Deception (Tamia Luke)

by Naomi Chase

  “Poor little Cynthia,” Brooke lamented with mock sympathy. “She must be ready to slit her wrists at the thought of losing you to Tamia again.”

  Beau snickered. “Can’t you just see her and her ugly-ass mother getting down on their knees and praying for God to smite Tamia?”

  Brooke howled with laughter.

  Brandon merely shook his head at his siblings. Beau and Brooke had never made any secret of their dislike for Cynthia, whom they considered fake and manipulative. Brandon had always dismissed their concerns, insisting that they didn’t know Cynthia the way he did. But lately he’d found himself questioning whether he knew her as well as he’d thought.

  Beau grinned slyly at him. “So tell the truth, bruh. Were you with Tamia this morning?”

  Before Brandon could respond, they heard the rapid approach of footsteps. Moments later their parents burst into the room, their enraged gazes locking on to Brandon with the lethal precision of a nuclear missile bent on total annihilation.

  Brandon braced himself for the explosion.

  “WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?” Bernard roared thunderously.

  Brandon felt rather than saw his siblings shrink back against the sofa.

  As Bernard stalked toward him, Brandon instinctively rose from the armchair, squaring his shoulders and planting his feet. He was a grown man, so he couldn’t remember the last time his father had raised a hand to him. But he wanted to be prepared for anything, because right now the old man looked furious enough to rip his throat out.

  “I just got off the phone with Mort Chernoff,” Bernard raged, advancing on Brandon until their faces were separated by inches. “He called to tell me that Dominic Archer was arrested last night for violating a restraining order. When the police picked him up, his face looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a reincarnated Mike Tyson! He told the cops that you assaulted him! Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is,” Brandon said flatly.

  Across the room, his mother gasped sharply. “My God! What on earth were you thinking?”

  “Obviously he wasn’t!” Bernard snapped, a vein throbbing at his temple as he glared at Brandon. “What the hell were you doing at that woman’s apartment when you were supposed to be at a wedding with Cynthia?”

  “I went to see Tamia,” Brandon answered evenly, striving for composure. “When I arrived, Dominic Archer was there. She told me that he’d choked her—”

  “So you decided to go Neanderthal on him?! Why the hell didn’t you just have her call the police and press charges against him? It had nothing to do with you!”

  Brandon clenched his jaw. “I beg to differ.”

  “You beg to differ?” his father echoed, eyeing him incredulously. “Do you have any idea what a public relations shitstorm you’ve just created for my campaign? Dominic Archer has retained an attorney, but not just any attorney. He hired Levi Dorsey, who only happens to be Russ Sutcliffe’s nephew-in-law. Remember Russ, your arch nemesis at the firm? The man you just castrated in front of the other partners? The racist son of a bitch who’s been gunning for me since I ran for lieutenant governor seven years ago? Remember him? As soon as he heard about the circumstances surrounding Dominic’s arrest, he dispatched his nephew to the police station to offer his services to Dominic. Mort told me they’re holding a press conference on Monday morning to announce their plans to file a lawsuit against you for assault and battery.”

  When Brandon showed no reaction to this news, his father shook his head in angry disbelief. “You still don’t get it, do you? What do you think is going to happen when the viewing public sees Dominic Archer’s battered face and hears him talk about how much he misses his beloved Isabel? When he explains how he only went to Tamia’s apartment because he’s seeking answers about his wife’s murder, who do you think the public will sympathize with? You and Tamia? Or the grieving widower?”

  “Are we talking about the same ‘grieving widower’ who blackmailed a woman for sex and may have killed his own wife?” Beau interjected sardonically.

  His father rounded on him. “Was I talking to you, boy?”

  A lesser man might have cowered in the face of Bernard’s wrath, but Beau held his ground. “No, sir, you weren’t talking to me. But come on, Dad. During the trial, Brandon did such a good job of painting Dominic as the villain that he’s now the primary murder suspect. Do you honestly believe that anyone will suddenly see him as a victim just because he turns up with a black eye and sheds a few crocodile tears for the camera?”

  “You have no goddamn idea what people will think! As I’ve learned in politics, it doesn’t take much to turn the tide of public opinion against you!” Bernard spun back to Brandon, jabbing a finger in his face. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you and your siblings that everything you do reflects upon me! EVERYTHING! Why the hell do you think I had such a problem with you and Beau appearing on that magazine cover looking like gangsters? By assaulting Dominic Archer, you’ve just given the GOP even more ammunition to portray you as a thug!”

  Brandon was silent. He knew his father was right. The Republicans were going to have a field day with this story, as would the media. But even knowing that, Brandon couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. As far as he was concerned, Dominic had gotten off easy last night.

  “I don’t think you understand what’s truly at stake here,” Bernard continued, his voice vibrating with controlled fury. “Do you think this is just a game to me? Do you think I’m running for governor to satisfy some egotistical need for power?”

