Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021

by Anna J. Stewart

  Leaving Davis the way she had felt like a gut punch. It had knocked the wind out of her, and she was finding it difficult to catch her breath.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave. Nor had she wanted to sneak out with only a note to remind him that she had been there. Doing so had only reinforced that she needed to step back and figure out what the hell she was doing. Because what she had already done had her feeling a lot foolish. And it was well past noon and Davis hadn’t called. Wondering if he might be upset with her only added to her anxiety.

  Neema had known that the longer it took to tell Davis the truth, the harder it would be when she finally did. Now it felt almost impossible to have that conversation. But before they could even begin to think about a future together, he needed to know what she did for a living and what her initial intentions had been when they’d first met. She needed to apologize, and she had to let him decide if he truly wanted to move forward with her. She had no doubts that he would see her actions as a betrayal, and she would have to regain his trust if such a thing were at all possible.

  Her father stood staring at her and Neema girded herself for an interrogation. Her father’s radar rarely faltered when it came to her mood swings and she could tell he wasn’t going to let her be until he was satisfied with her answers.

  “What is wrong with you today, daughter? Something seems to have upset you.”

  Neema shook her head. “I’m sorry, Baba. I just needed a moment to myself to think.”

  “You did not go to work today. Did you get time off for working so late last night? Is there something wrong with your job? Because responsible people show up to work, every day and on time. Unless, of course, they are sick. Are you sick, Neema?”

  Neema shook her head. “No, Baba. I am not sick. I’m just tired.”

  “You need to keep more respectable hours. You would not be tired.”

  A low gust of air flew past her lips in a soft sigh. “Baba, have you ever kept something important from your wife?”

  “Why would I do that? Your mother and I are one. We function as a single unit. I would never keep something important from her. She must be able to trust me, and I must trust her. It’s why we do not keep secrets from each other. It would also be disrespectful, and your mother would never disrespect me, nor I her.”

  Neema nodded, her head bobbing up and down slowly. “How did you know Mommy was the one?”

  “What one?”

  “How did you know she was the woman you wanted to spend your life with?”

  “Ahh! That one!” He dropped into the seat beside hers. “I have loved your mother since we were children playing together in our village. I was blessed that she loved me back. There were several men who were vying for your mother’s hand in marriage. She came with a sizeable dowry.”

  Neema laughed. “Really? A dowry?”

  “Dowries were very important back in the day. Of course, girls from wealthy families fared much better with finding partners because they could afford larger dowries. Your grandfather owned a whole heard of cattle. My family was very impressed.”

  “I’m sure they were,” she said wittily.

  “I had hoped by now that a good man would want to negotiate your bride price, Neema.”

  “And I’m glad we don’t do that anymore.”

  “There’s much to be said for the old ways, daughter.”

  “Them being old says more than enough,” she responded with another giggle.

  “So, who is this man who has you asking these questions? He must be very important to you.” There was a twinkle in his eye, his paternal radar signaling loudly.

  Neema dropped her eyes to the floor, her hands twisting together in her lap. “He has become very important to me, but I’ve not been honest with him.”

  “Neema!” Her father fanned his hands at her. “Why would you not be honest with this man? What would you want to tell lies about?”

  “He doesn’t know I’m a journalist. If he did, he might not want to know me.”

  “Who is this man, Neema?”

  Neema hesitated, meeting the stern look her father had given her. His tone had changed, an edge of admonishment clinging to his words. She took a deep breath and then spoke. “Alderman Black. He and I have been seeing each other, and he thinks I only work here at the restaurant. I never corrected that assumption.”

  “Why would you not do that? Alderman Black is a fine man. An honest, honorable man! He would want a woman who was equally as honest.”

  “Because the night he was here...well... I thought there might have been a story there. A story I could use to boost my career and—”

  Her father sprung from the chair as he tossed up his hands in frustration. “Where is your respect for me and my business? We are not here to spy on our customers! You do not invite people into your home to use them for your own selfish gain. How could you do this, Neema?”

  “I meant no disrespect, Baba. It just happened, and I haven’t been able to walk it back and make it right.”

  “You make it right by telling the truth. No more, no less. You must tell the truth.”

  “I know, Baba. And I will.” A tear rolled down Neema’s cheek.

  Her father reached a large hand out to wipe the line of saline from her face. “If the alderman knows your heart, then you two will be able to work it out. If your heart is pure, Neema. A man must trust that you have his best interests at heart. Because his best interests will also be yours if you are meant to be together.”

  At that moment, her mother stuck her head into the room, calling Neema’s name. “You promised to help me with the chapati,” the older woman said as she eyed the two of them curiously.

  “Coming, Mama!”

  Neema rose from her seat, drawing a deep inhale of air into her lungs to calm her frazzled nerves. She leaned forward to give her father a hug, allowing herself to settle into his warmth for just a moment. “Thank you, Baba.”

