate some of the shine. She wanted to appear relaxed and approachable. She vowed to have fun at happy hour and enjoy herself while catching up with her co-workers.
The elevator rang as the doors slid open. Camille walked through the office, passing the reception area and making her way to the executive offices.
As an international company, IJDC had locations in several metropolitan cities around the world. Houston served as its flagship and headquarters. The Donovan’s owned the entire building. IJDC had over three hundred employees and occupied the top five floors and leased the rest of the building.
Harold Donovan had made a name for himself. He was known around the world for his eye for exquisite jewelry. He started a small family-owned jewelry store and expanded his business model to include a distribution company. The family still owned the small jewelry boutique, which only opened for private showings.
Harold’s success in business was unmatched; however, his personal life paid the cost for his unwavering avidity. He had married and divorced four times and fathered three children. He was a self-made millionaire and attained it all with help of his jealous mistress, IJDC.
Camille knew more about Harold Donovan than her own father. She had to, because it was suspected that hidden somewhere within his American-Dream-Story, lie a little black book of contacts that would rival that of a mob boss and among those contacts were precious stones once covered by the blood of innocent people. The bureau wanted him and she would give them what they want; one way, or another.
Camille rounded a corner and was ready to enter her office when she froze in the doorway. It appeared her office battled the confetti fairy and lost. She dropped her head, shaking it in amusement.
A silver “Happy Anniversary” banner with multicolored letters ran the length of the bare white wall and its foil trimming appeared to danced and shimmer in the fluorescent lights. She scanned the room and noticed a mixed arrangement of tulips in a crystal vase on the coffee table in her sitting area. She ran her finger across a fuchsia pedal before bending at the waist to smell the faint, sweet aroma of the bouquet.
“Happy Anniversary!” Ashanta sauntered in, assessing her handy work. “Congratulations, girl!”
Camille turned and embraced her friend. “Did you do this?” She asked with her hand placed on her hip, as if she was offended.
“Guilty.” Ashanta raised her right hand, unabashed by the absolute mess she’d made to celebrate Camille’s promotion to VP of International Accounts.
“You know you’re responsible for cleaning this mess up.” They laughed as they sat on the small couch overlooking the city.
“Look at you, all ready for tonight.” Ashanta patted Camille’s hair. “And I can’t believe you left that god awful bun at home.” They laughed again like old friends.
“Oh, no you didn’t. Leave my bun alone. It serves a purpose. I come here to work, not socialize.”
“Whatever! You looked like an old maid in that hideous bun. Maybe now we can find you a man.” She winked and Camille rolled her eyes in true sister girl fashion.
Ashanta was always trying to set her up with some random guy. Rumor had it that she was seeing the boss man, Harold Donovan. Camille planned to find out tonight. She’d take her ribbing knowing that the tables would turn later.
“Man or not, I’m ready to have a good time tonight. Thank you for the flowers and the mess.” She glanced around her office once again wondering how on earth she was going to accomplish anything with Ashanta’s handy work all around her office; including her desk.
“That sounds more like it, give me the praise I deserve. I am responsible for you letting your hair down, putting on this sexy blouse, and the jeans. Girl, I’m a bad woman.”
The age difference between Camille and Ashanta seemed to fade as they forged an unlikely friendship. They met and connected immediately. They both worked in the same department and were the only black women in the department; consequently, they spent a lot of time together. That coupled with working in a majority male office and industry cemented a friendship that was a safe haven when times were difficult. They found comfort in protecting each other’s interests.
Camille listened as Ashanta laid out the plans for later that evening. When they met Camille tried to stay distant and show indifference for her co-worker, but things changed. Long hours, rough office politics, and many promotions later they were almost inseparable. Camille hoped and prayed that Ashanta was not involved with the alleged illegal activities haunting IJDC.
“Out you go,” Camille stood, using her hands to shoo her talkative friend out of her office. “I have work to do before we take on the town.”
Ashanta swatted at Camille’s hands and dragged her feet as she moved towards the exit. She reached the doorway and spun on her heels, facing Camille, all traces of humor and the promise of an exciting night left her face. Camille held her glare and what she saw caused her to shiver, but she waited for her friend’s explanation.
“Hey, Cami, before we head to the club I want to talk with you…away from here.”
Camille knew the use of her pet name meant it was serious and she did not know how to take the sudden change in her mood. “Sure Shani. What’s up? Are you sure you don’t want to talk now?” She placed a gentle hand on Ashanta’s upper arm, rubbing it trying to calm the storm she saw stirring in her eyes.
“No, not now,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder.
Camille followed her eyes. She saw no one coming down the hall. She closed the space between them, repositioning her hands to Ashanta’s shoulders, “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure,” she nervously laughed. “But I can’t discuss it right now, later okay?” The unshed tears in her eyes threatened to spill over.
Camille was concerned, but she agreed. She hugged Ashanta, giving her a supportive squeeze of understanding.
“Okay.”
“Happy Anniversary Camille.”
Saul Donovan barged in, not catching on to the private moment. He stopped and passed between them.
Ashanta turned her back to Saul and began wiping away the traces of her emotions. It annoyed Camille the way he walked around as if his DNA gave him a pass to invade the personal space of others, whether they liked it or not. Harold’s power hungry son was someone to keep your eye on, and not in a good way.
“Thank you, Saul,” Camille said with a fake smile plastered on her face. “Give us a moment and I’ll walk down to your office in a minute.”
“Sure.” Saul paused and gave Ashanta a snarling glimpse before retreating.
“He still doesn’t like me,” Ashanta said before Camille could voice her unease with his parting look.
“He’ll get over it. Harold is a grown man and you are a beautiful woman. Anyone with brains can see the chemistry between you two.” Camille’s words brought the smile back into Ashanta’s eyes. They shared a quick hug before deciding to talk later.
* * *
Camille saved the report on her computer and before organizing the files on her desk, she leaned forward and pressed the intercom button dialing Ashanta’s office. Their conversation had her worried. She watched her transform from her normal bubbly personality to an emotional wreck in seconds.
She wondered if Ashanta’s mood change had anything to do with Saul’s anger towards the rumors, or if their impending conversation would lead to something of value to her case.
She suspected there was some truth to the rumors about Ashanta and Harold dating. Especially after Ashanta failed to correct Camille’s statement following Saul’s departure. They had a lot to discuss.
“Are we still riding together?” Camille asked in response to A
shanta’s greeting.
“No, sorry, my plans have changed. Pick up the phone.”
Camille removed her earring and grabbed the receiver. “What’s up?”
The line went silent.
“Shani, you’re scaring me. What is going on with you?” Her agitation was apparent.
Nervous laughter was Ashanta’s only response. Camille did not want to rush the conversation, but her feelings were torn. She was concerned for her friend, but what she was about to share could make a significant difference in the case. She grabbed a pen and notepad and she patiently waited.
“Cam, I have a lot to tell you. But I can’t do it here. And it seems,” a smile entering her voice, “I have an escort for the night.”
Black Diamond Page 2
