The Edge of Dawn (17 page)

Lily had a V-8 engine and 345 horses under her hood. With Saint behind the wheel and the cruise control set on eighty, it didn't take long to cover the fifty-seven miles from Dayton to Cincinnati. The sunlight was fading, dusk was now descending, and Narice looked out of her window at the lights of Cincinnati. She'd never visited the city before, but knew it was on Ohio's border with Kentucky.

A bridge over the Ohio River took them into Kentucky. According to the map software Saint punched up on the dashboard's small monitor, Interstate 75 ran 193 miles from the Ohio Kentucky border, then south to the Kentucky Tennessee line.

Narice wondered where the cockroaches were, but told herself not to worry about them; they'd show up
soon enough, she was sure. She looked over at the shadow-shrouded Saint. Since leaving Detroit they'd traveled over 250 miles; dodged helicopters, led a high-speed chase, and managed to not get blown up in Myk Chandler's sports car. She'd stayed at his home, met Portia and his dogs, and now Narice felt as if she knew much more about Galen Anthony St. Martin, the person. She was glad to be with him; he was keeping her safe. That he kissed like he invented the concept was just the whipped cream.

Saint's voice interrupted her thoughts. “Can you drive a stick?” Lily's transmission was standard.

“Yep. Since I was sixteen.”

“Good. In the glove box is an extra set of keys. Hold on to them just in case.”

Narice pulled opened the compartment's door. The little light inside revealed a small stack of manuals, maps, and two keys on a ring. She took them out and put them in her purse.

“Can you shoot a gun?”

Narice's answer was blunt. “No, and no desire to learn.”

“You need to be able to protect yourself.”

“I understand that, but I've never liked them. When the son of one of my sorors was shot and killed in a drive-by three years ago, that was it. No guns.”

“Being able to handle a weapon could save your life.”

“It didn't save his.”

“Narice—”

She held up her hands: “No. No guns. I'll hit the cockroaches over the head with a lamp or something, but I'm not learning how to pull a trigger.”

“All right. I'll leave it alone, for now.”

“For-ever,” she responded.

Saint could hear the finality in her tone. He shrugged tightly. “Okay. For-ever.”

“Thank you,” she said curtly.

“You're welcome.”

They both felt the tension in the air. It wasn't thick, but it was there.

He asked, “Are we having our first fight?”

The question was so out of the blue she chuckled softly. “Feels like it.”

“How about we kiss and make up?”

His outrageousness filled her with humor. “You are such a man.”

To her surprise he pulled off the road, set the stick and brake, then turned her way. He beckoned her with a finger, and she leaned over the console separating their seats. In her sultriest voice, she asked, “Yes?”

Saint met her lips with his. After what seemed like a sweet eternity, he murmured, “When a man wants you to learn to shoot, you're supposed to listen.”

He was slowly undoing the buttons on her blouse. Kissing him back with all the power of Eve, Narice countered, “When a woman says, to hell with a gun, you're supposed to listen….”

He put an arm around her waist and eased her to her knees on the seat so he could bring her closer, then
temptingly brushed his mouth against the bared skin above her exposed bra. “What am I going to do with you?”

As he began to explore her with his hands, she arched and stretched, “Whatever you like, as long as it doesn't involve me and a gun.”

Saint was unable to resist the lure of her mouth. He kissed her again, deeply, then pointed out, “You didn't mind Uncle Willie having
Arnold
.” Saint was enjoying the way her nipples were rising under his passing hand. He slid the demi cup aside and bit her gently.

Narice dissolved. She was finding it hard to keep up her end of the conversation, especially with him wickedly tonguing her nipples that way; she was pulsing everywhere. “And I don't mind the one you have in your pocket either.”

He backed up and looked at her speculatively, then said slyly while continuing to pleasure her breasts. “The one that goes bang-bang or the one that goes bang.”

“Both.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, my my my. You are going to be in so much trouble when we finally find a bed.”

Narice purred softly. “So are you.”

