King of Devon Page 4

  CHAPTER 6

  Hiram held his peace but reflected on the first day Marilyn made her presence known.

  “You came here, to my place, for a reason,” Hiram had said to Marilyn Spears a few months ago. “We could’ve had this conversation at my job, or at a café somewhere, right? What’s really going on?”

  Marilyn sank into the cushions of his sofa and folded her pink-manicured hands on her lap. The act alone made her seem small, vulnerable, and beautiful. “Not for what I have to tell you.”

  Hiram leaned against the door jamb for a few moments, then he moved away, closed the door, waiting.

  “The latest audits and investigations need to be taken up to a senate oversight committee to put an end to them once and for all. Mr. Maharaj needs to figure out why Donald Amos is gunning for him or he will lose everything. It seems personal.”

  With both arms folded across his chest, Hiram said, “You’re not supposed to tell me that.”

  “No, I shouldn’t do any of this. But my conscience won’t let me sleep.” She nodded slowly. “I’ve read up on Mr. Maharaj and I like what he’s trying to accomplish.”

  “Okay, I get that. Thank you. I’ll find a way to help him.” Hiram grinned, then crossed the distance between them. “But since that’s out of the way … why are you really here?”

  Her gaze locked on his. She slid off the sofa and made her way to the door. Defeat shadowed every step.

  “So that’s how it is, huh?” He shrugged as she looked over her shoulder. “Just come all up in my joint, side-step the real issue, and walk out like I’m not supposed to know something.”

  She blinked twice, and he witnessed the war going on within as her expression went from fearful and ended up as total confusion.

  Hiram moved forward, placing a hand on the door to close it but still kept a three-inch space between them. Her eyes were so beautiful in their hazel-green glory. A flicker of desire lit in them that was so fleeting he wasn’t sure it had been there. Then her lips quivered and parted slightly. An invitation? Maybe? Wanting to say something? Maybe that too.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, you know all right,” he teased, resisting the urge to pull her to him and let her feel exactly what he wanted. “You’re just afraid to say it.”

  She didn’t respond.

  Hiram moved away to take a seat on his tattoo bench. “Why don’t I sit right here until you find the courage to get to the point you need to make.” He smiled. “I’m not going to make it easy. Your being here says a whole lot, but to be sure I’m not overstepping any unspoken boundaries, you’re going to need to say something else.”

  “I … I … shouldn’t.” She shook her head. “You know, this was a mistake.”

  Frowning, he said, “This what?”

  “Coming here.”

  “Okay. So, you came to tell me that Jai’s business is in danger from the people you work for. I already knew that. What else do you need me to know?”

  She swallowed hard, her body trembled a little and the heavy warmth of arousal fueled his next action. He was with her, pressing a kiss to the softest lips he’d ever touched. “Talk to me,” he whispered into her hair. “Speak what you want me to know.” He trailed his tongue along the fullest part of her lips, and she whispered his name.

  The sound, both a plea and a prayer, was his undoing. He held on to his sanity long enough to say, “You have to tell me what you want.”

  A tear slipped from the far corner of her eye as she tilted her head back and looked directly into his eyes. “I want to know what love feels like.”

  That sobered him. All thoughts of making this woman lose her absolute mind went out of the window.

  “I want to know that I am worthy, and needed, and … loved.”

  Marilyn was asking for much more than sex and physical gratification. She wanted more from him than any woman had ever asked. For her to be this open, this vulnerable meant everything to him. Hiram pulled her into the wall of his chest, trying to calm the storm he felt was rising within her. “Let me see how we can make that happen. Are you down for that?”

  Her breathy answer was all the confirmation he needed. “Yes.”

  That night he devoted himself to adoring and pleasing Marilyn, leaving her in no doubt that he desired her. Since then, he’d done everything to make her dreams resemble what she wanted to be her reality.

  “So how does this work?” Hiram said after they made love. “I work for the man your department is investigating. Wrong move, I might add, but still. Does make for interesting dinner conversations, though.”

  “We keep work out of this,” Marilyn answered. “The investigation is going to be over as soon as the patient has the child and the police gather what they need. And if Mr. Maharaj can uncover Donald’s hand in this or he waits for the evidence that will prove you all are innocent, everything will be fine.”

  Everything will be fine was the biggest lie Marilyn could have told. Because right now, with her ex-husband’s blackmail hanging over their heads, everything was far from fine.

  Wanda relished their angry vibes, swept toward the door, haughty posture back in place.

  Crystal was on her heels, saying, “You don’t learn, do you?”

  When the door closed behind them, Hiram’s heart was heavy with concern, “I’ll take care of it,” he said, lowering himself next to Marilyn who slumped down onto the sofa.

