The Edge of Dawn by Beverly Jenkins

it?”
    â€œâ€™Fraid so, angel.”
    Narice watched the scenery through the window beside her seat.
    Saint asked, “You going to be okay?”
    She chuckled softly, “When this is over, yes. Right now, I’m still adjusting. I’m okay.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œDon’t have much of a choice, do I?”
    He shook his head. “Nope.”
    Needing to think about something else beside the potential of her immediate demise, Narice asked, “Where are we headed?”
    â€œToledo to see Uncle Willie.”
    â€œShould we call him?”
    â€œNo, cell phones aren’t secure. We’ll talk to him face-to-face.”
    â€œDo you think he might be in danger?”
    â€œMore than likely, yes.”
    Narice didn’t like the sound of that. “Well, they may be in for a surprise. Uncle Willie’s a retired cop. He can probably still handle his business, even at his age.”
    Less than three hours after leaving Grand Rapids, the big black SUV cruised into Toledo, Ohio. Narice’s back and behind were stiff from the long ride, so when he stopped to get gas, she stepped out so she could stretch.
    His hand on the pump, he asked her, “How you doing?”
    Saint watched her stretch her arms above her head, innocently teasing him with the rise of her soft breasts. He turned away smoothly, so he wouldn’t be caught staring at the way the white silk tautened over her nipples.
    She finally responded to his question, “I’m a little stiff, but otherwise okay. I’m also hungry, but I want to make sure Uncle Willie is okay.”
    Pierced by the sharp arrow of lust, Saint had a sudden hunger too, but he ignored it; or at least attempted to. “We can eat after.”
    Narice agreed. Right now, making sure Willie was okay took precedence over her empty stomach.
    She waited and watched Saint do the windows and found herself studying his hands. They were capable hands; the fingers long, the skin scarred in a few places. He wore a carved silver band on the ring finger of his right hand. The ring’s exotic make made her curious about its origin. She wondered about his origins as well. Who was he really, and what kind of life prepares a man to be so wary he looks for bombs wired to his car? It was quite obvious he was not your everyday, run-of-the-mill brother. He’d mentioned having a sister and she’d heard the voice of his brother. Did he have other family members as well—a wife, children? Where had he trained to be who he was?
    Saint looked up from tossing the dirty towel into the waiting trash can to find her watching him. It was impossible to know what she might be thinking, but he was thinking that she’d be a sister worth pursuing if this job weren’t so important and she weren’t so classy. Saint knew a dessert fork from a salad fork, and over the years had attended his share of state dinners and embassy balls, but he didn’t like the high life. His two half-brothers, Mykal and Drake, both powerful and wealthy men were accustomed to life’s finer things and enjoyed them. For Saint, the good life meant having abed to sleep in and enough food in your stomach; growing up in foster care gave him an appreciation for simpler things. So, no, he wasn’t going to get mixed up with the elegant Narice Jordan no matter how sweet her nipples looked. He didn’t wear suits and he didn’t shave; women like her expected both.
    Narice continued to be haunted by Ridley. Who knew where she might have ended up had Saint and his squeegee partners not shown up. She wondered if he would now volunteer more details. “How did you know I was with Ridley?”
    â€œFriends of mine have had him under surveillance. They figured he’d make a move on you after the funeral, and he did.”
    â€œWhat will happen to him?”
    â€œDeported, maybe. He’s a Canadian citizen, but there’s no guarantee he’ll