The Edge of Dawn (21 page)

The two eased Saint to the pavement, then spent the next few minutes tossing tools, coolers, blankets, and the rest into the back. With the job done, they stepped away. Ridley motioned impatiently for Narice to enter. Before climbing in, she shot a quick look back at Saint lying so still. Green and Jacobs hustled Saint to the ve
hicle and propped him up on the seat next to her. He immediately listed over, so she eased his weight down and gently cradled his head on her lap. She carefully removed his glasses and placed them in her purse. Stroking his brow with a slow hand, she prayed he'd come to soon.

Ridley climbed in next and sat beside Narice. Farouk took the wheel and Fulani rode shotgun. Green and Jacobs got into a nearby black sedan and started the engine. Their car swung in behind the Caddy.

As the SUV rolled out of the parking lot, Narice's concern for Saint equaled her concern for herself. Without a doubt, once Ridley and his crew got the Eye her value dropped to zero. She'd always been a take-charge kind of girl and being around Saint for the past few days only added to that attitude, so as she looked down at her unconscious Cyclops she vowed she'd get them out of this mess as soon as the Lord made a way.

Ridley had been observing Narice stroking Saint's face and said, “He'll be all right, you know. A few years ago, I gave him fifty strokes with a cat-o'-nine tails, and he survived. A simple sleeping drug won't kill him.”

“Why'd you lash him?”

“He stuck his nose in something where it didn't belong.”

Narice remembered the story about Ridley and his sex parties, but when had Saint been beaten? “So you beat him.”

“Like a runaway slave.”

His smugness made Narice's mouth curl with disgust. She turned away and looked out of the window at the darkness and the city's lights.

From the front seat, Farouk asked her, “Where in this swamp are we going, Ms. Jordan, and how do we get there?”

Narice tossed back grudgingly. “Your guess is as good as mine. The town isn't on the maps.”

Ridley asked, “What's the name?”

“Grey Swans.”

He replied with a knowing tone, “Ah, that's right. I remember now.”

Narice turned to him with a puzzled look. “You remember what?”

“Your father talking about Grey Swans when I met him in North Africa.”

Narice remembered him mentioning knowing her father that night in the cab. “Why were you there?”

“I was a journalist covering the war for Canada. I flew in to do a story on America's Negro troops, and he and I struck it up. We became friends or as much friends as men of different races could be back then. I'd heard rumors that he'd taken the Eye, but it never occurred to me that he would hide it and refuse to reveal the location.”

It was obvious to Narice that her father didn't consider Ridley as much of a friend as Ridley believed. Narice didn't pull her punch. “Did you kill him?”

“No, his stubbornness did.”

That answer just pissed her off. “Did you set the fire?”

He didn't respond.

“Did you?”

“Let's just say I gave him every chance to live a long life but he chose otherwise.”

Narice could feel ugly emotions rising up in her body; emotions that wanted to strike out and hurt Ridley in ways that would leave him maimed and barely alive, but she couldn't act upon them. She wanted him convicted then incarcerated; going off on him wouldn't make either of those things happen. Besides, he had the guns. For now, she'd just have to live with her hate.

In the front seat, Fulani was leaning forward and checking out the buttons and dials on the dash. “Ms. Jordan, what do all of these knobs do?”

Narice gave her a disinterested, “This and that.”

Ridley snapped. “Leave them alone. Who knows what kind of booby traps this car has.”

Fulani stared him down. “The only reason you are here, Mr. Ridley, is because of your ties to the generals. You are not in charge.”

She then pushed the button that brought up the GPS. When the glowing green screen appeared she giggled like an excited child.

Ridley snarled, “Didn't you hear me?”

When Fulani continued to ignore him, he said to Farouk harshly, “Do something with her.”

Farouk was not impressed by Ridley's blustering. “She is just curious. I doubt she can hurt anything.”

Fulani managed to get the two-way radio to work, but because she didn't know the password, she couldn't access anyone.

