He pulled in another lungful of her scent, hastened his steps, and gripped her upper arm. Camilla’s skin was smooth to the touch and cool under his fingers.
Her muscles flexed, she turned and backed away from him at the same time, as if he made her nervous.
After clearing his throat, he tipped his head toward the lobby. “Don’t worry. Elise will take care of everything.” He gave her a warm smile. “Tell Miss Mabel hello for me.”
Camilla’s eyes widened, then her face softened. “She did say to tell you howdy.”
Shaz reached around her and opened the door. He waited for her to go ahead of him, then pulled it shut behind them. As he went past Elise’s desk, he took the envelope she held out to him. “I’ll be back in … ” He changed his mind mid-sentence as he glanced at the phone in his hand, which lit up with a message. “You’ll see me when you see me.”
CHAPTER 5
GRANT KHAMBREL
Do what we say, and we won’t dismantle your world.
“Unbelievable,” Grant said, followed by a string of obscenities. He tossed back a glass of bourbon, barely tasting the smooth gold substance but instantly feeling its bite. Grant settled in his chair and pitched the letter that delivered the threat onto his desk—a beautiful 79-inch walnut and granite work of art. A gift given to him by another satisfied customer.
Grant, who, according to Chicago magazine, was described as a tall, fine piece of fabulously handsome architect and owner of one of the country’s premier commercial construction companies, had a reputation for being an honorable and fair businessman. A clear contradiction to the allegations being leveled against him. “This is ridiculous.” He reached for his glass since it was time for a refill.
“It certainly is,” a familiar baritone voice agreed, as Meeks Montgomery entered the office. “You’re lucky we hadn’t made it home yet.”
Grant placed the glass down and came from around his desk, offering his hand. “Nice to see you too, Meeks.” The two men shook hands and Grant couldn’t help but notice his disgruntled friend—who was his same height and athletic build only with golden-brown skin instead of Grant’s olive complexion—was dressed in full kick-ass gear; a black monogrammed T-shirt, cargo pants, work boots, with a Glock 22 on his hip. He looked like he’d either just prevented a battle or ended one.
“Don’t mind him,” Francine Blake Montgomery stated in a matter-of-fact tone as she entered the room wearing the same black outfit and gun as Meeks. She was beautiful, petite, and a black belt who could take down a man twice her size with little effort. Francine placed her cell in the clip at her waist and stood next to her husband. “We’re happy to help.”
The husband and wife duo were partners in a thirty-year-old, multi-billion-dollar international security firm.
“Francine, don’t you look lovely as always,” Grant complimented, cutting his eyes to Meeks. “I’d hug you but—”
“He wants to keep his hands,” Meeks interjected, standing with his legs slightly apart and his arms folded across a massive chest.
Francine shook her head and gave Meeks the evil eye. “How’s your uncle?” she asked, adjusting her gun before taking a seat in one of the leather chairs facing Grant’s desk.
Grant felt a sharp pain in his chest. His uncle, Benjamin Khambrel, Ben as he preferred to be called, raised Grant after his parents were killed in a car crash. Now the man was battling an aggressive form of cancer. “He’s doing about as well as can be expected. Thanks for asking.”
“Now that the niceties are over, do you want to tell me why you’ve brought us here at such a God-awful time of night?” Meeks asked, his irritation at being called back into the office clear.
Grant grabbed his glass, moved to the corner next to his desk, and stood in front of the bar. “Care for a drink?” He added a few cubes of ice in another glass before pouring his favorite spirit, the Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve. This, too, was a favorite of his uncle. They often shared libation at the end of a long week where they discussed their wins and losses. Today was a definite loss.
“Only if it’s the good stuff.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Francine crossed her legs. “I’m not drinking these days.”
Grant could hear the excitement and love in his friend’s voice. He walked over to Meeks and handed him the shot of Reserve. Turning his attention to Francine, he asked, “Is it safe to assume the triplets are getting a new sibling?”
“Or two,” she replied, almost giggling.
“Congratulations to you both.” Grant raised his glass in salute. He was sure no one would ever need to do the same for him. There would be no wife or offspring for him. After what he’d been through in life, he’d make sure of it.
“Thanks,” they said in unison, smiling lovingly at each other.
“Sweetheart, now that you’ve finished, do you think we can find out why we’re here?” Meeks ran the back of his hand down his wife’s cheek, and Francine held her husband’s gaze. Grant almost envied the obvious love they shared.
“Fine.” She turned her attention back to Grant as Meeks dropped his hand. “What can we do for you?”
Grant returned to his desk. “This is why I called you here tonight.” He handed Francine the letter as he reclaimed his seat.
“What is this about?” Meeks asked, frowning as he slid into the space next to his wife.
