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  BEHIND THE VEIL

  SUZETTA PERKINS

  STREBOR BOOKS

  NEW YORK LONDON TORONTO SYDNEY

  Strebor Books

  P.O. Box 6505

  Largo, MD 20792

  http://www.streborbooks.com

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  © 2006 by Suzetta Perkins. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address Strebor Books, P.O. Box 6505, Largo, MD 20792.

  Cover design: www.mariondesigns.com

  ISBN-13 978-1-59309-063-0

  ISBN-10 1-59309-063-3

  eISBN-13: 978-1-43912-257-0

  LCCN 2006923553

  First printing August 2006

  Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

  To Teliza and Gerald

  (FR)—the wind beneath my wings.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My day has finally arrived, and I thank God from whom all blessings flow for empowering me with courage and the tools to pursu my desire to write. This has been a long road mixed with ups and downs, however, a smile sits upon my face because the labo was not in vain

  What a wonderful road to be on. It is because of the many wonderful people in my life and those that God allowed to cros my path, encouraging me, rooting for me, and believing that I would one day become a published writer that I do celebrate

  To my children, I love you from the depths of my heart. To my daughter, Teliza, thank you for just being there and saying the right things to keep me encouraged. JR, my creative other-half, thank you for always thinking of me, purchasing book every now and then to help me with my writing. You, along with your well of ideas that kept bubbling over, inspired me

  Patty Rice, you’re awesome—not only as a writer but as a person. You didn’t hesitate to look at my work when I asked. I wil forever treasure your two-page, typed critique. You wrote, What you will need: Writer’s Market, Dictionary, Style Manual, Thesaurus, To read the work of authors that you intend to mode to gain knowledge on sentence structure. Priceless

  Thanks to LaWanda Miller, my co-worker, for reading my novel in its infancy, which consisted of eight lonely pages and loving my character Margo from the jump. That gave me the umph I needed to keep prodding on.

  A special thank you goes to Evelyn Council who has believed in me from the beginning. You are my ray of sunshine. You read my first draft and thought it good enough to send to your sister in New York. It was your idea that I read a chapter of my book each time our book club met. You’ve been my rock. Thanks, and I love you.

  A big sister hug goes to Carolyn Smith, my mentor. You are the epitome of everything good in life. During your busiest hour, you looked over my manuscript and gave me the value of your expertise. I trust you implicitly, and I love you with all my heart.

  To my sistahs of the Sistahs Book Club—Wanda, Valerie, LaTonya, Melva, Brigette, Tina, Bianca, Latricia, Tara, Melody, Angela x 2, Bianco, and Jean, thanks for all your support. Fayetteville, North Carolina won’t be the same. We’ll have a great big book club meeting and invite all the local clubs. I’m already counting the book sales.

  I’d like to thank my friends and supporters at Fayetteville State University—Dr. T. J. Bryan, Alfreda Cromartie, Mary Evans, and Dr. Booker T. Anthony.

  A heartfelt, sister hug goes to my friend Phyllis Williams. I was so proud of you for being one of the finalists in the Romance Slam Jam short story contest in Durham. But it was your unselfish acts of kindness that make me forever grateful for your friendship. You took it upon yourself to occasionally send material to help me become a better writer, and without being asked, you took my synopsis and gave me advice on how to say it better. Thank you for being there for me.

  When I think of unselfishness, Trevy McDonald heads the top of the list. While you were writing your own stories, you took time from your busy schedule to send me words of encouragement, advice, and material to help me be all that I could be. I can’t thank you enough, Trevy, for all you’ve done.

  To my road dawg and number one supporter, Mary Farmer, I thank you for being the kind of friend every writer needs. Your weekly calls to check on my progress, our monthly lunches to review your critiques of my manuscript (I added a chapter just for you), our fabulous trips to literary conferences, and your constant praise for a job well done has meant so much to me. I can’t thank you enough for your faith in me … for believing that I have what it takes to be a good writer. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I love you.

  I would be nothing without the two people who took my written word and polished it like it was brass. To my editors, Robert Fleming and Annette Dammer, I will be forever in your debt. Robert, you gave me a chance and took my work and gave me the very best of you. That’s why you’re world renowned, and I thank you. Annette, you unselfishly took my work and made it your priority and refined my final drafts like new money. You constantly provided resources and advice to assist me with this venture. It meant the world, and I love you from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done.

  To Maxine Thompson, my agent, you’re the greatest! From the first moment you expressed interest in my work and throughout the process of publishing my novel, you believed in me. You were just excited as I was about my work, and that made me a very grateful person. Thank you for believing in me.

  This, my first manuscript, would not have materialized without the support of my two best friends, Glen Jubilee and June Ervin. You were a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day and your love, support, and encouragement will sustain our friendship for a lifetime.

  And, to my ex-husband, Jerry, thank you for all your support and believing that I would accomplish what I set out to do although you didn’t understand the best part of me.

  PROLOGUE

  Jefferson Myles put his foot on the brake and slowly turned onto Fuller Street. He brought the silver Mercedes to an abrupt stop and turned off the lights. He exhaled and looked out the window toward a brown, weather-beaten, single-story, wood-frame house, two doors down where others had gathered.

