Sexy and serious world-renowned chef, Joshua Bouviaye, has a secret. He isn't just a good cook he's a seasoned badass undercover FBI agent. And after almost twenty years as one of the best in his field, he gets a case that has him twisted in knots and sizzling with desire for a very unattainable woman, Pamela James.
If there was one thing Pamela James was superb at it was fucking. As an exclusive call girl, let's just say the woman took the craft to a whole new art form. Now retired and living a completely different life with a rewarding career as an Operations Manager at the local community center, Pamela enjoys her hectic but simple life to the fullest. That is until her past catches up to her and her world is turned upside down.
With a sadistic madman on her heels and her new fragile life in the balance, Pamela reluctantly accepts the help of Joshua only to learn he could turn out to be more dangerous to her heart than she was prepared for.
Passion and heat racing for dominance alongside a dangerous pursuit of a killer will ultimately bring Joshua and Pamela face to face with an undeniable truth. Love is always best when it's…Decadent.
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Decadent
Copyright © 2010 Valarie Prince
ISBN: 978-1-55487-536-8
Cover art by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Decadent
By
Valarie Prince
Dedication
To all my wonderful co-workers at American InterContinental University Online who pushed me to get this puppy done. Thanks, guys, you're all awesome.
Prologue
The funeral was brutal and insulting. So many people had come to give their condolences for the loss of her little boy. Even though these same people just one week ago gave her disapproving looks for being an unwed teenage mother. The same people who called her names. The same people who made her life a living hell.
David, her son, was gone now. The three wonderful years he blessed her with his presence, she would always treasure. Gently she set a single long stem white rose on his casket. "Thank you for allowing me to be your mama," she whispered softly.
As she watched his casket lower into the earth, she heard the buzz of the crowd as they choked back crocodile tears. She hated them. Every single one of them. Her father, Noah Soren, approached her.
"Pamela, when you're ready, the car will take us back to the house."
She looked up at him and something turned off inside her. She stepped away from his out stretched hand. "Good-bye, Daddy." She moved past him and through the crowd. Once she was clear, she turned and looked back at all of them. "I only have one thing to say." She clenched her tiny fists to control her rage. "I will never forget!"
* * * *
Two years later…
"My time is very expensive Mr. Seaton as you no doubt were informed when your colleague, Mr. Crandon, referred me," Pamela James said.
"I thought we could work out an arrangement," Mr. Seaton said.
"In regards to?"
"Your fee."
"No." Pamela crossed her legs and studied Mr. Seaton. He was a greasy middle aged, balding, pot faced, slimy eyed bastard. And the fucker was cheap. "It's clear now that Mr. Crandon has misinformed you. If you will excuse me, I'll leave you to make other arrangements."
"Ah, no, Dillon said I had to have you. That I had to experience your mouth just once."
Pamela stood and opened her wrap around dress and let it drop to the floor. "Then Mr. Seaton, my mouth is five thousand dollars if you want it on your dick."
He reached into his wallet and started counting off one hundred dollar bills. "After you suck my cock, can I fuck you?"
She took the money. "No, Mr. Seaton. When I finish with your dick, you won't have the strength to fuck." She dropped a pillow between them and slid to her knees. She opened his fly, pulled out his fat cock and went to work.
* * * *
Six years later…
"You've amassed a hell of a nest egg for yourself, Pamela. Have you put any thought into what you plan to do now that you're retiring?" asked her attorney and most devoted client, Mr. Crandon.
"With the contacts and subtle investment suggestions you've provided me over the years, my financial portfolio should be solid as a rock." She glanced down at her estimated net worth totaled neatly at the bottom of her quarterly statement and chuckled a little to herself. "Not bad for a call girl with a GED from Temple, Louisiana." She closed the file. "But to answer your question, I think I will go back to school and earn a college degree in something." She stood and waited for Mr. Crandon to escort her to the door.
"Pamela, I will keep you posted on any changes to the portfolio. Be sure to send me an updated address if you relocate." He opened the door and brought her small hand to his lips. "I will miss you."
Gently, she caressed his face. "Goodbye, Dillon."
* * * *
When her BMW pulled from the lot, he made a call. "Dillon Crandon for Prince Ramir."
"Hold please."
"Dillon, what do I owe the pleasure?" asked Ramir.
"I just wanted to give you an update. Pamela James is out."
"You couldn't put in a kind word for me?"
"No need. You never came up."
"Keep me posted."
"I'll send you my bill."
* * * *
Three years later…
"I'm never gonna get used to this cold weather," Pamela grumbled as she made her way down the streets of St. Paul, Minnesota. Too late, she realized she was skidding and rammed into the back of a very large four by four. "Oh, shit," she groaned and hopped out of the car. The owner of the truck did the same. Instantly, she was in the presence of a black god.
"Hey, are you okay?" he asked.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that? I did hit your truck."
The gorgeous Adonis laughed. "My truck can more than handle a little tap from your beemer."
Pamela smiled and felt a sudden ease come over her. "I guess we better exchange insurance info."
"Sure. Mine's in my glove compartment." He retrieved it and came right back. "Looks like you've got a nice size dent in your hood."
Pamela followed his gaze to her car. "You're awfully calm. You must get reared ended a lot Mr…"
The sexiest man she had ever seen in her life extended his hand. "Oh, sorry. The name's Rhythm Malcolm Cates. My friends call me Mack."
"Well, Mr. Cates here's my insurance information. " She stepped back and got into her car. She rolled the window down as he approached.
"Call me, Mack."
She studied him cautiously. "We're not friends, Mr. Cates."
