I would find out who was after me. I’d kill him with my bare hands—rip his esophagus out, crush his skull in and tear out his heart. It didn’t matter how long it took, I would eliminate the threat. And then, I’d find Rain.
Chapter Six
Three Months Ago
“Where is he?”
He paused for a moment as the sounds in the background of the long-distance phone call reached a fever pitch. There were guttural sounds of men fighting, the clanging of metal and fists hitting flesh.
He cleared his throat. “Sir, are you still there?”
There was a growl in the phone. “I said where is he?”
“I haven’t found him yet.”
“Do you hear what is behind me? The sounds of animals, these men…I’m in a zoo,” the Falcon hissed. “I want him found. I want him dead.”
“I understand that, sir. I’m as close as I’ve ever been.”
More clanging and then screams. The sounds of the world’s most dangerous men in one of the most secure prisons.
“You said that eighteen months ago. What am I paying you for if not to track this monster down and destroy him?”
“Sir, he’s good. You know that. He’s one of the best, which is why you hired me. It’s the reason none of the other men you hired had any success.”
There was a reluctant grunt in reply.
“I don’t know his current whereabouts, but I believe I know where he’s heading.” He paused for a moment, thinking of the woman’s face. “After months of finding nothing to link him to another person, not another human being that he might care about, I found it.” He chuckled. “Rather, I found her.”
“Ahhh. A girl. It is always a girl, isn’t it?”
He glanced down at his tablet balanced on his lap, stared at the image of the man he was tracking. “Every knight has a chink in his armor, and I have found his.”
“Well, then.” The Falcon sounded calmer. “Perhaps this time you will locate my father’s murderer. Tell me, where are you?”
“It’s best if you don’t know all of the details, but I’m in the US. He’s finally returned.” He swiped the tablet screen and looked at the next picture and smiled.
“And the girl? You have a way to get to her?”
“I believe I do, sir.”
She was a beauty. Dark hair and eyes, delicate features. Exotic. This would be a fun assignment. “I’ll bide my time and wait for him to appear. All of my intel leads me to believe he’s coming for her.”
He swiped the screen again and looked at another picture of the girl with a curvy, petite blonde. The roommate. They were in their driveway talking, no clue that they’d been under surveillance for several months.
“He thinks it’s safe,” the man laughed. “My associates created fake chatter to be discovered by his employer’s analysts. Everyone thinks the trail has grown cold, that you’ve lost interest in finding him.”
He stuck his finger into his ear, trying to hear The Falcon over the din of noise surrounding him. “Give him some time. He’ll come out. He’s been told the coast, as it were, is clear. With his guard down, finally I’ll be able to strike.”
“The arrogance,” the Falcon said, his voice rough with emotion. “To actually think I’d forget about my father. This girl, does he love her?”
He swiped the screen again and looked at a picture of the brunette leaving the gym, her hair in a high ponytail. Her t-shirt clung to her tight body and her shorts revealed a firm, pert ass.
“I would say so, as much as anyone in his profession can love.”
The Falcon sighed heavily into the phone. “He deserves to die, you understand? For what he did to my family, my father. Cut down in the forest like a wild animal. I’ve waited two long years for justice.” His voice hardened. “But first, I want him to suffer as I have. I want you to take what he cherishes the most and destroy it. Destroy her.”
“Of course. It’s what I do best.”
There was a howl of pain in the background of the phone call. The Falcon waited for the sound to abate. “You’re the one who sends the flower, yes?”
“The black orchid?” He smiled, pleased that The Falcon should remember. “Yes, it is my calling card. The way I identify my hits.”
“Make sure the bitch gets one.”
“Absolutely.”
He hung up the phone and stared at the girl’s image. So pretty. He felt his cock move in his pants. Too bad he had to hurt her. But it would be fun while it lasted.
Chapter Seven
Today
“Excuse me. Would you mind standing up for a moment? I think I left my journal in your chair. It might’ve fallen into the cushions.”
A young man with a head full of silky, blond dreadlocks looked up with an amused look on his face “You mean this?”
With his faded long-sleeve shirt, torn jeans and sandals, I wondered if he just might be homeless. And he was holding my journal, privy to to my deepest and darkest thoughts. “Yes, that.” With a raised eyebrow, I held out my hand.
He held tightly to my journal and glanced at the cover. “A diary? How Marcia Brady.”
“I doubt you’d be interested.”
The smell of freshly roasted coffee fragranced the air, while this guy baldly appraised me from head to toe.
He picked up a mug set beside him on an end table and took a sip. “Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re a dude. I don’t know you. It’s none of your business. Take your pick.”
He interrupted me with a laugh. “Bitter much?”
“Excuse me?”
“You sound bitter. You shouldn’t let one bastard turn you against all men.” He smirked. “It was a guy, right?”
“Don’t make this personal. You have my diary and I want it back.”
He barely suppressed the smirk on face “You seem a little emotional. Want to talk about it?”
