PROLOGUE
The car wobbled to a stop beyond the dim pool of light cast by the streetlamp. A strong breeze scudding off the nearby Caribbean Sea caressed her skin, but she barely noticed.
Damn! A flat. Just what I need right now.
Camille groaned, weighing her options; sit in the car and wait for uncertain help to come along or get out and try to fix the problem. She peered through the windscreen, loathe to venture into the gloomy darkness of downtown Kingston, but sitting there was begging for trouble, so she made a decision. Feeling around in her handbag and cursing the wretched car, Camille pulled out a small, cylindrical object.
She climbed out, leaving the door open in case she needed to get in quickly. Circling the car, she moved to the passenger side, flicked the single cell flashlight on and prodded the flattened back tire with the toe of her shoe.
A sudden, crushing pressure forced her against the vehicle and she wheezed, trying to get air into her lungs. A hand compressed her windpipe and she encountered prickly facial hair. A raspy voice growled in her ear. "Tonight, must be my lucky night."
Dear God, No!
Though Terrified, Camille registered the soaring columns across Harbour Street, silent witnesses to what was about to happen if she didn’t do something fast. Not a living soul lingered in the vicinity, a hairsbreadth from a volatile ghetto. Her attacker ground against her buttocks while hiking up the skirt of her business suit. Clawing at the arm cutting off the flow of air, she tried stomping on his foot, but he moved it out of the way of her spike heel and viciously pinched her leg. The pain did not register in her horrified brain.
A panicked glance along Port Royal Street revealed vacant, derelict buildings with peeling paint and shadowy interiors - a smorgasbord of places in which he could violate her. Their isolation was complete. Dizzy from suffocation and close to passing out, Camille staggered, suddenly free of his grasp. She spun and collapsed against the car, hacking as she massaged her abused throat. Her eyes raced to find her assailant.
He lay spread-eagled on the roadway and a man stood over him, holding a gun. "Get up!"
Her would be attacker cowered on the ground, hands covering his head.
"I said, get up!"
He stumbled to his feet, shaking and blubbering. "Beg you, don' shoot me!"
The gunman, wearing a hooded sweat suit, motioned with the gun. Camille turned her head away - the smell of the now frightened man revolted her, a combination of sweat and rancid body odor. A horrid thought blindsided her. What if he shoots him here, in front of me?
The man gripping the gun simply waved him closer. Hesitantly, he stepped forward crying, "Please, beg you a chance. Lemme go!"
Spinning the gun when the would-be rapist stood within striking distance, the gunman delivered a vicious blow between the eyes. The thwarted man crumpled to the ground, facedown.
The hulking individual turned his attention to Camille, whose knees threatened to quit supporting her. Repositioning the hood, he appraised the tire. "Got a spare and a jack?"
Her head bobbed up and down.
He pointed to the vehicle. "Open it."
Camille hustled to the driver's side and pulled the lever to release the trunk. It slid up and he took out the jack and raised the carpeted flooring to reveal the spare.
With a few efficient moves, he took off the tire and dropped it into the empty space in the back of the vehicle. Despite the warm, salty breeze rolling off the harbor, Camille shivered, rubbing chilled hands up and down her arms. She shifted position, keeping an eye on the hoodlum passed-out on the asphalt and staying alert for any other unwelcome characters.
Her impromptu mechanic gave her the jitters. His size, concealing headgear and continuing silence did nothing to reassure her.
Camille's brain chattered to life. What if he hurts me?
She eased away from him. Get a grip! He's helping you, ninny!
He did not talk in the time it took to fit the spare. When finished, he threw the lug tool into the back of the car, slammed it shut and rubbed his hands together.
"You're free to go and please, be more careful where you stop next time.”
"Th-thanks."
"Get in the car."
Camille stared, trying to get a look at his face. All she could make out was a heavy beard and thick eyebrows. Apart from his muscled body under the grey sweats, large, skillful hands and a delightful scent that reminded her of the sea - but a short walk away - Camille knew nothing of her unlikely knight. If she saw him again, she doubted she’d recognize him, short of his distinctive smell.