Abruptly his hand covered her shoulder and with genuine sincerity in his dark red brown eyes, he said, "From where I'm standing, a friend is exactly what you need." He stepped away from the window.
When he returned to his truck, it dawned on her that she was holding the steering wheel in a death grip. She eased back into her seat and watched him pull away. A man who looked at me and truly didn't want to fuck me. As she put the car in drive and pulled off, she said, "Now, that's a first."
Chapter 1
Panties, Pamela thought, had to be the worst invention ever created for a woman. After centuries, there still wasn't a pair that fit a woman correctly. Slowly she poured herself a cup of coffee and prepared it absently with extra cream, extra sugar. As she took a seat at the kitchen table, she pondered the dream from the night before. Rarely did she look back on her life. Too much pain back there. But oddly, she found herself dreaming of her son, David. Maybe it was the too-tight panties she was wearing. Her son's funeral had been the last time she had worn such an uncomfortable pair. She twitched irritably, knowing in a few short weeks would mark twenty years since her son's death. "Had it really been that long?" she asked. She sipped her steaming coffee, flipping through the pages of her memory.
David's father had been a person who would save her from her miserable life. At least that's what she told herself. But hey, she was a fourteen year kid. No mother to guide her or offer womanly wisdom and a father who ignored her and offered very little affection. So why wouldn't she believe the first person who had said that he loved her?
That is until he got what he wanted. Too quickly, she realized the cruelty involved. The visits stopped. The calls stopped. Her period stopped. Her world stopped when her father, Noah, had noticed her belly.
"You're just like your mama," Noah spat. "Spreading your legs for any guy what ask. I'm telling you now, Pamela, I ain't having no 'ho for a daughter. You gonna tells me who put this baby on you."
"Daddy," Pamela cried. "It's not like that. I swear. He said he loves me, that he'd marry me. He promised to come by tonight and ask you for my hand."
"Girl, hear me clear, if that sonabitch don't come fetch you tonight, I wants your worthless ass outs my house in the morning," Noah said.
"He'll come, Daddy. He'll come." Pamela said.
He never came. Not that night nor the next night or the night after that. For five straight days and nights, Pamela sat and waited on the front porch of her father's house. True to his word, Noah barred Pamela from setting one foot in his house until someone asked for her hand in marriage.
On the morning of the sixth day, Hollis, Pamela's older brother carried her frail body into the house.
"What the hell you think you doing, boy?" Noah shouted. "I don't want that worthless 'ho in my house."
Hollis carried Pamela upstairs and placed her gently on her bed. Their father was right on his heels when he turned and said, "Daddy, I respect whatcha saying, but what you're doing to her is wrong. I can't stand by and let you kill my sister." He turned and covered Pamela's shivering body with a blanket and kissed her forehead. "If she dies, will that take away the humiliation you feel? The embarrassment? If she loses this child, will that make you happy? She's fourteen years old. She made a mistake. She believed a liar. How long will you make her pay for that?"
Noah Soren turned and stormed out of the room.
"Pam," Hollis whispered, "I don't know what Daddy's gonna do. He hasn't been this crazed since Mama ran off with Uncle Billie. You messed up, kiddo. You messed up bad. I can't stay long. There's only one king in this castle and the 'ol man's it. I only came by to tell you I'm going away. Joined up with the Marines. I head off to boot camp in two days."
"Hollis, he said he'd come for me." Tears rained from her devastated eyes. "I believed him. What am I gonna do?"
"Dig down deep and endure. Keep out of the 'ol man's way. From the size of your belly, I'd say you're past getting rid of it. So you'll have to have it." He kissed her one last time and stood up. "I'm gonna leave you with one piece of advice. If ever a man asks you to trust him…don't."
The trip down memory lane had given her shivers and she didn't like it. She refreshed her coffee and changed out of those damned panties that had started this mess in the first place. Why do this on her day off? A day to rest and relax, not get all prickly over the past. The phone rang. She grabbed it just before it went to voice mail. "Hello?"
"Pam, hey, it's me, Mack."
"Mack, wussup?" she asked cheerfully. She and Rhythm Malcolm Cates, the owner of the hottest supper club in town, had been friends for ten years. Now that he was happily married and expecting his first child any day, she thought it was odd to be hearing from him. Unless…."Wait, don't tell me. Rachel's having the baby."
He deep baritone voice chuckled. "If only. Denise said that this was your day off and I wanted to know if you could stop by the club today. There's something I want to talk over with you."
"I didn't have anything planned so sure, I can stop by. What's a good time for you?"
"Anytime after three should be good. The lunch hour rush will be over, giving us plenty of time to talk."
"Works for me. See you then." She hung up the phone and finished dressing.
When Pamela walked into the Rhythm Cates Super Club, she always got the feeling of coming home. Hell, she'd spent more time in this place than she did at her brownstone. This was the coziest spot in town. It had the best chef-her dear friend, Mack--in the area and guest star chefs coming in all the time to cook. Was it a wonder that this club made her feel good? She always felt happy here.
"Penny for your thoughts," crooned Joshua Bouviaye.
Under the topic of star chefs, Joshua Bouviaye had been the headliner on and off at the club since the New Year. He'd created dishes so delicious her nipples hardened at the very thought of them. Mack constantly begged the man to work for him permanently, even offering him a percentage of the club to sweeten the deal. He always declined, insisting that he had other holdings that would fall apart if he didn't check on them from time to time. Extended engagements seemed all Mack could finagle out of Joshua. This was one of those times.
"Joshua," she reached up and gave him a warm hug. "Good to see you. You come and go so often that I never know when you're here."
