by Mason Dixon
“After yesterday, that’s about all I can manage.” Destiny pushed a series of buttons on the single-serving coffee maker and took a sip of the steaming brew that filled her cup. “If you could live anywhere but here, where would you choose?”
“What do you mean?” Rashida struggled to understand the reasoning behind the non sequitur.
“Last week, Jackie was teasing you about going on House Hunters International. She said you’d gladly move to another country if you could decide which one you want to live in.”
“Oh, that’s just a pipe dream. A pleasant fantasy to while away the hours.”
Rashida powered up the blender. Just as quickly, Destiny crossed the room and switched it off.
“Remember what you told me? Your idea isn’t a pipe dream. It’s a goal you can achieve if you try. If you could make your fantasy—your goal—come true, where would you end up?”
Though taken aback by the intensity of Destiny’s curiosity, Rashida didn’t have to take long to come up with an answer to her question.
“I’d go to Malaysia.”
“Why?”
“The country is a study in contrasts. Old-fashioned fishing villages line the coasts, while the cities, Kuala Lumpur especially, are as modern as they come. Fabulous meals can be found in five-star Asian fusion restaurants or in hawker stalls lining the streets.” Rashida leaned against the counter, growing comfortable with her subject. “Then there are the Petronas Towers. They’re the tallest twin buildings in the world. Eighty-eight floors of reinforced concrete with a glass and steel façade. A skybridge between the forty-first and forty-second floors connects the towers and is the highest two-story bridge in the world. It would be so cool to hang out there on New Year’s Eve and watch the fireworks marking the end of one era and the beginning of another.”
“It sounds like you’ve done your homework.”
Rashida blushed at her passion for a country she had toured on TV and in the movies but had never visited in person.
“What’s stopping you from going?”
“I don’t speak a word of Malay. That’s reason enough.”
“So learn.”
Destiny looked so serious Rashida laughed to relieve her sudden nervousness. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.” Destiny held Rashida’s face in her hands and drew her thumbs across her cheeks. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. Right here. With you.”
“Then stay with me.” Destiny wrapped her arms around Rashida’s waist. “Let’s do all the things couples do. Let’s walk the streets holding hands, people watch on River Street, or go to your favorite bar and watch ships sail down the river all afternoon. Don’t go to work today. Pick up the phone and call in sick. I promise to make it worth your while.” She nuzzled the side of Rashida’s neck, her lips settling into the hollow behind her ear. “Stay with me.”
Rashida found it hard to resist such an impassioned plea. Hard, but not impossible. With a groan, she gently pushed Destiny away. “If it was any day but today, I would. But I can’t. I’m sorry, but I have to go to work.” She finished blending her smoothie and poured the vitamin-packed beverage into a travel mug. Then she gave Destiny a quick kiss. “Enjoy your day. Tell me all about it tonight, okay? And don’t leave out a single detail.”
Destiny followed her to the living room. “I won’t.” She ran her hands through her sleep-tousled hair and dropped them to her sides.
Rashida paused with one hand on the doorknob. Destiny looked so sad she wanted to do something to relieve the hurt. “Next year, I’ll take the day off, we’ll do the parade, the green beer, and anything else you want.”
Destiny perked up slightly. “You promise?”
“I’m in this for the long haul, Destiny. We’ll have more St. Patrick’s Days. I promise.”
Destiny finally managed a smile. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“I hope you do.” Rashida blew her a kiss. “See you tonight.”
In the parking lot, Rashida unlocked her car and placed her bags inside. Before she slammed the trunk, the manila envelope one of the interns had placed in Harry’s inbox by mistake caught her eye. In the excitement of the previous day, the mishandled mail had been the least of her worries.
She pulled the envelope out of her computer bag and sat in the front seat. She slipped her car key under the envelope’s flap and used the key’s jagged edge as a rudimentary letter opener. When she reached inside the envelope, her fingers came into contact with what felt like glossy photo paper.
“What the—”
She pulled the photos out of the envelope and immediately dropped them as if she’d been burned. Half a dozen eight-by-tens fell into her lap. The pictures were grainy, taken with what must have been a telephoto lens, but the images were clear enough to make out the faces of the subjects. She and Destiny were the subjects, but they hadn’t posed for the photographer. The photos had been taken without their knowledge. Taken while they made love in the front seat of her car.
Rashida’s mind reeled with questions she couldn’t answer. Who had taken the photos? Who had sent them? What did the sender want in return?
She covered the images of her topless body with her hands as if to protect herself from additional exposure.
A folded note was taped to the back of one photo. The words typed on the plain white sheet of paper sent a spike of pain through Rashida’s heart.
Is this any way for a reputable businesswoman to behave? Obviously, you can take the girl out of the ’hood, but you can’t take the ’hood out of the girl.
She had devoted half her life to establishing a solid professional reputation. Countless years of exemplary behavior, solid decision-making, and unquestioned ethics had resulted in her being named an officer of one of the most respected banks in Savannah and had positioned her to climb even higher up the corporate ladder. Was all her hard work about to be undone by one indiscretion?
A honking horn nearly caused her fraying nerves to snap.
