The Edge of Midnight

  After the woman’s exit, Saint looked over at Sarita, and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Sarita confessed, “Not really.”

  “Just relax, everything’ll be fine.”

  Sarita stared around. She could smell the money. “Maybe a ball gown wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. I haven’t been inside a house this large since Gram retired.”

  “He lives well, but he’s worked hard for it.”

  Their hostess returned with a silver coffee service atop a beautiful sterling tray. She set the tray on the end table positioned in front of the luxurious leather couch and poured Saint a cup. The woman exited once more, and Saint sat back with his cup. He looked over at the now-pacing Sarita, and asked, “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  She never received a reply because at that moment a tall, dark-skinned man entered the room. He was dressed in a charcoal-colored turtlenecked sweater and matching pants. Sarita recognized him immediately. Her panicked eyes darted around the room for the closest exit. Good Lord!

  In that same instant, their eyes locked. He must have recognized her, too, because he roared, “You!”

  Sarita ran. She made it back to the foyer, but the unfamiliar locks on the door defeated her plans for a quick exit. A strong arm snatched her up, and she screamed as she was lifted from the ground. Her kicking, arm swinging, and cursing at the top of her lungs did not prevent him from carrying her back. She landed on the couch with so much force she bounced, and when she came to rest, the dark eyes from her nightmares were an angry inch away. “So, we meet again,” he purred in a voice that sounded all the world like a wolf’s. Sarita couldn’t stop her trembling. He was so close she could smell the subtle scents of his cologne and see the big black stone ring on his right hand.

  Sarita’s eyes flew to Saint, who stared back in amazement, asking, “What the hell—”

  Myk replied in a pleased voice, “I should’ve known you be the one to track her down, Saint. You could spot a dime in the jungle. Where’d you find her?”

  Saint’s confusion was great. “Find her? Man, what are you babbling about? This is Sarita Grayson, the lady I wanted you to meet.”

  Myk stared thunderstruck at Saint, and then back down at Sarita, before saying, “Well, well, well.”

  Sarita couldn’t have spoken, even if she’d wanted to.

  The man gave her that slow, pleased, wolf’s grin again, then asked her quietly. “He doesn’t know about last night, does he?”

  Sarita shook her head. And don’t tell him, she wanted to yell.

  Saint demanded, “What don’t I know? Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Myk couldn’t tear his eyes away from her small brown face. Since last night, he’d been obsessed with finding her, only to have her drop right into his lap. The gods were kind, he thought, chuckling to himself. Ironic, but kind. “Remember the woman I had the run-in with last night?”

  Saint nodded.

  “Well, thanks for bringing her back to me.”

  Saint’s eyes widened.

  Sarita tried not to look guilty, but failed.

  In a blink of an eye Saint was in her face bellowing, “Have you lost your mind?”

  Sarita prayed for lightning to strike and put her out of her misery. She’d never seen Saint so furious.

  He barked, “What the hell were you doing in that room last night?”

  “A favor for someone.”

  “Who?”

  Silence.

  “Sarita?” his voice warned.

  She had a few question of her own. “This is your half brother?” she asked tossing her chin toward the scowling man with the tight jaw.

  “My questions first. Who?”

  Sarita knew he would probably take a switch to her when she told him the truth. “The favor was for Fletcher.”

  “Fletcher?” Saint yelled. He stared at her as if amazed. “You have lost your mind!”

  “Maybe,” she snapped coming to her own defense. “But he was threatening to evict Mrs. Robinson and everyone else on the block behind in their rent if I didn’t help him. I had to deal. In exchange I’d get the seventeen grand I needed.”

  “How’d you get into the room?”

  “Fletcher gave me a room pass and the numbers for the safe.”

  Sarita sensed the vibrant presence of Saint’s brother. He probably wanted a piece of her, too, but for now he seemed content to let Saint handle the interrogation. Sarita declared, “I was doing fine until he showed up.”

