Shattered Trust

by Leslie Esdaile Banks

Genres: African American; African American Mystery & Detective; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Brilliant and beautiful Laura Caldwell is ready to begin a second chapter in her life with her new spouse in a Cayman Islands paradise, free from the enemies of the past--or so she thinks. . . From avenging her father's death to bringing down Philadelphia's most corrupt families, gutsy financial genius Laura Caldwell has finally found the tranquil life she's long been seeking. Ensconced in a luxurious island villa, newlyweds Laura and James have retired from the business of ridding the world of violence and deceit. With their enemies either behind bars or dead, and Laura's bank account in the millions, their days are now filled with love, family, and leisure. But when they get a tip about a brutal killing back home in Philly, they know it is a matter of time before their enemies come after them for revenge. . . Praise For The Trust Series "Banks concludes her Trust series with a bang, giving her fans a tension-filled, sensuous thriller and a dynamic and savvy African American heroine who is as tough as she is stylish. -- Booklist on No Trust "No matter what genre Leslie Esdaile Banks writes in, she is a master storyteller. Her stories are compelling, gripping and destined to leave you wanting more, anxiously awaiting her next release." --The RAWSISTAZ Reviewers on Blind Trust "Leslie Esdaile Banks is a terrific storyteller." --Gwynne Forster

Release date: May 26, 2011

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 321

Sample

Villa on Grand Cayman, Present Day

James Carter’s skin was like dark, bittersweet chocolate. Smooth, a confection that had slowly melted in her mouth all night long, a flavor that she could still savor hours later on the back of her tongue.

Laura stood in the kitchen of their newly rebuilt house, her hands besotted with mango nectar, as she meticulously peeled the skin away from the fruit and watched dawn burn the dew from the hibiscus that nearly covered her kitchen windows with their bright-hued wash of color. Heaven on earth.

After the terrible storms that had decimated the property over a year ago, only her battered memory of the disaster remained. There was no physical evidence left of the destruction. So why were their souls restless after more than a year of hiatus from the hectic, insane urban reality of Philly? she wondered. All those who’d hunted them had been either imprisoned or permanently neutralized by death. Her family was no longer at risk, nor was she in peril. The money was righteous; she’d come out holding financial aces worth millions once she was done. Therefore, the quiet, nagging feeling of unrest made no sense.

Her wild and crazy cousin, Najira, was safe and sound and living not far from their house on the island with James’s partner, Steve, and her brother Jamal. Their father, her Uncle Akhan, had healed nicely, and was back in his old home in North Philly, safe. Her sisters and their children were stateside, well provided for, and going on about their normal lives without interruption. So why the case of nerves?

The only thing she could chalk it up to was memories. . . gruesome, visceral memories of treacherous games, dangerous liaisons, and heavy losses. Like the angry storms that had swept through Florida and the Caribbean, she’d swept through Philadelphia’s black elite and had served a harsh blow of justice like a force of nature. Yet, by all accounts, it seemed as though the landscape had healed over, things had gone back to normal, and all evidence of her wrath was invisible to the naked eye.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. It had. Infrastructure had been rebuilt, just like it had been in paradise. Power, literally and figuratively, had been restored. Roads, water sources, homes, and buildings had been newly constructed and replaced. However, no one forgot what had taken place not so long ago. Every time it rained hard, people were wary. Human nature. Every time folks probably heard her name in Philly, she was also aware that they most likely whispered about Hurricane Laura in hushed, reverent tones. So be it.

What was there to do? She and Najira finally accepted the reality that her fund-raising business was dead from it all; it had died on the vine from foundations, politicians, and grant sources too wary of her capacity to inflict destruction to accept proposals. Thus, like some of the facilities in the Caribbean that would never come back after the storms, she’d ultimately shut down Rainmakers, Inc., and had given all loyal employees a hefty severance with glowing recommendations. Rest in peace. She and her small inner circle could live off the residuals of millions. Whatever. Maybe it was finally just time to meld into the obscure and become a private citizen again.

Laura rinsed her hands and reached up into the cabinet for the coffee to begin a fresh pot. Carefully opening the vacuum-sealed mason jar of fresh beans, she breathed in deeply before dumping some into the small grinder. Her new husband was like black coffee, too... . James always filled up a room without saying a word and eclipsed all vacancies within it, silently, mysteriously, and lingered in her subconscious with his wonderful aroma. In a very quiet way, he’d filled up her spirit like that as well, a gentle force that created an urge, a hankering that could rarely be ignored.

