DANGEROUS LIAISONS DE'NESHA DIAMOND She's watching. She's planning. She's past done waiting. Klaudya Ramsey is out for revenge on her own mother. Nichelle seduced Klaudya's wealthy, disloyal husband, had her innocent daughter jailed—and stole her life. Now Klaudya plays on her mom's insatiable greed and her husband's gullibility to take them down hard. But a secret Klaudya never saw coming could turn her vengeful dream into an inescapable nightmare . . . TEARS OF BLOOD A'ZAYLER Their bond is unbreakable. They always have each other's backs—though that's the only thing identical twins Aiden and Kayden Lattimore have in common. So when hard-driving achiever Aiden accidentally gets in major-league trouble, Kayden does his brother's jail time for him. Too bad Aiden is taking care of Kayden's beautiful wife all too well. And now Kayden is about to teach Aiden a lesson in betrayal these brothers may not survive . . .
Release date:
July 31, 2018
Publisher:
Dafina
Print pages:
288
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After weeks of record rainfall, the sun returned to southern California in time for the memorial service for Javid Ramsey. It was a good turnout of family and friends. Even Javid’s estranged parents made an appearance. Of course, they sobbed on each other’s shoulders and occasionally cornered the widow for details of their son’s tragic end and why there was such a hurry to cremate the body.
Stone-faced and dry-eyed, Klaudya Ramsey gave no fucks about their fat tears and had no interest in assuaging their guilt for financially cutting off their son years ago—and for never welcoming her into the family when she married Javid.
Truth be told, Klaudya didn’t even give a fuck about the ashes in the urn. In life, and especially in love, Klaudya had only asked for one thing: loyalty. Muthafuckas act like it’s the hardest thing to give to their loved ones when it should be the easiest.
Lieutenant Erik Armstrong and his partner, Lieutenant Joe Schneider, late to the service, blended in with the attending guests.
Armstrong kept his gaze centered on the dry-eyed widow while her eight-year-old twins, Mya and Mykell, looked like their beautiful mother’s opposites, especially the boy. His small body trembled and shook with racking, silent sobs before the bronze urn.
Across from the grieving Ramseys stood another stone-faced observer, Nichelle Mathis—Klaudya’s young mother. For more than a year, the mother and daughter had kept the Calabasas’ grapevine buzzing. To Armstrong’s chagrin, he’d played a part in it all. Only he believed he was helping an estranged mother and daughter heal their relationship, not setting up a death match between the two of them. If only he could have put two and two together much sooner—but it went back to the night of the first murder . . .
At the end of the eulogy, Armstrong made a sign of the cross while the crowd’s gazes crept toward him and his partner.
It was time.
They had a job to do. Together, the two lieutenants marched through the crowd.
“Nichelle Mathis?”
The flawless older beauty turned with her brows already arched inquisitively. “Yes?”
“We have a warrant for your arrest.” Schneider flashed the warrant while Armstrong produced the handcuffs to the astonished woman.
“What?” Her beautiful caramel skin flushed.
“You have the right to remain silent . . .”
Nichelle stuttered indignantly as the funeral crowd halted in their tracks to stare.
Armstrong wasn’t without sympathy as they led her back through the crowd. He did, however, make a sidelong glimpse at Klaudya. Her ice-cold expression had yet to change. No, that wasn’t right. It had changed. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Not for the first time, Armstrong wondered whether they were arresting the right woman.
Locked behind prison bars, Nichelle couldn’t believe she was right back where she’d started. “This can’t be happening,” she repeated, raking her hands through her hair. How was she going to convince anyone she didn’t do this?
Pacing, she couldn’t stop the horrible images from running in her head. She was looking at life without the possibility of parole—again . . .
“Nichelle Mathis,” a prison guard’s voice boomed.
Startled, Nichelle stopped pacing. “Yes.”
“You got a visitor.”
“I do? Who?”
“What the fuck do I look like, your personal secretary?” The woman’s mud brown eyes leveled at Nichelle. It was the same look most guards had around there, and Nichelle knew better than to rock the boat.
