“What?” Neema quizzed as she looked up from her device and a game of Candy Crush.
Starting the engine, Tiger tossed his cell phone into her lap. “There’s police activity at the alderman’s house.”
“Which alderman?” Neema snatched up the phone to read the message. “What activity? And why didn’t it come across the police scanner?”
For the casual observer, the text was cryptic at best, one of Tiger’s informants in the police department sending him the tip. Neema knew enough to decipher the message:
911 at home of official Black. No eyes. Powers keeping it in the family.
Neema knew that the “official” was Alderman Davis Black and the “powers” were probably his father and brother, senior members of the police force. Suddenly her nerves were on overload. Why were the police at his home? And why were they trying to keep it from getting out? What had happened to Davis?
Minutes later, Tiger pulled his car in behind a Chicago police vehicle. “Let’s see what we can find out,” he said as he shut down the engine and swung open the door.
“I’m going to let you handle this one,” Neema said, fighting to keep anxiety out of her voice. “It’s your turn. I grabbed the last byline.”
“You sure?”
“Take it,” she said. “I’ll make a few calls and see what I can find out from here.”
“How does that work?” her friend said sarcastically.
“You’re not the only one with contacts in the police department,” she said.
Tiger extended his hand and they bumped fists.
“Hurry back,” Neema advised. “If the story’s good, we can make the morning paper.”
Tiger gave her a thumbs-up, slammed the door, and headed for the officers standing on the front lawn.
The night was clear, a full moon and a spattering of stars illuminating the dark sky. The neighbors were awake, everyone’s porch lights on as they peered out through their windows to see what was going on. The streetlights were bright, and all of it came together to make visibility easier. Neema slid down in the seat, pulling the baseball cap she wore low on her head. She was grateful for the tinted windows as she peered past the brim, eyeing the officers that moved in and out of the home’s front door.
Davis suddenly stood in the entrance and Neema gasped. Loudly. He was standing shirtless, despite the chill in the air. He was even barefoot, only wearing a pair of gray sweatpants. His lean frame was ripped, rock-hard muscles beneath taut skin. He was beautiful, she thought as she imagined her palms pressed against his broad chest. She bit down on her bottom lip to stall the wave of emotion that had flooded her feminine spirit. He was also alive, and seemingly well, and for that she released a sigh of relief. But his expression was pained, and Neema sensed that whatever had happened had unsettled him.
He suddenly seemed to be looking in her direction. She sank lower in the seat and whispered a silent prayer that she wouldn’t be discovered. She’d be devastated if she were outed before she had an opportunity to explain. And she couldn’t begin to imagine what he would think to discover her this way. It was then that she saw the large Rottweiler at the edge of the lawn. The dog was sniffing the grass before lifting his back leg to christen an overgrown holly bush. He was solid muscle with a short, black coat and distinctive rust markings. Davis spoke and the dog moved swiftly behind him, the two disappearing into the home. Neema released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Tiger suddenly flung open the driver’s-side door, almost throwing himself into the seat. “I got it,” he said as he started the engine.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Drive-by shooting. It took out the alderman’s door, but no one was injured.”
Neema gasped. “The door?”
“Well, you know, that decorative glass on the side. I could never figure out what the attraction is. As far as I’m concerned, it’s nothing but a peephole for nosey neighbors!” He shrugged.
Neema shook her head. “Do they have any leads?”
Tiger shook his head. “No, and top cop himself put out a gag order. The official word is that they have no comment.”
“You plan to write it anyway?”
“Nope! I got an exclusive. When they’re ready to release the information, we get first dibs.”
“They promised you that?”
“Lieutenant Black promised me that.” He handed her a business card.
The simple black-and-white card embossed with the city emblem listed Lieutenant Parker Black’s name and telephone number. On the back of the card, someone had written a cell phone number in red ink.
“He’s here, too?”
“No, his detective brother. Army...or Armor...something.” He shrugged dismissively.
“Armstrong?”
“Yeah, that’s it. He’s heading the case and assured me that if we kept a lid on it for now, he’d give us the exclusive and an interview with the alderman. They say both brothers are good for their word.”
“They?”
Tiger gestured toward the team of officers milling around on the sidewalk. “They speak quite highly of them and the alderman.”
Neema gave him a nod as he pulled out of the parking space and onto the road. She wasn’t expecting it when Tiger paused to toot his car horn, lowering the passenger-side window to give his friends in blue a wave. Before she could hide her face behind her cap, she locked eyes with a man she recognized from the restaurant. He had been there with Davis the night he’d met Balducci.
There was no missing their similarities. Like Davis, he stood tall, appearing well over six feet, with the same rich complexion that was a warm tawny with just the barest hint of mahogany undertones. They had the same chiseled features—sculpted cheekbones and strong jawlines. Both men had solid builds and broad chests and shoulders. This brother seemed rougher around the edges, his hair cropped close, his beard scraggly. He wore black denim jeans, a collarless black shirt and a black varsity jacket. He met her stare, his expression hiding any trace of emotion.