Returning her hug, he guided her to a booth for a little privacy. "Yeah, my schedule is crazier than usual. But once again I got business in this city and I'm gonna be here for a bit and so I'm cooking for Mack." He saw the person in question heading to their table. "I think that damn man has me lojacked. I don't even have my coat off and here he comes."
Pamela giggled. "You may be right, but not this time. Actually, he's heading this way for me. He asked me to stop by."
Mack reached their table with a brilliant, enthusiastic smile. "Two of my favorite people." He shook Joshua's hand and gave Pamela a quick kiss. "This is perfect timing, Pam. Just finished up the menu for tonight's dinner crowd." He turned to Joshua. "I'd love to get your ideas on it."
Joshua sighed. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"
"No. I saw you pull into the parking lot and had some wild concoctions just pop into my head."
Joshua pulled Pamela's small hand to his lips and said, "Like I said, lojacked." He stood up, removed his coat and exited the booth. "I guess I'll leave you two to your meeting."
Mack took his place next to Pamela. "You two looked real cozy. Did I interrupt a romantic moment?"
"No. I ran into him while waiting for you. So what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"
His brilliant smile got brighter. "You know better than anyone how hard I've worked to build a state of the art supper club. You also know that the Lighthouse is now up and running and it's eating up all my time."
Pam nodded.
"But what you don't know is that I've been thinking about turning over the reins of the Lighthouse to someone I trust."
"What? You're resigning as the Operations Director? Mack, the Lighthouse is your baby. You've given your mind, body and soul. How can you think of resigning?"
"It's time, Pam. And you're right. I did give my mind, body and soul. But, Pam, they're no longer mine to give. I never thought I'd ever reach a point in my life when the center would not be my whole life. Never thought I'd meet someone who fills all the empty pockets of my existence. Never dreamed I'd fall in love with a woman who wants me for me and not my money. Never imagined that I'd be granted a second chance at a family and being a father."
Pamela studied Mack closely. Still the most outrageously handsome man she had ever laid eyes on but knowing him for so many years, knowing how he had agonized and suffered, she also knew he was the best gentleman she had ever known. He was entitled to all the happiness he could hold.
"Mack, I understand completely why you feel it's time to step down. It's just that it won't be the same without you at the helm." She motioned a waiter to bring her a drink and continued, "I take it this is why you wanted to talk to me, right? You wanted to go over potential candidates that you feel will have the best chance of being approved by the committee." When the waiter arrived with her drink, she took a long swallow and added, "This has thrown me for loop, need a little sustenance to get the brain going."
As she lifted the glass a second time to her lips and began to swallow, Mack said, "The committee has already approved the replacement I have selected to take over as Operations Director of the Lighthouse Community Center. It was unanimous. Pamela, I want you to take over the reins."
Chapter 2
Pamela James was the first person and last person that Joshua Bouviaye needed to see right now. He wanted her too much. It pulled at him every minute of every day. And now that the Federal Bureau of Investigations had once again placed him undercover as the returning star chef at the Rhythm Cates Supper Club, he'd have a hard time avoiding her. Shit.
He'd stolen a peek out of the kitchen to glimpse her spectacular beauty and immediately noticed that she appeared to be in shock. What the hell had put such a deer-in-the-headlights look on her perfect face?
And it was such a perfect face, to him anyway. Warm caramel and honey glazed skin, round sexy deep brown eyes. Lips, sweet Jesus, those lips. So thick and smooth and wide and absolutely irresistible. He always had to fight back the hunger to swallow her mouth and devour.
They had only shared one kiss. A kiss that had haunted his dreams for months and, still did. A kiss that had him wanting nothing more than to worship every inch of her body with his tongue. But it was a kiss that should not had happened, a kiss that he had taken in a moment of mad desperation and pure need.
The kiss had resulted from his frustration and knowledge that he would have to leave her to chase down a serial killer who he had been after for over two years. A killer that had once been one of Pamela James' clients when she was a call girl. Knowing what he knew about her previous profession, Joshua knew he'd never be granted another kiss. Kisses were the rarest of gifts from a call girl. And Pamela James had been the consummate professional.
He knew from the dossier the bureau had put together on her that this woman had never been arrested, kept a very low profile and dealt only in the wealthiest of circles. Her alleged list of clients ranged from top Hollywood movie stars, a few US presidents, oil tycoons, dot com magnets and one Arabian Royal Prince.
She also managed to amass a fortune in her eight years as a call girl. Pamela knew when to get out and Joshua begrudgingly had to respect her for that. So what had put such a look of shock on her face the other day?
He was about to make a phone call to Mack at the club when his Director at the bureau walked in to start the meeting.
"Okay, every one settle down and let's get started," the director announced. "Special agent, Bouviaye, bring us up to date on your latest assignment."
"I'm following a fresh lead on my current case. As you know, the bureau suspects that Prince Ramir Suah Khan of the newly liberated nation of Sekiah is formulating support in the west to gain intel on the undercover US agents currently stationed in his country. He's using his diplomatic immunity to travel from Canada to the US on holiday, but our sources say that his real mission is to buy that list. If he gets the alias names of the men and women over there, I have no doubt he'd use them for political leverage and their lives would be forfeited for the our government will immediately disavow any knowledge of them. He's getting his information from somewhere. There's a leak and I have to plug it up before Ramir gets that list."
"You said leak. What kind exactly?"
"The best kind, a money trail. Ramir has been throwing a lot of cash around, not that that's unusual, I mean the guy's a prince and a disgustingly wealthy one at that. But rather, it's where the money's coming from. All his cash transactions are being handled by one firm--one man in particular. Dillon Crandon, of Crandon Executive Legal Enterprises."
