Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (37 page)

Turning the key in the lock of my apartment door, I could see that thanks to the efforts of Denise and her team at the Organized Home, my apartment no longer looked like the war zone I had left this morning. All of the boxes were sealed, labeled, and stacked neatly in the hallway, ready to be shipped out in the morning. So just as she had promised, all I needed to do was focus on packing an overnight bag and my toiletries. I wonder what it would cost to have this woman run every aspect o
f my life.

Just as I had taken off my clothes and changed into a pair of black leggings and an old Harvard T-shirt, the doorbell rang. I padded down the hallway in my bare feet, thinking it had to be someone from Denise’s team with a last-minute job since the doorman hadn’t buzzed to announce a visitor. When I opened the door, a large white bag of Chinese food greeted me. I couldn’t see his face behind the bag, but I recognized my deliveryman im
mediately.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, smiling happily as Terrence lowered the bag and leaned in to kiss me. “I thought you weren’t going to be back from DC unt
il later.”

“We wrapped up early, so I jumped on the shuttle to get back and help you pack and feed you dinner. But it looks like you don’t need me. Nice job.” Terrence followed me down the hallway past neat rows of boxes into the li
ving room.

“Well, it’s very kind of you, but as you can see, for once I’ve got everything under control. And I alr
eady ate.”

“Well, then you won’t mind if I eat. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten all day,” Terrence said as he took a seat on the couch, opened the bag, and set out a couple of white takeout containers on the cof
fee table.

I curled up next to him on the couch and reached for a fortune cookie, but he swatted my
hand away.

“No food, no fortune. It’s bad luck,” he said, separating the wooden chopsticks and diving into his kung pa
o chicken.

“Where the hell did you get that from? You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said, laughing as I threw my legs across his lap and put my arms around his waist and nibbled o
n his ear.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry,” Terrence said, moaning as my tongue traveled down his neck and my hand began to unbutton
his shirt.

“I said I already ate. But I didn’t say I wasn’t hungry,” I said, laughing softly. “But I’ll let you finish so you can get your str
ength up.”

“Oh, so it’s like that. You’re just going to tease a brother and then try to send him back to his food?” Terrence put his chopsticks down, flipped me onto the couch, and laid his body on top of mine. His lips were hot and wet alon
g my neck.

“I was just trying to help you out,” I said as he reached under my thin T-shirt and found my breast. I moaned and closed my eyes as I wrapped my arms around his neck. Suddenly he sat back up on the couch and returned to
his food.

“Yeah, you’re right. I should eat first,” he smirked, shoving some rice in his mouth as he watched me pull my shirt down and struggle to sit up on
the couch.

“You’ll pay for that later,” I said playfully, punching him o
n the arm.

“Promise?”

“Oh, I promise. So how was the Diablo meeting in Washington?” I sat up and picked at a spicy pepper over his shoulder and popped it into
my mouth.

“Good meeting. We reviewed our entire case on Diablo with the FBI team, and they are going to give us all the resources we need to build an airtight case for kidnapping, racketeering, and drug smuggling. Quadron’s operation is vast and growing. They deal in
marijuana and opium poppy, grown mainly in the mountains of southwest Mexico. They also control the meth traffic. Pablo Quadron is the brother of Geraldo Quadron, the head of the Diablo Negro family, and he’s been responsible for their other side businesses—sports betting, sex trafficking, and their expansion into meth. The FBI and DEA have been after the major players in Diablo for years and considered them one of their biggest threats, calling them a clear and present danger to America and its citizens. Pablo Quadron alone is believed to be responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, including at least fifteen DEA agents. He’s a big fish, and we
got him.”

“I’m proud of you, baby,” I said, planting a kiss on his cheek as I breathed yet another sigh of relief that he and his team made it out of that warehouse alive. Seeing him run out of there pulling Marcus and Vanessa along had been the happiest sight o
f my life.

“And is Kareem talking yet? Will he testify agains
t Diablo?”

Kareem had kept his silence and refused to answer any questions about Diablo when Terrence and the prosecutor tried to question him with his lawyer after his arrest. Even when the district attorney intimated there was the potential of a lighter sentence for helping the state build its case against the drug cartel, he stil
l refused.

“Unfortunately, Kareem won’t be saying anything to anyone anymore. He was found dead in Rikers yard this morning. He was lying on the weight bench and someone dropped a hundred-pound weight on his face
and neck.”