  Saint came back sharply, “You should be glad he did. Do you have any idea what you’ve set off?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “This is as bad as those crack houses you burned last summer. You don’t think of the consequences.”

  “I did not—”

  “Yes, you did. I know you, Sarie. You probably poured the gasoline, personally.”

  Myk drawled sarcastically, “Oh, she’s an arsonist, too? You’re right, Saint. She’d make a perfect wife. What other qualifications does she have?”

  At that moment Sarita almost wished she were married to him just so she could feed him rat poison for breakfast. “You’re not exactly my idea of prime rib, either.”

  “Ah—and smart-mouthed to boot.”

  “Smartest mouth in the West,” Saint concurred, before asking her, “So, do you still have the diamonds?”

  She nodded.

  “And my gun?” Myk added.

  “Yes.”

  Saint was pacing. “What did you plan to do with the rocks now that Fletcher’s dead?”

  Sarita knew if she confessed, she would not see the sun rise ever again. However, since she and Saint were just like siblings, she trusted him to give her a decent burial. “I—was going to have you fence them for me.”

  “Me?”

  Sarita and Saint had always been straight with one another, and so she sought to explain, “Look, Saint. Fletcher offered me the money. The job didn’t involve any drugs. I couldn’t let the center close. You know how much that place means. Maybe my methods were a bit outside the box, but I’d hit the wall, and there was no other way out. And like I said, everything would’ve been fine if he hadn’t shown up.”

  “Sarie, I love you as much as I love breathing, but I can’t believe you did this.”

  Sarita felt guilty for a moment, but when she weighed it against her hopes for the center, the guilt vanished. “So, if I turn over the diamonds and the gun, are we square?”

  Saint’s reply was blunt. “No.”

  “Why not?” she wanted to know. “I shot him, but he didn’t bleed to death, or die.”

  “Because this has everything and nothing to do with the return of the gun and the gems.”

  “Try that in English.”

  When she received no reply, she turned her attention to the man across the room. He held her eyes emotionlessly. He knew the answers, she was certain. She turned back to Saint. “What are you mixed up in, Saint? What’s this really about?”

  “Something not even I can fix.”

  Saint turned to Myk, and said solemnly to him, “You and I need to talk, man.”

  They were gone for nearly an hour. Sarita paced angrily the whole time. The nice woman who’d initially met Sarita and Saint at the door came in after the men left on the pretext of keeping her company, but Sarita sensed the woman’s real purpose was to make sure she stayed put until Saint and his brother returned.

  When they finally did, neither face revealed what had been discussed.

  The woman sitting with Sarita left quietly, leaving the three of them alone once more. Saint came over to where Sarita stood by the fireplace. The expression of sadness in his eyes gave her a bad feeling.

  “Sarie, remember the proposal we talked about this morning?”

  She did. She looked over at his brother. “He doesn’t want to go through with the marriage. I understand. Neither do I.”

  Saint sighed, “If it were only that simple. Do you
believe I would never do anything to harm you, or place you in harm’s way?”

  She did.

  “Then don’t fight me on this, okay?”

  Sarita didn’t commit, but his serious manner raised the hairs on the back of her neck. The other man was watching intently, silently.

  Saint said, “The bottom line is this: You’ve set off some dangerous ripples doing Fletcher’s deal. You may need protection.”

  “From whom, him?” she asked skeptically, indicating Saint’s brother.

  “No, from whoever owns those rocks.”

  Sarita had been thinking about that ever since learning of Fletcher’s death. “But if I give them to you, I won’t have them.”

  “No, but you had them. Not everybody in Fletcher’s crew got popped in the hit. Remember I said some headed south?”

  She did.

  “Well, they’re going to be found eventually, and they’re going to be made to spill their guts. When that happens, depending on how much they knew about last night’s deal, your name is going to come up, and then all hell’s going to break loose. Those are blood diamonds—mined in Africa by enslaved kids whose hands are cut off when they don’t fill their daily quota. These are very dangerous people, Sarie.”