I glanced down at my journal, still in his hands. I snatched the book from him and took a step back.
“No, I do not want to talk about it. There’s nothing to discuss anyway.”
“I’m not going to read your secret thoughts, okay? You obviously have some suppressed anger toward men you need to deal with.” He held out his hand. “I’m Asa by the way.”
I glanced around the coffee shop. “Maybe I should call the manager.”
“Hey, I saw you when you left the first time. Silver Lexus Coupe, right?”
I rolled my eyes but nodded.
“You can’t at least tell me your name?” He licked his lips. “I don’t bite.”
“Rain.” I quickly flipped through the book checking for damage.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Now. Was that so difficult? Rain is a lovely name.”
His silky golden dreads hung to the middle of his back, which made his hair a few inches longer than mine. I gave him a second appraisal. Yep. Still grungy.
“I go to Duke.” He offered. “Women’s studies.”
I forced a smile. And then I glanced down at his feet where a worn leather backpack lay. Okay, so not homeless after all.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
“No thanks.”
He whipped out a torn piece of paper with his name and number scribbled on it. “Take it.”
I took the scrap of paper and stuffed it into my purse without looking at it.
“I’ve seen you in here before. Skinny latte and this chair. Always.”
“Well, that’s not weird. I’ve never noticed you before. The blond dreads I would remember.”
“You probably didn’t notice me because you’ve always got your nose stuck in a book.”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?” He glanced over at the glass case of pastries on display. “Can I buy you a scone? The Devonshire cr
eam here is handmade.”
“No and no.”
He raised his hands in surrender.
With my journal in hand, I could now return to my current problem. My mother. My job. Quit and finally open up my beignet cafe, or take a big at promotion at work.
Running late for lunch with my mother, I’d left my journal in my favorite chair only to find this guy with it. And now he was harassing me. This conversation was over. I turned and walked away.
“Hey, are you okay? Want me to get you a cup of decaf? Maybe some chamomile tea?”
I looked over my shoulder to see that Asa had followed me to the lobby. “Are you stalking me, Mr. I-Know-What-Coffee-You-Drink?”
He took a step back. “Easy. You just look like you could use a friend.”
Asa was still standing there looking at me expectantly. As if I’d give a perfect stranger the time of day. I gave no one the benefit of the doubt. Not anymore.
“I have friends, thanks.”
I turned and pushed the glass door open.
* * * * *
“Rain, have you lost your mind?”
“I knew you’d say that.” I looked at Charlotte as I picked up my bottle of Perrier, took a sip, and allowed the cold liquid to slide down my throat.
“You can quit your job if you want,” she warned, her emerald eyes dark with seriousness. “But how are you going to pay your half of the mortgage? You better hope Haley can set you up with one of her football player friends.”
Haley was my younger, extremely ambitious sister. Just two years out of college, and she’d already created a successful career as a model.
“Don’t get me started on Haley and her aspirations to be the next Hollywood power couple.”
Charlotte ran her hands through her hair. “Don’t try and change the subject, Rain.” She spoke to me in that tone adults reserve for unruly children. “Cooking is your hobby.
And that’s good. Everyone should have a hobby. It makes us well-rounded.” She planted a hand on her hip. “But it’s too late for you to change careers. You don’t have a rich husband, so you don’t have the luxury or time to commit to something that won’t pay the bills.”
Did she really think I needed a rich husband as a safety net? I decided to ignore the remark and focus on what was important, my business. “If I sold my beignets…” Charlotte rolled her eyes but I continued. “I’m not happy, Charlotte. I’ll be thirty in five years and my life is not satisfying. I’m not in a serious relationship, I hate my job. I need to make changes.”
Charlotte leaned forward, her face creased in concern. “What did your mother say to you at lunch? You were fine when I left you this morning.”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Why aren’t you married? Why haven’t you gotten a promotion? When are you going to put your MBA to use? We had lunch at our normal spot, the one that always has book signings?”
“Yeah, I know it.”
“The cupcake baker from Miami, the one on the Patisserie Channel—she was there, signing her latest cookbook.” I exhaled sharply. “She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five and already with her own business. I want that for myself too.”
Charlotte’s only response was to arch one eyebrow.
“She had blue streaks and feathers in her hair.” My roommate looked like she was through with me, but I continued. “She looked cool and trendy… creative. I’m creative.”
My roommate continued to watch me calmly. “What’s your point, Rain?”
I paced around the living room feeling antsy. “The point is that when I told my family I wanted to cook, to sell my grandmother’s recipes in a quirky little spot downtown, it was almost the start of world war three in our house.”
“That’s because people who sell beignets don’t make money.”
I stopped in front of our white stone fireplace and stared at the postcard that lay there without really seeing the words. I turned to look at Charlotte. “It’s a huge seller in New Orleans.”
“But we’re not in Louisiana, are we? Your parents want you to be financially secure, to be able to buy stuff, take care of yourself.”
