Crane erupted in quick laughter. He took Mel’s hand and pressed a hard kiss to her palm.
Concern began to fill Mel’s eyes as she watched Crane more observantly. She loved him so-almost as much as her own father. That wasn’t surprising considering how similar their personalities were. When she’d blindly decided to re-create her life in Memphis, she hadn’t given a thought to how long a process finding a job would be.
Crane was there the day she’d given up hope and broke down in tears at the mall. She stood just outside and art store where she’d gone to check on the application she’d
put in for a store associate. Crane approached and consoled her. He asked if she was lost, having believed her young enough to require a chaperone.
Mel had taken no offence and told him she was of age and was at last admitting that she couldn’t support herself. She went on to tell him that her five week old application was probably being used as packing paper for one of the paintings. Her jaw almost dropped to the floor when Crane told her he owned the place. She was further stunned when he informed her that as her new boss, he expected to see her bright and early the next morning. She’d worked for him ever since.
Smiling a bit more brightly, Melina shook her head over the memory and refocused on the man. Yes, he was so very much like her father. Warmth and security clung to them like moths to flame.
Still, Mel knew there was even more that drew her to Crane. In spite of all he had and all he had accomplished, she sensed loneliness-a sadness that lurked beneath his obsidian stare. It was an emotion she was all too familiar with.
“Why are you so down?” she whispered then, squeezing his hand in both of hers.
Crane turned the tables and took both her hands in one of his. “I need you to handle some business for me.”
“Campaign business?” Mel asked with a slow nod.
Crane smiled, knowing how she’d long to really get her feet wet in the campaign. The two of them butted heads regularly since he’d embarked upon capturing a Senate seat for the state of Tennessee.
“It’s just regular business, love,” he dashed her hopes.
Mel glanced down at the floral print of the chic halter blouse she wore and told herself to remain calm. “Regular business?” she repeated.
“I’d like you to handle some PR for a project for the new gallery out in Washington,” he explained and noticed her bristling.
“The Seattle gallery?” she clarified. Her bristling now had to do with more than feeling as though she were being bustled off to do ‘busy work’ in the midst of an important campaign.
“Aren’t you pleased?” Crane asked, knowing she was far from it. “You told me Josephine needed you back there. This should work out perfectly.”
“My mother-in-law?” Mel scoffed, clenching her fists against her thighs encased beneath her white slacks. “You’re sending me to Seattle because of my mother-in-law?”
“With everything going on in that family, it’s understandable that she’d want the family to put forth a strong front,” Crane reasoned.
Except that’s not even close to what she wants, Mel corrected in silence. “You do know that I’m not part of that family anymore?” she asked.
“You’re still married to her son,” Crane noted, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms across the front of his black John Phillips suit. “I think that still makes you her daughter-in-law i.e. family.”
Mel rolled her eyes. “This has nothing to do with that,” she muttered.
“Right. It has to do with Yohan,” he clarified, smiling when her eyes snapped to his face. “Are you saying you’re not in love with him anymore?”
The question sent Mel’s heart lurching, but she masked her emotions with a sour look. Setting aside her water glass, she clasped her hands atop the table. “I’m about to say something that’s been on the tip of my tongue for weeks, months…”
“Please,” Crane urged her to continue with a wave of his hand.
“You’re ashamed of me.”
“What?!” he hissed. A fierce expression emerged on his darkly handsome face when he heard the words.
Mel was undaunted. “Somehow, having me tied to your campaign is a negative.”
Crane leaned forward. “How the hell can you say a thing like that to me?” he asked, failing to keep her voice at a whisper.
“Oh please. Admit it,” she ordered her slanting stare just as fierce as his. “You’ve been progressively keeping me out of the loop as far as your campaign goes. I’ve handled every aspect of your PR until now. Not to mention the fact that your campaign manager is a novice-having never handled a major client. Dammit Crane what did you expect me to think?”
At that point, Crane was stunned silent and could only shake his head.