"Wait a minute, Crandon Executive," said another special agent. "I think our cases are connected. I'm investigating Dillon Crandon on some shady deals he's been putting together. This guy has an uncanny knack of putting bad people in proximity to a lot of bad money. He stays squeaky clean of course, but what do you want to bet that his sudden surge of questionable deals has a lot to do with why Ramir is throwing around so much cash?"
"I'd say you are dead on," Joshua said.
"Crandon is slippery. He always has an alibi and a host of legitimate clients that have nothing to do with his shady deals. The guy's still in Louisiana, but I have no doubt that he's in deep with Prince Ramir."
"Then the course of action is simple," said the director. "You two will combine your efforts to bring your separate cases to a close. Bouviaye, I want you to stay undercover. If Ramir enters the country, I want you to follow him. Eventually he will make his way to Louisiana to meet up with Crandon." The director turned then to the other special agent. "I want you to head to Louisiana and start making some noise that you have valuable information to sell, but only to the right buyer." The director made some crucial last minutes notes into the files of both agents, then handed them back to the men. "That's it, agents. Keep the bureau posted."
With that, the two men exited the meeting. Joshua was the first to speak. "I gotta head in. It's almost time to start my shift at the club."
"I hear you're a kick ass chef, Bouviaye. Wish I had time to stop by for a bite. But knowing the director, he's already booked my flight to the Big Easy even as we speak."
"Hell, I wish I was going with you. Louisiana is a lot warmer than Minnesota is right now."
"Well, I'd gladly trade with you. I've not been back to Louisiana in over twenty years. I grew up there."
"I'm from Louisiana, too." Joshua smiled.
"Really? What part?"
"Baton Rouge."
"I wasn't so lucky. I'm from a little backward dump of a town called, Temple," the agent said. "Here are my contact numbers."
"Thanks. Here're mine. Let's do a recap in a few days, Special Agent…"
"Oh, shit. It would help if you knew my name, right? It's Soren. Special Agent, Hollis Soren."
Both men shook hands vigorously and stepped onto the elevator and continued their conversation about their cases until they exited the building.
Chapter 3
She had to make a decision soon, but this was such a huge step. My God, she thought, Operations Director of the Lighthouse. It would mean resigning from her current career as a paramedic. It would mean overseeing the operations of her best friend's most treasured center. There was so much to think about. So much to consider. So much to take on.
She hadn't slept well since Mack had dropped this bomb. She'd taken a few days off from work to weigh every option and every outcome. It hadn't worked. She felt more edgy than ever. Pamela grabbed her coat and headed for the door.
"Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
The irritated voice came from Denise Dinetti the minute she opened her front door. Pamela cringed. Not now. "Didi, what are you doing here?"
Denise brushed past her and into her apartment. "You've been MIA for days. Mack and Rachel were getting worried. So I'm here to check on you."
Regret gripped Pamela. Rachel was concerned for her. She was so close to delivering her baby. It couldn't be good for her to worry. Damn it, I haven't even taken the job and already I'm fucking up. "Is Rachel okay?"
Denise pulled off her coat and tossed it on the sofa. "Ask her yourself, she's right behind me."
Pamela turned around and quickly helped Rachel inside. "Rachel! What are you doing out here? You should be at home." Pamela surveyed her with a critical eye. "Correction, you should be at the hospital. You look ready to drop any second. Didi, why the hell did you bring her here?"
"Pam, I'm fine. I promise. Here, help me out of my coat," Rachel said.
Pamela and Denise helped guide her to the sofa.
"I came by to see you. I told Didi I wanted to come, she said no. And I said, I'd get in a cab if need be and tadah, here I am. Mack told me about his meeting with you and I wanted to be here for you."
Pamela joined her on the sofa, along with Denise, and just gazed at her. Rachel shimmered. Never had she witnessed a more glorious mother-to-be. Marriage and pending motherhood had added so many profound layers to her. Mack was a lucky man to be loved by such an incredible woman.
"I tried to tell Mack and Rachel that you needed some time. But they still freaked," Denise said.
"I didn't freak," Rachel said. "I just wanted to be sure she was all right, that's all."
"Well, I'm fine as you can see."
"No, you're not, Pam." Denise was unusually serious.
It was something that always amazed Pamela. She remembered when they had first met in nursing school. She appeared shy and withdrawn. Ten years of friendship and still Denise could surprise her.
"You've been sitting in this damn house driving yourself crazy."
Pamela couldn't rebut it.
"I've known you too long not to recognize the signs. So let's cut to the chase here. When are you gonna tell Mack that you will accept the position?"
"Didi, would you stop badgering Pam," Rachel scolded.
Denise rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her breasts.
"This is a big step for her. No doubt she is--"
"No!" Denise snapped, stood up and began pacing.
All that barely contained energy, Pamela noticed. Denise could never sit still for long. She was a creature of action. Not always. After marrying at the tender age of eighteen to a wife beater, Denise Dinetti woke up. After his death and the loss of their unborn child, Denise's hellish marriage of eight years was over and she was free. Pamela had been there for her every step of the way.
So she didn't bite her tongue any more. She didn't back down from a fight. She didn't cower in a corner. She let it rip and to hell with whomever ended up in the path of her venom. Pamela stared up at her as she forged on like rapid fire from an automatic weapon.
"Let's cut the crap, okay. Pam, you know you can do this job. You've practically run the center single handedly since it reopened a few months ago. Ask yourself this question--has Mack ever questioned any decision you've made so far in regards to the center?"
