The Edge of Dawn

by Beverly Jenkins

  She put her hand on her hip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you with my perfect speech.”

  He help up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, baby. I wasn’t mocking you. It was a compliment. Really.”

  Narice retracted her claws. “Sorry. Too sensitive.”

  He eyed her. “No kidding. You always so defensive?”

  “Depends on the situation. Now, what were we saying?”

  Saint noted that she’d gone icy like that on him before, but sitting next to her on the bed just now, and the heat he’d experienced down in the kitchen, let him know that the glacier wasn’t as rock-hard he’d first believed. “We were talking about where the bug on you, might be.”

  She cut him a look. His shot her a teasing grin in reply.

  Narice turned away to hide her smile.

  “Where’s your purse?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Narice walked over to the old upholstered chair in the corner of the room. Her purse was on the seat.

  After she turned on a lamp, he dumped the contents of her handbag onto the bedspread. Out of his coat pocket he withdrew a device that was about the size of a lipstick.

  Narice asked, “What’s that?”

  “Bug finder. It’s a prototype. The German company that made it wanted me to field test it for them.”

  “So, what, you’re the Consumer’s Reports for the spy industry?”

  He grinned. “She’s got jokes, folks.”

  Saint scanned everything; the contents of her small makeup bag, her wallet, keys, comb, brush. Nothing. He looked her way. “Zip.”

  She’d moved closer to him so she could watch what he was doing. When he turned the little scanner her way, she instinctively took a step back.

  “Hold still,” he told her easily. “It might be in your clothing.”

  He waved it up and down, then began slowly circling her. “Did anybody else handle your things besides Fulani?” Stepping closer he moved the detector up and down her legs, then across her waist.

  “I don’t know. There were two other women with her.”

  He was circling her now, silently teasing her with his nearness and making the butterflies she’d had while sitting on the bed beside him return. For a woman who prided herself on her control, her reaction to him was all new. Logically she knew it didn’t make sense to be attracted to him, but she was and she didn’t know how to proceed other than to try and pretend it away.

  He continued his scan. “I think we may need to check Fulani out.”

  A beep sounded.

  He waved the scanner across her chest and the beep sounded again. “Might be your bra. I need to take a look.”

  Narice responded with a sisterly I-don’t-think-so look.

  Saint dropped his head to hide his smile. “Sorry. How about I step out in the hall. You take off the bra and hand it out to me. Will that work?”

  “That’s better.”

  He grinned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  The idea that someone may have planted a tracking device in her brassiere made Narice angry, feel violated and embarrassed. She quickly removed the Tee and then her black silk bra. Shrugging back into the blouse, she then walked over to the door and opened it. Ignoring the mischief emanating from behind the shades, she dropped the lacy garment in his outstretched hand.

  Saint slowly scanned the bit of silk and tried not to imagine how she’d looked removing it but he couldn’t. It held her scent and the warmth of her skin. He could feel himself hardening and forced himself to pay attention to what he was supposed to be doing instead of wondering what a schoolteacher was doing wearing undies sexy enough for a lingerie supermodel.

  The bug was in the bra strap. It was made of a lightweight metal and so small that it might never have been discovered without the scanner. He’d have to remember to tell the Germans their prototype worked well. Now, though, he had to scan her again to make sure there weren’t more. “You can have it back. But let’s make sure that was the only one.”

  Narice stood silently while he moved around her again. Truthfully, he’d handled the situation with her bra as respectfully as she could have wanted, so there was really no reason for her nipples to tighten the way they had at the sight of her bra in his hand. They had, though, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  Saint couldn’t help but see the points of her bare breasts through the thin white silk, nor could he ignore how the sight affected him. The more he tried to resist the siren call of the curvy Ms. Jordan the stronger he heard it. He pocketed the scanner. “You’re clean.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “We’re having enough of a cockroach problem without me leading them straight to us.”

  He agreed and tried not to look at the tempting buds of her breasts. “We need to get rolling, so get dressed and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Okay.”

  Downstairs, the time had come to say good-bye to Uncle Willie. Narice didn’t want to leave; he didn’t want her to leave. She had to go, though, and so gave him a great big hug.

  He hugged her back just as emotionally. “You let me know how you’re doing, okay?”

  Her tears were wetting his shirt. “Will do.”

  “If you need me just call. Me and Arnold will jump in the Buick and be there faster than Jackie Robinson.”

  She hadn’t heard that old saying in a long time. It made her smile, and then she stepped back. “Okay.”

  Uncle Willie put an arm around her waist and walked her outside to the porch. “If you didn’t have Cyclops with you I’d worry, but he’s a good one. He could watch my back anytime.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Saint was already in and running the SUV, waiting for her to finish her good-bye. Narice asked Willie, “Are you going to be okay?”

  “With Arnold here? Silly question.”

  She supposed it was. She gave him one last kiss on the cheek. “Bye Unc.”

  “Bye, baby girl. Send me an invitation to the wedding.”

  She laughed. “You’d better get back in the house. I’ll see you when this is done.”

  He grinned.

