Junebug rolled her eyes, slid off her stool, and carried the dirty dishes to the sink. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like them.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. Midnight tapped her finger on the counter before rising to her feet.
“Don’t you want to know more about Junayd?”
“No, I think that was enough," she said with amusement. "I feel like I've been stalking him by proxy.”
She grimaced.
“You know you love me!” Bugs called after her.
Midnight laughed and entered the bathroom they were upgrading. Junebug had finished the floor and wall tile last week and Midnight was adding a shower. She had removed the old claw-foot tub, which would become a decorative piece. It would be interesting to see what her sister created from it.
Midnight loved their hidden home. The space was an unorthodox piece of forgotten history. She and Junebug had discovered the vault within the Brooklyn Bridge over three years ago and claimed it as their own. They had planned on surprising their mother with it, but Rainbow had died before they were finished.
The vault was part of a series constructed by Washington Roebling and his father in the 1870s to help pay for the cost of building the Brooklyn bridge. The caverns below the granite entrances were dark and consistently cool. Ideal places to house even the most delicate vintage Bordeaux, Burgundy, or Champagne.
The painted walls and rudimentary bathroom suggested this vault had also been used as a speakeasy during Prohibition. The entrance was cunningly hidden behind a set of brick fascia swiveling doors. The first door could be pulled open by a heavy wrought iron ring. If you stood in front of the wall and pulled the iron ring, the wall swiveled in a circle. There was a double-layer of protection, because it led to a second, very narrow walled-in section that opened a second concealed door into their home.
Once inside the cavernous vault, the room was over a thousand square feet from front to back. Water, electric, and sewer were tied into pipes running under the Brooklyn bridge. Over the years, she and Junebug had made the place their own. They were both pretty good at building what they needed.
The counter in the kitchen was crafted from the original speakeasy bar. It was now covered with a beautiful mosaic tile countertop that Junebug had painstakingly laid. Midnight did the major construction stuff like electrical, plumbing, and carpentry while Junebug handled the creative endeavors. The mosaic floor of the vault could have competed with any of the great masters from the ancient Roman and Greek eras. Most importantly, though, this home had free rent and free utilities—as long as they didn’t get discovered.
He’s looking for you. Junebug’s words flowed quietly through her mind.
Midnight's breath caught in her throat, her heart thrumming with the danger and excitement those words could bring. She pushed it down, focusing on installing the tracking for the shower door. Turning and reaching for the drill, she caught sight of her face in the mirror leaning against the wall. She frowned as she remembered Junayd's taste in women.
With a sigh, she briefly touched the scar that traveled across half her face. Her dark hair was piled up in a messy ponytail, and her brown eyes looked back from the mirror with a haunted, vulnerable look. She would never be beautiful, or tall.
“I’ll never have fake boobs, either,” she muttered with a shake of her head. Why would Junayd Saif-Ad-Din want to find me?
A particular memory hit her and she slowly sat back on her heels.
“What rules do you follow, Junayd?”
“Those of the desert, raqisat alqamar.”
Midnight narrowed her eyes at the potential threat, but heat was filling her from head to toe. "I want," he had said, his voice passionate. Midnight fought a smile, leaning her head back against the tile as she remembered the feel of him under her hand. He had a strong back beneath his formal shirt. She thought about the challenge in Junayd's eyes, and she finally set her smile free, letting it become a wide, feral grin.
There was no one else here, so Midnight didn't need to hide the darkness inside her. She most often channeled it into harmless rudeness and sass. Idella was the one who managed a charming persona that was flawless, though the woman's body count was far higher than Midnight's. They were cut from the same cloth, Midnight and Idella, honed and refined by the same person—Harlem Jones.
As much as she tried to keep Bugs away from this, her sister had long ago found out about Idella's alter ego, Dallas. She also knew that Midnight worked for Idella sometimes. Worst of all, though, Junebug was investigating the people Idella was hunting.
Midnight had wondered more than once if Idella knew who was helping her, but Junebug swore that no one knew and no one could trace her. If they tried, she would know. Midnight hoped her sister was right.
Still, Midnight had put safeguards in place years ago in case they were ever discovered. Her eyes moved to the ornate metal grate on the wall near the sink. It could flip open. A short run connected it to an underground utility tunnel. From there, they could exit at multiple locations, including the subway tunnel.
She stilled at the thought of them running. This was the nicest home they had ever had. The thought of losing it terrified her. With sudden sympathy, her thoughts turned to Aimee Wheels. What Anderson Coldhouse did, or tried to do, to her had spread like wildfire through the streets.
Midnight liked Wheels. They had crossed paths many times over the years and used to hang out at Colours, Idella’s Jazz club. The crooked New York detective was dead now, but his brother Colin and his sponsor, a man named Bronislav, were still around and extremely dangerous.
Midnight tapped her fingers on the tiles as she considered the problem of this interconnected web with dangerous men at the center and her sister barreling full-speed into the thick of it. She bit her lip... and a smile slowly bloomed on her face. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and a predator's patience.
She might not be tall, blonde, and beautiful, but she had sparked Junayd's curiosity. He would never get anywhere near what she protected—that was one challenge she could handle with ease—so why not have a little fun and get some information out of him?
Four
“What do you mean you can’t find anything? I thought you said you were the best in the world!” Junayd exclaimed.
“If I have something to go on, then yes, I am! Okay, I may not be the best in the world, but I know someone who is and if they can’t find her, no one can,” Jameel retorted.
Junayd stepped out of the limousine, barely registering Issa and Hyder’s purposefully bland expressions as they accompanied him across the lobby to the elevator. Both his body and his head ached from the endless social events. Not to mention that every night since Benning’s party he had woken up hard and drenched in sweat. It was not very restful.
“I need more to go on, Junayd. The video has been scrubbed. My contact says all the cameras leading to and from the area show barely more than a shadow moving within other shadows. It's not enough to find her."
“Which direction? Can your contact follow her to a specific place? Is it possible to see if she visits a location more than once?”
“No, the woman disappears and hasn’t been seen since,” Jameel replied.
Junayd felt the pressure in his chest grow. The elusiveness of the woman and the mystery surrounding her ignited his most primitive desires. He was a hunter and she was his prey. With his vast wealth and resources, it was only a matter of time before he found her—and when he did....