  He had never wanted this new relationship to be affected by their jobs. When he laid eyes on the beautiful, curvy woman the day he’d walked into Jai Maharaj’s office to drop off the latest reports, it was as though a bolt of lightning had shot through him. Nothing else mattered to him in that moment; not the fact that they were on opposite sides of a major issue that could threaten his livelihood; not the fact that she had a few years on him and people might certainly give them a side-eye about the age difference; and certainly not the fact that he wasn’t looking for love in any shape, form, or fashion.

  Marilyn changed all that, and he was a better man for it. Even going along with keeping their relationship a secret, so that her job with the Bureau wouldn’t be threatened. His too. He wanted to shout their love to anyone who would listen, but he understood her need for privacy.

  Somehow, her bitter ex-husband had gotten hold of that information and planned to hurt her more than he already had. The depths that man had already gone to inflict pain and distress on her was unreal. All because the minute Wanda turned eighteen, and Marilyn had the presence of mind to say “deuces” and left him inhaling her dust.

  “No, it’s fine.” Marilyn waved in a half-hearted gesture.

  Hiram shook his head. “I’m not going to let him blow up your twenty-year spot over this.”

  “I can always find another job.” She cupped his face in her hands and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “But I can’t find another you.”

  “Damn, what a comeback,” Hiram teased, tightening his grip on her waist.

  “I’ve lived my life for everyone else,” she confessed laying her head against his chest. “A husband who cheated on me, then tried to make me believe it was my fault. One child so into her own life, she barely has time to call unless she wants something.” She changed positions and straddled his thighs. “This right here … is just for me. As much as I wanted to deny it, I felt something so strong it wouldn’t go away. No matter how much I tried.” With one hand, she stroked his cheek. “And I did try. I was embarrassed because I haven’t felt anything for anyone in a long time. And there was so much fear, so much doubt. Did I deserve to have you? Someone who loved me for me, and not because I was simply there to boost your ego, or replace your mother or some other woman you’d been with? Men have a strange set of needs these days.”

  He let the silence settle around them for a while as his gaze roamed her face for a few moments, taking in her solemn expression and vibe.

  “I get it.” Hiram shifted her
until she was cradled in his arms. “I do. But none of that is me. I don’t need taking care of, I need the same things you want out of a relationship.”

  Hiram let silence fill the space so she could absorb those words.

  “He’s going to make me pay for being with you,” she whispered into his chest. “So, what are we going to do about that?”

  “What do you mean ‘We’ White woman?”

  Marilyn gasped and pulled away with her eyes widened and her creamy skin flushed with reddish color. “I’m not white—”

  “I know, I know.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s how we tease Jai all the time.”

  She released a long, slow breath as she always did with issues surrounding the color of her skin. “And I admire what he’s doing, but …”

  “No work, remember.”

  “To hell with that,” she snapped and placed a hand on his chest. “What Mr. Amos is doing to him is so wrong. First, it was that substantial audit months ago that didn’t turn up anything, but cost Mr. Maharaj a great deal of time and money. Then the way this case was handled in the media—all to embarrass Mr. Maharaj—was wrong. How he’s coming after him is unethical and borderline illegal. We have places higher up on the list that need shutting down.”

  She raised both hands in exasperation. “He’s not only coloring outside the line, he’s moving the line to match the coloring so no one can tell what he’s doing. Then this case dropped at the wrong time. People up top are not going to bat an eye at any of his wrongdoing with so many of them owing him favors. He’s slick, and I have it on good authority that he’s also deadly. I should get out while the getting is good.”

  “How will your resignation affect anything?” Hiram asked. “Your ex is still going to try and destroy your credibility. You need to take your time and figure things out so you’re still in a position to do damage control. You can’t do that if you’re not in-house, although I can take care of you.”

  She mulled that over and he could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “I have some savings, so I’m good, but I thank you so much for being that dude.”

  Hiram grinned at her use of slang.

  “My house is paid for, bought it in a short sale. Took a minute for everything to pull through with the bank, but when it did, I paid pennies on the dollar. So, I can walk from that place and still be all right for a little while.”

  Hiram extracted his body from hers and went to a miniature dollhouse she’d fashioned for a friend’s daughter. “This right here, can bring in how much?”

  “I don’t think about that,” she answered, shrugging. “I just love doing it.”

  With both brows raised, he said, “Love it even more if you got paid, yeah?”

  Her gaze narrowed on him and she perked up as if she felt his excitement. “So, what are you thinking?”

  “Your job can’t hold you hostage if you have an escape plan. Not just to survive, but to thrive.” He went back to her side and stroked her cheek. “It’s time to stop playing at this part of your life and go ahead and do the damn thing. You’re the only one holding you back.”

  Marilyn was silent for a few moments, then left the sofa and stood in front of her artwork. “You really think I can?”