Silently, the guard walked Nichelle from public holding to a private room, reserved for prisoner and attorney meetings. The only problem was she didn’t have an attorney, and a new public defender hadn’t been assigned to her. When she entered the room, however, there was only a mild shock at seeing Lieutenant Armstrong there, waiting.
Nichelle glared while she waited for the guard to handcuff her to the metal table. She didn’t want to sit but relented and cut to the chase. “What the hell do you want?”
“A confession,” he answered honestly.
“Well, you came to the wrong place.”
“Figured as much,” he acquiesced.
“Great.” She stood. “Does that mean we’re done here?”
Armstrong sighed and leaned his large frame back into his chair. “How about you help me help you?”
“You mean like the last time you helped?”
“Last time you confessed—and this time I believe there is more than what meets the eye in this case. It doesn’t mean I believe you’re innocent. You did, after all, steal your daughter’s life. That in and of itself is a Maury Povich shit show.”
“Javid’s and Klaudya’s marriage was over. She just didn’t know it. Javid . . . needed a more mature woman at his side.”
Armstrong stared. “What do you expect me to think when you say things like that?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“But the gun was in your hand.”
Nichelle stewed in her seat. “It wasn’t me.”
“We’re not going to get anywhere if I have to play twenty questions,” he said. “And just because I’m willing to lend you an ear doesn’t mean my bosses are, too. So, if there’s anything you can think of that could prove your innocence, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“I told you before. I don’t know what happened. Most of that night is a complete blur.”
Armstrong’s brows sprung up. “We’re going to play the amnesia game?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “It’s Klaudya. She’s behind this. I know it. She couldn’t get rid of me, so she got rid of Javid.”
Armstrong let the accusation hang in the air.
“You don’t believe me.” Nichelle tossed up her hands. “Great. They may as well give me the needle.”
“Chill out. You know California doesn’t have the death penalty. So, please. A little less drama goes a long way.”
Nichelle rolled her eyes.
“Now what about proof?” he asked. “You got any?”
She shook her head. “If I did, I wouldn’t be in here now, would I?”
“Fine. Do you know how I can get some?”
“I wish. There’s gotta be some way to retrace Klaudya’s steps after her release from jail.”
“You mean after you put her in there?”
Nichelle glared back.
Armstrong grinned. “This is only going to work if you’re one hundred percent honest with me.”
Instead of answering the question, Nichelle pivoted. “All I know is she was released early, and no one knew about it. Someone picked her up from jail. It had to be this old friend of hers that used to work at the Kitty Kat with her. I heard she was the only one who’d visited her in jail.”
“Does this friend have a name?”
“I don’t know her government name, but people call her Sassy.”
Dressed head-to-toe in widow’s black, Klaudya grew exhausted from everyone’s condolences and fake hugs. Outside of her clique of girlfriends, Tabitha, Bethany, Emma, and Brandi, people were there fishing for more gossip to feed into the Calabasas grapevine. For more than a year, she and her mother, Nichelle, sat on the tip of everyone’s tongues. But Klaudya was confident that this time her mother was out of her life for good.
Klaudya drifted from the house full of mourners toward the estate’s back French doors and watched the twins play with the other children. At least Mya was. Mykell sat alone on a patio chair with his bottom lip nearly hitting his chin.
“It’s going to be all right. Hang on,” Klaudya whispered against the glass paneling.
A familiar voice spoke from behind her. “It’s good to see that you’re holding it together.”
Klaudya stiffened but didn’t turn around.
Emilio Vargas moved to her side and gazed out of the back door with her. “You have my deepest and sincerest sympathies.”
Klaudya bit her lower lip and refrained from telling him what he could do with his sympathies.
“I wouldn’t worry about the boy,” Vargas added. “I lost my father about his age. I, too, was devastated. But I was resilient; most children are. You have to lead by example.”
Klaudya turned toward him. “I appreciate the parental advice.”
The corner of his lips twitched. “You know. I’ve always . . . admired you. Not only are you stunningly beautiful, but you also got spunk, and you’re a survivor.”
“Thanks. Now if you would excuse me, I need to attend to my other guests.” She took one step, but he smoothly cut off her path. “Is there something else I can do for you?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” He glanced around. “Perhaps there is somewhere we can talk—alone?”
