Part black, part Cherokee and part trouble, his mother used to say about Angelique. If only he’d remembered that before he married her.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
Hurt flared in Angelique’s light brown eyes at his harsh tone. “Why do I have to want anything? Why can’t I just drop by to say hello to you?”
His lips curved cynically. “Because you’ve never just ‘dropped by to say hello.’ And haven’t you ever heard of waiting downstairs in the living room like a normal visitor?”
“I was waiting downstairs, but you were taking too long, so I came up here to make sure you were all right.” Her eyes narrowed speculatively on his face. “You never used to take such long showers before. What were you in there thinking about?”
“Where’s India?” Damien asked, ignoring her question. “I’ve told you before she’s too young to be left home by herself.”
“I didn’t leave her at home,” Angelique snapped, sitting up on the bed. “Your mother and Imani came to the apartment to pick her up, claiming they were taking her shopping and out to lunch. But I know good and damn well they’re all running around getting last-minute stuff for your surprise party.” She paused, a malicious gleam filling her eyes as she looked at Damien. “I’m so sorry. You weren’t supposed to know about that. It just, well, slipped out.”
Damien believed that about as much as he believed she’d been on the pill the first time they had unprotected sex. “Do you mind?” he said pointedly, nodding toward the door.
She didn’t take the hint. Deliberately. “You know, I think it’s pretty trifling that your family hasn’t bothered inviting me to your party,” she said bitterly.
He scowled, crossing over to his dresser. “What do you want me to do, Angelique?” He’d stopped calling her Angel a long time ago. There was nothing remotely angelic about her. “I’m not even supposed to know about it.”
“It’s not just your birthday party I’m talking about! It’s Reggie’s parties, Garrison’s parties, Imani’s parties, your mother’s parties! It’s christenings, graduation ceremonies, award banquets, holiday dinners, summer vacations. I’ve been excluded from just about every Wade family gathering for the last six years!”
Damien’s face hardened as he turned and stared at her. “You had your opportunity to be a member of my family,” he said coldly, “and as I clearly recall, you told each and every one of us to go to hell.”
Her face reddened. “I was angry! Your family was trying to take India away from me by testifying in court that I was a bad mother!”
“No one said you were a bad mother,” Damien corrected her, his voice clipped. “They answered truthfully when asked about your lack of parental involvement before, and during, our two-year marriage. Even the judge agreed that you’d been irresponsible and downright negligent on numerous occasions.”
“And yet he gave me custody of our daughter,” Angelique shot back spitefully.
Damien didn’t so much as flinch, even though her words had struck a raw nerve. “That’s right,” he said in a cool, carefully measured voice. “The judge awarded you custody because he wanted to give you a second chance to redeem yourself, to prove you could be a good mother to India.”
Angelique sneered. “If memory serves me correctly, he also had some concerns about your job as an FBI agent. The long hours, the traveling, the amount of casework you bring home. Let’s not sit here and pretend you deserved custody of India any more than I did.”
“Why are we having this conversation?” Damien growled, his patience wearing thin. “Is it because you weren’t invited to my damn birthday party? Or do you have a better reason for breaking into my house and camping out in my bedroom while I took a shower?”
“I didn’t break in,” Angelique said tightly. “I used India’s key.”
“Operative word being India’s—not yours.”
“I don’t have a key to your house.”
“My point exactly.” He reached for the towel draped around his waist. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get dressed. Without an audience.”
Angelique gave him a slow, deliberate once-over, lingering on his crotch in a manner designed to either embarrass him or elicit a surge of lust. He felt neither.
And she knew it, too. “I don’t understand what the big deal is, Damien,” she said testily. “I’ve seen you naked a million times. Hell, we’ve seen each other naked a million times. No matter what else was going on in our relationship, we never had a problem appreciating each other’s bodies. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll even take off my—”
“Angelique.”
She paused, her hands stilling on the hem of her shirt as she stared at him.
“Get out.”
Recognizing the steely glint in his eyes, she huffed out a sigh that was part resignation, part frustration, and reluctantly rose from the bed. Halfway to the door she turned back, holding up a white slip of paper between her fingers.
“I almost forgot,” she said. “I found this on the staircase. It must have fallen out of your pocket when you came home last night.”
Damien recognized the business card he’d received from a woman at the nightclub. On the back she had written, Call me tomorrow. You won’t be disappointed. He’d forgotten about the card—and the woman—as soon as Althea had appeared at his table. And he doubted very seriously that Angelique had found the card on the staircase, as she claimed. The blazer and trousers he’d worn last night were still slung across the bench at the foot of his bed. More than likely she had gone through his pockets while he was in the shower.
“Looks like you had a good time last night,” she said coolly.
“You could say that.”
She shook her head. “And to think India was feeling guilty about ditching you on your birthday. She felt so bad she hardly even enjoyed the school dance. She wanted to rush over here first thing in the morning to make sure you hadn’t cried yourself to sleep.” Her lips twisted mockingly. “Little did she know that Daddy celebrated his birthday just fine without her.”
