“I love you, Quay, I love you…”
The deep right dimple appeared as Quay smiled in his sleep. Stretching restfully against crisp, charcoal-gray sheets, he smoothed one hand across the array of taut muscles upon his chiseled abdomen. He was in the midst of a delicious albeit subconscious interlude with Tykira Lowery. Her stunning dark mane flowed wildly as her body rode his. His hands traveled her strong, beautiful form with a lover’s possession. On her lips, he heard her say she loved him—
Quay woke with a start, his relaxed state growing sharp with frustration. He cursed himself then, realizing the incredible scene was a fantasy—with no chance of becoming reality. He alone had accomplished that, with no help from Wake Robinson. Quay acknowledged that the man was probably on another continent, He had to know that a life behind bars awaited him if he returned.
Still, he refused to risk it.
Quay pressed a pillow across his face and groaned. He loved her so much. He had loved her forever and his feelings would never change. All the women he’d been with to try to get her out of his head were only shining examples of everything he didn’t want.
His temper was reaching that point of no return when the bedside phone rang.
“What?” he practically growled into the receiver once he’d snatched it up. After brief hesitation on the other end, a familiar voice came through the line. “Wake?” Quay whispered, barely able to find his own voice.
“Been a while,” Wake said, sounding calm yet uncertain.
Slowly, Quay pushed himself up in bed. “Goin’on three years. Where you been, man?” he coolly probed.
“You knew I had to go,” Wake returned.
“Did you do this?”
Wake didn’t pretend to be confused. “It’s complicated, man.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Quay snapped.
“It’s complicated,” Wake stressed, on edge as well by Quay’s obvious mood.
“Where are you?” Quay asked, ordering himself to tone down his emotions.
“Close,” was Wake’s simple reply.
Quay didn’t like it. “Let’s meet,” he suggested.
“Not now, but I’ll be in touch,” Wake said. “We will talk, man. But I have to be sure about the time and place. You got a lot of things mixed up and you don’t know the whole story. You don’t know the half of it.”
“You mean about the fact that you killed Sera?” Quay pointed out.
Wake muttered a curse. “That’s not a fact. It’s not even close to a fact, man.”
For a moment, Quay believed him. “What’s goin’ on, man?” he asked.
“This isn’t a phone conversation and I think you know that,” Wake reasoned. “Anyway, I already said way too much.”
Quay knew he was gone before he heard the dial tone signifying the line was dead. Leaning back in bed, he closed his eyes and groaned.
“I know this is asking a lot considering all you’ve been through,” Mick was saying as she spoke with Johnelle Black by phone.
“Emotions don’t control me anymore, Michaela. I need this to come to an end,” the grieving mother confided. “If something is buried with Sera, something that could bring answers about her death, I want it done.”
Mick nodded. “We’ll have to be discreet with the exhumation. The SPD may not approve of us delving into this particular area of the case.”
“I understand and I’ll do whatever it takes,” Johnelle vowed. “Will you be there?”
“Nothing could keep me away,” Mick promised.
“You’ve been a godsend. Thank you, Michaela.”
“You take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon,” Mick whispered. She waited for Johnelle to hang up before she clicked off her phone and stood from the armchair in the tiny alcove of the bedroom.
From their bed, Quest watched his wife massaging her eyes and neck. “Come over here,” he softly commanded.
Mick complied without hesitation, smiling gratefully when he pulled her down to the bed and began to massage her neck and back.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just tired,” she admitted, relishing the relief his powerful hands applied to her aching muscles.
Quest let his displeasure show, his gray eyes darkening just slightly. “What leads have you made in the case?” he asked, hoping to mask his frustration.
“We think actual physical evidence may’ve been buried with Sera—in her…casket.”
“What?” Quest breathed, his unsettling stare narrowing dangerously.
Mick turned and scooted close to him. “Baby, I told Quay, but promise not to say anything to anyone else,” she urged, smoothing her hands across his broad, bare shoulders. “The whole situation is a long shot.”
“What do you think you’ll find?” Quest asked, calming some beneath his wife’s touch.
