A Lover's Dream (12 page)

“Baby, there
is
no mystery. The girl committed suicide.”

“And you believe that?”

Mick tossed aside the menu. “It doesn't matter what I believe. The case is solved and closed, has been for over a decade.”

“And does this outlook have anything to do with the fact that you're falling hard and fast for one of the sexy twins?”

“I take offense to that, Contessa.”

“Does it?”

“No, hell no!” Mick declared, leaving the bed and shoving a hand through her thick blue-black curls. “No man has or will ever determine anything that has to do with my business—my writing.”

“I don't believe you.”

“County—”

“Look, just hurry up and get your butt back here. If only for a day or two. Your little playmates have already been sniffing around the office asking when you'll be back. It don't look good for me to have so
many teenyboppers around,” County added with an indignant sniff.

“Damn it,” Mick whispered, both concerned and upset with herself for not keeping in touch with her girls. She'd been trying not to think of them as her trip lingered on. The girls depended on her so. They had since she peeked in on their troubled practice one day two years ago. The line consisted of fifteen freshmen and three very harried juniors. Mick offered tentative advice as any fan might. The girls were enthralled. Soon, Mick was not only offering advice, she was choreographing moves—moves that had catapulted the marching band's dance troupe to great heights.

“Mick? Are you listening?”

Mick massaged her eyes. “I am.”

“Well?”

“Not much longer,” she said while pacing the bedroom.

“You've got it real bad, girl.”

Mick's chuckle held no trace of humor. “I know,” she admitted.

“You take care of yourself and call me in a few, all right?”

“I promise,” Mick whispered and told County she loved her before the connection ended.

Less than ten seconds later, the phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Michaela Sellars?”

“Yes?”

“This is Johnelle Black. My daughter was Sera Black. I see you recognize the name,” Johnelle noted, hearing Mick's breathing catch on a gasp.

“Mrs. Black.” Mick spoke in a hushed, almost reverent tone. “I am so sorry. What happened to Sera was terrible.”

“Yes, it was,” Johnelle whispered, her usually strong voice wavering just a bit. “It happened very long ago
and I guess I should be past it, but it still hurts. My baby was just about to begin her life, when she—”

“Committed suicide,” Mick added softly, knowing the assumption was about to be disputed.

“Homicide,” Johnelle responded decisively.

“I know this must be hard for you, Mrs. Black,” Mick went on, determined not to further agitate the distressed woman, “it's just that the facts—”

“The facts?” Johnelle cut in, her voice holding no trace of anger or frustration. “Ms. Sellars, those
facts
were pieced together by certain members of the Savannah press who were influenced, or should I say bought, by the Ramseys?”

“If you're talking to me, then you obviously know about the book. Most of the Ramseys are against having it written.”

“Of course they are, dear, and why do you think that is?”

Silence.

“This isn't a conversation I want to have over the phone. Would you agree to meet me?” Johnelle proposed.

Mick expected herself to produce an instant refusal.
Actually, I have another exquisite day planned with a fabulously fine, fabulously gentlemanly, and fabulously sexy Ramsey,
she wanted to say.

“When and where?” Mick asked instead.

 

Quaysar twisted his mammoth-sized pearl-gray suede chair back and forth while studying his mirror image across the round glass table, where they met for their morning meeting.

“What?” Quest asked, feeling his brother's eyes on him even as he studied the plans he held.

“So how is she?”

“Who?”

“The yummy Ms. Sellars,” Quay teased in a manner that usually roused a grin from his brother.

Quest barely smirked and the narrowing of his stare told Quay that he'd spoken out of turn.

“Sorry,” he apologized promptly when Quest slid a quick glare in his direction. “Damn, Q, you always keep me in the loop about your latest squeezes,” he complained, pressing one hand against the front of his metallic-blue crew-neck shirt while pleading his case. “Now you're cutting me out when it's obvious you're growin' more and more infatuated with the woman and not even bothering to hide it.”