Damien said nothing. He refused to rise to the bait.
A nasty, possessive gleam filled Angelique’s eyes. “Are you going to call her?” she asked, tapping the card with a manicured fingertip.
“None of your damn business. Now get out.”
She hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the nightstand and slapped the card down, right beside the phone. “There. I’ll make it easy for you.”
Damien clenched and unclenched his jaw, watching as she retraced her steps to the door. Before he could reach for his towel, however, she paused once again and turned to look at him. Her expression was thoughtful, brooding.
“We were good together once,” she said softly. “I remember how terrified and excited we were when we found out we were having a baby. We didn’t care that we were only juniors in college, or that our families thought we were throwing our lives away. We were determined to prove them wrong. It was us against the world. Do you remember?”
Damien frowned. “Where is all this coming from, Angelique?”
She held his gaze, and for the first time in years, he thought he saw genuine vulnerability in her eyes. “Maybe I wish things had turned out differently for us. Maybe I regret the way I took you for granted. Maybe I’m starting to realize what a good thing I had, what a good man I had. Maybe I’m hoping that you, me, and India can be a family again someday.”
Damien stared at her, unmoved by her words, unthawed by the plaintive note in her voice. “That train left the station a long time ago, Angelique,” he said flatly.
She flinched, her chin lifting a proud notch. “It’s not like I came over here to beg you to take me back or anything.”
“Good. I’d hate to see you waste your time.” Turning away dismissively, Damien pulled open his dresser drawer and reached for a pair of dark briefs, making it clear to Angelique that the discussion, and her visit, were over.
He though
t he heard her mutter, “Never say never,” but when he glanced over his shoulder, the doorway was empty.
Althea stood in the entryway of an upscale Baltimore restaurant that overlooked the Inner Harbor. She scanned the crowded dining room until her gaze landed on a handsome black couple in their early sixties seated at a table that offered a sweeping view of the water below.
Her face broke into a wide smile.
Without waiting for the maître d’ to escort her, she hurried across the room toward her aunt and uncle. Louis Pritchard looked up first, and when he saw Althea approaching, a huge, delighted grin swept across his face.
“There she is!” he said, rising quickly to his feet. “ There’s our baby girl!”
Althea had barely reached the table before she was swallowed in the solid warmth of her uncle’s embrace, and then her aunt’s, who showered her face with kisses before standing back to give her an approving once-over.
“You look wonderful,” Barbara Pritchard exclaimed.
Althea smiled. “I could definitely say the same about you.”
The years had been good to her aunt, who looked effortlessly elegant in a fitted herringbone jacket worn over dark silk trousers. Several years ago she’d decided to let nature take its course, and now she sported a head full of silver hair cropped in sleek, stylish layers. Her cream-colored skin remained smooth and firm, and her figure was as svelte as ever.
Louis Pritchard was tall and broad-shouldered, a powerfully built man accustomed to taking control, whether he was delivering a speech on the Senate floor or leading his family through a crisis. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly trimmed, and whether he was wearing a William Fioravanti wool suit or jeans and a Redskins jersey, he always managed to look handsome and debonair.
Once they were all seated, and the waiter had departed after taking their orders, Barbara reached over and squeezed Althea’s hand on the linen-covered table.
“We’re so glad you could meet us for lunch, sweetheart,” she said warmly.
Althea grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Especially since Uncle Louie is treating,” she added, winking playfully at him.
He laughed good-naturedly and tweaked her nose, the way he’d done when she was a child.
Louis and Barbara Pritchard were the only parents Althea had ever known. When her young, crack-addicted mother died a few hours after giving birth to her, her aunt and uncle had stepped in to raise her. After years of struggling with infertility, they’d regarded Althea as a precious gift from God, their miracle baby. They gave her the best of everything, showering her with all the love and affection she could ever want or need. They had always been a tremendous source of strength for her, a safe haven. And although they were shocked, even disappointed, by her decision not to become a doctor, they put aside their own feelings and gave her their unconditional support. When she graduated from the FBI Academy three years ago, no one cheered or clapped louder than Louis and Barbara Pritchard. The bond Althea shared with her aunt and uncle had made it difficult for her to stay away from home for so long, and now that she was back, she realized just how much she’d missed them.
She smiled at her aunt. “I can’t thank you enough for unpacking my things and putting my apartment in order before I arrived, Aunt Bobbi. The place looks absolutely wonderful.”
“Oh, you don’t have to keep thanking me,” Barbara said, patting her hand affectionately. “I knew you wouldn’t have time to worry about unpacking once you started working, and I didn’t want you living out of boxes for months on end. Besides, like I told you, I didn’t do all the hard work by myself. I had plenty of help from the ladies at church, who have always considered you one of their own anyway.”
Althea’s smile softened. “I’ll have to thank each of them personally when I see them at church tomorrow.”
Barbara beamed with pleasure. “They’d like that very much. Everyone was so excited when they heard you were coming back home.”