Recognizing Davis’s brother, Neema’s head snapped abruptly as she turned from his dead stare. And from the narrowed gaze, Neema instinctively knew Davis’s brother had recognized her, too.
CHAPTER 6
Neema’s nerves were on overload. There were two text messages from Davis. The first had come shortly after their dinner date. The second had come just a few minutes after she and Tiger had pulled away from his home. She hadn’t answered either. She was feeling guilty and she wasn’t even sure what he knew. She also didn’t want to know. Not before she had a chance to get her story together so that she didn’t look as bad as she was feeling. It was her worst-case scenario and she hadn’t prepared a contingency for when it all went bad.
“Neema?”
Her name being called startled her out of the trance she’d fallen into. She looked up to see Tiger staring at her intently. “I’m sorry. You said something?”
“I asked if you wanted a donut with your coffee,” he repeated, gesturing at the entrance to the twenty-four-hour Dunkin’ Donuts shop. “Where’d you go?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking about the shooting.”
“You mean the one we’re not supposed to know about?”
“Whatever. Who do you think has it out for the alderman?”
Tiger shrugged. “Who knows? I’m thinking, with his family, he probably has more enemies than he has friends.”
“I don’t know about that. He’s a nice guy.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t know him know him,” she said, a little white lie rolling off her tongue. “From what little I do know, he just seems like he’d be one of the good ones.”
Tiger shrugged. “Whatever. About those donuts, I’ll just get a mixed baker’s dozen.”
“That works,” she replie
d.
As Tiger lumbered into the donut shop, Neema reread Davis’s two messages. The first was a short-and-sweet thank-you note, lauding their dinner date and the good time he’d had. The second was a question: Davis asking about his proposed plans for their second date. It concluded with his imploring her to call him the next day when she had an opportunity. Neither gave her a sense of foreboding, so maybe, she thought, just maybe things hadn’t fallen apart. Maybe there was still time for her to tell Davis the truth before his brother outed her. Maybe, she mused. And then again, maybe it was all wishful thinking.
* * *
Davis couldn’t contain his excitement when he saw Neema standing outside the Taylor Gallery. They had agreed to meet when his last meeting had run over. The two had talked a few times since their first dinner date. Neema had called him the following day and they’d slid into a comfortable routine, chatting in the early morning before his day started and again at night before drifting off to sleep.
He was in awe of the ease between them. He enjoyed the conversations that sometimes challenged his sensibilities, and hers. Debating gender roles, politics and pop culture with her was always engaging. He’d discovered that she had an affinity for all things chocolate, lilies were her favorite flower and she was not a fan of roller coasters. And she made him laugh. They laughed often and easily, gut-deep laughter that left him feeling immensely blessed.
He hurried down the block, pausing once to shake hands with a constituent who stopped him to express her appreciation for his efforts. The elderly woman had his fingers clamped tightly between hers as she pumped his arm eagerly.
* * *
From where she stood, Neema tossed him a wave of her hand. Her own eagerness lifted her smile, joy shimmering in her dark eyes. She watched as he politely acknowledged the senior citizen who blocked his path. Neema was giddy and there was no denying how much she wanted to spend time with him.
She had finally gotten up the nerve to call him, ready to explain herself, if necessary. But Davis hadn’t questioned or accused her of anything. He’d been happy to talk to her and their conversations had been enlightening. They’d talked for hours over the last few days, getting to know each other’s idiosyncrasies and discovering all they could as they shared experiences. Her excitement at the prospect of being with him again was palpable and it took everything in her not to jump up and down like a toddler with a new toy.
Davis moved swiftly toward her, grinning from ear to ear. Neema’s own smile widened as he reached her side. He stopped abruptly, as if reluctant to pull her into a hug, but wanting to draw her into his arms. The moment was suddenly awkward and they both laughed.
“Hey there,” he said, greeting her warmly.
“Hi, Davis. It’s good to see you.”
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me, too.”
“Shall we head inside?”
Neema nodded, taking the hand he extended to her. As he entwined her fingers with his own, she felt her knees begin to quiver and heat flood her entire body. She sensed that Davis felt it, as well. “I can’t remember the last time I was this excited,” she said.
Davis met her stare. “This ranks right up there with our dinner the other night for me.”
Neema squeezed his hand, her bright smile like the gentlest caress.
There was a nice crowd gathered inside the gallery. The space was warm and welcoming, bright white walls adorned with bold splashes of framed color. The paintings were exquisite, traditional portraits of people in the neighborhood executed in vibrant monochromatic colors that spanned the color wheel.
Davis gave her a slight tug and gestured with his head in the direction of the artist. Neema turned to look where he was leading her. Gaia Russo stood off in the corner assessing the art patrons who had come out to support her. She was long and lean, with a bohemian aesthetic. Her thick blond hair had been dreadlocked, and she had piled it high atop her head, the strands adorned with gold trinkets. She wore a velvet dress in a deep shade of burgundy that was embroidered with colorful birds and flowers. She was very pretty with a picture-perfect smile that filled her face when she laid eyes on Davis.
