way, all eyes were on Ashley.
She told them about her meeting with Jean and Bernard.
“So far so good,” Mia said.
“Then in walks Elliot Morgan.”
Three pairs of eyes widened as Ashley described their meeting and the not-very-subtle animosity that flashed between them.
“He’s pompous, arrogant and so full of himself,” Ashley groaned. “And they want us to live together!” She folded her arms and pouted like a three-year-old.
The women broke out into laughter.
“Girl, your problem is you haven’t had a man in your air space in so long you don’t know how to handle it.” Savannah chuckled.
“For real,” Danielle concurred.
Ashley was visibly appalled at the lack of support from her girls. They were supposed to be on her side. Sure, she hadn’t had a real relationship in longer than she cared to admit. She knew she had commitment issues, deep-seated fears of loss. Loss that she hadn’t shared with anyone, not even her girls. There was a part of her that believed she didn’t deserve someone to care about her and her about them. The guilt of all those years ago still haunted her.
They all nodded, biting back smirks. Even little Mikayla was laughing and kicking her feet in her stroller.
Mia leaned forward, schooling her expression. “Look, sis, no one knows better than me how weird it can be living with a man. When Steven and I got together it was tough at first.”
“Yeah, but he’s your man. Now your husband. That’s something completely different. I don’t know this jerk from a hole in the wall.”
“You did say he looked like Idris Elba, didn’t you?” Danielle said, egging her on.
Ashley rolled her eyes.
“Look, it’s just an assignment. You’ll have separate rooms and separate lives outside of the case,” Savannah said, always the practical one. “Just worry about the job.”
That was just it, Ashley thought. The job. But maybe Savannah was right. Focus on the assignment. It may well lead her to what she’d been searching for over the past twenty years—answers.
Elliot turned the key in the door of his third-floor walk-up on West Eighth Street in the Village. He’d found the place after a less-than-exhaustive search, but fell for it right away. His apartment was in a prewar building, with vaulted ceilings and enormous rooms. His one-bedroom apartment in any other neighborhood in Manhattan would go for three times the amount with the rooms cut down to bite-sized pieces. The neighborhood was an eclectic blend of class, culture, language and age, from seedy to high end and everything in between. It was a mecca for the artsy and a paradise for lovers of music, avante-garde shops and cozy cafès. The perfect place to blend in, able to see and go unseen.
He locked the door behind him and began tugging his fitted T-shirt over his head as he strolled from the front hallway, through the mostly unfurnished living room to his bedroom located in the back, facing the park. He tossed his shirt on the bed and absently rubbed the raised, circular scar on his shoulder, the result of a gunshot wound from a man who wished he’d been a better shot. Elliot clenched his teeth. He’d been distracted that afternoon in the alley, by memories of the argument he’d had with Lynn the night before.
It’s the first rule in his line of work; relationships are a distraction. Hit It and Quit It, was the slogan among the guys. He should have listened. Then what happened later would not have mattered as much, wouldn’t have hurt him so much. It changed him. Now he was a poster child for the boy’s club mantra.
Elliot pulled the envelope he’d gotten from Jean out of his back pocket. He unfolded it and tried to flatten it out on the bed by running his fist over it. It refused to succumb to his manipulations and curled back up.
“Figures,” he groused, flopping spread-eagle across the bed. He tossed a thick, muscled arm across his eyes and a crystal clear image of Ashley popped behind his lids with such preciseness, the near-reality shot a jolt of denied longing to his groin. He felt his shaft throb and jump against the zipper of his jeans. “Down boy,” he grumbled, and forced his mind to the issue at hand—a new, unwanted assignment. He was a field operative. His specialty search and dispose. As a former Navy Seal he’d been trained for combat, for dealing swiftly and with stealth against the unseen enemy before he joined the FBI and worked as a part-time handyman for the CIA in their even shadier operations. This assignment was a slap in the face. Missing babies! He didn’t even like kids. They were a nuisance. Not to mention messy and noisy.
He ran through a laundry list of higher-ups that he may have pissed off to get saddled with this assignment and couldn’t come up with anyone. He lurched forward and sat up, snatched the envelope and opened it.
It pretty much laid out what Jean and Bernard explained earlier. But in reading the documents, he got a sudden chill when he went over some of the painfilled stories of the parents whose infants went missing. Included in the envelope was a list of adoption centers, fertility clinics and local hospitals.
A deep frown creased his brow. What kind of person would steal a baby from its parents? But he knew the answer. Money and greed were great motivators, and combined with persons of no conscience made for ugly scenarios. He released a heavy sigh as the ink began to fade on the pages.
These parents deserved some justice, he concluded. So he’d just suck it up and bring a clean and quick end to this madness. A half grin lifted the side of his full mouth. As a minor benefit he’d get to play hubby with the very sexy Ashley Temple, whether she liked it or not. He chuckled at the thought.
Chapter 4
“So are you feeling a little better about things?” Mia asked once she and Ashley had returned to the office.
Ashley gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. “I suppose.” She turned to Mia, her hand planted on her slender hips. “I’ve never lived with a man. Let alone a perfect stranger.” She frowned. “I like my independence.”
Mia dropped her oversized purse on the desk and looked at her friend. “Is that all that’s really bothering you?”
Ashley glanced away for an instant then looked at Mia. She almost smiled. “He is kinda fine in a pain-in-the-ass sort of way.”
They both giggled.
Ashley dropped her tense shoulders. “I guess it will be all right. The main thing is finding out who is behind the stealing and selling of babies.” A shiver ran through her.
“Exactly.”
Ashley pushed a smile onto her face, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. “So,” she said on a breath, “what’s on the agenda for today?”
But even as Mia ran down the list of upcoming events they had to take care of, Ashley’s mind was elsewhere. Elliot Morgan. Babies. Twenty years. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.
Ashley walked through her small one-bedroom apartment, which she’d worked diligently on to transform from the drab place she’d originally rented into her cozy abode. Being an R&B music buff, she had one wall in her living room dedicated to some of her favorite artists: Smokey Robinson,