  Seconds later, Narice was in her seat next to Saint. He eased the truck away from the curb. Uncle Willie waved and Narice waved back until he was out of sight.

  Five

  Once they hit I-75, Narice asked, “Where to now?”

  “To my sister’s place in Detroit—actually, it’s my brother’s house. We’ll catch some sleep and in the morning go after that book you say we needed.”

  Narice peered at him through the darkness filling the interior. “Your family won’t mind us showing up on their doorstep in the middle of the night?”

  He shrugged, “Probably not, but let’s ask.” Reaching down, he flipped up the console face, hit a button, and said, “Big brother, you there?”

  A cheery female voice responded, “Hey, Outlaw Man. Little Touissant here. How are you?”

  Narice saw his smile by the green light of the dials. He opened his mouth to speak when out of nowhere, big bright lights flooded the car, blinding them. Then came a sound so loud Narice had to cover her ears. Panicked, she turned to look out of the rear window and her eyes widened. There was a helicopter on their tail, hovering no more than ten feet above the highway!

  Saint checked it out in the rearview mirror. Cursing, he stepped down hard on the accelerator and the SUV’s big engine leapt up to speed.

  Little Touissant came over the speaker. “What’s that noise?”

  “A chopper. I’ll talk to you later!” He hit the button and cut off communications.

  Narice pulled her seat belt tight. She kept sneaking glances back at the thing. When it veered to the right, disappeared for a moment, then appeared again on her right, she bit back a scream and drew away from the window. In the dark it looked like a menacing black insect. When it swung closer and tried to run them off the road, she yelled out, “Saint!!”

  Cursing again, Saint swerved sharply. The copter swung closer, repea
ting the attempt, making him swerve again.

  The SUV was now rumbling at 110 mph. Saint did his best to drive, keep his eyes on the dark road, and stay ahead of the chopper. When the bird came around to the front and tried to intersect him on the road, he took it up to 120. The big truck was shaking, but rolling. “Hold on, angel!”

  In spite of the warning, Narice was unprepared for the hard right he took as he left the highway and headed into the trees lining the road. The truck bounced across the bumpy terrain with such force Narice swore her head hit the ceiling more than once. The copter had been unprepared also. With its prey now off road and in the trees, all it could do was climb above the tree line and follow.

  Saint was driving through the night like a bat out of hell. The body and tires of the big Chevy were taking hits and jabs from unseen objects that banged and pinged, but he didn’t slow down. Narice could hear the chopper droning ominously above but she was too busy trying to keep body and soul together to worry about what it might be doing. She called out, “More cockroaches?”

  He hollered back, “Yeah, but my gut says government kind.”

  “The U.S. government?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why? I thought you worked for the President?”

  “I do. Remember me saying parts of the government want to get the Eye and run their own candidate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, this might be them. Hold on!”

  He did a doughnut on the edge of a field and Narice’s head whipped around in concert. They were plowing forward again, heading back the way they’d come. The helicopter swung to follow.

  With the tires squealing and the engine booming, he steered the truck back onto the highway. Up ahead Narice could see faint flashes of light off in the distance. Seconds later, tiny raindrops began to appear on the windshield. The chopper was nowhere to be seen and she hoped the rain had sent them home. She almost relaxed, only to be scared to death by the chopper now hanging directly in front of them.

  To her surprise, Saint growled, “Oh, they want to play chicken, huh? Well, let’s see what their balls are made of!”

  Narice couldn’t believe her ears. Was he really going to challenge them?

  He stepped down on the accelerator once more. The rain had picked up, coating the glass with a sheen of rain. Through the swing of the wipers a terrified Narice could see the watery lights of the waiting copter. She could feel her heart pounding loud in her ears. The SUV was going at full throttle and the chopper hadn’t moved. Her fear increased and she dug her nails into the leather handrests. They were now close enough to see the pilot, and the recognition in his eyes when he realized the truck was not going to stop. The bird rose up seconds before the truck intersected and Saint sped below it, screaming like a triumphant banshee. Mother Nature then threw a lightning bolt beside the highway that lit the night like day.

  Narice fell back against her seat. Her heart—what was left of it—was beating like a drum. “Don’t ever do that again!”

  He grinned. “You didn’t like that?”

  She stared at him. “No. You scared me to death. How did you know they’d blink first?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Had Narice been in a cheesy romance novel, she would have fainted dead away. Instead, she said, “Not funny. You’re not the only one in this car you know. What if they hadn’t moved. “We could have been killed.”

  Saint didn’t like being fussed at. Danger and risks went with the job, and sometimes you had to deal with both to stay alive.

  When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Sure. I like living as much as the next guy, so next time I’ll just pull over and say, ‘Okay, we give.’”

  Narice didn’t care for the sarcasm, but she got the point. “You just scared me, that’s all.”

  “Not my intent. Just trying to be around to see tomorrow.”

  The storm was upon them with full force. Rain, lightning, and thunder. She looked back, but the copter was nowhere in sight. “It’s gone.” She’d never been so glad to be in a thunderstorm in her life.

  “Good. Let’s slow our roll here. Don’t want to escape then die in a crash because we spun out on wet pavement.”