  “I know you can.” Hiram was by her side in the time it took to blink. “Just like I know between the two of us, we can find a way to save Jai’s center before Donald Amos and Big Red tear it so far down we can’t get it back up again.”

  “Big Red?”

  “That’s the name we gave your boss,” he replied. “Amazon size, big bod, big hair, red freckles, big everything.”

  Marilyn placed her hands in her lap. “Tell me about him. Jaidev Maharaj. I need to see what we’re working with. Then we’ll know how to work against them to at least allow Chetan to become operational again.”

  Hiram guided her to the sofa, curled his arms around her and started with, “We work on the premise that they can still hear, feel, and sense; that every one of them will wake up one day. And we want their bodies well enough to accommodate them. That is the major mistake that rehab facilities make, thinking they’re supposed to bide their time until the patients die.”

  Over the next hour, Marilyn learned that Jaidev Maharaj came from an East Indian family who settled in the heart of Devon—a fifteen block stretch on the North Side housing a South Asian community and commercial district with an array of jewelry stores, restaurants featuring East Indian and Middle Eastern cuisines, Taj Sari Palace, Patel Brothers—the largest Indian grocery store in North America, and worship centers. The area, now known as Chicago’s Little India, began growing in the early 1970s under the watchful eye of Ranjana Bhargava, a community activist who was among the earliest Indian immigrants.

  Jaidev had his life planned out—education at Loyola, family merchant and trading business, marriage to an East Indian girl from a high caste family, and two children to round out their dreams for him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t what he wanted for his life.

  His first break from their plans started when he insisted on attending the Macro International Magnet School, which put him in the hands of a mentor and further in line with six other scholars from backgrounds that differed vastly from his own. The argument was epic, but it wasn’t the first time his parents ever fought. That was the first time his mother had ever won.

  Jai incorporated a spiritual, not religious, approach to the patients in his care. His methods had not been widely accepted in the medical and scientific community, but the number of patients who successfully recovered made his institution sought after, even from his detractors. Along with health professionals—doctors, nurses, medical assistants, he employed doulas, who were mainly known as spiritual midwives for women giving birth or people leaving the earth scene, and were used at Chetan to provide care for patients in suspended life experiences and provided comfort to those closer to transitioning.

  His therapies for patients included music, assisted aqua aerobics with essential oils to keep their bodies flexible, limber, and hydrated so their return to life would mean their bodies hadn’t failed them. Some therapy also included playing comedic movies and shows from standup comedians that would appeal to the patient, based on what their families had to say. Overall, a combination of things that would stimulate the patient’s mind, body, and soul were created and then revisited from time to time. This approach had resulted in a high percentage of patients recovering from injuries and comas despite medical professionals saying that death was the better alternative.

  “No wonder Donald has such an issue with him,” Marilyn said. “First, he’s one of the biggest racists there is, but there’s something else driving him on this. It has to be more than just the fact that the lobbyist and politicians have him in their pockets.”

  Hiram thought that over for a moment, then the most plausible explanation he could think of came to him. “I think it has something to do with The Castle.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Jai grimaced as he settled into the executive chair behind his smoke-glass desk. A few minutes to clear his mind would have been appreciated, but so much for that.

  Kelly had sent a text saying he needed to high tail it back to Chetan because Donald Amos had arrived at his facility. He’d also brought two women with him.

  The effort to keep the distaste off his face took everything in him, but one of Khalil’s gems centered him. Never give your opponent an advantage. Keep him guessing and that will throw him off-balance.

  “You know, if you sign over your controlling interest in The Castle,” Donald began. “I can make all of this go away. Then you can get back to doing what you love. Playing around with dead people.” He held up a hand to ward off Jai’s protest. “My bad—nearly dead people.”

  Jai’s gaze narrowed on the man’s pale skin, beady blue eyes and a combover that was on its last stint at being an actual covering for his shiny pink scalp. Someone who seemed above-board at first glance, but was as dark and dirt
y as bureaucrats could go. “I hope there’s never a time when—”

  “I certainly wouldn’t need your little ‘magic’ facility, if I did,” he snarled, his face a mask of disdain as he scanned the office taking in the modern furnishings and abstract paintings as though they were beneath his personal taste. “My luck never runs that way.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear,” Jai quipped, giving the man a smile he was sure didn’t reach his eyes. “In a blink, anyone can become disabled or somewhere in between living and dead. Never forget that.”

  Donald scowled his displeasure. That statement alone always seemed to get through to the hardest of people who wanted to believe they were invincible. That’s why Jai always opened every fundraiser speech with that line or something similar. People tended to fall under the belief that all disabilities started at an equal point. They never thought that a car accident, workplace injury, or genetics could wreak havoc on their bodies and life at any moment.