  She wondered if he were trying to scare her; if so, he was doing a bang-up job. “So what am I looking at?”

  “I want you to stay here,” he replied softly.

  “Why?”

  Saint’s half brother drawled, “Because he wants you to stay alive. Me, I’m still undecided.”

  Sarita took immediate offense. “I’ll take my chances on the streets. I’m not staying here. Not with him.”

  Determination firing every step, she walked over to the door and took hold of the exotic brass handles. Locked. Willing herself to remain calm, she turned back. Her adversary stood across the room, his arms folded. She glanced over to Saint to ask him to do something about the locked door, but he wasn’t there. A hasty survey of the room showed him to be no longer anywhere. Gone. He’d disappeared! She’d kill him!

  Her host answered her unspoken question. “Saint had other plans. Have a seat.”

  “You can’t keep me here against my will.” Her bravado sounded hollow even to her own ears.

  “Have a seat.”

  For a moment she stood her ground. He waited. Snarling inwardly, she complied. It was the last concession she planned on giving until she got some answers.

  “Now, how old are you?”

  “Why were you after the diamonds?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Sarita thought him entirely too arrogant. Since he was neither her parent nor her employer, she didn’t respond.

  He had thunderclouds in his eyes as he crossed to her. He leaned down into her face and spoke coldly. “You are about two seconds away from a plane ride to a place that not even Saint can find unless I receive some answers. And believe me, little girl, I can make you disappear”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that!”

  Sarita jumped in reaction, hating her loss of control, but his sinister promise had her full attention.

  He straightened to his full height, then slowly repeated the question. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-three.” She met his eyes squarely. “And you?”

  “Forty.”

  “Why were you after the diamonds?” she asked, but suddenly, the answer became irrelevant. For the first time Sarita actually looked at the distinct features of his face—the cut of his jaw, the dark eyes, the mustached framing his full lips. She knew him, knew his true identity and it scared her to death. “You’re the mayor’s brother! Mykal Chandler. You helped bankroll his campaign!” During the mayoral election, Chandler’s face had been plastered all over the papers and TV. Good Lord, she thought to herself. Saint was kin to two of the most powerful men in the city.

  Myk cursed inwardly. His worst fears were realized.

  Sarita studied him for a moment, then came to a conclusion. “This isn’t about my safety. You don’t want me to leave because you’re afraid I’ll tell somebody, aren’t you?”

  It all made perfect sense to her now. Wow! What a story this would make: Half brother of mayor accused of possessing illegal diamonds. Oh yeah. The media would eat it up. There might be a way out of this after all, she crowed inwardly. “Does the mayor know his brother has a night job?”

  He glared.

  She smiled. “I’ll tell you what. I promise to keep my mouth shut, and you let me walk out of here. I’ll give Saint the diamonds and your gun, and we can both forget this little meeting ever took place.”

  “You’re in no position to be bargaining.”

  The housekeeper entered the room to interrupt. “Your guests are here.”

  Myk acknowledged her without looking away from Sarita. “Thanks, Lily. Miss Grayson is going to be staying with us for a while. Will you get a room ready for her, please?”

  “Certainly.”

  Sarita said, “Lily, don’t bother. I won’t be staying.”

  Myk’s jaw tightened. “Go ahead, Lily.”

  Lily looked to the two of them, then, with a mysterious smile on her face, left the room.

  He said to Sarita, “Come. It shouldn’t take Lily long.”

  “You’re not listening. I’m not staying. You are going to let me out of here. Now.”

  “Or what?” he asked, finding her continued defiance both amusing and unbelievable.

  “Or I’m going to scream this place down, and your guests are going to hear me.”

  “They’ll understand. Let’s go.”

  Sarita knew that if she willingly followed him out of the room, her life would be changed forever. “No.”

