“Okay,” Pastor Griffith growled to the men in the room. “We know what we have to do. Let’s go hit the lobby. Start talking up Hosea to some of King’s people.” He looked down at Jasmine. “You better hope that we can still pull this out.”
Jasmine’s eyes got wide, but before she could stand so that she could tell him what she really hoped, Hosea jumped right up.
“Excuse me?” Hosea said, planting himself in front of Pastor Griffith. “That’s my wife you’re talking to.” His voice was low, steady, and threatening.
“I know who she is.” Pastor Griffith glared back at him. “And like I said, she better hope we can salvage this election.”
Jasmine was ready to pounce, ready to stand by her man, but Reverend Bush put his hand on her shoulder, motioning her to stay seated. Instead, he stood next to his son.
The room was silent; no one dared to move. The tension was now off the Richter scale.
Mae Frances took a few steps toward the three men, but Reverend Bush held up his hand, stopping her. He spoke to Pastor Griffith. “Earl, I know you’ve worked hard and we all appreciate it, but let’s keep this in perspective.”
“I have the right perspective,” he shouted. “Do you know what I have riding on this?”
Reverend Bush said, “I think it’s the same thing that we all have riding, Earl. You’re no different than the rest of us in here who have worked long hours, who have worked hard and want to win.”
Reverend Bush’s tone was soft, meant to calm, but it seemed to do little for Pastor Griffith. His eyes shifted between Hosea and his father as if he was trying to determine which one he wanted to take on.
Jasmine wondered if Pastor Griffith was really that much of a fool. Hadn’t he heard about her husband? The gun-wielding pastor who’d been on trial for attempted murder because some man had dared to kidnap and abuse his daughter? The thing was, Hosea had no remorse—he would have gladly spent the rest of his days behind bars. Because it was all about family—his family, that he’d do anything to protect.
That included his wife.
Jasmine wasn’t sure if it was the way Hosea stared Pastor Griffith down or the way Hosea started to shove off his jacket as if he didn’t want to mess up his thousand-dollar suit. But Pastor Griffith finally took two steps back, shrugged his shoulders a couple of times as if he was loosening up … and then, he smiled.
“You’re right, Samuel,” he said to Reverend Bush. “It’s just that we’ve all worked hard on this.” Looking back at Hosea, he said, “I’ve worked hard to get you elected because I believe you’re the right man for the job.”
“And I appreciate that,” Hosea said, though his voice was still hard. “But no one is going to disrespect my wife no matter who they are or what they’ve done.”
Pastor Griffith nodded slightly, then glanced around Hosea to look at Jasmine. “I apologize, Lady Jasmine.”
She nodded.
Then Hosea, being the gentleman that he always was, reached toward Pastor Griffith. The men shook hands and Reverend Bush patted both of them on their backs.
Jasmine watched her husband, his hand still in Pastor Griffith’s hand, the two men nodding and smiling together.
Conflict diffused.
But though the tension began to seep out slowly, this little peace treaty did nothing for Jasmine. She still eyed Pastor Griffith with nothing but suspicion.
Then across the room, Mae Frances laughed.
Never trust any woman.
But Mae Frances wasn’t just any woman … Mae Frances was her friend, right?
Jasmine wasn’t sure anymore, but it was hard for her to believe that her friend had actually joined the ranks of her enemies. She didn’t know how, but Jasmine had a feeling that she would soon find out whose side Mae Frances was really on.
Chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT
Rachel had never seen her father look so intense. He rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard and she could tell he was deep in thought.
“Dad, you don’t need to get worked up about any of this,” Rachel said. Although he’d been doing better healthwise, she didn’t like seeing him stress out about anything. “I don’t know why your doctor even let you come.”
Reverend Simon Jackson shook his head. “I’m fine. I just don’t have a good feeling about this,” he said. “I know the Kings. They don’t make impromptu decisions. They’re up to something.”