Narice said, “Fulani. Open that little silver panel.”

Ridley snapped, “Shut up.”

But Fulani was already in motion. She opened the panel then asked Narice, “What does it do?”

“Push that button to the left.”

In response a red screen with a circular map complete with black grids and cursors appeared. In the center a small white light began to pulse like a heartbeat. Next came the sound of Lily's computer-generated female voice over the interior speakers. “Target locked. Five seconds to impact.”

Ridley's eyes widened as did the eyes of Fulani and Farouk. Before they could react further, the metal beneath the seats began to vibrate. There was the high-pitched sound of jets (?) and then the sound of an explosion behind them. Through the window, Narice saw the fireball that had once been Gus, Jacobs, and their black sedan. Narice didn't like being the cause of anybody's death but these people had already killed her father and were probably going to kill her once they found the Eye. She was just evening up the odds.

The occupants stared at her in shocked silence, then Ridley backhanded her so hard, she reeled and saw stars. Suddenly Saint was up and his knife was at Rid
ley's throat. Farouk and Fulani's eyes went wide as plates. The car was silent again, but this time for another reason. His voice was deadly: “Farouk and Fulani, I can kill him before you can blink, stop the car.”

Farouk pulled over to the side of the road.

“Hand Narice your weapons, and do it real slow. My head's on fire, and I'm not seeing real clear.”

They did as they were told.

Narice's face was throbbing. She turned the guns on them and was so angry she planned on squeezing the trigger on the first one who moved.

Saint pushed the tip of the blade far enough into the soft skin beneath Ridley's jaw, tiny drops of blood slid down the gleaming metal. “Narice, say the word and I'll slit his throat.”

Furious over the slap, she snapped, “Just get him away from me.”

Saint told him, “She's saved your rotten life twice now. You won't get a third one. Remember that.”

Ridley didn't move. Saint stuck his free hand into Ridley's coat and relieved him of his weapon. “Reach back and open the door.” Saint wanted to carve him up and toss out the pieces.

Ridley did as he was told.

“Back out.”

He stepped out and Saint went with him, never removing the thirsty point of the knife. The quietness of the night surrounded them. A few cars blew by but Saint didn't pay them any mind. “I'm going to kill you the next time we meet, so be ready.”

Ridley's blue eyes glittered dangerously.

“If you don't believe me show up again and they'll be measuring you for a casket. Now start walking.”

Nagal's prime minister glared but headed off. Saint waited until Ridley was a ways down the dark highway before going around to the driver door of the SUV and snatching it open. Farouk drew back fearfully.

“Out! Both of you.”

Farouk began to protest, “We know nothing about this part of your country. Suppose we offer to cut you in—”

The speech was cut short by the sharp jab of Saint's knife in his ribs.

Farouk promised, “You'll pay for this.”

“Yeah maybe, but The Majesty is going to have your balls in cream sauce when she finds out you're working for the other side. Now get going. Narice and I want to be alone.”

Narice's eyes flashed in her stinging face.

Less than a second later, Farouk and Fulani were out and Narice and Saint were driving away. “I'm damn sick of them,” Saint groused.

Behind the wheel, Narice noted how good it felt to have him back. “So am I. How's your head?”

“Terrible. But after a couple Advil, I'll be good to go—in a few hours. How's your face?”

“Terrible, but after some ice, I'll be good to go, too.”

She glanced his way. He looked like Grumpy of the Seven Dwarfs. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks. Pull over for a minute and let me look at your face.”

She coasted to a stop and he reached up and turned on the light. The redness beneath her skin was evident. He climbed into the back and got her some ice. He handed her the small plastic bag. She placed it against her face.

Saint said, “I'm sorry.”

Narice shook her head. “You didn't hit me. He did.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't prevent it.”

She understood.

“The next time he shows up I'm going to kill him.”

“I know.”

He reached out and gently removed the ice pack. He looked at her cheek again and hoped the ice would help stall the swelling. “I'll drive.”