  Before she could blink, he had her over his shoulder like a sack of cement and began walking. “Put me down!” she snapped

  She did her best to wriggle free, but the carpet continued to bounce below her as he carried her upside down. “Put me down!”

  Her angry demands, threats, and curses fell on deaf ears. He kept moving. Gathering her strength, she kicked him as hard as one could upside down. The toe of her boot caught him in his injured arm. He groaned with pain. Her satisfaction died quickly. He retaliated by tightening his injured arm across the backs of her thighs and swatting her hard across her conveniently positioned backside with the flat of his hand, not once but twice.

  Her outrage filled the hallway.

  He was now ascending a wide, rose-carpeted stairway. The furious Sarita could see a small knot of men and women grimly watching the show from the base of the staircase. She yelled for someone to call 911, but no one moved.

  The NIA members who’d come for the night’s meeting finished the agenda quickly. They knew Myk had other business to handle that evening, very vocal business that could be heard shouting for him at the top of her lungs.

  After the meeting, Drake and Myk sat in the den listening to the ominous silence now coming from the upper floor. Drake, in the process of repairing the stitches Myk had torn loose wrestling with her, said, “Sounds like she’s finally burned out.”

  Myk cocked an ear to the silence. “Let’s hope.”

  Drake finished up and stepped back. “It looks fine, but no more combat or it will never heal.”

  Myk drawled, “Tell that to Ms. Grayson.”

  Drake waited while Myk shrugged back into his shirt, then said seriously, “You really ought to let her go.”

  “She knows too much,” Myk countered.

  “So, we get with Saint and work something out. Wiping out the bill on her building and handing her the title should be worth her silence.”

  “She stays.”

  Drake paused. He tried to understand Myk’s logic, but couldn’t. “Okay, let’s leave that for a moment. What are you going to do about that marriage business?”

  “It’s still on.”

  The mayor shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. No man in his right mind would marry her.”

  Silence.


  Because he’d known Mykal Chandler most of his life, Drake quipped, “You know, big brother, this is your Type A personality at work here.”

  Myk turned his attention from the silence that drifted down from above. “And that means what, exactly?”

  “It means all you Type A’s are alike. You hate to lose. I’ll bet you’ve never had a woman beat you at anything.”

  “No, Drake, I haven’t. Unlike you, I wasn’t raised in a house filled with women.”

  It was a reference to Drake’s three stepsisters. Drake could’ve taken offense at Myk’s tone, but did not. “You’re punishing her, man, for not only shooting you but for getting away with those rocks, too.”

  “Give the politician a prize.”

  Drake rubbed at his weary eyes. What a night. “Look, why don’t you let me go up and talk to her—”

  “No,” Myk voiced quietly.

  Drake stared. “What do you mean, no?”

  “Just what I said, no. She already knows who I am. We let her see you now, and who knows what type of conclusions she’ll draw. Nobody talks to her until I say so.”

  Drake viewed him strangely. The sequestered woman upstairs seemed to be affecting his judgment. “I still say you should let her go.”

  “And what about the reprisals for the diamonds? If you want to risk having one of the city’s better-known neighborhood activists gunned down in a drive-by, just say the word, and I’ll send her home.”

  Checkmate. Drake raised his glass of fruit juice in tribute. “That’s why you’re in charge, and I’m a politician.”

  “Exactly,” Myk said, glad to feel the tension fading. He had enough problems on his plate. He didn’t need to get into a fight with Drake, too. Taming the wildcat upstairs was going to take a lot more energy than he cared to think about. “Lord knows, I don’t want to do this, but Saint will stake me out on a scorpion’s nest if anything happens to her while he’s gone.”

  “Where’s he headed?”

  “South, to try and get a line on the Fletcher Harris hit.”

  “You’re really going to marry her?”

  “I don’t have a choice. I can’t marry somebody else and keep the Grayson woman here, too. It’ll be bad enough having one woman around. I can’t handle two.”