The reaction simply fueled Mel’s argument. “That’s why you wanted to meet here instead of your office, isn’t it?” she demanded to know, her fist pounding the table as she spoke. “Expecting some powerful good ‘ol boy constituents and don’t want ‘em to know you’ve given this little mixed up black and Asian girl a chance to roll with the big dogs?”
Crane lost his temper at last. He brought his fist down on the table with more force than Melina could ever hope to muster. “You’re being a damn fool,” he grated.
Melina stood and collected her things. “Well, I guess there are worse things I could be,” she said and left him with a pointed stare before she stormed away from the table.
CHAPTER TWO
Yohan Ramsey’s stately, secluded home in Seattle’s Woodway division was rarely visited by family. Even his brother’s visits were infrequent and scheduled far in advance. Everyone from family and friends to employees and business associates knew how Yohan craved his privacy. Though no one voiced it, everyone believed that if he could, he’d have a blinking neon sign constructed high above the property that would read “No visitors. This means you!”
The house was beautiful and situated in a valley amidst towering trees and brush. At dusk, spotlights illuminated and added an even more radiant ambience to the grounds and the red brick mansion.
The home was equipped with every convenience its privacy-driven owner desired. In truth, Yohan rarely needed to travel outside for any recreation he chose to indulge in. In addition, his socializing and visits to family were usually few and far in between.
Moses and Fernando believed their brother’s hidden abode; nestled in the depths of such a wooded area, would be the perfect place. It was the perfect place to discuss the latest scandal regarding their father.
Yohan was already there to greet them. He stood in the main entryway and was leaning against the hinges of one of the glass double doors. His arms were folded across his chest and his dark gaze was focused in suspicion. “What’s up?” he asked.
Fernando and Moses exchanged knowing looks when their younger brother spoke.
“Damn man, may we come in for a drink first?” Fernando asked, grinning as he placed a playful slap to his brother’s cheek.
Moses followed, clapping Yohan’s shoulder as he strolled on into the house. With a grimace, Yohan slammed the door shut and informed his big brothers where their drinks of choice were located. Sam Adams in the fridge beneath the bar for Fernando and Killian’s red on tap for Moses.
“So, what’s up?” he asked again, once the men had taken a few swigs of their drinks.
Moses tipped his frosted mug in Fernando’s direction.
“The Wind Rage is a sex ship-a sex slave ship,” Fernando reported bluntly and tipped back his beer bottle to allow the brew to wash down the bad taste rising in his throat.
Yohan took a seat on the back of one of the living room sofas. “Sex slaves?” he questions in evident disbelief.
“Young girls,” Fernando continued, “eighteen and younger. Way younger.”
“Jesus,” Yohan breathed, running a hand across his face.
“I talked to the man who runs the damned thing. He says Pop supplies him with all his fei
sty Americans.”
Having prepared himself for the worst, Yohan was stilled floored by the news. “Are you sure, Fern?” he had to ask.
“Saw it with my own eyes,” Fernando confirmed somberly.
Silence settled between the three. Yohan stroked his jaw as though he were assessing the information. Suddenly, he looked back at Fernando. “Mo said Contessa was there-she alright?”
Fernando nodded. “Yeah, yeah she’s fine. Back in Chicago.”
“With protection,” Moses added.
“I’m headed out after I leave here,” Fernando said.
“And the rest of the girls? They’re alright?” Yohan asked.
Moses and Fernando shared troubled expressions.
“We weren’t able to leave with any of the other girls,” Fernando explained. “Mo called telling me our cover was blown and we had to hustle out of there.”
“We found the ship, but it was completely empty,” Moses said.
Yohan’s expression darkened. “But how can that be?” he asked.
Moses went to refill his mug. “The ship wasn’t supposed to set sail ‘til the following morning. We figured they decided to book it once they discovered they’d been found out. They must’ve vacated during the night while we were busy securing Fernando and County.”
“Son of a bitch!” Yohan roared, smashing fist to palm.