She tugged him into a deep hug and held on, murmuring something in his ear as Neema stood politely by.
When the other woman finally released him from the hold she had around his neck, he introduced them. “This is my friend, Neema. Neema, this is Gaia. Gaia is the distinguished artist being honored tonight.”
“I don’t know how distinguished I am,” Gaia responded, laughing heartily. She reached to give Neema a hug. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Davis’s is a friend of mine.”
“It’s nice meeting you,” Neema responded. “And I love your work!”
“Thank you. Let me give you both a guided tour.”
Gaia led them from corner to corner, showing off her artwork. She took the time to explain the who and what of each piece, a story behind the designs that best expressed her talent. Both Davis and Neema were duly impressed with each painting, recognizing many of the faces, including a portrait of Davis done in turquoise blue.
“What do you think?” Gaia asked her, her arms folded over her chest as they stood studying the image.
“It’s wonderful,” Neema said.
Davis shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t look like that, do I?”
“She definitely captured your good side,” Neema said.
Davis shook his head, chuckling softly. “I guess that means I’ll have to buy it.”
“Actually, it already sold,” Gaia said. “I do believe your mother purchased it.”
His eyes widened, his words edged in surprise. “My mother? She’s been here?”
“She was here yesterday as we were hanging the exhibit.”
“And you let her buy this one?”
“We are talking about your mother, Davis. You do remember her, don’t you?” She turned to Neema. “His mother is quite formidable. No one lets her do anything.”
Neema smiled. “I haven’t met her yet, but I look forward to it.”
“You’ll like her. And if she likes you, you’ll have an advocate for life. She’s always been very supportive of me and my son.”
Davis turned to Neema. “Do you have a favorite painting?”
“I really like the images of the children. The little boy in purple, and the one in green, are incredible. That smile on his face is pure joy!”
“That’s my son, Emilio” Gaia said, pride glowing in her blue eyes. “He’s also the little boy in red and the boy in orange.”
“I’ll take all of those,” Davis said.
Gaia’s brow lifted in surprise. “All four of them?”
Davis nodded. “They’re still available, right?”
“They are. When did you start collecting?”
“You say that like I never had an appreciation for art. I’m insulted.”
“I know you, remember? How many times did we argue about collecting art being an investment versus a hobby? You were always cheap.”
“I prefer frugal.”
Neema watched their back-and-forth with amusement. She, too, was curious about his purchase, surprised that he’d come intending to buy something. Not once had he mentioned an interest in collecting artwork.
“So, do you want the sale or not?” Davis was saying.
Gaia laughed. “Of course. If you want them, they’re yours.”
The gallery director, a short man with a goatee and lazy eye, seemed to swoop in from nowhere, sensing a sale was on the horizon and wanting to make sure they didn’t lose it. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt, but if I can steal Gaia away. There’s a couple who’d like to talk to you about the lavender lady.”
“Not a problem,” Davis said. “I’d actually like to finalize my sale if one of your staff can help me with that?�
��
Gaia nodded. “Alderman Davis would like to buy the four Sons.”
“Of course!” the man exclaimed excitedly. “If you’ll follow me to my office, I can take care of that for you.”
Davis pressed a gentle hand against Neema’s forearm. “This shouldn’t take long and then we can go grab something to eat. If that’s okay?”
“That’s fine. I’ll be here,” she said sweetly.
Neema moved to the corner that Gaia had vacated, the spot giving a full view of the gallery space. It was an eclectic mix of patrons, crossing all socio-economic levels. She recognized a few local politicians, three small business owners and one public school administrator. It was easy to discern who was there to support the artist and maybe buy some art, and who was there for the free wine and cheese plate.
Neema felt his stare before she saw him. And when she saw him, her anxiety level rose tenfold. Davis’s brother stood by the door, eyeing the crowd from the other side of the room. He was dressed in black from head to toe and he looked quite intimidating. He was staring directly at her and she began to shake, wishing the floor would open up so she could fall into it.
His gaze shifted first, turning toward the offices as Davis stepped out the door. Neema’s eyes followed and they both spotted the woman at the same time. It was the woman who’d been at the restaurant the night Davis had met with Balducci. The stunning redhead who’d left before their meal. Neema had noticed her when she’d entered the restaurant with Balducci but had missed her departure.
She watched as Davis recognized her, as well, unable to hide his surprise. There was a moment between the two and Neema sensed he wasn’t comfortable. The redhead, on the other hand, seemed extremely comfortable as she sauntered directly to his side to greet him. She pressed a manicured hand to his chest and leaned her body against his to whisper something into his ear. The color seemed to drain from Davis’s face as he whispered back. The exchange was brief and visibly disconcerting. She then blew him a kiss and headed out the door.
Davis hesitated, as if trying to collect himself, or maybe to decide his next move. His eyes darted back and forth, and his expression was tense. When his brother stepped up in front of him, blocking her view, Neema felt her stomach flip, feeling like her last meal might come back up. She leaned against the wall, needing it to keep her from falling. She continued to watch as the duo stood huddled together for a good few minutes before turning their attention to the room.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 78