She put the pack back and said softly, “I'll drive. You can drive later.”

He leaned over and kissed her, whispering, “I'm sorry.”

“Let's get out of here.”

He didn't argue.

Saint reached into his pocket for the small bottle of over-the-counter pain meds he always carried. After removing one of the tabs and swallowing it dry, he sat back and waited for relief to kick in. To take his mind off the wait, he thought back on this latest cockroach encounter. Under normal circumstances, he would have turned out the lights on Ridley and been done with him once and for all, but these weren't normal circumstances; Narice was with him and not wanting to show her his assassin side was making this job a whole lot harder than it needed to be. Saint was sure Ridley wasn't conflicted about any of this. Given the opportunity, Ridley wouldn't hesitate to do whatever it took to come out on top, but Saint had let him off the hook again and he wasn't happy with
this sudden emergence of a conscience. He knew where it was rooted, though. He glanced over at Narice behind the wheel. She was the reason. The beautiful Ms. Jordan with her schoolmarm vocabulary and sex-kitten ways had cast a spell over him that he couldn't shake. Even with his head still hurting like hell the pain was dull compared to the intensity of his feelings for her. He turned his attention to the darkness outside his window. Now he understood why folks in his line of work weren't supposed to fall in love; it made them soft.

Saint brought up the GPS in order to determine where they might start the search. Waycross Georgia was one of the main gateways to the Okefenokee, and he guessed that's where Ridley and the rest would probably begin their search, so he opted to travel farther south and go in via Fargo, which was near the Georgia–Florida border. Waycross was a good 250 miles south of Atlanta. Bypassing it for Fargo would make the drive longer, but he wanted to make it hard for the cockroaches to find them.

Narice looked over at the green screen and asked, “And if Aunt Camille lives up there by Waycross?”

Saint shrugged. “We'll just have to take our chances.”

Narice had her misgivings, but he was the expert and he had gotten her this far, so she deferred to him and drove on.

She and Saint didn't talk much. She drove and he sat silent in his seat. Because of the shadows she couldn't
tell if he was sleeping or not. She worked about the aftereffects of whatever Fulani shot him with. Are you awake?”

“If I wasn't, I am now.”

“My, aren't we Oscar the Grouch?”

Saint couldn't help but smile. “Anybody ever tell you women are supposed to be docile?”

“A few times. Mostly when I was being promoted over some man back on Wall Street.”

Saint shook his head. “Pull over a minute, would you?”

Narice looked into her rearview mirror to check for traffic, then pulled over to the side of the road. She left the motor running. “What?”

He sat up. “Lean over here so I can give that mouth of yours something better to do.”

Narice's desire flared. She leaned over and he fit actions to words. The kiss deepened and they both caught slow fire. Tongues mated, lips were nibbled, and his hand explored the curves of her breasts. Soon Lily's interior was filled with the soft sounds of their heightened breathing.

Saint whispered, “We should get going.”

She knew he was right. “Yeah, we should.”

After a few kisses more, Narice headed them back to the road. Like him, she wanted to further explore the passion neither seemed able to get enough of, but they needed to get to the Eye as soon as possible.

They were thirty miles from Waycross when the sun began to peek through the horizon, dazzling the eye with
colors of reds, oranges and pinks. The beautiful sky reminded Narice how much she'd always enjoyed the beginning of the day. She said to Saint, “My daddy used to call this time of day the edge of dawn. He said every new sunrise gives you another chance to do right.”

Thinking about her father brought her back to the mission ahead. “After this last cockroach visit, I really want us to find the Eye so I can go home.”

Saint's headache was still pounding, though not as much. “Tired of my company?”

“Nope, just tired of the company you keep.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“How do you think they found us back at the hotel?”

He shrugged. “Satellite, maybe. Who knows?”

Truthfully, Narice didn't really care. What she did care about was getting this adventure over. She turned his way and asked, “How long were you really knocked out?”