He reached inside his sweat bottoms, and palmed the gun, which spurred Camille into action. The man lying on the ground stirred as she backed away and edged around the car. Over the roof, she gazed at the tall stranger, wanting to say something, but not sure what.
His deep voice crackled with impatience. "Get in!"
You don't have to be rude!
"Thanks again, Misery Guts," she muttered, driving away with due care so as not to run over her assailant.
She adjusted the mirror, frowning at the man who stood watching. He turned away and climbed into a dark truck that Camille had neither seen nor heard pull up.
The scene melted into the darkness behind her and Camille whispered grateful, unheard words for her lucky escape from an unthinkable ordeal.
Wiping the dampness from her forehead with the back of her arm, she muttered to herself. “Penny better get her act together, for I’m not making this trip alone again at night.”
Eyes peeled, she coasted through a lonely red light.
To hell with stopping - Jamaica sure isn’t what it used to be. I need to be more careful. Also, I must get rid of this dinky little car before I find myself in even bigger trouble. It’s been nothing but bad luck.
Chapter 1
One year later…
Quinn Mayhew was past impatient. The initial negotiations had gone on for too long, hence this visit. His thoughts chased each other as he walked into the air-conditioned foyer to the fading notes of Bob Marley's Redemption Songs. The welcome chill contrasted with the blast furnace of the typical Jamaican summertime heat outside.
His eyes flicked over the elegant office, decorated in varying shades of tangerine and brown and came to rest on the sole occupant, singing softly to herself. She had not looked up when the door swished open. He stood there for a moment watching her movements.
She wrestled with a file stuck in the low cabinet to the right of the Mahoe hardwood workstation. Her tailored, grey skirt rode high up on muscled thighs and the long-sleeved shirt made from silky, beige material clung to her back. The empty arms of her jacket swung on the back of the chair as the woman wheeled back toward the desk.
Her voice, a rich alto, teased a smile from Quinn as she accompanied another Marley song, ‘…Stir it up. It's been a long, long time, since I've got you on my mind, and now you are here...'
His eyes slid away from well-toned legs, as she drew them together. Deep burgundy lipstick complimented smooth coffee-with-cream skin and large almond-shaped eyes observed him with some curiosity.
She's stunning. The best-looking woman I've seen in a long time.
Her carefully enunciated words caressed his ears. "Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?"
She has class too. This is one fine woman!
His gaze clung to the small space that separated her pearly front teeth and the light shifted across the trendy rimless glasses that sat near the tip of her nose.
A short vertical line appeared in the centre of her forehead and stopped his eyes from roving. Her nostrils flared and she eyed him as though he were a cockroach scuttling across her path.
Better put your eyes back in their sockets and concentrate on what you came here for, Quinn. You can’t afford to be distracted now.
The delightful aroma permeating the office jarred some distant, not-too-pleasant memory. Her brows furrowed, but the recollection remained just out of reach.
Her song dried up in her throat. The man lounging by the door was trying his best to get an eyeful of the space between her legs. She subtly eased them together. Now how did he get past the security checkpoint? And what could he possibly want?
The origin of the wafting scent stood with his hands folded across a wide chest. A barely-there smile played about his lips. The two huge, potted palms standing sentinel on both sides of the doorway, provided a pleasing backdrop for his disturbing presence. The image of a lithe, coal black panther slinked across Camille’s vision.
Every item he wore screamed money - from the tasseled loafers on his feet, to the designer jeans encasing his long legs and the crisp, white shirt with the discreetly placed logo.
A flat gold chain, with unusual links, rested against his chocolate-colored skin. A golden, curvaceous naked woman served as the pendant.
His close cut hair had defined wave patterns. His full, sharply-etched lips moved. Camille caught his words only because she was staring in fascination at his mouth when he spoke.
"I'm here to see Roderick."