“The Chicago Project,” Francine murmured as she read.
“What?” Meeks asked.
“He’s being blackmailed,” she announced.
“What the hell … you’re being what?” Meeks’ expression hardened as he turned his attention to Grant.
“So it seems,” Grant finished off his drink and placed the glass on the desk. “Whoever’s behind this is claiming I failed to disclose a previous relationship with the principals of the project, which automatically disqualifies me for the award. However, if I give them what they want—”
“Which is what?” Meeks’ gaze held firm.
“I have no idea. As you can see,” Grant pointed to the letter Francine passed to Meeks. “They’ll be in touch.”
“Where’s the envelope?” he asked, accepting the note from his wife.
“My assistant has it in a file somewhere. It was delivered by messenger,” Grant explained.
“We’re going to need it,” Francine stated, silencing her ringing phone after checking the screen.
Meeks read the note.
Congratulations on your big win. Too bad it won’t last. Since you failed to disclose your previous relationship with an owner, your bid is disqualified. We can help you with that. Do what we say, and we won’t dismantle your world. Keep things business as usual, Mr. Khambrel. We’ll be in touch.
“And the note was attached to the award letter?” Francine questioned.
“Yep.” Grant frowned and said, “Their way of reminding me how much I have to lose,” he explained, running a hand across his cheek, the five o’clock shadow reminding him it was time for a shave.
“I’m guessing you didn’t forget to disclose any past connections with the owner,” Francine concluded.
“No, we didn’t forget,” Grant confirmed, reaching for another folder that sat on his desk and handing it to Francine. “I checked each set of proposals before they left the building.”
Francine flipped through the pages in the folder. “Sounds like an inside job.”
“Yeah, we just need to know who’s inside,” Meeks added, scowling.
“Most of my senior staff have been with me for years, and for the last two years, your company has been responsible for vetting all new hires,” Grant reminded Meeks.
“That’s what I mean. The breakdown could have come from either side. Remember, we provided you with the estimated cost for the project’s security.”
Francine raised her eyes from the documents and leveled them on Grant. “There are three projects listed. Exactly how much net revenue did the Wirtz business generate?”
&nbs
p; Grant sat up in his chair. He felt like he was in the witness box of a courtroom. “Ballpark … fifty million dollars.”
“Damn, man, you didn’t think to bring us to the table?” Meeks complained.
Francine rolled her eyes and raised the folder in her hand. “You’re telling me that you made fifty million dollars from three mid-level projects over the last three years from the same company that has now awarded you with a five hundred-million-dollar contract?” She gestured to the pages on his desk. “Even with the disclosure document, this seems excessive. Without it, things look shady as hell for both you and Wirtz. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a crook too.”
Not exactly the words Grant wanted to hear.
CHAPTER 6
MARIANO “RENO” DELUCA
The phone and cup of scorching hot coffee flew from Reno’s grasp as he entered the brightly lit building and was met with a violent shove in the back. He did his best not to have a face-to-face meeting with the marble floor as he landed on his knees and braced a hard fall with the palms of his hands.
“Boss, are you okay?” Skyler Pierson asked, scurrying from the front desk in an effort to come to Reno’s aid.
The police sirens drowned out his response. Lately, the sounds were a regular occurrence on the corner of Seventy-Ninth and Cottage Grove, a once-thriving area that had been a coveted spot to settle in its heyday.
“I am so sorry,” a woman with a thick African accent said as she glanced around, clutching a small duffel bag. “Is this the Second Chance at Life Women’s Shelter?”
“Yes,” Reno replied, getting to his feet and wiping the knees of his slacks. He made eye contact, and the woman glanced away, but not before her woeful russet brown eyes penetrated his soul.
Slowly stepping backward, the woman said, “This does not look like any shelter I have ever seen. Where are the beds and people?”
The lobby resembled a hotel setting with soft music playing in the background, a front desk, sitting area, modern paintings, and recessed lighting. Off to the side was a cubicle for privacy, where clients provided information for the type of shelter they were seeking. Once approved, the women had access to the highly secured upstairs living quarters where the kitchen, beds, and showers existed. Safety and privacy were the top priorities.
“They’re safe, as they should be,” he replied as Skyler rushed to the mini kitchen and brought back some paper towels. “How may I help you?”
“I was told to ask for Mariano DeLuca. Are you him?”
“Yes.”
“I am Zuri Okusanya,” she whispered, then damn near jumped into his arms at the loud voices of men swearing as they walked past the entrance.
A sweet, berry-like fragrance infused his nostrils as Zuri’s thick hair swept across his face.
She obviously wasn’t from the community; or the surrounding neighborhoods, for that matter. Or maybe Reno had become desensitized to the everyday happenings in the Chatham community he once called home as a young boy.