“I think the rumble of the missiles brought me around.”

“You should have seen the look on their faces when that car blew up.” Her face was still smarting from Ridley's backhand.

“Who was in the car?”

“Gus and the man with him at the store.”

“So much for them.”

“Yeah. No one should be blown up like that, but the less cockroaches we have to deal with, the better.”

She looked out of her window and sighed. “I can't
wait to go back to my slow, sedate little life in Maryland. All these guns and mayhem is not good for a sister.”

He grinned. “Only a schoolmarm like you would use the word
mayhem.
”

In mock offense she planted her fist on her waist. “You weren't dissin' my vocabulary back in Atlanta.”

“That's because you were panting
‘Daddy give me more. Give me more.'”

She burst out laughing and tried to smack him in the arm. “You liar! I did not.”

He laughed loud, “Oh Narice, I may never let you go back to your dull little life. Who's going to be my sidekick when you're gone?”

Narice felt a sharp sadness grip her heart at the thought of maybe never seeing him again. “I'm sure you'll find somebody.”

“Not like you.”

They shared a strong unspoken look for a silent few seconds, then she went back to driving. He said, as he turned his eyes to the view out of his window, “Tell you what, when I get lonesome, I'll just come get you. Okay?”

“I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole. Knowing you, you'll show up in the middle of the night talking about let's fly to Tahiti.”

“And you'd say?”

She studied him for a long moment. “Probably, yes.”

He grinned and said, “Once a Bond girl, always a Bond girl.”

Narice said to herself,
No, once in love, always in love.

 

By the time they began seeing road signs for the Okefenokee, Saint's head was still a bit cloudy but the pain had subsided a lot. The ache in his hand was also almost gone. “If Grey Swans isn't on the map, we need to find a local who knows where it is.”

“How about we look for a gas station or something.”

“Sounds good. Just so we don't drive Lily through the front door.”

She laughed. “Probably be the most action this little burg has had in a while.”

“Yeah, and our court trials would be second on that list.”

They passed a hospital where out front an old brother was slowly sweeping the parking lot. Since the man looked like a likely candidate, Saint did a sharp U-turn that made Narice grab for her armrest. Heading Lily back, he stopped and she lowered her window and called out, “Good morning, sir.”

He looked up. “Morning. Can I help you?”

He was of average height and looked to be in his late sixties, early seventies. He had an age-lined black face and wore a short gray 'fro.

“Do you know where Grey Swans is?”

“Sure do.” Then he went back to sweeping.

Narice's outdone face made Saint chuckle, “Hey, you asked him a question. He answered it.”

Narice rolled her eyes and got out of the truck. “Sir, can you tell me how to get there?”

He stopped sweeping again and studied Narice for a moment before saying, “You can't. It's part of the wildlife refuge now. Restricted area.”

“But my aunt still lives there as far as I know.”

“What's her name?”

“Camille. Camille Jordan.”

That seemed to surprise him. “Really?”

“Yes, sir. Do you know her?”

“Yeah, I know her. Everybody over sixty-five and Black knows Camille Jordan—know she's crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“As a bedbug. Last time the reverend went out to check on her, she ran him off with her rifle. She don't like visitors. At tall.”

“Well, I need to get in touch with her and let her know my father, her brother, Simon, died last week.”

“Then he's the last. James Ohio died a few years back. My condolences.”

“Thank you. Who's James Ohio?”

“Your daddy's third brother.”

“Daddy had brothers?”

“Three. Curtis California, Spencer Kentucky, and James Ohio. You look surprised.”

Narice didn't lie. “I am. I didn't know he had any kin besides Camille.”

“Well, them Jordans always was a secretive bunch. After their parents died back in the forties, the boys all
went their separate ways. Family split apart like the seat of an old pair of pants. Camille stayed, though.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Well, if you're Simon's girl, I'm an ex in-law. Curtis California was married to my sister, Jerdine. Name's Mitchell Bewick.”

