“My nephew’s decision. Not mine.”
The clarification brought a curious frown to Mick’s face. “I was under the impression that the family was against it?” she probed, settling back on an armchair as she spoke.
Houston uttered a short, bitter laugh. “No, young lady. Certain members of this family are against the book. My wife, Daphne, and I would’ve been completely behind the project.”
“I see,” Mick said.
“We want that book written, Ms. Sellars, and we’d like to speak with you about it.”
“That could be arranged.”
“Good. Shall we say a breakfast meeting in the morning?”
Mick crossed her legs. “I’m afraid tomorrow morning won’t be good for me,” she said, remembering that she was seeing County off at the airport then.
“Perhaps lunch, then?” Houston suggested. “We can have a car sent to your hotel and you can meet with us at our club. We have a private dining room.”
Mick raised her brows. “That sounds nice. I’ll look forward to seeing you then.”
“Good night, Ms. Sellars.”
Mick stared at the phone once the call had ended. Leaning back in her chair, she gazed up at the ceiling. “What now?” she groaned.
Chapter 5
“Don’t let this man mesmerize you so that you forget you have a home and responsibilities back in Chicago,” County warned, as she and Mick shared one last hug after her flight had been called.
Mick smirked and pulled away. “You are definitely overreacting,” she accused, while toying with the myriad of rings adorning County’s right hand.
County rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so. Damn it, I didn’t even get a chance to meet even one of the twins. It’s not fair,” she said, pouting.
“Well, you could always stay another few days. I know they’d arrange for you to stay.”
County’s full lips twisted to one side as she seemed to consider the proposal. Then, with a flashy wave, she grimaced. “Nah, I think I’ll pass. Seeing how goo-goo you are, I know I can’t afford to lose my head like that.”
“Hush,” Mick ordered, tugging on the sleeve of County’s periwinkle-blue cardigan.
“Seriously, Mick,” she said and stepped a bit closer. “I like what going goo-goo over a man has done for you. It’s only been a few days and I’ve seen you looking happier than you have in a long time.”
“County,” Mick sighed, doubt tingeing her voice.
“That is, except for when you’re bouncing around with your little half-dressed girlfriends,” she chastised in a tone of phony disdain.
Mick laughed and slipped one hand inside the back pocket of her jeans. “Yeah, well, you can rest assured that I won’t lose myself here when I know I have to get back to my little girlfriends. Not to mention Driggers.”
“Hmph.” County sniffed, kissing Mick’s cheek before she headed toward her gate.
Mick waved, all the while ignoring the voice that told her she should be getting on that plane. “Oh, shut up,” she hissed to herself.
Quest and Quaysar were in the midst of their morning meeting. Seated at the spacious round table in the office’s living area, they sat with their calendars before them while confirming dates for meetings, events, and other obligations.
“I talked with Spotty and it looks like the center will be on schedule to open as planned,” Quaysar mentioned, referring to their foreman for the project, Spotty Crawford.
“Good,” Quest mumbled, making a notation on his book.
“Yeah, that’s gonna be some ribbon cutting in Cali. Those kids are gonna go crazy over a community center on the beach,” Quay predicted.
Quest laughed. “They deserve it,” he said, thinking about the project. Each year Ramsey Group chose a group to work with to provide housing, counseling, recreation, and job placement. That year had proven to be especially rewarding as Ramsey Group completed the first community center of its kind. One that would combine recreation, shelter, and education for a select group of youth. Should the endeavor be successful, the number of teens housed by the center would increase as would its state funding.
A devilish glint sparked in Quay’s dark eyes as he glanced across the table toward his brother. “You know, this ribbon cutting sounds like something Mick would like to go to.”
Quest didn’t bother to look at his brother, though a knowing smile crossed his face. “Get off it,” he ordered quietly.
“What, man?”
“Stop bein’ so nosy.”
Quay pressed one hand across the lapel of his navy pin-striped suit coat. “I swear that’s not it. I am concerned about you though, and it’s my place to make sure you’re okay.”
Quest couldn’t help but laugh at his brother’s nerve. “This is private, Quay.”
“Well, all right,” Quay said, “it pleases me to know Miss Michaela Sellars has earned the right to be placed in the private category. That tells me a lot.”
“Unbelievable,” Quest muttered. “Isn’t there a woman somewhere who you should be trying to coax into bed?”
“No, right now we’re talking about the woman you’re trying to coax into bed.”
“I won’t have to coax her.”
“Ahh…confidence. I like it and it also pleases me to know you’re so interested in the lady.”
Quest leaned back in his chair and began to toy with the stylish coral tie he wore with a tailored three-piece black suit. “Michaela is a business associate. She was here to investigate us if you recall.”
“Oh, I recall,” Quay said with a nod. “And that’s exactly what has you so intrigued by her. She ain’t here to cast her vote as your next sex partner or gold digger. She’s luscious and smart and mysterious, and you is hooked, brotha,” he drawled while standing from the table. “I gotta go,” he said, before his twin could offer a rebuttal.
Quest broodingly conceded that his brother would have the last word.