“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Reno reassured. “That’s normal.” Unfortunately.
“My father may have sent them…” Zuri said with a trembling voice, rushing past Reno and hiding behind the front desk where his assistant, Skyler, was now stationed again.
Reno rushed over just as Skyler squatted and placed her hands over Zuri’s.
“Miss,” Skyler said softly. “You’re safe. No men are allowed in here, except Mr. DeLuca. We have an all-female staff, down to the cleaning crew.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise,” Reno said, extending a hand, hoping Zuri would trust him enough to grab hold.
So many of the women who sought shelter from an abusive spouse or boyfriend were left feeling leery of all men. He had come under fire for his stance on staff gender, but the well-being of the clients came first.
“You can trust Mr. DeLuca,” Skyler soothed, her manicured hand stroking the woman’s trembling one. “He helps women every day who need a safe place to stay.”
Zuri’s eyes pooled with unshed tears, then he felt the heat of her gaze on him as he swept out the front door and had a heated exchange with the men who were creating all of the chaos. He returned as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Reno’s cell vibrated, but he ignored the call, thinking it was family. His parents hosted a mandatory monthly gathering to spend time with their children since everyone’s business ventures kept them occupied. He was running behind. At that pivotal moment, Zuri’s needs took precedence. Establishing trust with a woman entering the shelter for the first time was vital and had to be handled with the delicacy of a precious flower.
“He helped me when I had nowhere else to turn,” Skyler admitted, squeezing Zuri’s hand. “It took me two years to get back on my feet after my husband moved his mistress into our home. He put me and our child out while I was pregnant with our second, leaving us homeless and without money.”
Zuri’s glance shifted to Reno.
“We’ll take good care of you,” he vowed, returning her gaze, entranced by her beauty.
Reno’s phone rang a second time, then a third. He ignored those calls too.
Zuri placed her focus back on Skyler.
She nodded and whispered, “We got you.”
“All right,” Zuri murmured, releasing a sigh. She placed a hand in Reno’s and gradually rose.
The touch of her velvety skin was enough to send a shock of something he couldn’t name coursing through his veins. He’d never felt so connected to a client before. This wasn’t healthy, nor was it right, and he made a mental note to spend as little time with Zuri as possible. Once she stood to her full height, Reno released her hand, then helped Skyler to her feet.
He examined Zuri’s heart-shaped face. Though worry was etched in her expression, he witnessed the tension ease a little. Her lips weren’t as taut, and the rosy color in her cheeks blended more with her natural skin tone.
Reno parted his lips. “Let’s get––”
This time, the office phone rang.
Neither he nor Skyler could ignore that phone. It could be a woman in need or another shelter seeking information about a vacancy, of which they only had one at the moment.
“I’ll do the intake,” he said to Skyler, escorting Zuri to the cubicle with two crescent swivel chairs, a desk, and an iMac.
Before they could get started, Reno’s attention immediately zoned in on the fast-approaching clicking sound against the floor.
Skyler knocked on the partition and rushed in. “You have an important call.”
“Take a message. I’ll call them––”
“The man said to tell you it’s Kaleb Valentine.”
Conflicted, Reno slowly moved forward. Kaleb only called the shelter if he couldn’t reach him on his cell. Even then, only in cases of emergency.
“I’ll finish,” Skyler insisted. “Go on. We’ll be okay.”
Zuri nodded and gave him a wan smile.
“Thanks,” he said, then turned to Zuri. “I’ll be right back.”
Jogging to the desk, he lifted the phone and pressed the flashing red button. “Hey KV. What’s up?”
“Khalil was shot and––”
“Slow down, Kaleb.” Reno pulled the receiver away from his ear. He couldn’t have heard him right. Bringing the phone back to his ear he asked, “What did you say?”
“Listen to me, man. Khalil. Was. Shot.”
Reno’s hand flew to his forehead. “Shot––not killed––meaning he’s still with us, right? When did this …? Where? By who?”
“I tried reaching you––several times,” Kaleb said. “I’ll head out to Chicago and meet up with you to get you up to speed.”
“Don’t bother,” Reno countered, glancing at his watch. “I’m on my way to the hospital now. See you soon–––”
“Hold up,” Kaleb blurted, getting Reno’s attention before he ended the call. “Vikkas said for you to meet him at The Castle
.”
“All right.” Reno slammed the phone down, ran to the back office, and grabbed his car keys. He dipped his head in the cubicle where the ladies were in a hushed conversation. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Zuri stood, visibly shaken. “How are you going to protect me if you’re not here? Didn’t you say only women are in this place?” She lifted her bag from the floor and holstered it on her shoulder. “I better go.”
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