“Need a drink?” Fern asked, smirking as he tilted his bottle of Sam Adams toward his brother.
“Won’t do a damn bit of good,” Yohan muttered, deciding to pay another visit to the punching bag in his gym. “What about Pop?” he asked, remembering Marc then. “He’s got to know what’s up.”
Moses shrugged. “Pop’s missing too, Yo,” he revealed.
“Ma said he left last week on some business trip,” Fernando said.
“She hasn’t seen or heard from him since.”
“I’m sure she’s a happy lady,” Yohan told Moses and joined in when he and Fernando laughed. “So what are we gonna do?” he asked, once they’d sobered. “We can’t just let this go.”
“What’s this?” Fernando queried in a teasing tone. “You didn’t even want me to take this trip in the first place.”
Yohan grimaced, unable to voice a quick response. First Melina, and now a ship full of innocent girls. God only knew what else Marcus Ramsey was involved in. But his father had to be stopped, Yohan acknowledged.
“Yo?” Fernando called, settling both hands in his jean pockets as he prompted a response.
Yohan massaged his wrist and shrugged. “I’ve had a change of heart,” he admitted. “So what’s next?” he asked.
Moses set aside his mug and took a seat on one of the high backed leather stools at the bar. “My men are on it. I’ve even got guys out tryin’ to track down Marc.”
“Bastard could disappear easy and never be heard from again,” Yohan grumbled, hearing his brother’s words of agreement.
“Nice dream,” Moses said, tugging on the hem of his denim shirt, “but we all know Pop’s too meddlesome and vindictive to let us think we’ve won.”
“Damn right, he’ll find a way to stay on top of things,” Fernando predicted.
Moses nodded. “And then we’ll get him.”
“With what?” Yohan snapped. “Hell, the man’s virtually lily white in the eyes of the law.”
Moses smoothed a hand across his shaved head. “Marc’s got skeletons, Yo,” he assured his brother. “He’s just got ‘em hidden in very good places. But they won’t stay hidden forever. Don’t worry man, his time’s coming.”
***
“All rise! Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Teena J. Webb presiding.”
The petite fifty-something woman approached the bench. Her robe swayed around the black pumps in a graceful manner as she took her place. She slammed the gavel once and all conversation silenced.
“Order,” she requested, browsing the folders before her and nodding when she located the one she wanted. “We’re here this morning to discuss competency to stand trial for the defendant Houston Octavius Ramsey. Mr. Cornelius, your arguments.”
Franklin Cornelius, attorney for the prosecution rose and began to state his case. “Your Honor, the people wish to examine Mr. Ramsey with a doctor of the state’s choosing. Thus far, Mr. Ramsey’s been treated by a psychiatrist appointed by the Ramsey family.”
“Your Honor! Dr. White is-“
“Mr. McNeil,” Judge Webb interjected, her small face carrying a stern expression, “once I’ve finished hearing Mr. Cornelius’s arguments, you’ll have your turn. I think that’s both fair and satisfactory, don’t you?”
David McNeil, Houston’s counsel, nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course, Your Honor. My apologies.”
“Very well,” Judge Webb said and raised her hand towards the prosecutor’s table. “Continue Mr. Cornelius.”
Flashing a quick smirk towards David McNeil, Frank Cornelius braced his finger atop the pad he held. “Your Honor-the heinous nature of the crime demands the swiftest justice. Mr. Ramsey has successfully eluded prosecution for well over fifteen years. The psychiatrist for the defense tells us he’ll be able to stand trial, but they can’t say when. The people ask for an impartial psychiatrist to offer a second opinion-at least to give an idea of when he’ll be fit to account for his actions, your Honor.”
Judge Webb nodded, making notes in her folder. Soon, she looked over the tops of her gold-rimmed spectacles toward Houston Ramsey and his sea of attorneys. “Mr. McNeil,” she encouraged.
“Thank you, your Honor. Your Honor, Dr. White is a respected psychiatrist. May I remind you that in the past he’s been most cooperative on cases for both the prosecution and the defense?”