  His piercing gaze encompassed Beau and Brooke. “I’m trying to make history by becoming the first black governor of Texas. I’m fulfilling a dream that was denied your forefathers simply because of the color of their skin. Do you truly understand who those men were? They were brilliant, educated, pioneering leaders who, despite their many accomplishments and contributions, were deprived of the right to hold the highest office of the state. Do you understand what it means to carry the legacy of your ancestors on your shoulders? Do you realize that what I’m doing today will impact your children, your grandchildren, your great-grandchildren, and generations of Chamberses to come? Do you understand that? Do you?” Bernard looked at each of his offspring in turn. “If you don’t understand the importance of my candidacy, then maybe you don’t deserve to bear this proud name!”

  And with that scathing indictment ringing through the air, he pivoted with military precision and marched out of the room.

  In the tense silence that followed his departure, Gwen Chambers glared accusingly at Brandon. “I wish to God you’d never met that damn woman!”

  Before Brandon could respond, she turned and swept out the door with the righteous fury of a queen who’d just declared war against an enemy country.

  For several moments afterward, Brandon, Beau, and Brooke stared at one another.

  No one spoke.

  After another minute, Dre appeared in the doorway. He took one look at the siblings’ grim countenances and raised his brows. “Damn. What’d I miss?”

  Chapter 25

  Tamia

  Later that morning, Tamia threw on some leggings, laced up her sneakers, and went jogging at nearby Discovery Green Park. While incarcerated, she’d kept herself in excellent shape by working out every day. Once she was released from prison, she’d vowed to maintain her exercise regimen—a goal made easier since she lived in a building that was equipped with a state-of-the-art fitness facility.

  As she jogged along the trail, enjoying the crisp fall weather and the lush scenery that boasted a glistening lake, she came upon another runner approaching from the other direction. He was an attractive, middle-aged black man clad in a white Houston Rockets T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

  When their eyes met, Tamia felt a jolt of recognition that was mirrored on the man’s face.

  Slowing his pace, he stared at her in surprise. “Miss Luke?”

  Tamia was equally stunned. The approaching jogger was none other th
an Lester McCray, also known as Juror Number Eight.

  What were the odds of her running into one of her jurors in a city the size of Houston, she wondered.

  As they reached each other on the trail, Tamia greeted him with a friendly smile. “Hello, Mr. McCray. What a nice surprise.”

  “It certainly is.” He gave her a discreet once-over, admiring the way her spandex leggings molded her curves. “How have you been?”

  She grinned ironically. “Can’t complain, especially considering that I was on trial for murder the last time you saw me.”

  He chuckled. “Good point.”

  “Speaking of the trial, I wanted to thank you and the other jurors for reaching the verdict you did.”

  “No thanks necessary,” Lester countered graciously. “No one truly believed you were guilty of murder. Bad judgment, maybe. But not murder.”

  “That’s good to know,” Tamia told him.

  Lester gestured toward the thirty-seven-story high-rise that overlooked the park. “Do you live at One Park Place?”

  “No,” Tamia lied, surprising herself. “I’ve been wanting to visit Discovery Green since the park opened years ago, so I just decided today was the day. What about you? Do you live nearby?”

  “About ten minutes away.”

  “Oh, okay.” Tamia smiled. “Well, it was nice to see—”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

  Caught off guard, Tamia stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  Lester looked sheepish. “I didn’t mean to just blurt that out. And I realize that asking you on a date might be somewhat inappropriate, under the circumstances—”

  “Um, probably,” Tamia agreed. “You might be seen as having a conflict of interest.”

  Lester grimaced. “That’s probably true. And the last thing I’d want to do is compromise your acquittal in any way.” He sighed deeply. “I guess I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask now that the trial is over. You’re a very beautiful woman, Miss Luke. I have to admit that I’ve been attracted to you from the moment I saw you.”

  Tamia didn’t bother to act surprised. “I’m very flattered,” she said sincerely, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on dinner.”

  “How about drinks then? Surely there’s no harm in us having a drink together?”

  She shook her head regretfully. “We’d better not take any chances.”

  He shifted closer. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you?” he persisted.

  “Positive.” She smiled to soften her rejection. “Maybe if we’d met under different circumstances—”

  Lester chuckled wryly. “You wouldn’t have looked twice at me. Not with a boyfriend like Brandon Chambers.”

  Tamia didn’t deny it.

  “Well, it was great to see you, Mr. McCray.”

  “You, too, Miss Luke.” He smiled whimsically. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll run into each other again the next time we’re both at the park.”

  “Maybe. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.”

  “Thanks. Same to you.”

  As Tamia turned and jogged away, she could feel his eyes boring into her. When she’d put sufficient distance between them, she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, he was still standing where she’d left him, watching her intently.

  She felt a whisper of unease.

  As she continued down the trail, some instinct told her she’d done the right thing by not letting Lester McCray know where she lived.

  Chapter 26

  Brandon

  An hour after leaving his parents’ River Oaks estate, Brandon drove to the Joe Corley Detention Facility. Before heading out there, he’d called one of his contacts at the prison to deliver a personal message to Dominic. He’d informed Dominic that he wanted to meet with him, but only if Dominic agreed not to speak to his attorney until after Brandon’s visit.