He poured over her senses still, hours later. The pungent scent of their lovemaking clung to her skin beneath her dampened robe. Remnants of his sticky essence made the flesh of her thighs fuse together as she made coffee and a small plate of fruit. She stared at the huge diamond on her hand, allowing the natural sunlight to bathe it and sparkle in the facets. More than a year of rapture, and her soul was now restless. Why?

For all his slow, calm delivery of words and actions, she could feel something palpable constantly roiling just beneath the surface of James’s skin. He seemed to be at peace, but wasn’t ... like her. In fact, as she turned the dilemma over and over in her mind, Najira and Steve also had a quiet desperation in their eyes when they all got together. The only one who was being honest was Jamal. He’d flat out admitted that for all the glory of paradise, he was bored.

Laura pressed the top of the Cuisinart grinder and the aroma of freshly ground coffee entered her nose. The slight hum in the kitchen connected to her spinal column and she lifted her hand; the noise seemed out of place in the early morning silence. This hour required reverence, stillness. The atrocities of the world seemed so far away, yet she knew they were also close enough to breathe against her ear until the hair at the nape of her neck stood up.

“Hey,” a quiet male voice whispered from the kitchen doorway.

She didn’t turn around or start. “Hey,” she said calmly. “I was making coffee and some fruit. You want some?”

Laura glanced over her shoulder. James leaned against the doorframe and raked his hair, but didn’t sit down.

They both just looked at each other for a moment.

“I know,” she said quietly, and then went back to the task of finding a filter for the pot.

He nodded. “You feeling it, too?”

“Yeah,” she said just above a whisper and added water to the coffeemaker. “How long have you?”

“Couple of months,” he admitted and entered the kitchen. “Something’s nagging my gut.”

“It isn’t over, is it?” She stopped making coffee and stared at him. “Your gut is never wrong, James. Neither is mine.”

He slowly sat down in a chair, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall. “I know, baby. I know.”

James let his breath out in an audible sigh. She turned on the coffeemaker and came to the table to sit across from him.

“You first,” she said with a half smile.

He opened his eyes and ran his palms down his face and gave her a sheepish grin. “That’s not what you said last night.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But you’re avoiding the subject. So, since I got mine multiple times last night—you first, this morning.”

He nodded and chuckled with her, leaning on his forearms on the table as he sat forward to stare at her. “I’m not trying to blow the groove, Laura, but I’ve got this weird feeling like ... like it’s too quiet. I keep telling myself that it’s just because I’m not used to a life without drama that I’m feeling like the other shoe is about to drop. Does that make sense?”

She leaned forward and clasped his hands within hers. “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. I’ve been reading the newspapers from back home online.”

He chuckled, squeezed her hands gently, and then sat back. “I thought we were gonna banish the States for a while?”

She smiled and stood. “How about that coffee?”

He watched her move to the counter, loving the way her shapely body flowed beneath the peach silk of her robe. Her cinnamon brown skin looked like it sucked up the color of the fabric and reflected it back out through her pores. Her short, dark, velvety hair was a mussed profusion of curls on top of her head, evidence of the torrid night before. “Coffee, huh?” he said, trying to keep his nature at bay as he watched her fix their morning brew. “Isn’t that how this all got started a long time ago?”

She laughed and glimpsed him over her shoulder. He loved the way her dark, smoldering eyes glistened with mischief in the privacy of their kitchen ... and the way her lush mouth pouted as she devised a comeback line. He waited patiently for her and the coffee, wondering why he was trying to ruin paradise. It made no sense.

He had all that any man could want. Screw the fledgling detective agency. He and Steve could open a small water sports business by the resorts and live out the rest of their lives in peace. What better way for two ex-cops to retire? They had both made it out alive, whatever gunshot wounds they’d sustained had earned them citations, they’d healed, had gotten out of the system with a solid pension, and they’d even scored a nice profit from their one and only job. There was no need to stir the pot with unfounded worries. But his gut was never wrong.

Laura brought two mugs of coffee to the table with a fruit plate and slid into a padded wicker chair. “Your coffee,” she announced, and then sipped her java with a sly smile.

“And the Internet says what?” he said, taking a slow sip and then picking up a piece of mango from the plate, his eyes never leaving hers.

“The good senator resigned office and got off with a spurious plea bargain. He’s been acquitted. All charges against him have been focused on the doctor, Senator Scott’s errant son, and dead people.”

James nodded and put the piece of mango in his mouth, half chewing, half sucking the flavor of the sweetness, and allowing his tongue to enjoy it before answering her. “Figured as much,” he said, casually sucking the juice off his fingers. “If he went down, a lot of other very high-ranking politicians all the way to D.C. would have also gone down, baby. You know how this goes.”

