Pleasure In His Kiss. Pamela Yaye
to quickly build my clientele,” she explained, sitting back comfortably in her leather executive chair. “I opened this salon eighteen months ago, and if everything goes according to plan I’ll open locations in Washington, Philadelphia and Chicago within the year.”
“That’s an incredible story,” he said. “Congratulations on your success.”
A proud smile filled her red-painted lips. “Thank you. I feel fortunate to be doing what I love. Not everyone is so lucky.”
“I agree. I meet people every day who hate their jobs, and I can’t help but feel sorry for them. I love what I do, and I couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.”
“Me too! I love doing hair and makeup so much I’d work for free!”
Like the blast from a trumpet, her laugh was loud and lively. Cultured, and well-read, Karma was a great conversationalist with a zest for life. Morrison enjoyed learning about her educational background, her beloved shop and her favorite clients. Proud of her Jamaican–Puerto Rican heritage, Karma spoke fondly of her small, close-knit family from Brooklyn.
“Is it possible Reagan’s with her dad, or another relative and forgot to tell you?”
“No, it’s impossible. Reagan doesn’t know who her biological father is.” Morrison didn’t know if Karma was genuinely trying to help or fishing for information, but he suspected it was the latter. Still, he spoke his mind. “Reagan has loving grandparents, aunts and three doting uncles who adore her, but if she ever wanted to track down her biological father we have the money and resources to make it happen.”
Peering out the door, Morrison glanced up and down the hallway for any sign of his niece, but he didn’t see the teen anywhere. His fear intensified with each passing second, and if Karma hadn’t persuaded him to come to her office he’d still be pacing in the reception area, worrying himself to death. “Do you see your parents often?” he asked, admiring the photographs hanging above the couch. “Do they still live in Brooklyn, or have they relocated here, as well?”
The light in her eyes faded. “No, they passed away in a car accident six years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, filled with sympathy.
“Me too. My mom was my hero, and I definitely wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her.”
“Unfortunately, I know how you feel. I lost my...”
Painful memories of his sister, Emmanuelle, overwhelmed his mind and he lost his voice. His temperature climbed, and his limbs shook. Worried he’d succumb to grief and his knees would buckle, he dropped down in the padded armchair in front of Karma’s desk. He wanted to tell her about his sister’s death, but feared if he did he’d lose his composure. Morrison didn’t feel comfortable baring his soul to her, so he said nothing. Pretended not to notice the sympathetic expression on her face. Damn, was his pain that obvious?
A chilling thought stole his breath. Had history repeated itself? Was his niece in grave danger? His heart stopped, and his pulse wailed in his ears like a siren. Had Reagan met the same fate as her mother? Was she... Morrison couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Was scared that if he did his worst fear would be realized.
Standing, he straightened his bent shoulders. Coming to the salon had been a mistake. An error of judgment. He should have gone to the police station instead of wasting precious time at the beauty shop. Feeling guilty for sitting around with Karma, he hung his head. He’d never forgive himself if something bad happened to Reagan and hoped it wasn’t too late to save her. He’d legally adopted her ten years ago and she meant the world to him.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at the police station.”
Karma picked up her cell phone and glanced at the screen. “I can’t believe it’s already ten o’clock. I totally lost track of time,” she said. “Morrison, wait. Let me check the salon one more time. If Reagan isn’t here I’ll call Sergeant Garver at the Southampton police station and get his advice.”
“I know him. We play in the same recreational rugby league—”
Karma raised an eyebrow. “You play rugby?”
“And lacrosse, football and golf. What can I say? I’m a sports fanatic.”
“Not me. I hate sports, and I can’t imagine anything more boring than golf.”
Clutching her cell phone with one hand, she tapped the screen with the other.
“How do you know Sergeant Garver?”
Shifting in her seat, Karma raked a hand through her hair, then flipped it over her shoulders. Morrison frowned. She was nervous. Why? What was she hiding?
“It’s the Hamptons. Everyone knows everyone.”
“That’s not true,” he countered. “Before today I had no idea who you were.”
Karma shrugged. “That’s because you’re a bookworm who never goes out.”
“I go out all the time. I enjoy eating out, hip hop concerts and sporting events—”
Hearing voices behind him, Morrison broke off speaking and glanced over his shoulder. Reagan! Relief flooded his body. Overcome with emotion, he pulled her into his arms for a hug. For the first time that morning, Morrison smiled. But when he remembered what his niece had done, how she’d scared him half to death, he released her. One minute. That’s how much time Reagan had to explain herself, and if she lied to him she’d lose her privileges for three months. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I was at Zainab’s house.”
“Zainab? Who?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”
“Zainab Qureshi. We met a few weeks ago at the mall, and hit it off.”
Morrison slowly nodded his head, could feel the tension in his body recede as he listened to his niece. “I know her parents. Her father, Ibrahim, is an investment baron, and her mother is a jewelry designer. Her late grandfather was not only a former prime minister of Lebanon, but also one of the most influential businessmen in the world.”
“Really? I knew her family was stupid rich, but I had no idea they were famous too.”
“Where did you girls go last night, and why didn’t you come home?”
“We fell asleep watching Scream Queens, and when I woke up this morning my cell was dead and I didn’t have my charger with me.”
“Then why didn’t you use Zainab’s cell to call me? Was it dead too?”
“Unfortunately it was.”
“How convenient,” Morrison drawled, wearing a skeptical expression on his face. “They don’t have a landline at their house?”
“House? They don’t have a house. They have a gigantic, twelve-bedroom mansion dripping in gold, and it’s so fly and flashy I want to move in—”
“Reagan, stop cracking jokes and answer my question.”
“Uncle Morrison, no one has a landline anymore. That’s so ’80s. We’re probably the only family in the state who still has one!”
“This is not funny. This is serious,” he scolded. “I thought you were in danger.”
“I was going to call you when I got here. I swear.”
“Were Zainab’s parents’ home last night?” he asked, unsure of what to make of Reagan’s story. “Can they confirm that you were there?”
“No, they’re at the Monaco Yacht Show and won’t be back until tomorrow. That’s why I was at Zainab’s estate last night. To keep her company.”
Scrutinizing his niece’s appearance, he searched for anything