I turned back to the small square of paper covered in bold black script. It was from him. It had appeared in our mailbox a month ago. Charlotte wanted me to throw it out, definitely didn’t want me to respond. I didn’t write him back, but I did keep the card.
Just because.
I focused on the conversation at hand. “I am independent. I am financially stable.”
“Not for long. Not if you pursue this harebrained plan of yours.”. She arched an eyebrow, her gaze falling to the postcard that had distracted me. She gave me a hard look but didn’t acknowledge the piece of paper, or rather whom it represented.
I glanced down at my clothes, nose wrinkled. “And twin sets. I wear twin sets from Ann Taylor for crying out loud. I should be covered in flour and wearing a funky apron over a mini-dress.”
“Are you sure this beignet thing isn’t a phase?”
Eyes wide, I glared at her. Seriously? A phase?
She stalked across the floor, grabbed the postcard featuring Morocco’s Koutoubia Mosque and waved it under my nose. “Is this about being dissatisfied with your career or wondering what could’ve been with him?”
I snatched the card from her. “It’s not about him, it’s about me and doing what makes me happy.” I placed the card back on the mantle. “I am not going to call him, don’t worry.”
She shook her head. “How dare he, after all this time?”
I know. It had been 24 months since I’d last seen or heard from him. Part of me felt the exact same as Charlotte, angry and marveling at his audacity. But another part of me wondered what he meant when he wrote that he wanted to “reconnect” and he “hoped to see me soon”. It didn’t matter though. I was over him. Well and good.
“Look, I want to cook, full-time.”
“Perfect. You work for a cookware company.”
“We sell industrial cookware for public schools, prisons and military bases.”
“Same difference. You’re still in the industry, and you make great money.”
“There’s more to life than money.”
“Cooking can be your hobby.” She gave me a suspicious look. “And no more thinking about him.” But then she smiled sweetly. “It’s for your own good, you know?”
And on that note, now was the perfect time to switch gears and tell Charlotte my news. “You probably don’t want to hear about the promotion Sam offered me. The timing of his offer is impeccable.”
I filled her in on the details, how my boss’ wife was in the National Guard and constantly deployed, leaving him with their three kids and how he wanted to take time off, with me in charge and with a hefty pay raise.
“You’re seriously considering not taking the promotion? Thirty thousand more than you’re already making is nice.”
“But I don’t want to do this anymore. Pulling my hair back into a chignon, sitting at my desk and shuffling papers. You know this is not how I envisioned my life, not before Jamaica, at least.”
She made a face. “You don’t have to wear your hair in your mother’s schoolmarm bun if you don’t want to.” She shook her head as if she felt sorry for me. “Do you know how many entrepreneurs fail? Selling cupcakes, cookies, beignets or whatever it is you think you want to do is risky. And foolhardy I might add.” She shook her head. “You’ll end up regretting your choice.”
“Look, I know all about regrets, okay?” My thoughts went briefly to Jamaica. “I will never again do anything as stupid as following my heart or finding my passion.” I flopped into a chair, suddenly depressed. “Don’t you think I’ve learned from my mistakes? I mean, look where following my heart got me.”
Charlotte frowned and shifted in her seat.
“Before Jamaica I was prepared to
run off to New York and attend culinary school. It probably would’ve been a folly, just as my mother predicted. Obviously, I can’t be trusted to make sound decisions about my life.” I could feel a lump forming in my throat. I would not to cry.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”
“No, you’re right. I have displayed poor judgment in key areas of my life. I’m not taking that chance again, certainly not with something as important as my career.” I stood. “He did me a favor falling off the face of the Earth, wouldn’t you say? With him being such a flake and me being blinded by his pretty face, sculpted abs and big muscles, it would’ve been a disaster I didn’t see coming.”
A deep V formed on Charlotte’s brow. “Where are you going? A Hunger Games marathon is about to start. I thought you wanted to watch?”
“I’m going to go cook. I found a new recipe for low-carb beignets I want to perfect.” I could feel her eyes on me as I walked into the kitchen.
“But I thought you just said—”
“I said I’m not quitting my job!” The words came out harsher than I meant. I took a deep breath to soften my tone. “Like you said, that doesn’t mean I can’t have a hobby.”
Chapter Eight
I didn’t see my supervisor, but I knew he was close in our maze of cubicles. I tried to pick up my pace and turn the corner could see me, but damn if I didn’t walk directly into him.
He patted me on my back. “Give any thought to what we discussed?”
Sam matched my stride as I turned into my office. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“What’s to think about? Don’t you like money?”
“Of course, I like money. I’m just…conflicted.” I turned away from him and gazed at a charcoal sketch of the North Carolina mountains on my wall.
“About?”
“Being happy,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What?”
I turned around and faced him. “Being happy!” I said, rather emphatically and way too loud. “Being happy,” I repeated in a normal tone.
Tell Me No Lies: The Black Orchid, Book 1 Page 6