Mick shook her head. “Well, if it runs parallel to the file Jill found, this evidence could lead us to Sera’s killer.”
“Wake?” Quest probed.
“Wake,” Mick sighed, her expression growing guarded.
“Michaela?” Quest called, bowing his head a bit to peek into her eyes.
“I think Wake Robinson is a part of the puzzle, but as crazy as this sounds, I don’t think he did this.”
“Baby, why would you think he’d be innocent in all this?”
“I don’t know—a hunch? I just really believe this goes deeper than Wake.”
“But why?”
“I can’t make myself believe he’d have done all this and continued to live around Quay all these years.” She shrugged. “I don’t know…”
“Have you told Quay?”
“I haven’t even told Johnelle,” Mick groaned, dragging all ten fingers through her thick curls. “I don’t think it’d be wise to tell your brother since he’s based all his actions on the fact that Wake Robinson is the culprit.” She folded her arms across her knees and propped her chin there. “Getting Quay to latch on to the idea of another nameless, faceless perpetrator might push him just a bit too far.”
For the next two weeks, Tykira maintained her vow to steer clear of Quay. She worked herself into a frenzy to the dismay of everyone who knew her. Her crew had seen her driven many times before, but this was even more extreme than usual. She heard nothing but her own voice pushing her to give just a little more to get the job done. Now, that voice was pushing her with another advisement: finish this job and get the hell away from Quaysar Ramsey.
She’d arrived early for the weekly meeting, mostly because she’d wound up spending the night in the office designated for her and her team. When Ty woke, she washed her face and brushed her teeth in the office washroom before heading up for the meeting.
Jasmine, Ramsey’s administrative director, sent her on up to the penthouse office and the moment Ty stepped from the elevator, the sofa in the corner called to her. Minutes later, she was napping.
Quay arrived early himself that morning. He was in no mood to run into employees and be forced to engage in conversation he had no interest in. He’d been walking on a tightrope since Wake’s call. He dared not tell anyone about it, not wanting to scare the man away if he was near. Each time the phone rang, Quay jumped, thinking it was his old friend.
The reality of that made him experience more than a little self-loathing. He was Quaysar Ramsey and he ran from no one. His facial muscles tightened, drawing his handsome dark features into a fierce mask. He stormed off the elevator, his anger abating when he found Ty asleep on a sofa. He moved closer and took a seat on the edge of the rich, blackberry suede.
A soft smile curved his mouth when the sound of her snoring touched his ears. Leaning close, he brushed his nose across her temple. Moving back slightly, he took advantage of the moment to watch her slumber. His fingers fondled the soft tendrils of hair that haphazardly fell from her upswept hairstyle to frame her face. He’d heard how hard she’d been driving herself and now he could see that it was true. He knew it was because of him. Arrogant thinking? Perhaps, but it was accurate. If he were her, he’d want to get as far away from him as possible. He made a mental note to ask his father how much longer Bobbie Lowery would be away on business. She’d make sure Ty took better care of herself and stayed at home instead of a hotel until the project was finished.
Quay’s hand clenched into a fist at the thought. He cursed, knowing it should be him taking care of Tykira.
Ty awoke, frowning a bit as she sought to get her bearings. Then she found herself looking right into Quay’s disturbingly dark eyes. She realized how close they were and quickly left the sofa. No words were spoken, but the tension was thick and heavy inside the room. Putting distance between them, Ty rubbed her arms across the flared sleeves of the asymmetrical mocha sweater she wore. Her sigh of relief filled the room when the elevator chimed to signal the arrival of their meeting partners.
As everyone convened near the elevator after the meeting, Mick approached her brother-in-law, who sat brooding in his private office.
“Everyone’s leaving for the rail yard to survey the construction, Quay,” she called, watching as he glared at the papers he held.
“Not goin’,” he said, slapping the documents to his desk.
“Why?” Mick blurted, stepping inside her office. Quay’s pointed look was a clear response to her question. “I can’t believe you’re still acting so crazy,” she scolded. “You already told Ty what’s going on.”
“I never told her Wake is still out there somewhere,” Quay argued.