  Adamu gave his daughter a nod then gently patted her back. “Talk to your mother more, Neema. She will teach you to be a good wife and a good wife does not keep secrets from her husband,” he said as he turned, pausing a moment to kiss his wife’s cheek before making his exit.

  The two women exchanged a look. Neema reached for her mother’s hand and gave her fingers a squeeze.

  The matriarch smiled, her voice dropping a few octaves to a loud whisper. “Pay no attention to your father, Neema. A good wife keeps the secrets she needs to keep,” her mother said. “She just makes sure her husband never finds out!”

  “And if he does?”

  “Then she makes sure she can explain it in her favor, of course!” she said as she looped her arm through Neema’s and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

  * * *

  They played phone tag for most of the day. Neema missed Davis’s call first and when she called him back, he had gone into a meeting. Before she knew it, they had two more missed calls each and the day was over. When her phone rang for the last time, she was in her bed. The television was on and someone’s housewife was screaming about how her reality didn’t mesh with how the show was portraying her.

  “Hey!” she said as she turned down the volume on the TV set. “We finally caught up with each other.”

  “Finally. How’s your day been?”

  “It just got substantially better. How about yours?”

  “I’d say the same thing. I’ve missed you. I’ve also been feeling someway about you leaving this morning. Loved the note, by the way, but I would have preferred your beautiful smile.”

  “Sorry about that, but I needed to get home. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I didn’t realize just how tired I was.”

  “I’m glad you were able to rest. That says you were comfortable.”

  “I was.”

  “There was something you wanted to talk about. Is this a go
od time?”

  Neema paused for a moment before responding. “I’d rather wait until I see you next. It’s a conversation I’d like to have in person.”

  “Do you want to come over now?”

  She laughed. “You’re trying to get me killed. I still live with my very conservative parents, remember?”

  “You didn’t get in trouble this morning, did you?”

  “No. I was able to sneak in without them knowing.”

  “That’s good. I don’t want your father to think I’m trying to take advantage of you. Although I might have been, a little. You have the softest lips! I didn’t want to stop kissing you.”

  Her warm laughter rippled through the telephone line. “You tell him that and you might have to negotiate my bride price,” she said. “As far as my parents are concerned, I should only be kissing my future husband.”

  “Bride price?” he questioned, amusement in his voice.

  “It’s what a man pays his future wife’s family for her hand in marriage. In Kenya, cattle is a hot commodity to secure a wife.”

  Davis laughed. “And do I get a dowry once it’s official? Because I’ll need to recoup some of my investment.”

  “Touché!” Neema laughed with him. “But yes, you can negotiate a dowry. I’m sure my father would love to have that conversation with you.”

  “Seriously, though, I want to make sure we’re good with each other. It got heated there for a moment last night and I don’t want you to think I was purposely being aggressive. Especially since we hadn’t really talked about sex. But I was excited, and I thought you were, too.”

  Neema felt herself blush. Heat warmed her cheeks. “I was very excited. And we were both consenting adults for what didn’t happen, even if we thought about it. I’m not sure a conversation was needed. I don’t think either of us initiated anything the other didn’t want.”

  “Do you like sex?”

  She giggled. “I haven’t been with a lot of men, but yes, I do. With the right person, of course.”

  “Any idiosyncrasies I need to be aware of? Do you have a foot fetish or maybe an affinity for chandeliers?”

  “Chandeliers?”

  “To swing from.”

  “Cute, but no. What about you? What freaky things do you like to do?”

  There was a moment of pause. “I have an oral fixation. I like to use my mouth and tongue,” he finally said.

  Neema’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she reflected on his comment. “Well,” she replied, “I’d like to know more, but I think that, too, is a conversation I’d like to have in person.”

  “With examples and demonstrations, I hope?”

  “Oh, most definitely with demonstrations!”

  * * *

  Laughter continued to lift the conversation. Before either realized it, a good two hours had passed. Neema, curious about the investigation into Gaia’s death, questioned where everything stood. Davis updated her, doing his best to answer the few questions he could. He found it easy to confide in her, feeling confident about trusting her. There was an air of ease that settled between them; both instinctively knowing that their relationship had taken another deep turn toward forever.

  “How did it get so late!” Neema exclaimed. “You need to get your rest.”

  “I need this time with you more,” Davis said matter-of-factly. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come over?”

  “You’re trying to get me in trouble, because I’m sure you could convince me. But you have a meeting first thing in the morning, and I need to get up early, as well.”

  “I will see you Sunday, won’t I? For dinner with my family?”

  “Are you sure you still want me to come?”

  “Only if you’re sure you can handle the Black family brand of crazy. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart.”

  “I like your family, and they’ve been very kind to me. I don’t think it will be a problem. But you and I still need to talk,” Neema reiterated. “It’s important.”