  Dominic had agreed.

  So there they were, seated across from each other in the small, private room reserved for attorneys and their clients.

  As Brandon silently assessed Dominic’s black eye, bruised jaw, and busted lip, he didn’t feel an ounce of shame or remorse. This should have concerned him on some basic level, but it didn’t. Not even remotely.

  Dominic returned his appraisal, eyes glinting with amusement. “So what’s on your mind, Counselor? Or did you only come here to admire your handiwork?”

  Brandon smiled narrowly. “I must admit you’ve never looked better, Archer.”

  “Think so?”

  “Oh, most definitely. You were a little too pretty before.” Brandon smirked. “You know how it is with you light-skinned brothas.”

  Dominic chuckled. “Right, right.”

  Brandon clasped his hands on the table, a deceptively casual gesture. “So ...”

  “So ... ?”

  “I hear you’ve scheduled a press conference tomorrow.”

  Dominic smiled. “That’s what I admire about you, my man. You’ve always got your finger on the pulse of what’s happening.”

  “Of course. Gotta stay ahead of the curve, you know?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Brandon looked at Dominic, all traces of humor gone. “You know I’m gonna bury you, right?”

  Dominic’s smile wavered, but only for a moment. “When?” he challenged. “Before or after I take you to the cleaners?”

  Brandon chuckled softly, shaking his head. “See, that’s the thing I tried to explain to you last night, and really, it pains me to go there again, because I hate people who throw their wealth around. But you’ve given me no other choice, so let’s try this one more time. You can’t take me to the cleaners, Dominic. Between my inheritance, what I make at the law firm, and my earnings from the sports agency, my net worth is untouchable to you. Even if you were to successfully sue me for ten million dollars, you wouldn’t come close to bankrupting me. And for what I did to you”—he pointed to Dominic’s battered face—“no judge or jury will award you that kind of settlement. Especially not when you violated a restraining order and assaulted Tamia. And definitely not when the majority of the population thinks you murdered your wife. I’m an attorney. I know how these things work, so take my word for it.”

  Dominic stared at him, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he silently weighed Brandon’s words.

  “So here’s the question you have to ask yourself,” Brandon continued mildly. “Do you really want to escalate this war with me? Is it wise for you to send in more troops when I have the financial wherewithal, the connections, the means, and the motive to completely destroy you? Think long and hard about that before you answer.”

  He and Dominic stared each other down, the air between them crackling with challenge.

  After several moments, Dominic leaned back in his chair and spread his hands wide. “If you’re so confident that you have the upper hand, why the fuck are you here?”

  Brandon met his gaze. “Because I want you to call off the press conference.”

  Dominic’s lips hitched upward in a smile that, coupled with his black eye, made him look ghoulish. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Afraid your violent temper might cost your father the election?”

  “Let’s just say I’d feel guilty for costing him even one vote.”

  “No doubt.” Smirking, Dominic deliberately folded his arms across his chest. “Why should I cancel the press conference? What’s in it for me?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. While I’ve got your undivided attention, there’s something else I wanted to ask you.” Brandon paused, his eyes narrowing on Dominic’s face. “Last night you told me that I have interesting taste in women. What did you mean by that?”

  Dominic eyed him blankly. “Is that what I told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? I don’t remember saying that.”

  Brandon frowned. He didn’t believe him.

  “But assuming I did tell you that,” Dominic drawled, “shouldn’t it be obvious what I meant? Your ex-girlfriend is a f
ormer porn star who just stood trial for murder. If that doesn’t make her interesting, I don’t know what the hell does.”

  Brandon searched Dominic’s face. “So you weren’t talking about anyone else?”

  “Like who?” Dominic smiled slowly. “Cynthia Yarbrough?”

  Brandon just looked at him.

  “Poor little Brandon,” Dominic lamented mockingly. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life worrying that I’ll get to every woman you fall in love with?”

  Brandon clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to rise to the bait. If he lost his temper and went off on this motherfucker again, he’d be thrown out of there and he’d never get the answer to the question that had been nagging him for months.

  “Who told you that Tamia was Mystique?”

  Dominic sighed. “Ah, yes, that’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it? Who sold Tamia out?” He smiled slyly. “What’s it worth to you?”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to negotiate with me?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  Their stares locked.

  After several seconds, a slow, mischievous grin crept across Dominic’s face. “Come now. If you couldn’t get the answer out of me during the trial, what makes you think I’d talk now?”

  Brandon slowly leaned back in his chair, feeling as if he were playing eight-dimensional chess with Hannibal Lecter.

  “You still haven’t watched the movies, have you?” Dominic murmured.

  “What movies?”

  “The Mystique Slave Chronicles. You still can’t bring yourself to watch Tamia fucking other dudes, can you?”

  Brandon didn’t respond.

  Dominic chuckled quietly. “You should check them out sometime. You’ll gain a whole new appreciation for Tamia’s amazing skills, and it might even help you get over the sense of betrayal that’s been eating you alive for months.” His eyes gleamed. “Or maybe not.”