Again, Pamela remained silent.
"I just can't believe that you haven't figured it out yet. Don't you see, Pam, Mack has been slowly turning the reins over to you…"
Oh shit, Pamela cringed. Denise had put it together. She turned those sparkling blue green eyes on Pamela and she could have sworn that Denise's flaming red hair started smoking.
"This isn't about the position at the center, is it? Fuck me sideways. This was never about the damn job, was it, Pam? It's…it's…it's about your past."
No reason to lie now. Denise would catch her in it in a heartbeat. Sometimes having cop for a best friend really sucked. "Yes, it's about my past. Mack is giving up the reins to his center to a former call girl. A first class hooker who made a fortune selling pussy and sucking dick for a living. You're damn right it's about my past. I will not be the one to destroy the center's reputation or Mack's dreams."
Pamela hopped off the sofa and started circling Denise.
"If one word about my past ever got out, the center is ruined forever. Mack's dream will die and I'll be damned if I'll allow that to happen."
"Perhaps you two should take a step back and calm down," Rachel piped.
"Oh sit there and be pregnant," Denise said, keeping her eyes steady on her target. "Now we're getting somewhere," she said to Pamela. "You're scared. Scared shitless."
"Hell yeah, I'm scared. I could really fuck this up, Denise."
"Do you really think Mack gives a shit about your past? So what, you were an escort. You're also a nurse, a paramedic and hold an MBA in Marketing and Operations Management. What other former call girl can fucking say that?"
"She does have a point, Pam," Rachel squeaked.
"Didn't she just tell you to sit there and be pregnant?" Pamela hissed. "All right, godamnit, you win. I'll inform Mack that I'll accept the position. Are you fucking happy now?"
"I am," Rachel said, refusing to just sit and be pregnant.
Suddenly, Denise's eyes glowed with delight and she threw her arms around Pamela. "It's about damn time. You're gonna make a great director. I knew all l had to do was put my foot up your ass to get you moving."
Pamela returned the hug and realized she was shaking. God, what would she do without Denise? The woman knew how to pull her out of the mire in no time flat. "You're the best weirdest friend I've ever had. Thanks, Didi."
"Betcha ass, baby," Denise said.
"Now that you two are done with your verbal war of words, do you think we can get something to eat? I'm starving," Rachel said.
Both ladies turned toward Rachel and helped her off the sofa. "Let's head over to the club. That way we can kill two birds with one stone," Denise offered.
As she put on her coat, Pamela said, "Might as well. No sense in putting this off any longer." As they left the brownstone, a special delivery came for Pamela. "Didi, let's take your truck. I'll read this letter on the way to the supper club."
The contents of the letter had thrown Pamela for a loop. What she had read had made her blood run cold. She had to go back to Temple, Louisiana. Although she had never considered the sleepy town her home, Pamela had put into motion many years earlier a permanent retainer with a PI firm to track down the hit and run driver who had killed her son. She also kept quarterly tabs on the sperm donor who called himself her father.
The PI firm had reported that Samuel Hollis Soren was dead and his funeral was scheduled for the end of the week. That bit of news had not swayed her. She had no intention of attending the service. She got to the end of the report and noticed that immediately after the funeral, they would read her father's will. Still, that was of little interest to her. What gave her chills was that her presence had been requested at the reading of the will. But by whom? The PI report gave no indication.
Mack knew she was curious about the request and had insisted that she go. He wanted her head focused on her new position and told her that he could hold things together. That night she was landing at the airport in New Orleans. She wanted to drop in at the PI firm to learn more about the request.
* * * *
A break in the case had presented itself. Joshua Bouviaye had gotten word from a very reliable source that Prince Ramir was in the US. He'd stake his secret recipe for his famous BBQ sauce that he was making his way to Louisiana. He put a call in to Special Agent Soren. "Hollis, it's me, Josh."
"Hey, got your voice mail. You're sure your source is reliable? That Ramir is here?"
"Very reliable. How soon can you pick me up from the airport? We need to meet up to discuss what you have."
"Can't do it. Received word from the Bureau that my father passed away a few days ago. His funeral is today. As much as I despised the man, I gotta go. I'm staying at the Marriot Courtyard in downtown New Orleans. As soon as this shit is over, I'll drive back up and meet you there."
"Sorry to hear about your dad. How far is Temple from the NO?"
"Don't be sorry. He was a sonabitch. It's about a two to three hour drive."
"Are you there yet?"
"No, will be in about another hour."
"Then don't come back up. I'll meet you in Temple. I'm landing at the airport now. Send the directions to my cell phone and I'll plot them with On Star in the rental car. By the time the dead people stuff is over, I should be pulling up."
"Sending them to you now. When you get here, call me and I'll give you directions to my father's house. The faster you get here, the faster I can get the hell out of here."
"Okay, I got the text. I'm on my way." Joshua exited the plane and made a beeline to the first rental car booth.
Chapter 4
Pamela kept her gaze on the long stretch of road that lead to the cemetery. Her mind kept displaying pictures of the last time she was on this haunting journey. This road to her…son.
"Ms. James," her limo driver said. "I believe the marker that you provided me is coming up. Would you like me to pull over?"
"Yes, please."
Slowly, the car came to a stop and Pamela waited for the driver to let her out. When her feet touched the gravel road, she shivered. So many years.
"Ms. James," the driver continued. "Do you need help with your blanket and basket?"
Oddly, she felt a need to take the short walk up to David's grave alone. "No, Blake. I can take it from here."
He surrendered his burden to her and said, "When you're done, just wave and I'll help you pack up and take you on to your next destination."