“Oh my God . . .” My hand flew up to my mouth. I knew Terrence had questioned Vanessa about why she went to the Four Seasons that night but hadn’t gotten any further than I had with her at our dinner tonight. And I knew we were both thinking the same thing right now: with Kareem dead, no one could ever point the finger at Vanessa for Laila’s murder. “Do they know wh
o did it?”

“Of course no one is talking, but I’ve got to believe it’s Diablo. But there’s no way right now to tie them to Kareem’
s murder.”

“So what hap
pens now?”

“We’ll continue to build our case and prosecute both Pablo and John.” Terrence finished his meal and put the containers back into the bag and then fell back against
the couch.

“And what will be your involvement?” I was pretty sure I already knew t
he answer.

“On the flight back, my boss, District Attorney Kimberly Williams, told me she wanted me to lead the pro
secution.”

“Oh my God, that’s huge, Terrence! I’m so proud of you. This is going to be the case that makes your career and leads to the district attorney’s office, something you’ve always wanted.” Even as I said the words, I felt myself deflating because I knew this case would consume him for months and require all of his time and attention. Where would that leave us? It was bad enough that I was going to be living in DC for several months and traveling back and forth, but this was
too much.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he said lifting my chin, which had dropped down to my chest as I played with the hem of m
y T-shirt.

“Nothing. I’m really happy for you. This is big.” I looked around the apartment at all the boxes packed and ready to go to Washington, wondering why it seemed like we were always moving in opposite d
irections.

“Yes, it’s big, but it’s not bigger than us.” He lifted my chin with his finger, and the dark brown eyes, framed by endless lashes, that I loved looking into had a seriousness that wasn’t there before.
“Nothing is bigger than us, and nothing is getting in the way, Nia.” He dipped his head down and kissed me. His tongue searched for mine as he pushed me back down onto
the couch.

I curled my arms around his neck and sigh
ed deeply.

“I love you, Terrence,” I said, willing myself to believe that we could make a long-distance relationship work during the busiest time of both of ou
r careers.

“I love you, too, Nia. Nothing is going to come between us. Now about that promise you made earl
ier . . .”

Special Preview Chapter from upcoming
Ca
pitol Diva

CHAPTER 1

S
he could hear the sounds of the party through the vent. The tinkling of laughter, deep self-important voices, champagne glasses clinking, and a jazz quartet playi
ng softly.

It was all so civilized. Unlike what was happeni
ng to her.

The sharp blade of the man’s knife moved along her trembling inner thigh as the man’s ragged breathing quickened. She turned her throbbing head to the side and closed her eyes tight against the sight of him pushing her legs apart on the hard wooden desk. As tears ran down the side of her swollen face, she felt two more pairs of hands holding her body down, one at her shoulders and the other at her feet, pawing at what was left of the dress she had borrowed from Nia and ripping away the shreds of once-beautiful red velvet fabric. There was no use crying out now. Not that she could anyway; they had started by breakin
g her jaw.

Through her hazy consciousness, she heard the band stop playing, and with the sound of polite applause, she knew that the black-tie members of Washington’s elite were now taking their seats at their $50,000 tables in the hotel’s grand ballroom. It was time for this evening’s program to begin to kick off the annual African American Congressional Caucu
s weekend.

They heard the music stop, too, so the men knew unfortunately they would not be able to savor the capture of their prey tonight. One of them was now inside her, grunting. He grabbed at her hair to pull her close to the face that she had always thought so handsome but was now twisted into an unrecognizable mask of hate as he spat guttural curses in her ear. The other two men lowered the zippers on their tuxedo pants as they growled at him to hurry up so that they could have their turn. They knew there wasn’t much time left; if they weren’t back in that ballroom soon, they would certainly
be missed.

As she began to lose consciousness for the last time, she heard through the vent the announcement that everyone in the ballroom had been waiting for
all night.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the president of the United States.” As the band began to play the thunderous tones of “Hail to the Chief,” the audience rose once again t
o applaud.

Photo © Exhale TV

ABOUT
THE AUTHOR

A
ngela Burt-Murray is the cofounder of
CocoaFab.com
, former editor in chief of
Essence
magazine, and a self-confessed cupcake and reality TV junkie. She is the cohost of the talk show
Exhale
and coauthor of the humor book
The Angry Black Woman’s Guide to Life
and the novel
The Vow
. She resides in Atlanta with her husband, Leonard; two sons, Solomon and Ellison; and a ridiculously lazy bulldog na
med Cosby.