“Tell me about it,” Rachel replied. She didn’t know what their motives were, but the whole way this thing had gone down stunk and she knew the Kings had a plan up their sleeves.
They were gathered in her father’s hotel suite. It looked like the entire Southern coalition was there. Her father, Lester, Deacon Tisdale, and several other men were seated around the long dining table.
“Did anyone see this coming?” one of the men asked.
“Not at all,” Lester replied. He’d tried to play it cool for most of the week, but the look of shock on his face right now let Rachel know that he really wanted to win, and Cecelia might have just blown his chances.
“Personally, I just think it’s a front so that Rev. King can keep running things.” That declaration came from Deacon Tisdale. Rachel didn’t know if she quite agreed with that, but she did believe this whole thing had been set up from the beginning. Cecelia had tried to act like she just made this spur-of-the-moment decision because of her and Jasmine’s fighting. If it bothered Cecelia that much, she would’ve pulled them aside prior to today. After all, she was there most of the time they had any kind of drama jump-off.
“So, what are we going to do?” Lester asked.
Simon shook his head. His brow was scrunched up, a nervous habit when he was trying to work things out in his head. “Well, I talked to someone on the board right after the meeting and he said the Kings gathered up signatures a couple of hours before the meeting. And he thinks they stand a good chance of giving us a run for our money. They could steal the undecided votes that were going to go to either Lester or Hosea. Couple those with any votes they get from the two sides, and they actually could win this thing.”
Rachel stood up. She’d had enough of this strategizing and analyzing. Nobody here had any answers and she was the type of person who didn’t believe in just sitting around talking. She wanted answers and she knew just where she could get them—straight from the source.
Rachel racked her brain trying to remember what Cecelia had said her room number was when she’d told Rachel to call. Then it hit her. Sixteen hundred! Like the White House’s address. That had been Rachel’s first thought when Cecelia mentioned it.
“I’ll be back,” Rachel announced. Yeah, she could call, but she wasn’t going to give Cecelia a chance to hang up on her. She was going to march right up to Cecelia’s room and ask her what kind of game she was playing. Rachel had tried to play nice and stay in that woman’s good graces and it had all been for naught, so now what did she have to lose?
“Where are you going?” Lester asked.
“Gotta make a run. I’ll be right back.”
Lester just nodded and turned back to the men at the table.
Rachel stepped off the elevator on the executive level. Suite 1600 sat at the end of the hall. There was a housekeeping cart in front of the room. The door opened, and a petite dark-haired woman grabbed some more towels from the cart, then walked back inside.
Cecelia must not be in the room, Rachel thought. Surely housekeeping wouldn’t be cleaning if she was. Rachel waited a minute, trying to decide her next move, when the door opened again. The woman made eye contact with Rachel, so she spoke.
“Good afternoon.”
“Bueno,” the woman said.
“Umm, I’m looking for Cecelia.”
The woman grinned widely as she nodded. “Sí.”
“See what?” Rachel asked, confused. “Is she in there?”
The woman just nodded like she had no idea what Rachel was saying.
Rachel narrowed her eyes at the wo
man. “Do you speak English?”
“Inglés?” the woman said, shaking her head. “Ah, no inglés.”
Rachel exhaled in frustration when the woman said, “He terminado ahora.”
“Excuse me?” Rachel said.
The woman stepped aside and moved the cart out of the way. “All done,” the woman said in broken English as she held the door open.
Rachel stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. She didn’t want to break into Cecelia’s room. But technically, this wasn’t breaking in. The cleaning lady was inviting her in. Maybe this was God’s way of opening the door so she could get to the bottom of what was going on. But what would she be looking for in Cecelia’s room?
Answers.
That little nagging voice that always got her in trouble grew louder. Just get in, look around, see what you can find, then get out. Five minutes.
But if she got caught in there, it would be all over. Cecelia would hang her. Lester would kill her. And Jasmine would have a field day.