Pamela remained quiet as she carefully made her way up the short hill. Gently, she set the basket down next to David's grave site and spread out her blanket. She removed her coat and eased down, using her garment as a pillow.
"Hello, David." Calmly she started unpacking her basket of fruit and finger sandwiches. "It's been a very long time." She felt her eyes water but willed her tears to hold their place. "I never thought to see you again, come to this place again but fate has other plans."
She nibbled on her slices of fruit and studied the stone and immaculate keep of his grave. "Looks like you have been well tended to in my absence. I often wonder how our lives would have turned out if you had lived. Would I have been an over protective mother? Would I have had empty nest syndrome when you went off to college? Would you have been introducing me to that special girl in your life?"
Slowly she leaned over and kissed his headstone. "There isn't a day that doesn't go by that I don't miss you, my sweet baby boy. Miss your kisses, your little hands your irresistible beautiful smile."
A few tears escaped their prison and hit his stone. "One day I will know who took you away from me and they will pay. I promise." With a trembling hand, she traced his name chiseled into the stone and set her tears free.
* * * *
Pamela must have dozed off because when she opened her eyes, the sun had moved. It was lower in the sky and changing colors. She started collecting her picnic items when a quick movement caught her attention. Thinking it was Blake, her driver, she turned, ready to wave, then halted.
"I knew you would come."
She didn't recognize him but strangely, was not afraid. "Who are you?"
He pulled his lips into a wide toothless smile. "My name is Jean-Luc, little mother. I'm the caretaker for your son's plot."
"You have done a wonderful job, thank you. My name is Pam-"
"Pamela Lilia James Soren, yes I know who you are. And like I said, I knew you would come."
Pamela stiffened and quickly, Jean-Luc continued. "Your papa was buried this morning and the whole town came out. I think it was more out of fear than respect."
That snagged her attention. "Fear? Of what? Who'd fear a dead man?"
He ignored her questions and said, "You've got unfinished business with the people here. I remember when your baby was placed in my care all those years ago. I, too, remember what you said."
I will never forget. The echo of her words suddenly screamed in her mind. She could sense that he was studying her thoroughly, somehow knowing what she was thinking.
"It's time, little mother. It's time to learn the truth."
Pamela sprang to her feet and closed the distance between them. "What are you talking about? How do you know so much about me? About my son?"
Again, Jean-Luc ignored her questions. Gently, he collected her small hands into his hard callus ones and said, "Before this day is over, you will understand why the town's people came to your papa's funeral out of fear."
Pamela stood frozen as the old caretaker stepped away and walked down the opposite side of the hill.
* * * *
Joshua instantly chalked it up to lack of sleep. That was the only thing that could explain the hallucination he was seeing. Pamela James was in Temple, Louisiana? Impossible. She was still in St. Paul, Minnesota, wasn't she? But when his eyes drifted to the cemetery on his left, he felt his heart stop. She was standing on a small hill watching the sun descend into the evening sky. Her body caught in brilliant rays of multicolor. Her short hair gently blowing from the feather kisses of the wind.
He abruptly stopped his car to watch this dream, this apparition wave to the car at the bottom of the hill. He watched as the driver stepped out and met her halfway and took her basket. He zeroed in as that same driver offered his arm and she took it with a sad smile.
A rage of possessiveness sliced through him. No man touches what's mine. Joshua shook his head and pulled back onto the road. He made a quick call to Hollis and got the directions he needed. Suddenly he had this disturbing need to put as much distance between him and the haunting image of that sad smile.
He floored the gas pedal.
* * * *
When Pamela pulled up to her father's house, she was bewildered. It was an odd sensation. There was no fear, no apprehension, just drenching numbness. As the driver helped her from the car, she finally noticed the buzz. There were several people standing on the front porch and all of them she remembered. All of them she despised. All of them were instantly silent.
She pushed her eight hundred dollar Ray Ban sunglasses up her nose and walked smoothly toward the steps of the house.
Just as her foot landed on the first step, a familiar voice strained her name. She looked up and, standing at the back of the crowd, was the only person who had ever cared about her.
"Hollis," she whispered and watched as he broke through the crowd and raced down the stairs. Instantly, she was lifted off her feet and captured in her big brother's arms. His cheeks were wet, his breath choppy and his heart was pounding against her breast.
"I can't believe you're here," she gasped. "I didn't let myself hope."
"Just give me a minute, okay?" he said as his embrace tightened around her. "I thought about you every day and to finally see you, it's a bit much."
Pamela understood. For so many years, she too, had wanted to see her brother again.
"I've missed you so much," she said.
He wiped his eyes and reached down and squeezed her hand. "Let's get inside and get this shit over with so we can get the hell out of here."
She nodded and followed him back to the house where the people on the porch parted like the red sea to make room for them. When they shut the door, the buzzing whispers of the crowd elevated.
"I take it you also received a request to be here for the reading of his will," Pamela said.
"That's the only reason I came. All the way down here I racked my brain trying to figure out who'd want me here. Or, should I say, us here."
Pamela surveyed the house and noticed that the ol' man had made few changes. The walls were still a dull brown. The hardwood floors were still polished to mirror perfection. The scent of oatmeal and bacon still permeated the air. The worn furniture was still there just with new covers.
It was just as she had left it twenty years ago when she was eighteen. But she wasn't a child this time. She wasn't an unwed teenage mother with few resources and choices. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't weak. No, this time she was an independent, wealthy woman of thirty-eight with more options than she could count.
She removed her sunglasses, set her bag on the coffee table and sat down next to her brother on the sofa. "I've been in New Orleans since Tuesday. I came in early to check with a P.I. firm that I have on retainer to try to dig up who made the request."