Saint truly enjoyed Narice Jordan's company and wondered if she was his reward for having sacrificed so much for God and country. Lord knows, if he had a normal life she would make the perfect mate. Problem
was, his life wasn't normal. At a moment's notice he could be in Zimbabwe, Turkey, or jailed in Thailand. Doing
this and that
wasn't a nine-to-five gig; he couldn't come every night and say, “Honey, I'm home.” Looking at her, he felt a pang go off inside himself that made him think about what might have been had he chosen a different path. The moment was not only memorable but scary in a way, because until now, Saint had never questioned his plan to journey through life alone. “I'd better get back on the road. We need to cover a lot more miles before we find a place to sleep.”

Narice plainly felt the change in him. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

That said, he let down the brake and steered the car back onto the dark road. Fixing her clothes, Narice didn't believe him for a minute.

For a while, the interior was quiet. Narice didn't mind the silence, it let her release her frustration with him and to turn her mind to other things: like this search they were on, her parents, particularly her father, and how he may have spent his last days. Was the Eye really buried somewhere in his hometown? The silence also gave her an opportunity to think about the man behind the wheel. He didn't impress her as being traditional when it came to gender issues, but maybe she was wrong. “If I'm being more aggressive than you like you need to say so.”

Saint looked away from the road. “Who said anything about that?”

Narice shrugged. “One minute you're getting me all hot and breathless, and the next you shut down and go far away.”

“Personal issues. Nothing to do with you.”

That only added to her skepticism, but rather than call him on it, she put him out of her mind and fished around in the console between them. “Mind if I put in some CDs?”

“Help yourself,” he said emotionlessly.

So she did, then settled back.

 

Because of the APB Saint had been warned about by Myk, he didn't want to be stopped by any member of the Kentucky law-enforcement establishment. With that in mind, he kept Lily's speed under seventy during the hour or so drive to Lexington. He noticed that Narice hadn't said a word since asking about the CDs. He supposed that had a lot to do with him, he hadn't exactly been chatty and he'd broken off their last encounter pretty abruptly. He was still thinking about that, his life, and the choices he'd made. An old mentor once told a much younger Saint that when you start questioning the value of what you do, it's time to get out of the business. Saint didn't question the value of his work; he knew very few brothers who'd been privileged enough to carry messages from the Dalai Lama, climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, watch snow leopards at play in the wild, or go diving off the Great Coral Reef. He'd
also helped topple foreign governments, infiltrated drug cartels, and posed as a Saudi prince. Doing
this and that
defined him, but who would he be when it became time to hang up his coat? It was a question Saint couldn't answer.

It was almost ten
P.M
. when they entered the Lexington city limits, and the streets were fairly deserted.

“I need to make a pit stop,” he told her. “And I'm sorry, Narice. See why cheetahs don't make good pets?”

He turned to her.

She studied him for a long moment. “Takes a big man to apologize.”

He didn't reply.

“Thanks,” she finally told him. “And, yes, a pit stop sounds good.”

“No more being quiet, okay?”

She could see him studying her in the dark, so she said, “You're driving. I didn't want to be distracting.”

“You can forget about that.”

“Why?”

“Angel, everything about you distracts me—from your perfume to my thinking about your hot underwear.”

His candor widened her eyes and she stared in amused amazement.

He defended himself. “Hey, I'm a man. What can I say? It's what men think about.”

She couldn't suppress her chuckle. “What else do men think about?”

“Whether she liked your kisses? Whether she'll really let you make love to her when the time comes?”

The embers of Narice's passion slowly stirred. “And the answer to both is, yes.”

He laughed. “See what I mean about distracting?”

Narice smiled and sat back.

On a spur off the main highway they found a combination gas station convenience store, and got out. Narice noticed a black sedan parked on the side of the brightly lit building. She beat down the urge to stare over at the car's shadowy occupants and felt a shiver of something cross her soul. As she and Saint reached the door, he opened it for her and she asked, “Did you see that car?”

“Yep.”

“Our friends?”

“Maybe.”