Narice smiled and stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bewick. I'm Narice Jordan.”

He shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, too.” He then asked, “You having Simon buried here?”

“No, he died in a fire.”

“I see.”

There was an awkward silence, then Narice sought to change the subject. “Were your sister and Curtis California married a long time?”

“Nah. Lasted maybe all of six months, but he always sent her money back from where he was staying in Chicago.”

Narice didn't know about any of this, and admittedly could spend the next three days quizzing him, but she had to find Aunt Camille. “Can you take me to her? Me and my friend in the car over there?”

Mitchell looked over at the battered and dinged-up Caddy. “That's one of those new Cadillacs isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. Can you help us?”

He studied her. “She ain't going to want to see you.”

“She might.”

“And pigs might fly.”

“Mr. Bewick.”

“You're wasting your time.”

“It's real important.”

“You can't get to her place by car. Boat's the only way.”

“That's okay. My friend and I will buy a boat if we have to.”

“Simon leave Camille a lot of money?”

Narice didn't respond.

“None of my business, huh? Well, that's okay. I'll take you but it'll cost you a hundred dollars.”

“What?! I thought you said we were family?”

“Ex-family.”

Narice shot him a warning look.

He shrugged. “Either you want me to take you or find somebody else. Makes me no never mind.”

Narice wondered what ever happened to Southern hospitality. “Let me talk to my friend.”

She went back to the Caddy and filled Saint in. Afterwards, he fished around in his coat and handed her a crumpled fifty-dollar bill. “Tell him, half now and the rest after we get to your aunt's place.”

“He ought to be arrested for extortion.”

“True, but we don't really have the time to be choosy. Sooner we get to the swamp the better.”

Narice knew he was right, but she wasn't pleased.

Mr. Bewick took the money and agreed to the payment terms. “I get off work in an hour. We can go then.”

“We were hoping to go as soon as we could.”

“Well, the soonest I can go is when I get off work.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Never could resist a pretty woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “We'll be back. Shall we meet you here?”

“Yep. Now, let me get back to my sweeping. Don't want to lose my job.”

Narice nodded and hurried back to the Caddy.

Narice and Saint used the free time to head to a fast-food place. They picked up some bags of breakfast, then drove to a city park, turned off Lily's motor, and ate in the early morning quiet. Narice took a sip from the plastic cup holding her orange juice. “Do you think Mr. Bewick's really going to be there when we get back?”

“Maybe, but if he isn't, we'll find somebody else.”

Through the window, she watched a man jog by with a beautiful Irish Setter. The temp outside was already eighty-two and it wasn't even eight
A.M
. yet. It was going to be a scorcher of a day.

Once he was done eating, Saint got out to assess the damage to the Caddy. It was the first time he'd had the time to really check her out. The once mirror-finish paint was scarred by scratches, dings, and dents, and there were a few burn spots the size of dinner plates on her roof. The bumper was blackened from the heat of the deployed missiles. The wire grate over the left taillamp was gone, probably lost when Narice rammed the glass at the convenience store, but the headlights were intact, and the tires felt sound.

Narice said from behind him, “Miss Lily has taken quite a beating.”

He turned to watch her walk towards him and loved each and every sway of her hips in the snug black capris. “Yeah, she has, but I think she's okay.”

“How about you?” she asked softy, stepping closer.

Saint looked down into the concerned dark eyes of the woman whose presence in his life had altered the way he'd always looked at his life. “Head still hurts, but it's no big deal. How about you?”

“I'm okay. The ice seemed to work.” Her cheek was puffy but not as much as she feared.

She reached up and ran her hand down his bearded cheek. “Should we be finding you a doctor?”

He backed up. “Naw. I'll be fine. I've had worse heads.”

He could see she wasn't convinced, but to her credit she didn't force the issue.

Narice looked out over the green of the park and asked him instead, “What are you going to do once this is all over?”