  “Be quiet and stay put until I return,” Jefferson admonished his companion, brushing her hand with his. “I won’t be long.”

  Jefferson glanced at her again and quickly turned away. He patted his left breast feeling for the envelope that sat in an inside pocket of his brown leather coat. Satisfied, Jefferson opened the car door and got out, heading in the direction of the house two doors down. His stride was ardent and sure as he made his way down the street. He never looked back, and his companion, feeling alone and afraid, slid down in her seat. She did not like being on this side of town, especially late at night.

  A moment passed, maybe two. She slowly eased up in her seat, not wanting to be discovered. The Mercedes offered little cover, even under the cloak of darkness. There was a flurry of activity outside—men dressed in long, black, leather coats, walking nervously back and forth in great anticipation. Jefferson appeared to be embroiled in a heated discussion with one of the men who was adamantly trying to get his point across—his arms moving in strict staccato like a maestro slinging his baton, leading the orchestra in a resounding rendition of “William Tell’s Overture.”

  Two figures standing at strategic locations caught her rapt attention. The one closest to her had something protr
uding from underneath his coat. It couldn’t be, but there was no mistaking what she saw. It was a … gun, maybe a rifle! She put her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. Why did Jefferson bring me here?

  The sound of a car’s motor met her ears. She quickly slid back down in her seat. Then there was the distinctive sound of car doors opening and shutting—must have been a van with so many doors sounding at the same time. She dare not look. She could hear people talking, but the voices were muffled. Then a second car cruised by—not in any hurry.

  Suddenly, Jefferson appeared huffing, puffing and out of breath. He looked at her slouched down in her seat, a ghastly frown on her face. He slid his hand over her arm for reassurance. She flinched and pulled back slightly. Jefferson put the keys in the ignition and sped away.

  What had she gotten herself into? She loved this man, and now he presented a side of himself she had not seen before. She was forsaking her marriage to be with her lover, who appeared to be mixed up in some illegal activity that might harm her. They were supposed to be enjoying each other’s company, expressing and defining their love for each other, basking in the afterglow from their lovemaking. Instead, she found herself tightly clutching the arm-rest as if her life depended on it. The Mercedes swerved to the right causing the brakes to squeal.

  Jefferson offered no explanation for the meeting that nearly soured only moments earlier, arousing a cloud of curiosity. He drove recklessly from the scene, oblivious to all else around him.

  It was an obvious mistake taking her with him. However, circumstances and time were not on his side. His lips were dry, his hands moist from nerves, but he remained silent until she spoke.

  “I don’t know what was going on back there, but it made me nervous,” said the hushed, soft voice.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Jefferson said very matter-of-factly. “Just try and relax.”

  “Who were those men you were talking to?”

  Without answering, Jefferson forged ahead, noting that his destination lay a few feet beyond the next set of traffic lights. “Business acquaintances,” he finally said.

  “Did you know that one of them had a gun? I’m not sure…”

  “Everything is alright, baby. Chill, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Trust me. Your job is to concentrate on how wonderful the rest of this evening is going to be.”

  Jefferson picked up her hand and drew it to his lips, placing a quick kiss on her dangling fingers.

  She sat back in her seat without another word.

  Jefferson breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he and his companion were safely behind the door that hid them from inquiring eyes. The moment he envisioned some months ago had arrived, though with some difficulty. The pink neon sign blinked incessantly outside, announcing available residency.

  Jefferson looked around the dimly lit room, noting that it was adequate for the purpose intended. There was a double bed planted in the middle of the floor, draped with a bedspread bedecked with a field of spring flowers. Matching curtains hung proudly and generously, covering the small window that looked out onto the spacious courtyard. A cheap-looking RCA color television set, with a loosened knob that threatened to fall, sat in one corner of the room on an old chest of drawers badly in need of a fresh coat of varnish. Or better yet, the nearest dump yard. It wasn’t important though, for they wouldn’t be staying long.

  She smiled seductively, batting her long, curled eyelashes at him. Her dress was plain and simple, much like the woman she was. She wore a pair of lined, white linen slacks with a teal and white, flowered, short-sleeve blouse that buttoned down the front. Pearl stud earrings dotted her ear lobes, and a pair of teal flats adorned her feet.

  Jefferson went to her, holding her about the shoulders. She’s beautiful, he thought, a breath of fresh air. Her long, silky, brown hair fell about her pale face, landing just below her shoulders in a casual flip. A hint of cherry-flavored lip-gloss glistened on her thin, perky lips.

  Jefferson saw the worried look in her eyes. “There is nothing for you to worry about, love. It’s just you and me, now. And I want all of you.”

  She smiled and swallowed nervously, as she watched Jefferson scan the length of her body. He seemed so uncomplicated, so in control of the moment. The eggshell-colored, turtleneck sweater, made of imported wool that sat high on his neck brought out the richness in his flawless, mediumbrown complexion. His brown eyes turned the color of amber with the reflection from the ceiling light. His closely cropped head held a field of neatly brushed waves that went into a slow fade at the temple and nape of his neck. And her heart skipped a beat.