"You didn't have a spit of luck did you." It wasn't a question. "All the firm would tell me was that an estate planner would be here today to read the will."
"Estate Planner? What estate planner? Pops didn't have an estate to plan. As far as I know, he owned this house and a few acres of land and that's it."
"And you'd be correct, Mr. Soren."
Pamela and Hollis both turned to the authoritative voice that entered the room. Pamela didn't recognize him and glanced to her brother and sensed he didn't either.
"My name is Charles Whitney. I have been sent here to facilitate the last will and testament of your father, Noah Hollis Soren and your mother, Adela Lilia James Soren." Quickly he raised his hand to pause their questions. "Your mother, Adela also had a will that was to be read only upon the death of your father. My firm, Lancaster and Associates was commissioned for this and given strict instructions to locate you both immediately for the reading."
Hollis reached for his sister's hand and squeezed. "Please, Mr. Whitney, have a seat and facilitate."
Charles pulled two files from his outrageously expensive-looking briefcase, adjusted his reading glasses and said, "The first will be Noah's. 'I, Noah Hollis Soren, do here by with sound mind and body place into writing my last will and testament. To my son, Hollis I leave my three acres of land, this house and all possessions within it to do with as you wish. I know you and I never got along but these things I leave to you are yours by blood and paid for with my sweat and my silence. To my daughter, Pamela, I leave you the truth. The hit and run driver who killed David was, Sabien Lenore. I learned of this the summer that you left. Living in a small town, secrets never stay buried for long. I tracked him down, beat a confession out of him, then I killed him, burned his body and scattered his ashes in the river. I hope this truth gives you some comfort for I know I never did.'"
Pamela was gasping by the end of the reading. Her heart was thundering in her chest. If not for the anchor of her brother's arm, she knew she would have vomited.
"Sabien Lenore. He killed my little boy," she gasped.
Hollis pulled Pamela into his protective embrace. "Yeah, and the ol' man killed him."
Her tears flowed unrestricted. "It's over, Hollis. I can let it go now."
Mr. Whitney continued. "Mr. Soren, the deed and title are in this second envelope. All have been signed and duly notarized." He handed the papers to Hollis and said, "The second will is that of your mother's. 'I Adela Lilia James Soren being of sound mind and body place into writing my last will and testament. For my son, Hollis, I give you all my love and hope that it will give you ease and comfort. I never wanted to leave you or your sister but I never loved your father and he knew it. He put you on me. That's why I had to marry him. I always loved his brother and your father knew it. So when Billie returned from Viet Nam, I saw my chance at happiness and took it and ran away with him.
I knew Noah would never grant me a divorce so I lived with the love of my life until he died. I can only imagine the ridicule and agony you suffered at your father's hands for my betrayal and for that I'm deeply sorry and ask for your forgiveness. I pray that you and your sister find the great loves of your life just as I did.
To my daughter, Pamela, through the blood line of the original owners, I grant to you ownership of their land. This is your town, Pamela. Every house, every road, every window, every deed, every farm, every business, every speck of grass. All of it is yours by blood.
Two hundred years ago, this entire area was one plantation owned by one family, The Dubois. The patriarch of the family, Jean-Pierre had a wife and slaves. From his legal union, he sired five sons. But from his female slaves, he sired forty sons. His wife, Adela, was outraged by his betrayal and set into motion her ultimate revenge. The plantation was her dowry from her parents to insure that she attracted and married an appropriate suitor.
She reminded him of the conditions of her dowry and forced Jean-Pierre to do something unprecedented. Upon his death, all the land and everything that it held would only pass down in ownership to the first born daughter of the first born daughter.
Then she herself took a slave to lover and passed her bastard daughter, Lilia, off as the first born daughter of the family. Over the centuries, the world changed. Slavery was abolished, women had won the legal right to vote and the little known fact about this land and its true ownership faded into the past. That is, until my mother was born. Before her, Lilia's blood line had produced nothing but males. So the descendants of the five sons perceived no threat to their plans as they sold off the land, gifted it to their children. Now Adela's revenge has come full circle through you, Pamela.
Every transaction that was done by the five sons and their descendants are completely null and void. None of them owned the land and none of them had the legal right to sell it, mortgage it, build upon it or give it away. Like my mother and like me, you, Pamela, you are the Matriarch of this entire community. Temple belongs to you.'"
Chapter 5
Pamela was still sitting in the same spot an hour after the attorney had gone. Finally, her brother gave her a shake.
"Pam," he said, "Snap out of it."
Her gaze focused on him. "This is unbelievable."
Hollis pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it on the sofa. "No wonder the whole damn town was at his funeral. He must have put them on notice before he died."
"Are they gone?"
"Yeah, I told them that we wanted to grieve alone. When I didn't budge, they scattered like the four winds."
"Do you think they know the truth?"
"I doubt it, but knowing the ol' man, he probably started a vicious rumor that something bad was gonna happen to them after he died. And shit, if the fucker wasn't right." He plopped down next to her on the sofa. "All the crap we had to take from those shitheads when Mama ran off. Why didn't she ever let on that all of this was hers?"
Pamela kicked off her shoes and walked into the kitchen. After rummaging through the fridge, she returned with two cold bottles of beer and an opener. "Not the right time is all I can think of." She handed the bottles and opener to Hollis. As he opened the first and handed it to her, she said, "According to the will, Grandma was the first daughter born in over a hundred and twenty years. She was a colored woman who lived in the segregated south. If she had said one word they would have killed her and no one would have cared. Mama would have come up against the same obstacles, only they would have killed her and her children, you and me." She took a long pull from the beer and looked down at Hollis.