“So what? What does it have to do with what you feel?”
The flip inquiry brought a hard frown to Quay’s face. “I’ve been asking myself that very question,” he admitted.
“Ready, babe?” Quest called, finding his wife in the office.
“Yeah,” Mick replied idly, smiling when he pulled her back against him.
Quay walked over and planted a kiss on Mick’s cheek, before quietly excusing himself from the room. Quest held her tight when she turned to hug him. He relished the gesture, but frowned a bit when he felt her leaning deep into the embrace as though she had no strength to stand.
“Hey,” he whispered, leaning down to search her light eyes with his striking gray ones, “you all right?”
Mick’s smile was weak, but she finally began to nod. “I’m just so ready for this case to be solved,” she told him.
Quest’s grimace sparked his left dimple. “Finally, we agree on something,” he said, and then escorted his wife to the elevator.
Savannah, Georgia
Jill sat browsing through the Sera Black file for what seemed to be the hundredth time. She could only pray that the pieces of evidence noted in the record would actually be found with the body. She shook her head, silently acknowledging how much of a long shot it was. However, she also acknowledged that such unorthodox happenings were usually the events that cinched cases.
“Getting fed up?” Greg Youtz teased, seeing his young colleague shaking her head.
Jill blew at her bangs, before massaging her eyes. “I’m wondering if I’ll be successful in fitting together all the pieces of this puzzle,” she confided.
Greg tugged at the belt, completely hidden beneath the generous expanse of his belly. “What’cha workin’ on?” he asked.
“An old case,” Jill said, turning to face the man who occupied the desk diagonal from hers, “Sera Black? I have reason to believe it was murder, not suicide,” she shared, omitting the information regarding buried evidence.
Greg lost what little coloring he had in his face. “I remember that. I’d been on the force ten years when she died,” he shared. “My little girl went to school with her.”
“Did you know the Ramseys?” Jill asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Oh, I knew the Ramseys,” Greg confided. “You only had to live in Savannah a few days to know the power those folks commanded here.”
“Do you believe they could’ve been involved in what happened to Sera Black?”
“Why would you ask that?” he asked, almost defensively.
Jill suspected Greg knew more than what was in the case file. “The twins were suspected,” she went on. “They’re very successful now,” she added.
“The twins,” Greg parroted, smirking coldly. “Those boys… Let’s say they were the least of Sera Black’s problems.”
“What do you mean?” Jill prompted, leaning forward in her desk chair. “How?”
Greg blinked as though realizing he’d said too much. “Be careful, little girl. Black or white, the Ramseys are powerful and they claim some nasty members.”
“But the case is so old now and—”
“You best believe someone’s watching. Someone’s always watching.” Greg stood and reached for the suit coat to pull over his snug white cotton shirt. “You’ll find that out if you dig any deeper into this.” With those words, he left Jill alone.
“Quay? Quay!” Jasmine called, when she raced past the opening elevator doors. “Quay,” she said, finding her boss reclining on the conference room sofa. “Why aren’t you answering your line?” she probed softly.
“Because I don’t want to hear any more crap, bad news or problems for at least two hours,” he muttered, recrossing his loafer-clad feet where they rested atop the coffee table.
Jasmine took a deep breath and propped both hands on her hips. “Well then, you’re not about to like what I’m going to tell you.”
“And that is?” Quay asked, leaving the sofa to fix himself a drink at the bar.
“There was an accident at the rail yard.”
A loud clamor sounded when Quay’s hand weakened. The glass decanter fell, spilling contents of scotch to the pine surface of the bar. “Where’s Ty?” His deep voice grated as he turned to Jasmine.
“It was Ty who was involved in the accident.” Jazz dreaded relaying the news.
“What happened?”
“I don’t—”
“Where is she? Is she all right?”
“All I can give you is the name of the hospital,” Jazz said, already extending the card she’d scribbled the location on.
Quay hissed a fierce curse and snatched the card. He stormed out of the room and Jazz could hear him slamming his hand against the elevator’s down button. She decided it’d be best to take the next car down.