  He wanted to make love to her—passionate love—ever since she signaled that she wanted the same. At first it was just small talk, an occasional smile. Then it was the look that passed between them, the look that said, I’m willing, are you’? And finally the smile that now registered six, if measured on the Richter scale, that said, I’m ready!

  The smiles had not waned. This night had been chosen to commence an affair that had smoldered for sometime. It was a dangerous liaison for which they sought no repentance. There was no grief or regret. They were both in unhappy marriages, and their occasional smiles and small talk had gone beyond their expectations. Now it was time to put all their thoughts and dreams into action, although they were crossing a forbidden line that promised no real reward in the end.

  It was unfortunate that she was a witness to the event earlier in the evening—an evening that was supposed to be totally and unequivocally theirs. However, it was preempted by a last-minute emergency for which Jefferson had no recourse but to respond. His business dealings had gone beyond legitimate, and the powerful alliances that he had found himself in bed with would never forgive his disobedience.

  Jefferson put his thoughts aside and embraced her. They reached for each other without another word passing between them. Their lips met and the cherry-flavored lip-gloss caused him to linger longer than he had planned. She undressed slowly with Jefferson’s eyes never leaving her for a moment. He removed his sweater, then his pants, trying not to seem too anxious. He took in all of her, noting that his imagination had served him well.

  Spring flowers surrounded them as they fell upon the bed ready to unleash what seemed a lifetime of pent-up passion—passion that consumed them in each intimate caress. Jefferson traced her torso with his tongue in a relentless pursuit to have all of her. He was overcome with anticipation and desire—desire that burned uncontrollably in his groin.

  Jefferson slowed his pace praying the night would last forever. His tongue sought refuge in the hollow of her waiting mouth. Their tongues mated, feverishly exploring every nook and cranny. His mouth became a vacuum as he sucked her bottom lip into the folds of his lips.

  Their lips parted for a brief moment in order to catch their breaths. Jefferson continued to explore her body which trembled at his slightest touch. She was delirious with desire and a sense of urgency, as lust and greed consumed her being.

  Jefferson took a deep breath and blew into her face—a few strands of her hair parting as he did so. Their bodies now entwined, Jefferson smothered her with kisses. He held her breasts and kneaded them like dough, sending tingling sensations down her spine. He massaged the length of her body, planting kisses along the way. He found the very essence of her waiting and ready, piercing the veil that gave him access. And she accepted what he had to offer.

  Heat seared through their bodies as they moved instinctively to their own rhythm. They rode the tidal wave of passion until Jefferson could no longer contain himself and cried out for her to follow. She acquiesced, and it was a done deal.

  CHAPTER 1

  It was the twenty-third of December, a day Margo would always remember. It was the day that death came with great stealth in the still of the night. It was not death as is customarily associated with the dearly departed, but that of a dying soul whose heart would slowly be picked to the bone.

  Margo had settled in for the night, waiting for
her husband of nearly twenty-five years to come home after working late at the office. Jefferson and Margo Myles were like mortar to brick—they had a solid foundation and many people were envious of their varied accomplishments. She and Jefferson were both successful professionals, secure in their lifestyles. They owned a two-story Tudor brick home in the upscale neighborhood of Jordan Estates. Jefferson and Margo possessed the right combination of business savvy, having smartly invested in several diverse mutual funds, as well as optimum shares of blue-chip stock on the NASDAQ.

  Besides the silver Mercedes Kompressor sports coupe that Jefferson drove and the Lexus sedan that was Margo’s pride and joy, Jefferson was a collector of vintage automobiles that included a 1958 Edsel, a Rolls-Royce, and a Ferrari. He occasionally would be seen parading his menagerie of fine automobiles.

  They had four wonderful children, and Margo was happy that her family would surround her this Christmas. Margo looked forward to the New Year—the new millennium as it had been hailed, a new century and a new decade full of bright promises.

  Margo was grateful that her eighteen-year-old twins, Winston and Winter, who were in college, had made it home for the Christmas break. The drive from Virginia’s Hampton University to Fayetteville, North Carolina, had been hectic with all the Christmas travelers trying to get home to family and friends for the holidays.

  It was two days before Christmas—one of the most joyous times of the year. It was a time of celebration—celebrating the birth of the Christ child; however, the imminent feeling of love and family would not permeate Margo’s home this Christmas season. Even the sound of the Wurlitzer grandfather clock that Margo and Jefferson bought in Europe ten years earlier gave no clue to the impending turn of events that would be forever etched in Margo’s memory.

  The volume on the radio was turned low. Margo perked up as the disc jockey on 99.1 The Fox announced the next set of soulful sounds. Luther Vandross’ alluring voice began to croon “A House Is Not a Home,” which resounded through the new set of Bose Acoustimas 10 surround-sound speaker system Jefferson had bought last month. Luther was Margo’s favorite singer, and the rhythm and slow beat sent goose bumps riveting through her body. It was midnight, and Jefferson had not yet made it in.