"I'm guessing daddy knew the secret but remained silent to protect us. He knew none of us were in any kind of a position to claim the land and more importantly, defend it."
"So lit'l sis, what are you gonna do? I mean damn, Pam, you own this whole fucking town. I doubt if these sorry, small-minded ignorant bastards are just gonna hand it over without a fight."
"I don't doubt it at all. But I'm my mother's daughter so…fuck 'em."
Hollis choked on his beer. "Oh, shit! My baby sister is all grown up and cussin' like a pro." His smile faded a little. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you all those years ago."
Her eyes locked with his. "It was hard Hollis, I won't deny it. Especially, after David was born." She lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders. "But I took your words to heart and dug in deep and endured." She took his outstretched hand and let him guide her back to the sofa. "I made my way in this world, got an education, a career and enough money to protect and defend what's mine."
"Yeah, I saw the limo you pulled up in. You doing pretty damn good from what I can see. I served eight years in the Marines. Uncle Sam paid for my Masters degree in criminal justice and now I'm an FBI agent. I was in New Orleans when I received the news that Pops died."
"You're working on a case?"
"I'm always working on a case. This one however, I can't share any details. As a matter of fact, I need to get back to the N.O. I recently had a break in my case and my partner and I need to make a move."
"Did the two of you come down here together?"
"Yeah, he got here a few minutes before you did. I told him to come in while you were sitting there in a trance, but he took one look at you and shot back to his car."
"Huh?" Pamela gaped.
"He said he knew you and since we're working this case, he can't break his cover."
"But I don't know any FBI agents."
"Well, my partner claims to know you."
"What's his name?"
"Like I said, kiddo, no details."
"Well, if you're heading out then so am I. I don't want to stay here alone."
They locked up the house and headed to their cars. "What hotel are you staying in?" Pamela asked just before she stepped into her limo.
Hollis turned on the engine of his car. "Marriott Courtyard, downtown."
"I'm staying at the Hilton. When you're done with your meeting, call me and let's do dinner."
"See you in New Orleans," Hollis said.
Pamela flashed a joyous smile. "Love you."
"Love you more," Hollis called.
* * * *
Hollis barely made it into the hotel lobby when Joshua Bouviaye cut him off. "Did she see me?" he asked.
Hollis checked for messages at the front desk, then turned to face Joshua. "No. You shot out of there so fast, hell, I barely saw you. Look man, I'm whipped. I need a shower and a drink. Let's meet at the bar in say, forty-five and you can explain to me how you know my sister and why you don't want her to see you."
Before Joshua could berate Hollis with another question, he was on the elevator heading up to his room.
* * * *
Joshua was still shaking at how close he had come to blowing his cover. He caught the next elevator to his room and just sat on the bed.
When he'd walked into the house and saw her sitting there like a frozen angel, it took every muscle in his body to turn and leave her. He hadn't imagined her. She was here and he ached for her. Wanted to wrap her up and lock her away for future nibbling.
He jumped into a cold shower to clear his head and met Hollis in the hotel bar. "Whatever you're having, make mine a triple," he said to Hollis as he slid into the seat across from him.
Hollis signaled the bartender for another round and turned to Joshua. "I can tell that we're not going to make any headway on our case until we get my sister out of your head. So Josh, how do you know Pamela? And why did you hightail it out of Temple the minute you saw her?"
Joshua grabbed his drink from the waiter before he set it on the table and threw it back hard and shivered. "Bring two more," he said to the waiter. "Oh shit, I didn't want to have this conversation with you like this. But I gotta keep it real with you if we are gonna work together. I don't know Pamela Soren. Last year I was placed undercover as a chef at a nightclub and restaurant in Minneapolis, the owner is also a chef. We met last year in Vegas and the bureau did a background check on him and learned that one of his closest friends was a call girl. She dealt in exclusive circles and was the key to tracking down a serial killer. Without knowing it, she gave me the inside information I needed to bring this fucker down. After the case was closed I stayed on as the star chef until the bureau reassigned me."
Joshua could read people well and sensed Hollis was putting the pieces together fast. "The bureau threw me under the bus again, when they sent me back undercover as the chef when I started working the Prince Ramir case."
Hollis was the one to snatch up a drink and throw it back when the waiter returned. "So you ran into the call girl again," he said.
"Not just ran into her but started a very precarious friendship with her."
Hollis leaned back into the booth and studied Joshua blatantly. "Pamela's the call girl, isn't she?"
"She was." Joshua corrected. "For eight years, but she's been retired for over ten. She was introduced to me as Pamela James, not Soren. So when I saw her sitting on that damned sofa, I almost had a fuckin' heart attack. If she discovers that I'm your partner, she'll put it together."
Hollis slammed his glass down. "Joshua, are you sleeping with my sister?"
"I want to every time I look at her." He watched Hollis squirm in his seat and both of them grabbed their drinks and tossed them back.
"This is really fucked up," Hollis said.
"Tell me about it."
* * * *
Pamela grabbed the phone in her suite just before it went to voice mail. "Didi, you have eerie timing. I just walked in."
"How did everything go?"
"Nothing like I expected. The will was shocking, to say the least."
"Need
for me to come down there, baby?" Denise asked.
"No. My
brother, Hollis is here. I almost keeled over when I saw him. We are
meeting for dinner in a little while."
"I'm glad he's there for you. Joshua Bouviaye left Mack in the lurch again. He's been steaming since the guy left him a voice mail yesterday."