His voice came out low and mellow, not at all what she imagined it would be.
Camille worked at keeping her face impassive. How on earth does Roderick know him?
Roderick Grant, partner in the law firm, Bennett Foster and Grant opened his door and stepped into reception area as though summoned. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his jacket long discarded.
"Quincy," he said with a grin and strode forward to shake the Peeping Tom's hand. "Good to see you."
"Likewise," the visitor said.
Roderick laid a sheet of paper on the desk pad. “Camille, when Julie comes back, ask her to hold all my calls."
He slapped his visitor on the back, "Come, let’s talk business. Later we have some catching up to do."
What kind of a name is Quincy anyhow? Camille asked herself as both men crossed the plush, citrus carpet to Roderick's office.
The visitor, catching her eyes, gave Camille a slow smile and a cheeky wink.
As the door closed behind him, Camille answered her own question. One that screams, Ghetto! He’s probably some drug don, straight from the streets of downtown Kingston!
Still, she stared at the door, long after it closed. Something vaguely familiar about him bothered her, stirring what felt like fear. Camille wished she knew what it was about him that fascinated and made her uncomfortable at the same time.
* * *
The afternoon sun kissed her skin, but Camille wasn’t uncomfortable. The background noise faded as she gazed through the restaurant’s plate-glass window. Not even the filthy, half-naked madman with matted hair, strolling past the window, intruded on her thoughts.
Camille’s mind wrapped around the vision of the tall, gorgeous stranger who visited the office two days previously. She had no reason to think about him for he was not her type of man. He was flashy, handsome, over-confident - the perfect stereotype of the loose, over-sexed Jamaican male.
Penny’s voice interrupted her mental wanderings. “You going to eat that?”
She cocked her head toward the half-eaten slice of carrot cake on Camille’s plate. Camille glanced around the small fast-food establishment boasting an odd mixture of generic fiberglass furniture and lush, deep-green, potted vines. The lunchtime crowd had thinned considerably.
“No, go ahead. I should be going anyway.”
Penny spoke around a mouthful of cake. “Give me a minute to finish this and remember you need to drop me back at my office.”
Camille reached for her keys. “No problem.”
Both women grimaced as they walked out into the hot wall of tropical air five minutes later. The sun, at its zenith, forced Camille to open her CRV, roll down the windows and start the air-conditioning before they got in.
“Welcome to Jamrock,” Penny said, using the native term for Jamaica. She lifted the spiky bang away from her forehead. “Just when you think it can’t get any hotter, it goes up by ten more degrees.”
Camille chuckled. “If it gets any worse, we’ll have to start shedding our clothes. Bet you’d love that.”
Penny laughed and opened the passenger door.
Camille got in and eased her shoes off, nudging them clear of the pedals. Both women strapped themselves in and joined the line of traffic.
Penny touched her leg. “Anya and I are going to The Office tomorrow evening. Wanna come?”
“’Course not.”
Penny snorted. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re thirty or sixty. How you gonna meet anybody if you keep hangin’ ’round your apartment?”
“I’m tired of wasting my time at nightclubs, picking up good-for-nothing men. I’d much rather be home-”
Penny cut in. “Yeah, and you’re gonna meet the right man sitting at home, eh?”
Camille let out a motorist from a side-road and then looked across at Penny. “I don’t see how being out all night has worked for you. All you do is pick up one useless man after another.”
“At least I’m trying to meet the right guy.”
“Well, I’m quite all right.”
“C’mon Cam. It’ll be Anya’s birthday. You didn’t forget did you? And the first in a long time all of us will be out together. Say you’ll come!”
Camille stopped close to the sidewalk in front of Penny’s multi-story office building, and waited for her to get out.
“Please!” Penny cried, raising both hands.
Camille gave in. “All right! But this is the last time and only because of Anya.”
Penny climbed out, a wide grin covering her face. “We’ll have lots of fun. I’ll call to set up the time.”