“Jesus.”
She jumped in her seat, one hand trembling over her racing heart. She looked out her windshield. Trent Lacy, one of the SCAD students who lived in her building, had stopped his car directly in front of hers. She shoved the photos back in the envelope and lowered her driver’s side window.
“Good morning, Trent,” she said, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
“Morning. You’ve been sitting there for a few minutes. Is everything all right? You’re not having car trouble, are you? I can give you a jump if you need one.”
“No, everything’s fine.” She stuffed the envelope and its contents into her glove compartment, where she hoped both would be safe from prying eyes. Then she pressed the ignition button to prove to Trent nothing was wrong with her engine. “I’m just having a little trouble getting going this morning.”
“I know the feeling. I’m going to head over to the French Roast before the police close more streets for the parade. Will I see you there?”
“Yeah, probably,” she said absently.
She felt like she was standing on top of a mountain and the ground was crumbling beneath her. She needed to talk to someone. She needed to share her burden. She couldn’t go to Destiny. Not with this. Destiny would undoubtedly blame herself. Yes, Destiny had pursued her, but she had allowed herself to be caught. Having sex in her car had been Destiny’s idea, but she’d been a willing participant. More than willing.
They both were to blame for their current predicament, but she was in a better position to take the hit. If the photos cost her her job, she’d have to deal with the embarrassment of her fall from grace and the recriminations of her friends and family, but she’d be able to support herself with money from her savings until she repaired the damage to her reputation. Destiny didn’t have that luxury.
She weighed her options. If she ended the relationship now, she could still have all the things she wanted in her career but not the one thing—the on
e person—she wanted in her life.
For years, she had tried to find an even balance between her professional and personal lives. For years, work had always tipped the scales. No more.
In their short time together, Destiny had introduced her to so many new experiences. Opened her eyes to so many things. She wasn’t ready for the lessons to end.
Having Destiny and her career would be the best of both worlds. If she could have only one, the choice was clear. She chose Destiny.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Trent asked.
“Never better.” Rashida broke into a grin. “It’s a great day for a parade, don’t you think?”
She drove downtown and maneuvered through the maze of barricaded streets. Some thoroughfares would be closed for only a few hours; others would be blocked all weekend to accommodate the heavier than normal foot traffic. Early arrivals had already staked out prime viewing areas to watch the parade. Lawn and stadium chairs lined the streets.
Rashida nabbed a parking spot on Congress Street and hustled inside the French Roast.
“You’re working today?” Charles asked after she grabbed a number from the dispenser.
“Not by choice and not for long. After I drop off some provisions for a few working stiffs who aren’t as lucky as I am, I’m going to call it a day.”
“It’s about time you took some time for yourself. What can I get for you?”
“A to-go box of French roast and an assortment of pastries.”
Charles cocked his head. “Do you have an army to feed?”
“Close. A team of hungry maintenance workers.”
“That’s even worse.”
The elevator repair team should already be in place and, provided the oil in the motor had cooled to a manageable temperature, hard at work. She’d drop off the coffee and sweets and check the team’s progress before she returned home. She’d make herself available by cell in case of emergencies, but she planned on spending this day with her feet up and a green beer in her hand.
“Thanks for steering Destiny my way,” Charles said as he helped the baristas fill her order. “She was a good hire.”
“For us, too.”
“She’s hard-working, conscientious. The customers love her.”
“So do I.”
She might not know the name of the street Destiny grew up on or whether her first pet was a goldfish or a dog, but she knew her heart. As for the rest, they had the rest of their lives to fill in the blanks. Today was the perfect day to start.
Charles boxed up the pastries. “Make sure she sticks around, okay?”
“I plan on it.” She handed him her debit card and signed for her purchases after he swiped the card through the terminal next to the cash register. “Have a good weekend.”
She deposited the coffee and pastries in the backseat of her car and drove to the bank. Three vehicles were parked in the lot. Harry’s Hummer, a battered green pickup truck, and an unmarked white panel van.
Rashida balanced the box of Danishes, crullers, doughnuts, and croissants on top of the box of coffee and carefully made her way to the bank’s front door. The shades were drawn, but she could hear the muffled sound of metal pounding against metal coming from inside. The repairs were obviously underway.
She fished her keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. Out of habit, she reached for the panel just inside the door to input her security code, but the solid green light on the display signaled the perimeter alarm and motion detectors had already been disabled.
Duh. Harry has a code, too. She probably forced the repairmen to show up at five a.m. so she can be out of here before the parade starts.
She inhaled deeply, testing the air. The aroma of burned oil was still present, joined by what smelled like melted metal. She glanced at the elevator. The doors were propped open just as she’d left them last night, but the car and the shaft above it were empty. The new smell—the acrid smell of melted steel—was coming from across the room. It was coming from the vault.