“How kind of you to bring that to my attention, Mr. McNeil. However, we’re here to discuss matters pertaining to this case and not Dr. White’s previous showings,” she said, banging the gavel when a low rumble of chuckles filled the courtroom. “Now I happen to agree with Mr. Cornelius. Using a court appointed psychiatrist to present findings and a timeframe on which, we may expect Mr. Ramsey’s cooperation is perfectly reasonable. Furthermore, to allow the doctor ample time to research and observe Mr. Ramsey, I am hereby suspending Dr. White’s visitations.”
“Your Honor, I must strongly object!” David McNeil stood and proclaimed. “Your Honor I’m concerned about the wisdom of this decision. Mr. Ramsey’s condition must be our top priority!”
“And this way, the court may determine that Mr. Ramsey has a condition,” Judge Webb replied.
“Your Honor-“
“Mister McNeil. I will not have a debate with you.”
“But Your Honor-“
“Continue down this road, Mr. McNeil, and you may join your client as a guest of our jail.” Judge Webb retorted, her meaning clear. “This is my ruling gentlemen. This hearing is adjourned.”
The gavel resounded in the silent room.
***
“Thanks for letting me know,” Melina told her cousin who has just informed her of the trip she’d be taking to South America.
Johari Frazier chuckled, her silver eyes sparkling wickedly. “I can just see you flying off the deep end if you called and couldn’t reach me.” She stretched and then whipped her hair into a loose ponytail. “It may be next to impossible to get a signal in the jungle where I’ll be spending most of my time.”
Mel let her lashes flutter. “Ah, the glamorous life of a photographer.”
“Ha! A fashion photographer maybe.” Johari corrected. “My art is composed of far more grizzly subjects.”
Mel nodded, her solemn demeanor resurfacing just then. “Be careful, alright?”
Johari sighed. “You worry too much. Always have.”
Melina grimaced and tugged on the hem of her black halter tank. “Can’t a cousin be concerned?”
Johari heard the bite in Mel’s voice. “Of course you can, but you know you don’t have to call every other week to check in on me.”
Mel
ina bristled, stifling her urge to tell Johari she had good reason to check in. She’d die if she lost her the same way she lost Jahzara, Johari’s sister.
“Mel?” Johari called, leaning across her cousin’s desk as she spoke.
Blinking, Melina slipped out of her reverie. “Have a good trip, then.”
“Speaking of trips, why don’t you take one?”
Mel stood from her swivel chair. “As in vacation?” she prompted.
Johari nodded. “As in vacation,” she confirmed. “You sound like you need one.”
Mel toyed with a tendril of her natural locks. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she said to herself. “So do you have someone to watch your apartment in San Francisco while you’re away?” she smoothly changed the subject.
“It’s all taken care of,” Johari assured her and stepped around the desk to envelope her cousin in a hug. “I love you. I only wanted to come out and say that in person before I left.”
“Mmm,” Mel gestured, savoring the embrace. “Thanks. I love you too.”
“Alright then, I’m out,” Johari called in a refreshing tone when she moved back. “I’ll give you a ring when we land,” she promised, scooping up her luggage and the bag carrying her motorcycle helmet. Then she bounced out of Melina’s office.
Mel chuckled and shook her head once before she reclaimed the white leather swivel behind her desk. She turned the chair around to stare out over the picturesque view of downtown Memphis. She was so engrossed by its old world allure that she missed the knocking on her office door. After a moment, the visitor entered. It was Crane.
“Hello?” he called.
Melina hesitated a moment before turning her chair back around. She watched him step inside and shut he door behind himself. She kept her face void of any expression.
“I thought we could both use some time to cool off after lunch.”
“Both?” Mel retorted, subtle disbelief clouding her eyes as her brows rose. “I’m the only one who had reason to be upset.”
Crane’s dark eyes narrowed sharply at her words. “You practically call me a racist and you think you’re the only one who has reason to be upset?”
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