She sighed and took a piece of fruit up from the plate, stared at it for a moment, and then popped it into her mouth. “Uhmm, hmmm,” she mumbled, chewing. “It’s a viper’s nest all the way to the top. That’s why I shut down Rainmakers.”

He smiled and slurped his coffee. “So, if you’re out of the grant-making and political fund-raising business, then why are you following the stateside news like a hawk?”

“I’m not, really.” Her gaze slid away from his with a smile.

“My Scorpio wife is such a gorgeous liar,” he said, leaning his head back and dangling another piece of fruit above his mouth, and then allowing it to drop in.

She laughed. “It’s not a lie. It’s—”

“An evasion. Talk to me, Laura.” He smiled and leaned forward, taking up his coffee again. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she said sheepishly, sipping her brew and staring at him over the rim of her mug. She set it down with precision. “I’m just watching our backs.”

He slurped his brew with a half smile. “You’ve got serious trust issues, baby.” He set his mug down calmly. “But I can’t talk too bad about you, because so do I.”

“You’ve been online, too, I take it?”

He chuckled. “You know me well.”

“You’re worried, too?”

His smile faded. “We did a lot of damage. People with an axe to grind are out in the world again—temporarily gone, but not forgotten.”

Her grip tightened around her mug, although her facial expression remained serene. “You think I need to get Akhan out of Philly?”

“Might not hurt to bring him in close with the family down here for a while, until our guts ain’t in a knot.”

They both stared at each other for a moment.

“You know my uncle loves his community and won’t leave Philly.”

“I know,” James said quietly. “He’s one of those old-school warriors that will be there until the bitter end with a shotgun at his door, talkin’ about ain’t no revenuers coming on his property.”

Laura sighed and smiled. “You’ve talked to him.”

James smiled and nodded. “So have Najira and Jamal. Repeatedly.”

“I see,” Laura said, taking up her coffee again. “Glad to know I’m not the only one with secrets.”

He laughed and shook his head, his hand sliding under the table to stroke her thigh. “Nope. But it was all with good intent.”

The heat of his hand there made her relax, just as much as his words had. It was oddly comforting to know that he was also on alert and that she was not alone in her wariness.

“Now that I’m fully awake,” he said in a low murmur, “and I’ve had some Joe ... I have other intentions that are real good, too.”

“Hmmm ... sounds like an attempt to distract me.”

“No, more like an attempt to relax you and to get that big brain of yours to let go of what we can’t do anything about until it happens.”

“I like to be prepared for the worst-case scenario,” she said, closing her eyes as his hand stroked warmth into the flesh of her leg.

“Me, too,” he said quietly, still caressing her thigh. “We’ll get Akhan to visit, for an extended stay. I can beef up security here and I know Steve is on the same page.”

She opened her eyes. “You’re not worried about an actual physical hit, are you? I was more thinking in terms of some financial attack, something to screw us business-wise, or to shut down our contacts to entrepreneurial ventures back home.”

James pulled back his hand and leaned forward to clasp hers. This was exactly what he didn’t want her to think about. Truthfully, it was exactly what he didn’t want to consider, but had to, especially now that the subject had been broached.

“Laura, listen to me. The man’s son will be behind bars until the end of time. His niece was killed, shot by her own husband—whom I’m sure they all know by now that you had a hand in bringing down, even if they’ll never be sure how. All his cronies and contracts were fucked. The man’s reputation was so badly damaged that he can’t even get a job in a 7-Eleven back home. All his allies have distanced themselves from him. The casino boys won’t even jeopardize their construction contracts to help him out, given that the big eye in the sky, the media, has been all over this thing like white on rice. To my mind that leaves an old man with nothing to lose, a lot of time and energy to focus on vengeance ... which you and I both know can fuel the craziest of things in a person for years, baby.”

She squeezed his hands tightly and let her gaze drift out of the window toward the horizon. James slipped his hands out of her grasp and stood, rounding the table to stand behind her and caress her shoulders.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he murmured, bending to land a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m all right. Just thinking.”

His hands slid down her shoulders in a slow, comforting rub back and forth. “No you’re not. But that’s OK. I got this, baby. Maybe that’s why you married a cop.”

She forced herself to smile. “You still have your Peacekeeper?”

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “Yep, plus a shotgun, a rifle, two nines, and plenty of shells.”