“I’m sure you will,” Camille said, as Penny walked between the bougainvilleas planted in cement boxes along the sidewalk. She grinned, watching her friend sashaying in her too-short skirt and high-heels. Dunno what we’re gonna do with her.
Camille drew away from the curb and honked the horn in thanks at the driver who let her back into the ever-present line of vehicles.
He sat forward to get a better view. Can it be her?
It was she. He grinned, recalling her disdainful perusal as he’d stood in the law office on Tuesday afternoon.
Pretty and prissy. He slowed the truck and allowed her to pull into the heavy lunchtime traffic ahead of him. He touched his horn in response to hers and glanced at the clock in the dashboard. If he weren’t careful, he’d miss his appointment with Roderick.
Quinn tailed her back to the high-rise building in New Kingston and into the multi-level parking garage. He lost her there, as parking for staff and visitors was on separate floors.
He rode the small, stuffy elevator to Roderick’s office, but was disappointed to find another woman sitting in the elegant foyer. He put Miss Priss aside and focused on the business uppermost in his mind.
****
Camille startled herself with a panicky giggle. A quick glance reassured her that none of the typists heard it. She was on the way over to Roderick’s office to discuss one of his cases, when he stepped out of the elevator.
She made a regular habit of cutting through the typing pool and so she spotted him through the glass enclosure, securing the top half of the large common area. She halted, though he could not see her unless he happened to turn his head.
This time, he wore a pale pink long-sleeved shirt and jeans. What kind of man wears pink, anyway? His shirt had a company logo on the chest that she couldn’t read where she stood. He continued down the corridor and Camille moved forward, craning her neck, to determine where he was heading.
Holding the stack of files close, she made a decision. I’d better wait. He’s presumptuous enough to think I came by to see him. Wouldn’t want him to get any ideas.
Camille retraced her steps, heart pounding, trying to remember what land title she was supposed to track down for which client.
She sat behind the wide oak-veneer desk, distracted. The office came into focus when the phone rang.
She picked it up. “Hello.”
“Cam,” Penny said, “Anya’s meeting us at eight. We need to decide where.”
“That was fast.”
“Yeah, I’m sealing the deal before you change your mind.”
“Okay, so I’ll pick you up from work then?”
“Yeah man, that works for me. We can get somethin’ to eat before we hit the hip-strip.”
She was referring to the string of nightclubs and restaurants situated along Knutsford Boulevard, the main thoroughfare in New Kingston.
Camille already regretted the decision to go out with them. “I thought we were going to one club.”
“You mad? We have to check out Asylum, the Quad and everythin’ else in between!”
“No, not yet, but I'm sure I will be, after tomorrow night.”
Camille didn’t relish the tumult set to erupt in her apartment on Friday evening when Penny arrived. She lived over in Portmore, or ‘across the waters’ as most people referred to the sprawling community - the largest residential development in Jamaica.
Whenever they went out, Penny would bring her things to work and dress in Camille’s apartment, since it proved hard getting to where she lived and back in time for any activity.
“Just be prepared to enjoy yourself,” Penny said, “You might even meet someone.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t think I’ll find any man worth a damn in a nightclub.”
Penny sighed. “You’re one big killjoy, you know that?”
Camille grinned. “Someone in this trio has to keep a level head and we know who that is. I only hope I’m up to the task of peeling all the undesirables off the two of you.”
Penny sighed again. “What I wouldn’t do to find a good man.”
“Not to worry,” Camille said, with a certainty she didn't feel. “I’m sure you’ll meet someone one of these days.”
Penny sounded uncharacteristically sober when she answered. “Yeah, I sure hope so too.”
“See you tomorrow,” both women said at the same time, chucking.
Camille replaced the phone in its cradle, thinking about the things women had to do to find a man. At thirty-two, she had not yet resigned herself to being on the shelf, but did have moments when she wondered if she would ever marry. Forget about the children, she’d be happy with simply finding a man willing to commit to a long-term relationship.
