Midnight narrowed her eyes at the potential threat, but heat was filling her from head to toe. "I want,"he had said, his voice passionate. Midnight fought a smile, leaning her head back against the tile as she remembered the feel of him under her hand. He had a strong back beneath his formal shirt. She thought about the challenge in Junayd's eyes, and she finally set her smile free, letting it become a wide, feral grin.
There was no one else here, so Midnight didn't need to hide the darkness inside her. She most often channeled it into harmless rudeness and sass. Idella was the one who managed a charming persona that was flawless, though the woman's body count was far higher than Midnight's. They were cut from the same cloth, Midnight and Idella, honed and refined by the same person—Harlem Jones.
As much as she tried to keep Bugs away from this, her sister had long ago found out about Idella's alter ego, Dallas. She also knew that Midnight worked for Idella sometimes. Worst of all, though, Junebug was investigating the people Idella was hunting.
Midnight had wondered more than once if Idella knew who was helping her, but Junebug swore that no one knew and no one could trace her. If they tried, she would know. Midnight hoped her sister was right.
Still, Midnight had put safeguards in place years ago in case they were ever discovered. Her eyes moved to the ornate metal grate on the wall near the sink. It could flip open. A short run connected it to an underground utility tunnel. From there, they could exit at multiple locations, including the subway tunnel.
She stilled at the thought of them running. This was the nicest home they had ever had. The thought of losing it terrified her. With sudden sympathy, her thoughts turned to Aimee Wheels. What Anderson Coldhouse did, or tried to do, to her had spread like wildfire through the streets.
Midnight liked Wheels. They had crossed paths many times over the years and used to hang out at Colours, Idella’s Jazz club. The crooked New York detective was dead now, but his brother Colin and his sponsor, a man named Bronislav, were still around and extremely dangerous.
Midnight tapped her fingers on the tiles as she considered the problem of this interconnected web with dangerous men at the center and her sister barreling full-speed into the thick of it. She bit her lip... and a smile slowly bloomed on her face. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and a predator's patience.
She might not be tall, blonde, and beautiful, but she had sparked Junayd's curiosity. He would never get anywhere near what she protected—that was one challenge she could handle with ease—so why not have a little fun and get some information out of him?
Four
“What do you mean you can’t find anything? I thought you said you were the best in the world!” Junayd exclaimed.
“If I have something to go on, then yes, I am! Okay, I may not bethebest in the world, but I know someone who is and if they can’t find her, no one can,” Jameel retorted.
Junayd stepped out of the limousine, barely registering Issa and Hyder’s purposefully bland expressions as they accompanied him across the lobby to the elevator. Both his body and his head ached from the endless social events. Not to mention that every night since Benning’s party he had woken up hard and drenched in sweat. It was not very restful.
“I need more to go on, Junayd. The video has been scrubbed. My contact says all the cameras leading to and from the area show barely more than a shadow moving within other shadows. It's not enough to find her."
“Which direction? Can your contact follow her to a specific place? Is it possible to see if she visits a location more than once?”
“No, the woman disappears and hasn’t been seen since,” Jameel replied.
Junayd felt the pressure in his chest grow. The elusiveness of the woman and the mystery surrounding her ignited his most primitive desires. He was a hunter and she was his prey. With his vast wealth and resources, it was only a matter of time before he found her—and when he did....
He took a deep breath. “Keep searching. Please,” he added.
A low groan sounded through the phone. “Do you have any idea how many dark-haired, brown-eyed women live in New York and the surrounding area?”
“I have to find her, Jameel. I have to."
Silence greeted his hushed assertion.
“I’ll see if my contact can run the Department of Motor Vehicle and law enforcement records,” Jameel said.
“Why law enforcement?” Junayd asked.
“Because, if she can disappear like this and break a powerful politician’s arm like a twig, she probably learned that in prison.”
Junayd shook his head, his brow creasing at the thought of 'someone's lost conscience' being punished in prison, but he thanked his brother and disconnected the call.
“That will be all for the night,” he said with a weary nod to Issa and Hyder.
"Yes, sire," they responded.
When the doors opened, Junayd was the only one to enter the luxurious apartment. Deep in thought, he yanked off his tie, tossing it on the entrance table before shrugging off his coat and jacket. He didn’t bother to turn on any lights.
The frustration burned, but he was a patient man with a laser focus for the things that he wanted—and he wanted hisraqisat alqamar. He had extended his stay in New York by almost a week in the hopes of finding her. He wondered if he was going crazy. It had been a brief meeting, only a few minutes.
He didn’t know anything about her except the color of her hair and her eyes… and her voice. Her voice haunted him, the husky amusement of it laced with curiosity, the grandstanding that had rung true all the same. That teenage girl would always remember her. So would the man who had thought himself untouchable.