“Thank you,” Mick whispered to the escort who showed her into the Ramseys’ private dining room at the Sharpe Club. The establishment was a haven for much of the commercial real estate crowd who closed the deals with the largest revenues.
“Ms. Sellars.”
Mick smiled at the couple across the room. Though older, they were extremely beautiful and seemed to complement each other’s flair for casually elegant attire.
Houston Ramsey stepped forward with both hands outstretched. “My wife, Daphne,” he said after introducing himself to Mick.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Daphne said while shaking hands.
“Well, our conversation had me intrigued,” Mick shared, smoothing her fingers across the silver buckle that secured the taupe knee-length skirt she wore. “I was under the impression that the book was a no from all the Ramseys,” Mick said, missing the glance exchanged between Houston and Daphne.
Mick was too in awe of the room to pay much attention to anything else. The dining room was designed with devastatingly beautiful bay windows that offered breathtaking views of the hazy Seattle sky on one side and a distant view of the city’s skyline on the other.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Houston remarked, seeing how affected Mick appeared. “The city’s realtors decided to go in on the facility several years ago. It’s come a long way since then too,” he boasted, stroking a sideburn as he joined Mick in watching the view. “Now the place can facilitate everything from meetings and parties to weekend stays for couples or large groups.”
“You’re right, it is impressive,” Mick acknowledged while turning her back on the view. “But I’m sure you didn’t call me here to discuss the history of the Sharpe Club.”
Houston smiled and waved his hand toward the area where his wife relaxed. “Please, have a seat,” he urged Mick. “As far as pretty much the entire Ramsey clan are concerned, a book—no book on the family should be written.”
“Pretty much the entire Ramsey clan,” Mick reiterated.
“My wife and I fee
l differently,” Houston said, smiling down at Daphne, who nodded her agreement as he spoke. “I’ve always had my differences with my brothers and their sons. Those sons have done nothing but stain the Ramsey name.”
Mick bristled beneath the declaration, and Houston noticed.
“There are things I have little proof of, but I know a black line trails from each of their names.”
Mick folded her arms over the matching taupe suit jacket. “Mr. Ramsey, forgive me for saying this, but it sounds like you have plenty of speculation. Are there any specifics?”
Again, the Ramseys exchanged glances. Then, at her husband’s nod, Daphne leaned down to retrieve a folder from the cream leather satchel that matched her pumps. She handed it to Mick.
“I think a dead young woman is a bit more than speculation, don’t you, Ms. Sellars?” Houston challenged.
Mick didn’t respond. She was too busy scanning the folder, which consisted of a news clipping and a picture of a young pretty woman. The clipping brought a frown to Mick’s brown face. “Suicide?” she questioned, looking up at the couple.
Houston pretended to be focused on one of his diamond cuff links. “We think a reporter of your ilk could prove that it wasn’t.”
Mick responded with a knowing smile and stood. “I’m not in the habit of making up lies to sell books. Mr. Ramsey, Mrs. Ramsey,” she bade the couple and prepared to leave the room.
“The young woman in that photo fell to her death from a hotel room window,” Houston called after Mick. He waited until her steps slowed before he continued. “That room was in Quest Ramsey’s name.”
“The story doesn’t even mention Quest’s name,” Mick noted later while they were dining. She had spent the better part of her time scouring the full-page article. “Most of the copy is reaction from friends, teachers, and family. There’s mention of a party, but—”
“A party given by my nephews,” Houston interjected. “They were all there and any one of them could’ve been involved in that girl’s murder.”
Mick set the folder aside and fixed Houston with an exasperated look. “Mr. Ramsey, I just can’t understand why you’d want to open a can of worms about your family after all these years.”
“Every one of those boys is spoiled rotten and has been from the minute they were born,” Houston blurted, pounding his fist next to his plate of Caesar salad. “They were raised fully aware of the influence their family possessed. Knowledge of money and power is dangerous in the hands of adults, Ms. Sellars. It’s deadly in the hands of children.”
Mick toyed with a curl that bobbed along her ear. “You must know your nephews won’t be too pleased when they hear about this. You know I’ll have to get their side of the story,” she forewarned.
Houston waved his hand. “Please talk to them, by all means,” he urged, appearing undaunted.
Mick tapped her fingers along the edge of the table. “I understand the two of you have children?” she inquired, not wanting to consider all parents so cold and vindictive toward others who were basically children beneath them.
A proud smile brightened Houston’s handsome chiseled face. “We have two. A daughter, Dena, and a son, Taurus. Both are exceptional people, beautiful inside and out.”
Mick smiled and nodded. “Thank you both for a lovely meal,” she said as she stood. “I’ll be in touch.”
Mick opened her door to Quest just a few minutes before seven o’clock that evening.
“Hello,” he greeted, his mesmerizing gray stare slowly assessing the gorgeous aqua-colored V-neck dress she wore.
Mick took a deep breath, trying to hide her smile when Quest quickly looked away from her heaving bosom. “Hi,” she whispered, looking askew when she heard her voice tremble. Her gaze lowered when Quest leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. His lips lingered against the mole there. When he pulled back, he could see the intensity in her eyes as she watched him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, concern already filtering his eyes.