Meghan, her younger sister by three years, was already married and in the process of raising two children. Meghan and their mother, Novelette, worried over her single state and the lack of any prospective suitors. Her mother described Camille as too fussy and insisted she was wasting time looking for the perfect man.
Camille brushed off her mother’s nay saying and Meghan’s pestering by telling them she would find her soul mate when the time was right. But she had to admit she sometimes worried about becoming a lonely old maiden with only potted plants and tropical fish for company.
She rested a hand on the phone, but did not pick up the handset; he was probably still over there with Roderick. She resisted the urge to suck her teeth in annoyance.
As she had in the past few days, Camille wondered about the nature of his business with Roderick. Probably something criminal, her inner voice derided. The rational side of her brain chimed in…but Roderick only deals with real estate, not that I care about that man’s business.
The phone rang again, bringing her squarely back to the piles of paper on the desk needing urgent attention. She picked up the phone and shoved Quincy out of her mind.
I should forget about him. It’s not like I’ll be seeing him any time soon.
****
On the hour-and-a-half ride back to cool Mandeville, which lay on Jamaica’s south coast, Quinn Mayhew considered the steps necessary to conclude the process of buying the small hardware outlet he was after. Once the sale was complete, he planned to shut down the business long enough to expand on the building and construct a warehouse on the same lot.
Quinn enjoyed modest success in the five years since starting his business. His father, Ian, helped get the company underway and provided what Quinn considered ‘guilt money’ to meet start up costs. He gladly took the cash, considering it small repayment for the neglect over the years.
The woman from Roderick’s office crossed his mind’s eye again and he smiled, remembering her striking face and long, sturdy legs. She’d been making unscheduled appearances in his mind all afternoon. For a moment, he considered what to do about her.
At thirty-five, Quinn did not have a relationship, except for a casual liaison with Crystal Tsang. They saw each other at their convenience, which wasn’t often as she lived more than fifty miles away in Kingston. Lately, he sensed Crystal wanted a more permanent arrangement. The thought made him uncomfortable since they would not make a good match.
Crystal’s entire focus was on being the most sought after event planner in the parishes of Kingston & St. Andrew, but planning and executing upscale functions left little time for getting married and starting a family. Besides, the few times they’d discussed children, she made it clear that she would not be giving up her life to raise any little pickney. Quinn wanted a family and was determined to have it, above everything else. Crystal was definitely not for him.
Only the lights guarding each corner of the house broke the darkness of the cool night as he crept up the curving driveway. While he waited for the shutter to whirr upward on the garage door, his thoughts wound back around to Miss Priss. He shook his head and smiled, as he climbed out of the black, Toyota Tundra truck. It was unlike him to be stuck on someone who clearly thought him beneath her, but he couldn’t deny the attraction she held for him.
He yawned, happy to be home, even if he was the only one in it. He’d built the structure from the ground up the previous year. No pre-fabricated house would do for him and all it lacked was the wife and kids he sometimes dreamed about. The impressive two-storey structure, with five bedrooms, nestled on the side of a steep hill. Its striking design and location made it a conversation piece among his friends, but to Quinn, it was the place he would raise his children.
He threw the key ring on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge. Taking out a bottle of Red Stripe Lite Beer, he walked over to the stove to investigate what Miss Lucille had cooked before she left. Chicken again. One of these days, I’m going to sprout some wings.
Resigning himself to another meal of brown stewed chicken, he helped himself to dinner, which he ate sitting at the marble-topped counter of the professionally designed kitchen. He promised himself a walk afterwards for he had had no form of exercise in close to three weeks. Can’t go all flabby now I’ve met her. Quinn laughed aloud at his thoughts. His body wasn’t the only thing at risk; his brain threatened to go soft, as well.
He finished eating and changed to sweats and sneakers. As he picked his way down the sharp incline of the driveway, now lit by solar powered mini-lanterns, Quinn’s thoughts turned to the outstanding matters he needed to bring to an early conclusion.
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Hardware - Chapter 1