Quest finished scouring the plans and stood. “Michaela's fine. She asks about you every time I see her.”

Quay was delighted and chuckled over his brother's stern manner as he delivered the tidbit. “So?” he prompted.

Quest was already strolling away from the table. “So what?”

“So what's up, Q? How serious is this, man?”

“As serious as it can get,” Quest shared after a pensive stare commanded his expression for several moments.

“That doesn't sound good, man,” Quay said, leaving his chair then. “What's going on?”

Quest reached for the light sable-brown sport coat and slipped it on over a beige shirt. “We live very different lives, Quay—in distant places. Besides, she's a writer—an investigative journalist at that.”

“So?” Quay blurted, his pitch-black stare growing stormy at the cool shrug of Quest's shoulders. “Hell, man, why should you care about that? You've got nothin' to hide.”

“I gotta go,” Quest said after taking a moment to consider Quay's words. A minute later, he was gone.

 

Mick and Johnelle Black decided to meet for brunch at a local bistro. The place was surprisingly quiet despite the time of day.

“The owner says they may have to consider closing during the morning hours since they're more popular with the lunch and dinner crowds,” Johnelle shared as she and Mick waited for their juice orders. “They may be forced to shut down altogether since the Ramseys opened their club and serve dinner as well.”

“That's right,” Mick acknowledged softly, recalling that Double Q was close by. She fixed Johnelle with a half smile and an unwavering gaze. “But I'm sure this isn't what you brought me here to discuss.”

Johnelle took no offense and smiled as she shook her head no. “I didn't. I asked you here to discuss my daughter,” she said and produced a portfolio from the red canvas tote she carried.

Mick leaned forward to take a closer look at the pictures that spilled from the bag's zippered opening.

“She was so beautiful as a child and in high school,” Johnelle said, as she focused on the picture she held. “I can almost envision what she'd look like today,” she confided, and then shook her head as a shudder tinged her words. “Ms. Sellars, my daughter was a determined girl who knew what she wanted from this life. She was goal oriented. She received a full scholarship to Clark. Nothing to sneeze at,” Johnelle added, her dark eyes brimming with motherly pride. “Full scholarships are impressive to anyone,” she said, dropping the picture and leaning against the oak ladder-back chair. “Sera was so happy and confident. I believe she began to think she could do anything. Including going after and snagging one of the beautiful Ramseys.”

Mick looked up from the photo she'd been studying. “Should I take that to mean that she wasn't interested in boys much?”

“Sera was interested,” Johnelle said, pulling the wrap
per from her straw, “but from afar. She wasn't going to let it get in the way of her studies. But”—she sighed— “the lure of the Ramsey men is hard for any woman to deny for long. Sera had begun to push herself, to use her confidence to go after what she wanted.”

“And which Ramsey did she want?” Mick asked, absently stirring her straw in her juice.

Johnelle smiled. “I think she was a little in love with all of them,” she shared, smoothing both hands across the coral button-down skirt she wore. “Of course it was the twins who snagged the majority of the nods then.”

“And how did the Ramseys feel about Sera?” Mick asked.

Johnelle seemed to tense, her round face losing some of its soft, haunted appearance. “I never really knew. I never had any idea how interested she was in boys, let alone the Ramseys, until after she was—I found a diary Sera kept. That's how I discovered much of it. The one I found seems to pick up in the middle of something, so I think there could be another that goes into more detail.”

“Mrs. Black,” Mick said as she leaned across the table, “you know I'm not here for a story anymore. The Ramseys consider this book to be a closed issue.”

“I called you here today because I want to hire you to investigate my daughter's murder.”

“Mrs. Black. I'm not an investigator—”

“You're an investigative journalist,” Johnelle challenged. “Use what you find and write that book on your own. Blow those sons of bitches out of the water.”

“Mrs. Black—”

“They killed my baby!” she hissed, her eyes pooling with tears. “I know it wasn't suicide,” she swore. “I'm not saying they all did it, but one of them is sure as hell responsible. I can't rest. I can't live not knowing what happened. My life has been a hollow shell since that night.”