  “Then plan on coming back to my house after. I promise you’ll have my undivided attention.”

  CHAPTER 15

  When the idea came to her, Neema wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish. All she was certain of was that she still had more questions than answers. Her concern for Davis motivated the inquiry and when the woman had agreed to meet with her, Neema knew she couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by.

  The coffee shop on California Avenue was quaint, catering to those who lived in the neighborhood. It was just early enough in the day to be slightly crowded, mostly college students, a couple or two out on a Saturday morning before shopping, and several singles with laptops and headphones browsing the internet.

  Ginger was seated at a table by the window, positioned so that she could see anyone coming through the door or standing on the sidewalk outside. She sipped on a cup of hot tea and appeared to be lost in thought as she scrolled through her cell phone.

  Neema stepped up to the counter to order a cup of coffee then headed to the table and introduced herself.

  “Hello! Ginger Novak, I’m Neema Kamau. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.” She extended her hand to shake Ginger’s and couldn’t help but notice the massive diamond engagement ring and wedding band on the woman’s ring finger.

  Ginger appraised her before answering. “You said you’re with the Chicago Tribune?”

  “That’s correct,” Neema said as she took her seat across from the young woman. She slid her notepad, pen and a manila folder onto the table. “I’m doing a follow-up article to the trafficking scandal that was reported on last year. You were instrumental in bringing those involved to justice, and I wanted to see how you’re doing now and maybe get a statement about the women you helped and how they might be faring.”

  Ginger gave her a nod and took a sip of her beverage. “I don’t know that there’s anything that I can really tell you.”

  Neema gestured at her ring finger. “Congratulations! I see that you got married. That’s an exciting accomplishment. Who’s the lucky man?”

  Ginger folded her hands together and dropped them into her lap. “I’d prefer we keep my personal life personal.”

  “I understand completely.”

  “Thank you.”

  Neema changed the subject. “Do you know Eloise Harper?”

  Ginger sat back, the shine in her eyes dimming substantially. “No,” she said, the lie rolling easily off her tongue, adding, “not that I’m aware of. Why do you ask?”

  “She’s someone I interviewed for another story I’m doing, and she mentioned your name.”

  “She mentioned me?” Her eyes shifted from side to side and Neema imagined her brain had shifted into a third gear.

  Neema continued. “Just saying that she admired what you were able to overcome and accomplish, and how she was working to do the same. You’re very much a role model to some of these young girls who’ve gone through hard times.”

  Ginger stared at her but didn’t bother to respond.

  Neema pressed on. “Do you keep in touch with any of the girls who were rescued?”

  She shrugged. “One or two.”

  “Have they returned home to their families?”

  “No. I’ve tried to help them find work, shelter, whatever they might need. But once you get stuck on these streets, it’s not easy to get off them.”

  “But you got off them, right?”

  Ginger’s gaze narrowed slightly. “I brought a unique set of management skills to my employer, so it’s been easier for me.”

  “And you still work for Alexander Balducci, is that correct?”

  Ginger sat upright, bristling with suspicion. She gave Neema a questioning look.

  Neema tapped the folder she’d brought with her. “I read it in the transcripts from th
e trial. You said so under oath.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Ginger said as she sat back. She took another sip of her tea.

  “What do you actually do for Mr. Balducci?”

  “Whatever I’m asked to do.”

  “So, you’re his assistant?”

  “Something like that.” The faintest smirk crossed her face, the look saying much more than her words.

  “There were rumors that his illegitimate son took the fall for his father. Do you know anything about that?”

  “About what?”

  “About Mr. Balducci being the true ringleader of that trafficking ring.”

  “Alexander is a kind, decent man. His son was the criminal.”

  “But if you found out he was involved, would you testify against him, too?”

  “Not something I’ll ever have to consider.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Mr. Balducci is fortunate to have your loyalty. Especially after everything you’ve been through. I imagine trust doesn’t come easily to you.”

  “Alexander has been good to me. He has earned my trust. He’s a pillar of this community and deserves to be respected. And if you’re trying to make him look bad,” she said as she leaned forward across the table, “don’t!”

  Ginger’s voice had dropped an octave and her eyes narrowed into thin slits that expressed an air of hostility. She suddenly stood and gathered up the camel-colored cape resting on the back of her chair. As she wrapped it around her shoulders, she gave Neema one last look.

  “Does Davis know you’re a reporter?”

  Neema’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “I was just curious if he knew. The Black family is very particular about who they let into their inner circle. I’m surprised he’s allowed you to get so close, unless of course, he just doesn’t know. Because you two seem very chummy with each other.”

  Neema masked her surprise as best she could. “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

  Ginger shrugged her narrow shoulders. “You should be careful, Ms. Kamau. I imagine in your line of work pissing off the wrong people could prove to be hazardous.”