Harry’s voice, anxious and somewhat tense, echoed across the lobby. “Come on, guys. Get the lead out. We don’t have all day. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
Rashida placed the coffee and pastries on the New Accounts desk and stepped into the lobby. Her brain refused to believe what her eyes were seeing. She rocked back on her heels when she saw the large circular hole that had been cut into the front of the vault. Harry, her back to her, was standing in front of the jagged opening. Inside the vault, two androgynous figures wearing coveralls, latex gloves, and Halloween masks were sifting through customers’ safe deposit boxes while another stuffed cash from the money vault into oversized duffel bags. The vault held nearly seven hundred fifty thousand dollars in small and large bills. The haul from the safe deposit boxes was even more valuable. More cash, jewelry, and three gold bars worth half a million dollars each.
Robbery procedures were clear-cut. Remain calm, give the robber what he demanded, write a summary of the incident while the details were fresh in your mind, and talk to no one until the police arrived. Under no circumstances were you supposed to confront the robber or try to be a hero. But normal procedures were useless in this situation. Normal procedures didn’t address the betrayal Rashida felt at the hands of a co-worker. One she had come to consider a friend.
She had time to back out of the building without being seen, but she chose to move forward instead. The bank was her livelihood. The employees were her family. Harry was violating both. If she wanted to embarrass her parents or exact some twisted form of revenge, she needed to do it another way.
Rashida looked at the security cameras. The lights were on, but the lenses had been spray painted black, rendering the camera footage useless.
Harry had thought of everything. She had opportunity to commit the crime and ample time to get away. If Rashida hadn’t dropped by unannounced, she wouldn’t have discovered the theft until Saturday, by which time Harry and her henchmen would probably be splitting their take in some exotic country that didn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States.
Split four ways, the stolen loot wouldn’t be enough to live off of for more than a few years, but Rashida had a hunch that if she checked Harry’s accounts, she’d find they had been drained, the funds wired to a bank in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, or some other tax haven.
Cursing under her breath, Rashida pressed the silent alarm under the New Accounts desk and prayed the police would arrive relatively quickly. Their usual response time was less than ten minutes. With most of the streets blocked off, it could take much longer than normal for help to arrive. Since none of the robbers appeared to be armed, it was a chance she was willing to take. She was the only obstacle standing between Harry and a clean getaway.
“Harry?”
“It’s about time you got here,” Harry said without turning to face her. “Did you send Little Miss Perfect on her merry way? She can’t get enough of you, it seems. If I were less secure, I’d think the feeling was mutual. Fortunately, one thing I’m not is insecure.”
Finally, Harry turned. The broad grin on her face disappeared as soon as she saw Rashida.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked, striding across the lobby. “You’re supposed to be halfway to Springfield by now.” She snapped her fingers, wordlessly directing the three people in the vault to continue what they were doing.
Rashida frowned. “I didn’t share my schedule with you.” Entries in the calendar application tied to her e-mail were copied to members of the retail, operations, and customer support teams. Harry wasn’t included in any of those work groups. “Who told you I was going to Springfield today?”
Harry’s smile returned. The panicked look on her face disappeared. She jerked her chin toward the front door, which swung open and closed with a soft click. “She did.”
Rashida turned and saw Destiny standing behind her.
Destiny was dressed in her security guard uniform, the one that had spent the nig
ht airing out on Rashida’s patio. A gun Rashida didn’t realize Destiny had been recertified to carry rested in a holster clipped to her wide leather belt.
Rashida backed away. Her heart sank as she shook her head in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re not in on this. Please tell me everything we had wasn’t a lie.”
Destiny unholstered the gun while Harry pinned Rashida’s arms to her sides. “I asked you not to go to work today. You should have listened to me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Friday, March 3
8:10 a.m.
Savannah, Georgia
Destiny Jackson stared at a photo of a fine sister in her mid-thirties as she rehearsed her lines.
Hi, are you ready for a date with Destiny?
She rolled her eyes at the cornball lines Harry Collins had asked her to memorize. She had picked up the sexy redhead in a bar in South Beach on Valentine’s Day and given her everything she had begged for in bed. Though she had been the dominant one between the sheets, Harry was definitely calling the shots now. In more ways than one. Harry had what Destiny wanted but had never been able to possess: money, power, respect, and the most valuable asset of all, leverage.
Destiny looked at the photo again. The woman in the picture—the beautiful ebony goddess with warm brown eyes and a welcoming smile—looked like she was too much on the ball to be fooled by cheesy pick-up lines delivered by someone hired to play a part. Sincerity was the way to this woman’s heart. Destiny needed to mean everything she said. Or at least sound like she did.
Being careful not to attract attention, she slipped the photo into the inside pocket of her blazer and took a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee. She had been in place for nearly half an hour, giving herself plenty of time to survey the landscape before her target arrived. She had been in town for a little over two weeks, content to hang back and get the lay of the land. Now it was time to put the plan into effect.
How, she wondered, had she allowed herself to be dragged into this? Easy. Harry, whom she had correctly assumed to be both filthy rich and an absolute wildcat in the sack, had thrown a wad of bills her way and promised her there was more—much more—where that came from. For better or worse, the farfetched scheme Harry had concocted after a pitcher of morning-after mimosas was now underway. Destiny didn’t know who was crazier, Harry for coming up with the idea or her for agreeing, however reluctantly, to go through with it.