You won’t get caught. Five minutes.
Rachel found herself smiling at the woman as she said, “Gracias. I’m very tired and want to lie down.”
The woman nodded, that I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-saying grin still on her face as she moved aside and let Rachel pass.
The door slammed and Rachel jumped. Her heart was racing. What in the world was she doing?
You’re fighting back. You’re not going to let this woman play you. You’re not stealing anything, so it’s okay. You’re just looking for answers.
Rachel took a deep breath, then looked around the suite. It was definitely fit for a president. The chocolate furniture was modern and classy. There was a fifty-two-inch television screen on the wall with a brick fireplace underneath. A plush copper-colored rug sat in the middle of the floor, a long mahogany dining table sat in the corner. The place was immaculate, with the exception of some papers on the marble bar. Rachel wanted to duck in and check out Cecelia’s clothes, but she reminded herself that she didn’t have time for that.
She headed over to the bar and started sifting through the papers. They were definitely Coalition-related, but it all looked like a bunch of gibberish to Rachel. Rachel had just flipped to the third page when she heard Cecelia’s high-pitched laugh, then a fumbling at the door.
Rachel panicked as her eyes darted across the room. Her first instinct was to hide in the bathroom, but what if Cecelia had to use it? Without much time to think, she ducked into the hall closet and began a silent prayer.
Please, God. Don’t let me get caught. I’m sorry I came in here. If You get me out of here, I’ll never do anything like this again.
The door opened and Cecelia came in, chatting with someone. Rachel kept praying. What if they were in the room to stay? What would she do then?
“I just can’t get over you,” the other voice said. “That was simply priceless.” Rachel recognized the voice, but she couldn’t place where she’d heard it.
Cecelia laughed again. “I told you, just let me handle it. And to think my darling husband doubted that I could do it. But we are poised, once again, to merge with the National Baptist Coalition, which will make us the most powerful religious organization in the world next to the Catholic Church. And I plan to be at the helm when that merger happens.”
“Well, it didn’t hurt that you had those two psychopaths ready to go to war. They’re all but ensuring you win this thing.”
“Amen to that,” Cecelia replied. “I mean, really, they did all the work. By the way, thanks for passing that information about Jasmine on to Rachel.”
It was the other woman’s turn to laugh. “Oh, you did all of the work, but it was my pleasure to be the messenger.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. So it was a plan. And she and Jasmine had played right into it. And what information had the woman passed on to her?
“But, I swear, my husband wanted to use the information to bring Pastor Bush down,” the woman continued. “You know he should’ve been the Northern nominee.”
“Well, Coco, I’m glad that you convinced Rev. Penn that we had to let it play out this way. I appreciate both of you coming to me and offering your assistance. I have to admit, I was a little hesitant about sharing my plan,” Cecelia said. “This is a big deal because the bishop and I had been working with Earl on this merger for a long time, but it fell through before.”
Earl? Who’s Earl? Rachel asked herself.
Cecelia continued like she was in confessional, “But this time, the bishop and I cut out all the other folks and put this together ourselves, and we weren’t sure who we could trust. But I’m a good read of people, and something told me I could trust you. And I was smart enough to know I couldn’t do this alone.”
“You can always trust us,” Coco said.
“I know that. And you let Rev. Penn know I will keep my promise to find him a great position once I’m elected.”
That’s who the voice belonged to! Coco Penn had been the woman who had given Rachel the information on Jasmine being a stripper. Coco acted like she was just a concerned Coalition member wanting to help Lester get elected, and Rachel had fallen for the whole act—no questions asked.
“I just wished you could’ve gotten Rachel’s brother to waltz up in here with his gay lover.” Cecelia released a hearty laugh. “That would’ve been hilarious. Can you imagine the looks on our members’ faces?”
Coco laughed with her. “I know, right? To have him call while I was trying to reach Alize was divine intervention. Thanks to your dossier, I knew all the players in this game.”