Mick shook her head and smiled. “I’m just waiting on you to compliment my sober state,” she teased.
Quest chuckled. “Very nice,” he said, reaching for the chiffon coat she held. “We better get a move on,” he suggested, knowing he was seconds away from forgetting going out for the evening.
Michaela’s observant qualities were in high gear that evening. She covertly studied Quest’s every movement and mannerism for any sign that he was the sort that could be involved in a girl’s death—er, murder. She didn’t find it surprising that his every action was consistent.
In spite of her thoroughly suspicious nature, Mick simply didn’t believe certain things could be devised. The way he held on to her hand until she was secure in the passenger seat of his Navigator, telling her to be sure the belt was securely locked and then checking to see that it was. He teased with the valets at the restaurant—all young black men whom he tipped even though they hadn’t even parked his car. He kept his hand at her waist and introduced her to everyone he spoke to.
The restaurant Quest chose for their dinner came complete with a beautiful view of the Puget Sound. Mick was quiet for a very long time as she sat enchanted by the view.
“Sorry,” she whispered to Quest when she glanced up to see him staring at her. “This is so beautiful, I can’t find a thing to talk about.”
Quest’s lashes closed briefly over his eyes. “It’s no problem,” he assured her.
It was true. He could never tire of watching her. The sweet chocolate face held that perfect combination of sensuality and innocence. The silky blue-black curls made him want to lose his hands in them while he kissed her.
“Hungry?” he asked, desperate to focus his attention elsewhere.
“Starving,” Mick groaned, selecting one of the leather-bound menus from the table. “What’s good?”
The simple question erased any hope Quest had of focusing his attention elsewhere. His gaze locked on her X-rated mouth.
“Quest?”
“Everything,” he replied, “everything’s very good,” he said, hopelessly fixated on her full soft lips.
“Let’s see,” Mick breathed, opening the menu. “Ooooh, you’re right. It’ll take me all night to decide.”
Quest only smiled and leaned back in his chair in order to watch her more comfortably. By the time the waiter approached, Mick had at least decided on drinks. The young Hispanic waiter barely wrote down the order, his eyes were so focused on Mick. Quest didn’t like it, but he surely couldn’t blame the guy. For good measure—and agitation—he asked the young man to repeat the selection.
Mick laughed when they were alone. “So you’re one of those, huh?”
Quest shook his head once in confusion.
“One of those difficult diners who send their dish back five times because of the smallest imperfections.”
Quest tugged on the lapel of his mocha suit jacket. “I’m not like that and it wasn’t about that. The guy was just staring at you so hard.”
Mick studied the water past the window. “Are you the jealous type?” she asked in a sly tone.
“Never had any reason to be.”
“I’m sure.”
“I don’t think I am. Besides, I couldn’t blame the guy.”
“Why?”
Quest grinned at her bewilderment and casually studied his own menu. “You’d have to be seeing yourself through a man’s eye to understand that, Michaela.”
Mick’s breath caught in her throat over the obvious compliment.
Quest heard her reaction. “You have no idea what I mean?”
Mick looked down at the table. “I’ve never had time to worry about my looks.”
“Well, when you look like this what’s there to worry over!” Quest bellowed playfully.
Mick laughed to cover her embarrassment and was thankful when the waiter returned with their drinks. The last thing she needed this night was to let Quest charm her into another mind-numbing kiss or something more deliciou
s. Houston Ramsey’s certainty that one or more of his nephews played a part in a possible murder bothered Mick more than she cared to admit. Her curiosity was piqued as highly as her determination to prove Quest had nothing to do with it.
Once the waiter left with their dinner orders, Mick pulled the straw from her peach daiquiri and settled back to enjoy her drink. “Thank you for dinner, Quest. You Ramseys sure know how to treat people right.”
The muscle flexed in Quest’s jaw. “So I’ve heard,” he muttered. “So tell me how you became a writer,” he requested.
Mick looked out over the candlelit dining room. “By way of investigative reporting.”
“Yeah, I’ve read a few of your articles in the file your publisher sent,” Quest shared.
“Mmm-hmm, I could really throw myself into that job. I guess I had the personality for it.”
“Why’d you quit?” Quest asked, taking a sip of his Hennessey.
Mick’s expression tightened at the memory. “I quit when my editor drained the last of my ability to cooperate with his stupid editorial suggestions by asking me to sensationalize my story on three homeless kids who lost their shelter to fire.”
“How’d he expect you to do that with such a story?”
“That’s what I asked him,” Mick replied flatly. “And it was either quit or jump across his desk and strangle him when he told me to put a spin on it that the kids were helped by the system, put into a fabulous home, blah, blah, blah.”
Quest appeared even more confused. “Seems it would’ve been more sensational to show the kids as they truly were.”
“According to my former editor, we’d done too many downer stories on the subject. Readers needed to see that the system did work, sometimes.”
“Hmph,” Quest grunted, rubbing his fingers across his wavy hair. “Sounds like someone was paying for a little positive press.”
“Indeed,” Mick confirmed with a finger pointed in his direction, “the publisher had friends who were complaining about all the flack the city council and social service offices were getting from the public over such cases.”
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