Klaudya frowned. “Now?”
“I promise. It will only take a few minutes.”
“Sure. Why not?” She led him through the crowd of mourners and into her home office. It was awkward since it was across the hall from her husband’s, and where his body had been discovered.
Vargas made himself at home by crossing to the minibar. “Drink?”
She frowned. “Pass. I gave up the stuff.”
“Ah. Smart.” He commenced making his own while asking, “I hope you don’t mind?”
“Knock yourself out.”
He lifted his glass. “Salud!”
Klaudya eyed him as he tossed back a shot of whiskey.
“I’ll cut straight to the point.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“As you know, your husband and I were in business together. I trusted him and his partner Ari with a shitload of my money. Do you know about that?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know much about the financial industry. Any time Javid talked about the business, my eyes glazed over. If you’re looking for another advisor, I wouldn’t even know who to recommend.”
“Humph. Referral. That’s cute. No. You don’t understand. I trusted your husband. And there have been some discrepancies.”
She stared, incredulous. “You trusted him? Welcome to the club. I trusted him, too, before he fucked my mother, served me with divorce papers, and played house with her for a year while I sat in jail.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“You think? Look. I have no idea about any . . . discrepancies. I wasn’t here. Whatever stupid shit my husband was involved in, I have no clue. His secrets died with him.”
Vargas stared. “So you know nothing about his . . . business?”
She struggled to follow him. “Should I? I never worked for his firm. Why don’t you go and talk to Ari? I know they liquidated the company while I was away, but if there’s anyone else who knows the ins and outs of the business it would be him.”
Vargas’s smile returned. “I would love to talk to Arlington if I could find him. Any idea where he’s slithered off to?”
“Sorry. He didn’t send me a postcard.”
Vargas’s smile expanded. “It appears this time I’m barking up the wrong tree. Apparently, Javid kept plenty of secrets from you.”
The statement hung in the air between them.
What the hell did he expect her to say? “I need to get back to my other guests. Whatever it was Javid did, I’m sorry. All I want to do now is sell this place, take my children, and go somewhere where we can start all over—preferably before their grandmother goes on trial for killing their father.”
Vargas appeared as if he genuinely sympathized this time. “Guess I’ll have to chalk it up as a lesson learned. Loyalty is a dying attribute.”
“I’ve learned to be loyal only to myself.”
Vargas caught her bitter tone. “Then you’ve learned the right lesson. Any idea where you’ll go?”
“Not yet. Maybe I’ll spin a globe and pick out a place blindfolded.”
“You know Mexico has a lot to offer. Great place to start over and raise the kids.”
“You’re only saying that because your son is the president.”
“He could always use another vote. He did cut it close the last time.”
She laughed.
He set his drink on the bar. “I should go.” He waltzed over to her. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too.” He kissed her forehead and left her office with a wink.
Klaudya didn’t relax again until he and his bodyguards left her home.
Lieutenant Armstrong rolled through the alley of a nondescript strip mall in seedy East Los Angeles. Drugs and prostitution plagued the streets. The men cruising for a good time didn’t give a fuck about age, health status, or whether the workers were there by choice or trafficked. Erik had seen it all when he was with vice. Johns who solicited sex with their kids strapped in child seats in the back. It wasn’t unusual for undercover cops to wait until after services rendered before making an arrest.
The shit was mild compared to what he’d seen in his years on the force.
Lieutenants Armstrong and Schneider stopped next to a cluster of long-legged women in too-tight clothing and colorful wigs and rolled down the window.
One woman leaned into the car. “Whatcha doing here, sugar? You looking for a date?”
“Nah,” the woman in a blue wig said, leaning in next to her. “How are you doing, Officer Friendly?”
Erik smiled. “Are we that obvious?”
“Like a bright neon sign.” Blue flashed a gummy smile.
They shared a laugh before Erik got to the point. “I’m looking for Sassy. Has she been around?”
The women’s laughter petered out.
“Never heard of her,” Blue lied.
Erik cocked his head. “Do we need to take a trip downtown to jog your memory? It could take a long time.”
“Now, why do you want to fuck up my numbers?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Or you can tell m. . .
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