He felt her body tense and gently pulled her up from the chair to embrace her. “I told Mr. and Mrs. Melville the situation a few weeks ago. The man is coming this week to install a security alarm system in here that should have been a part of the rebuild while construction was going on, anyway. Plus security cameras. . . and I’ve alerted the island authorities of any potential issues. Steve’s getting his house wired, too, with a monitor in his office that links to ours—plus panic buttons.”

Laura laid her head on his shoulder, her hands caressing his back. “You’re really worried, aren’t you?”

His answer was a tender kiss. “No ... I just have trust issues.” He forced himself to smile for her sake, and knew she had done the same for him.

She looked into her new husband’s intense, dark eyes and saw an old fear flicker within them. She understood it well, and knew the same was frozen within hers.

Without more conversation, she surrendered to his method of banishing reality as his hands untied the sash of her robe. Yes, she understood his need to touch skin, to keep himself rooted in the present. That had also become her need.

His mouth took hers in a slow opening of lips, a gentle duet of tongues, and she understood that their minds no longer had amnesty from the past, now that the dread had been admitted and named. Paradise had been compromised, but coffee-sweetened mango still tasted so good first thing in the morning. Their hiatus had been a placebo; they knew that. Caresses and passionate days and nights were just anesthesia ... an endorphin rush, like morphine, to chase away the adrenaline tension of bad nerves. That didn’t matter right now.

She helped him shed his burgundy silk boxers, and allowed him to lead her back to the kitchen chair. She totally understood James’s way of saying, “Baby, I’m worried.” That was her way of banishing fear, too.

It was all in his eyes, the way he took her mouth again ever so gently as she carefully straddled his lap. It was all in his touch, the way it grazed over the surface of her skin like she was fragile glass. It had been so obvious in his newfound interest in opening a small sporting goods shop with Steve ... the way they’d both talked in rapid-fire sentences about the most mundane of things; serving burgers and light fare, frozen drinks, Najira doing the books, Jamal working the registers, her marketing the concept to the resorts.

She understood that James’s way was an easy slide into the present that kept him anchored, the same way he’d just slid into her. His motions were steady, not rushed, like his planning. Methodical to the point of crazy-making was his trademark, unraveling her resistance to let go of the past and the tension, one slow stroke at a time ... his unspoken signature making her keep her eyes on him, her eyes on the present not the past, a gentling of her spirit, the way one would calm a frightened thoroughbred. Just don’t look down and come to me, his touch beckoned, hands gliding over the now too-sensitive tips of her breasts, causing her soft gasp, which he swallowed.

“I got this,” he whispered into her mouth.

She swallowed his promise with a slight shudder. “I know,” she murmured against his neck, allowing her fingers to revel in his short-cropped hair, the slight waves within it teasing her fingertips. Her husband knew her very, very well, just like she knew him and could tell that he needed her to stay in the here and now.

Releasing the threat of tomorrow, she bore down on him harder, gently rotating her hips in a slow, undulating circle that finally drew a quiet gasp from him and made him close his eyes.

God yes, his wife knew him so very, very well, and the disturbing conversation began to ebb and flow like her hips, pushing itself into the far recesses of his mind. His hands found her tight, fleshy backside as her hands rested gently against his shoulders. Thoughts of possible hit men embedded in their future seemed so remote as he became more deeply embedded within her, their thigh muscles working in unison, in partnership to keep their slow, steady rhythm, the flow of agonizing movements unbroken.

He loved the way coffee and mango lingered in her sweet kiss ... the way her tongue explored the inside of his mouth, pulling a moan up from his lungs as her tempo increased ever so slightly. Yeah ... right now, nothing else mattered, and that was just the way he liked it—easy. Nothing too profound. Her body heating until he could feel a light sheen of perspiration beginning to claim it. Her voice a muffled whimper grazing the soft tissue of his palate, something to savor and allow to hold him hostage, just like her natural scent.

She threw her head back and gave him access to kiss her windpipe, and down to the soft cleft at the base of her throat, her full, pendulous breasts swaying slightly to every rise and fall of her voluptuous body against his—easy. Coffee with her in the morning, have mercy. A slow sip of hard, java-hued nipples between his lips; his most favorite of ways to begin the day.

“Laura.” One strangled word, her name, brought her back to him hard, and fast, and hot—scalding ... making him meet her where she was, close to the edge, as the burn ran down his shaft and imploded in his sac.

She moved against him like a sudden island rain, pelting his groin with intense pleasure, no longer a slow dissolve of his sanity. This morning wasn’t a light shower, but had opened up to an unexpected, torrential downpour—an event that would now happen quickly before the clouds parted and allowed in the sun of her smile again.

Humid, wet, she contracted against him, co. . .