“Not as excited as we were,” Louis said, buttering a roll and passing it to Althea. “We were afraid the Bureau would send you to Alaska before letting you return home.”
Althea grinned, nibbling on the hot, crusty roll. “I’ve only been in the Bureau for three years. It takes most agents several years to be assigned to their office of preference—if it ever happens. I’m fortunate to be back in the area this soon.”
Although there was a time she’d never wanted to step foot in Maryland again. When she left home nearly eight years ago, she knew it would be a very long time before she found the courage to return. Everywhere she looked, everywhere she went, she’d been reminded of the harrowing ordeal she’d suffered at the hands of a violent psychopath. Moving halfway across the country had been a desperate attempt on her part to outrun the memories, the horrifying nightmares that plagued her sleep every night. But after all these years of running and hiding, she was ready to face her demons and put the past behind her. It was time to reclaim her life once and for all.
“How are Keren and Kimberly doing?” Barbara asked as the waiter materialized with their starter salads and drinks. “We haven’t seen or spoken to them since your graduation ceremony three years ago.”
Althea reached for her white wine. “They’re both doing well. Keren is knocking on the door of a promotion at her accounting firm, and Kimberly thoroughly enjoys working at Calloway by Design,” she said, citing a large graphic design company headquartered in Washington, D.C.
“From what Nick Hunter tells me,” Louis said, “his wife Rachel is thrilled to have Kimberly on board. She says Kimberly is one of her best designers, and the clients really love her work.”
Althea smiled proudly. “That doesn’t surprise me. Kim is very talented. Always has been. Remember the program and invitations she designed for your thirtieth wedding anniversary celebration?”
“Of course,” Barbara chimed in. “We still receive compliments on them. And let’s not forget the interactive Web site she designed for your uncle when he ran for Congress.”
Louis chuckled. “I truly believe that Web site did more for my candidacy than any campaign speech or promise I could have ever made.”
Althea grinned at him over the rim of her wineglass. “So that means you’ll have to utilize Kimberly’s services again when you run for president in four years.”
Barbara groaned softly. “Oh, please. Let’s not talk about that yet. I’m still getting used to being the wife of a senator, even though I’ve had several years to adjust. I don’t even want to think about becoming First Lady.”
Her husband and niece laughed. They knew, as did Barbara, that Louis Pritchard’s bid for the White House was a foregone conclusion among his supporters and many Beltway insiders. He had enjoyed a successful political career that spanned three decades, starting out as a tough, no-nonsense prosecutor before working his way up to state’s attorney, a position he held for fifteen years. When he became county executive, the highest elected office in Prince George’s County, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he would set his sights on Washington. And they were right. Within five years he was elected to the U.S. Senate, where he continued working tirelessly for his constituents, earning the respect and admiration of his colleagues and solidifying his reputation as a man of character and integrity.
As a child Althea had worshipped her uncle and thought he could do no wrong. Although she was older and wiser now, she still believed he was the smartest, most caring, and most honorable man she had ever known. He was the standard by which she judged all other men, including the few she’d dated. So far, none had measured up.
Damien certainly had potential, a tiny innervoice whispered.
“Did you and the girls have a good time last night?” Barbara asked, stirring sugar into her hot tea.
“We had a great time,” Althea answered, as intensely erotic images from the night before flashed through her mind, bringing a hot flush to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “It was good catching up w
ith Keren and Kimberly again. I missed them.”
A silent look passed between Louis and Barbara. “We’ve been debating whether or not to tell you about a recent phone call we received,” Barbara said slowly.
Althea felt the muscles tightening in the back of her neck. She divided a wary glance between her aunt and uncle. “A call from who?”
Louis looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Malik Toomer.”
Althea blinked, surprised. “Malik called you?”
Barbara nodded, watching her carefully. “He heard through the grapevine that you were moving back to Maryland. He wanted us to give him your phone number so he could call you, maybe invite you to one of his games. You know, of course, that he got traded to the Washington Wizards two years ago.”
Althea nodded, fully aware of Malik Toomer’s failures—and more recent successes—as a professional basketball player. “So what did you tell him when he asked for my number?”
“I told him to go to hell,” Louis growled.
Barbara grimaced. “You had some other choice words for him as well. Things that would make my sainted mother roll over in her grave if I repeated them.”
Althea laughed, even as she gave Louis a censorious look. “Uncle Louie, how many times have I told you that a man in your position has to watch what he says to people, because you never know when your words might come back to haunt you?”
“I don’t care,” Louis grumbled, shoving aside his empty salad plate. “That boy has a lot of damn nerve calling us to ask for your number. He’s lucky your aunt took the phone from me when she did, or he really would have gotten his feelings hurt!”
Barbara gave him a look. “You called the boy a lying, cheating, overrated basketball player who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as your niece. Believe me, I think his feelings were plenty hurt.”
“Uncle Louie,” Althea groaned, shaking her head in disbelief. “I know you meant well, but you shouldn’t have said those things to Malik.”
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