“I’m just glad you were smart enough to think to send that text.”
Rachel was livid. Coco had been the one to send the text to Jonathan? All so Cecelia could humiliate Rachel’s family? And now they were sitting here bragging like it was some kind of lovefest? She couldn’t believe she’d been played for a fool. Both she and Jasmine had.
Jasmine.
As much as Rachel despised her, Jasmine needed to know what was going on. Sure, Rachel could try to work this out on her own, but the vote was in two days. She had to come up with a plan, figure out a way to bring Cecelia down. And right about now, Jasmine was the only person who could help her make that happen.
Rachel wanted to win this election more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. But after what she just heard, if she had to lose, she definitely didn’t want to lose to Cecelia King’s crooked behind. And if that meant swallowing her pride and working with Jasmine, well, she’d just have to do that.
She just had to figure out how to get out of this damn closet first.
Chapter
TWENTY-NINE
Peace and quiet. That’s what Jasmine craved. And that was the only reason why she hadn’t yet left the suite to go see her children. She knew they were safe—locked behind the doors of their hotel room. She’d finally calmed down enough to know in her heart that Jacqueline had not been kidnapped. Evil had not barged into their lives again … just stupidity … and silly games … and Rachel Adams.
But as much as she still fumed about Rachel taking Jacqueline, her mind was now more consumed with thoughts of Pastor Griffith … and Mae Frances.
Standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a royal view of downtown Los Angeles, Jasmine replayed every word, every gesture, every conversation she’d had with Pastor Griffith. Clearly, this wasn’t an ordinary election for him. He acted as if he expected a far greater reward than just the pride of having his candidate elected as the first Northern pastor of the Coalition in sixty years. What was he going to get out of this? Was he going to ask Hosea to appoint him to some high-powered position? No, it couldn’t be that. If that’s what he wanted, all he had to do was ask.
This was a mystery that she had to solve, that she had to figure out before Hosea laid his hand on the Bible and took the oath to uphold the principles of the Coalition as the new president.
A knock on the door banished those thoughts. Alt
hough she turned toward the double-door entryway, Jasmine stayed in place. Surely, the person on the other side was looking for Hosea. And if she didn’t answer, they would discover soon enough that he’d left for the emergency strategy meeting that Pastor Griffith had arranged. She’d just stay quiet so that she could have these few minutes of solitude.
But the person outside had other plans. The knock came again, more urgently this time, and with a sigh, Jasmine strolled toward the door. But when she opened it, her jaw just about hit the floor.
“I need to speak with you,” Rachel said, breathing heavily, as if she’d just run a race.
So many thoughts flashed through Jasmine’s mind. And the thought that was safest—for both her and Rachel—she put into action. Jasmine pushed the door, determined to close it, but Rachel set her body as a blockade, forcing Jasmine to just stand there.
“Please,” Rachel said. “This is important.” She glanced over her shoulder as if someone was following her.
“You have lost every single dang-gone brain cell that you’ve ever had if you think I’m going to let you in here.”
“Trust and believe I don’t want to be here either, but you need to hear what I have to say,” Rachel hissed.
Jasmine shook her head. One thing she could say about this fool was that Rachel had guts. After what she’d pulled, she had the nerve to come to her suite, alone and unarmed.
Slowly, Jasmine’s lips spread into a sly smile. If Rachel wanted to come in, she’d let her in. It was Rachel’s choice, it would be Rachel’s funeral.
She stepped aside, so that Rachel could enter, closed the door, then with an extra flourish made sure that Rachel noticed that she’d locked the door behind her.
“Are we alone?” Rachel asked as she took a quick glance around the suite. But then she paused and let her eyes wander around again, slower this time. “This is just like Cecelia’s room,” she whispered when her eyes rested on the flat-panel TV.
Jasmine folded her arms. “Yes, she’s right next door. Remember the day we arrived and Cecelia got me this room because you canceled my reservations?”
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