The Edge of Dawn by Beverly Jenkins Page A

stay put because he’s as slippery as he is deadly.”
    â€œSo, we’ll probably see him again.”
    â€œMore than likely.”
    Narice added one more worry to her growing list.
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    Uncle Willie’s name was really William White. He wasn’t blood, but because he’d been her father’s best friend he’d become an uncle of the heart. Narice directed St. Martin to the small blue-and-white bungalow without trouble. Uncle Willie lived within hollering distance of the Toledo Zoo. When she was growing up, the frequent trips to see him had alwayscoincided with a trip to see the animals, so by the time Narice was nine years old, she could find his house with her eyes closed.
    Saint parked by the curb and took a moment to survey the place. Two windows upstairs facing the street. Probably bedrooms. One big picture window downstairs. Living room, more than likely. He opened his door and stepped out. Taking a moment to scan the layout of the block, he noted that it looked like most urban sides of town. There were a few vacant lots and a boarded-up home two doors down, but there were also freshly painted fences, flowers in pots and in window boxes. All the homes had their lawns cut and he saw kids riding bikes near the convenience store on the corner. He checked the street for parked cars that might hold men watching Uncle Willie’s house but saw none.
    A white wire fence encased Uncle Willie’s well-kept flower-filled front yard. Guests had to come through the gate in order to access the stone walk that led up to the wide, old-fashioned porch. Narice put her hand on the gate and wondered how many times she’d done this before in her life? A modest estimate placed the count somewhere in the hundreds, she’d bet. Uncle Willie and her daddy fished together, went to regiment reunions together, played cards, drank brown liquor, and always, always told lies together. The memories brought tears of grief to her eyes. Her father hadn’t deserved such a terrible death. She wiped the water away and opened the gate.
    William White, all six foot two and three hundredpounds of him, stepped out of the house and onto the porch. When he saw Narice, his eyes lit up like the Fourth. “Baby girl!”
    Saint watched Narice hurry up the steps and be hugged fiercely by the big man with the gray hair. White held her like his life depended upon it, and Narice hugged him back tightly. Saint could see she was crying and his heart began to pound in sympathy. Tears ran down the retired cop’s cheeks as he rocked her and crooned comfort.
    Narice let herself cry. Since leaving her father’s grave site, her greatest desire had been to be held and salved this way. She’d wanted someone to hold her who’d loved Simon Jordan as much as she, and who’d understand her tremendous heartache. William White was that someone because his pain and grief equaled her own.
    Narice finally stepped back. She ran her fingertips over her eyes and knew she probably looked a mess, but she didn’t care. Out of the blue, a hand appeared offering her some tissues. She took them from St. Martin with thanks, blew her nose and said, “William White, this is St. Martin.”
    Uncle Willie looked the sunglasses-wearing Saint up and down, then asked, “What’s he trying out for, Cyclops in X-Men 5—The Black Mutants ?”
    Narice coughed and laughed. She couldn’t see Saint’s eyes, but she sensed he was not amused. “I don’t think so, but let’s go inside.”
    Saint followed them to the door, but paused a moment to look up and down the street for cockroaches before going in.
    Inside, Uncle Willie was asking, “You all want something to eat? I just did some chops on the grill. Always cook too much so I won’t have to cook later in the week. You’re welcome to join me.”
    â€œThanks, I’m starving,” Narice gushed appreciatively.
    Willie looked at