It was easy for Mick to see the sadness and love on the woman's face. Tears began to pressure her own eyes for release. What she wouldn't have given to know her own mother loved her that way. But she hadn't. Johnelle Black couldn't live not knowing what really happened to her child.
Her
mother had left her alone and gone to live her life elsewhere without a care for her own daughter's well-being.

“Mrs. Black—”

“If it's a question of money, I have plenty,” Johnelle informed her. “The phrase ‘filthy rich' is a perfect description of me. I've felt filthy ever since I accepted that damn payoff.”

“Payoff?” Mick queried, setting her jaw against her palm.

Johnelle grimaced while adding a clear liquid from a silver flask to her glass of OJ. “They came to me, asking me not to make a scene, not to make it harder for them. ‘Let Sera's memory be peaceful,' they said. They even arranged and paid for the funeral.” She paused to wipe her tear-streaked face. “I took the money they offered. It was dirty, but it was a comfort. I invested wisely and could repay them a hundred times if I wanted. It's allowed me to indulge in things”—she waved the flask—“in things that could dull the pain… You must think I'm trash?” she said, unscrewing the flask cap once more.

“I think you're a mother who loves her daughter and was robbed of a life with her.” Mick closed her hand over Johnelle's before she could pour more vodka into the juice. “I'll do it,” she decided, smiling when Johnelle shed tears of happiness and leaned down to kiss her hand.

 

Quest relaxed one massive shoulder against the wall, his hands hidden inside the deep pockets of his
eggplant trousers. His seductively haunting gray-black stare began a leisurely ascent past the sexy, completely feminine strappy high heels, up the incredible shapely length of toned legs and thighs. Tilting his head just slightly, he was able to glimpse more than a few tantalizing peeks offered by the splits along each side of the figure-flattering dress. The unconsciously arousing heaves of her breasts were igniting every hormone he possessed.

“Damn it,” she hissed and effectively drew his stare to her mouth.

Mick's fingers trembled as did the rest of her. Nervousness and a case of the shivers hit her body relentlessly. She didn't need to look at Quest to know that his eyes were on her. The intensity of that look was as potent as any touch.

“Damn key,” she whispered, forcing a laugh to mask her uneasiness as she tried unsuccessfully to gain entrance to her suite.

Quest continued to lean against the wall near the door. He indulged in a few more minutes of sightseeing before leaning over and pulling the card from her hand. “Maybe it's not working because it's your library card.”

Mick's mouth fell open and then she closed her eyes and uttered another nervous laugh. “That explains it,” she said and began to rummage in her purse again. She couldn't resist a sideways glance at Quest when his soft chuckles filled the air.

Come on, Mick, shape up. You can do this
, she told herself while scouring the bag. All night she'd been consumed by her conversation with Johnelle Black and the decision she'd made to go forward with the book, or rather, the investigation into a young woman's death. Quest had to be told. This wasn't something she could or should wait to get into.

When? When was the right time? She'd wrestled
with those questions most of the evening. Before dinner? No. They'd had a great meal, great conversation. The usual. They took in a set by the group at the club. Lovely. Now they were back at her hotel and it was time to show and prove. She located the key, then cleared her throat and unlocked the door.

“What'll you have?” Mick asked, once they were inside the room and she was heading toward the bar cart. She never completed the trip.

Quest's hands folded over her upper arms and he pulled her back next to his solid frame. His lips found her earlobe and began a merciless assault, teasing the satiny skin there. One of his massive hands left her arm to cup her breast. The nipple, already rigid and pouting, was the lucky recipient of his affections.

Oh yes…she'd forgotten this part—the heart-stopping love scene that usually took place right there in that room. It never went further than a devastating kiss and possessive caressing. Still, it was enough to leave her writhing in ecstasy on the sofa as he pressed a brotherly kiss to her cheek and said he'd see her tomorrow before he walked out the door.