  Narice agreed. Only now was her adrenaline starting to slow.

  Little Touissant came on again. “You two okay out there?”

  Saint answered, “Bogey’s gone. We’re a little shook up, but in one piece.”

  Narice cracked, “Speak for yourself.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think the angel’s going to want to date me again after this.”

  Narice drawled, “You got that right.”

  The female voice laughed, “Well, are you two heading this way?”

  “Yep. She wanted me to ask and make sure its okay.”

  “Of course, but I appreciate her manners. Your angel need anything?”

  Narice called out, “Yes, clothes and some insect cream.” As if being chased by helicopter wasn’t bad enough, the anxiety of the last few minutes seemed to have awakened all the bites she’d received while hiding in Uncle Willie’s milkweed. She scratched at her arms through her silk jacket. “I’ve got bites all over me.”

  The voice sounded concerned. “Bites?”

  “Mosquitoes.”

  “Oh, okay. We’ll fix you up.”

  “Thanks,” Narice said, trying not to scratch but wanting to very badly.

  Saint said, “Thanks, general. See you in about an hour.”

  “All righty. Stay safe.”

  “We will.” He hit a button and closed the console.

  “Is that your sister?”

  He looked her way and nodded.

  “She sounds nice.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why do you call her the general?”

  Saint laughed. “Because she’s always in charge.”

  “I see,” Narice replied, even though she didn’t see at all. She was looking forward to meeting the family of the mysterious St. Martin, though, then to a long hot shower and a good night’s sleep. She scratched at the bites on her arms.

  “They got you pretty good, didn’t they?”

  She scratched some more. “Remind me to choose a different hiding place next time.”

  “I was worried when I came back out and didn’t see you.”

  She paused and looked his way. “I know. I could hear it in your voice.”

  Saint held her eyes for a moment, then redirected his attention to the dark highway. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow so you can get some new things.”

  “That’ll be great.”

  Narice studied his bearded profile in the dark. She sensed that he too felt the attraction rising between them, but then again, he’d probably been attracting women since birth; being attracted to her was probably just another day at the office for him. With that in mind, Narice reminded herself that when this adventure was over, he’d go back to his life, and she to hers. It made no sense to even think about forming an attachment.

  They arrived in Detroit about an hour later. Saint pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. Narice was sleep; had been for the last thirty miles. Once again, he hated to wake her up, but he was sure she didn’t want to spend the night in the truck.

  He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder, then shook her gently, “Wake up, Narice.”

  Narice swam up to consciousness. Still half asleep, she mumbled, “Are we here?”

  He smiled, “Yeah, babe. We’re here. Want me to carry you?”

  She sat up straight, and said groggily but firmly, “No. I can walk.”

  Saint chuckled at her refusal to be pampered. “Okay.”

  He went around to her side and opened the door for her. The half-asleep Narice grabbed the rolled up quilt, stumbled out the vehicle, and followed Saint to the front door of the large house.

  His sister met them there. She was short, brown-skinned, and wore her natural hair cut very short. Dressed in a Detroit Lio
ns T-shirt, a pair of shorts, and some Scooby-Do slippers, she greeted her brother with a long welcoming hug, then wrinkled her nose. “God, Saint. When are you going to burn that coat?”

  He backed up and said in mock offense, “Hey. Lay off the coat.”

  Narice liked her right away.

  Sarita smiled at Narice. “Come on in. I’m Sarita Chandler.”

  Narice smiled back and stuck out her hand, “Narice Jordan.”

  “Glad to meet you, Narice. Welcome.”

  As they were led into the house, Narice scanned the beautiful furnishings and artwork on the walls. She wondered if the Chandlers had personally picked the pieces or if the interior had been done by a professional designer. Either way the rooms were stunning.

  Sarita looked at Narice’s dirty clothes, wrecked hair, and no longer perfect makeup and said, “I’m guessing you want a shower first.”

  A grateful Narice gushed, “Oh yes.”

  Sarita told her, “Then come on with me. Afterwards, we’ll get you some clean clothes and you can relax.”

  She then looked to her brother. “Myk’s in his office. He said come up when you get the chance.”

  “Okay.”

  The women headed off.

  Saint climbed the stairs to find his brother. Technically, Sarita was Saint’s foster sister. Her grandmother had taken him in during his preteen years, and he and Sarita were raised together. Last year, Saint discovered that he had two half-brothers, Mykal Chandler and Drake Randolph, Detroit’s mayor. Saint and Myk still weren’t as close as Myk and Drake; those two spent their childhood summers together. Saint still wasn’t sure just how close he wanted to be. He’d been a loner most of his life. Sarita’s family had been his only family; word was still out on whether he needed more.

  Myk turned from his chair and greeted his brother with a smile. “Glad you made it.”

  “Me too.”

  Saint took a seat in one of the leather recliners, laid his weary head back against the head rest and closed his eyes. “Sorry about your car.”

  Myk shrugged. “Couldn’t be helped. The SUV was a better idea, anyway. Just like you said.”

  Saint didn’t open his eyes. “Just like I said.”