They went inside. The restrooms were in the back. Saint kept an eye on the door and said to Narice, “You go on. I'll be right here. Careful coming out, though, just in case I'm entertaining guests.”

Narice knew what he meant by guests, so she nodded and headed for the door marked
Ladies.

Although there were lots of munchies stashed in the SUV, Saint bought himself a hot cup of coffee, a couple of chocolate candy bars, and a bag of chips. Carefully positioning himself so he'd be able to see the door and Lily, he asked the young brother behind the counter, “Cops got you under surveillance?”

The kid shrugged, “You mean that car outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess so. Last few nights, we had some people drive off without paying for their gas. The manager tried to fire me but I told her it wasn't my fault. She said I should've stopped them.” He looked at Saint and said plainly, “She can kiss my ass. They not paying me for that.”

Saint chuckled. “You're right man.”

The kid took Saint's money and bagged his items. “Nice-looking lady you came in with. She your wife?”

“Yes,” Saint lied, pulling his bag from the counter.

The kid then looked nervous. “I wasn't beaming on her or nothing, man.”

“It's okay. Do me a favor. I'm going in the john. If anybody gets out of that car, holla.” Saint gave the clerk a hundred-dollar bill. “Think you can do that?”

The kid held the bill up to the light. Seeing that is was true and not counterfeit, he told Saint, “Hell, yeah.”

Saint grinned then headed off.

Saint was inside the restroom washing his hands when he heard. “Yo! YO!”

He moved quickly to the door. Easing it open just a crack he saw Ridley, Gus, and a man with carrot-red hair Saint had never met entering the store. He quickly closed the door, then tried to plan what he wanted to do. First, he needed to hope Narice would see them before they saw her and he needed to get out of this bathroom. The dimensions were too small. There were three of them and only one of him. If a fight broke out
in here he'd get his butt kicked big-time. To negate that scenario, he stuck his hand in his pocket, positioned his fingers on his gun, then walked out of the bathroom as if he didn't have a care in the world, saying, “Well, look what that cat drug in.”

But his swaggering stopped when he saw the gun pointed at the temple of the scared clerk.

Ridley said, “St. Martin, if you would be so kind as to hand over the weapon I know you have in that coat of yours, this young man will live to see tomorrow.”

Saint slowly brought out the gun. The redhead took the weapon.

Ridley pulled his gun down and told the kid, “Shift's over. Go home.”

The wary kid looked from Ridley to Saint.

Saint held the clerk's eyes and said quietly, “Go on home.”

The clerk didn't have to be told twice. Grabbing his cell phone and CD player, he made a quick exit.

Narice opened the door, but remembering Saint's warning, she cracked it just a little and looked around the store to make sure the coast was clear. It wasn't. She closed the door and scanned the bathroom for another way out. The small window by the sink was all she had.

“Now,” Ridley said to Saint. He walked over and placed the nose of his gun against Saint's temple. “I'm assuming Ms. Jordan is in the restroom. Gus, go get her. Jacobs, get the lights. If the citizens think this place is closed, we won't be disturbed.”

The redheaded Jacobs hit the switch and plunged the store's interior into a state of semi-darkness cut through with beams of light from the street lamps outside.

The patch-wearing Green hustled back from the ladies room. “She's not there. Window's open, though. She must've lit out. I'll go look outside.”

Even with Ridley's gun ready to blow his brains out, Saint cheered Narice's spine and spunk.

Narice had already slipped into the driver's seat. When she saw Green come out and begin walking to where Lily was parked, she almost panicked then remembered the glass was one-way; he couldn't see her. The fact that the lights were now out in the store gave her a queasy feeling. Where was Saint? Had they already killed him? She fed Lily the key and revved the engine. She had no choice but to take matters into her own hands.

Green jumped back like a ghost had appeared. It took him a moment to figure out what was happening, but by then Narice had thrown the stick into reverse and Lily was moving fast. Gus had the good sense to leap out of the way. Bracing herself for the impact, she and Lily came through the glass in an explosion of power and sound, knocking over shelves, displays and everything else in their way.