Betrayal Read online

  She settled onto her back, silent and unmoving in the near darkness.

  Brandon watched her, waiting for her to speak.

  “I couldn’t stay away,” she whispered.

  He said nothing.

  “God knows I wanted to,” she continued. “After the way you humiliated me yesterday, I wanted to throw your ring back in your face and tell you I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. I wanted to get as far away from you as possible.” She shook her head at the ceiling. “But I couldn’t. Because I’m a fool. A weak, pathetic fool.”

  Guilt settled over Brandon like a lead blanket. “Cynthia—”

  “I spent the whole day at my parents’ house. You would think I was on suicide watch the way my family hovered around me—making sure I ate, keeping sharp objects out of my sight, tracking my every move. I practically had to ask permission to use the bathroom, and if I took too long, someone would knock on the door to check up on me. But that’s not even the worst part, Brandon. The worst part is that you didn’t even bother to call or send a text to see how I was doing. You dumped me at the altar, then simply went about your business like nothing had happened.”

  Brandon grimaced. “I didn’t think you wanted to hear from me so soon.”

  “I didn’t. But that shouldn’t have stopped you from making the effort to reach out to me. A woman who gets jilted on her wedding day deserves the courtesy of at least one groveling phone call from her contrite fiancé.”

  Brandon pushed out a deep, weary breath and rolled onto his back. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cynthia. I knew you were angry and hurting. I didn’t want to make matters worse.”

  “I bet you would have called Tamia,” Cynthia said bitterly. “But then, you wouldn’t have canceled the wedding in the first place if she were the one carrying your child.”

  Brandon was silent, Justin’s words echoing through his mind. If you get Tamia pregnant, then you could only be expected to marry one of them....

  “I hate her,” Cynthia hissed.

  Brandon frowned. “Cynthia—”

  “I know the Bible tells us to love our enemies, but I can’t do that with Tamia. I hate her fucking guts. I wish you hadn’t gotten her acquitted. I wish she’d been found guilty and received a life sentence. Hell, I wish one of the other inmates had gotten to her before the trial even started.”

  Brandon’s blood ran cold. “You don’t mean that.”

  “The hell I don’t! I hate that bitch!”

  “Shh. Stop this.” Brandon turned and gathered her into his arms, spooning her body. As she burst into tears, he murmured soothingly, “Come on, sweetheart. All this negative emotion isn’t good for you or the baby.”

  “I know,” she sobbed, “but I can’t help the way I feel. All these setbacks we’ve been having . . . I just feel like everything would have worked out if she hadn’t been in the picture.”

  Brandon sighed deeply. “Tamia isn’t the cause of your unhappiness. I am.”

  “Only because of her!”

  “She didn’t force me to postpone our wedding. That was on me. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I honestly believe it was the right one. I know you’re upset right now, but blaming Tamia isn’t going to change anything. You’re here with me, and we’re going to have a baby. Nothing else should matter.”

  Cynthia sniffled into her pillow.

  Pulling her closer, Brandon reached under her T-shirt and placed his hand against her flat stomach. “I wonder how long it’ll be before you start showing,” he murmured.

  “Probably not for a while,” she asserted. “I’m not that far along, and my mother says she didn’t show with my oldest brother until she was well into her second trimester.”

  Brandon nodded slowly, trying to envision how Cynthia would look several months from now. But images of Tamia were what flooded his mind.

  Tamia . . . her face glowing and radiant . . . her luscious breasts growing even fuller as her stomach swelled with child.

  His child.

  Theirs.

  He saw her rubbing cocoa butter all over her beautiful caramel skin to fend off stretch marks. She’d rock designer maternity clothes, and she’d insist on wearing high heels until her sexy strut became an adorable waddle. She’d eat pickles with hot sauce while he gave her back rubs and foot massages. And they’d cuddle in bed every night and talk until one of them fell asleep.

  “You’re right, Brandon,” Cynthia said resolutely, interrupting his sweet reverie. “We’re together now, and we’re having a baby. Nothing else matters.”

  “That’s right,” Brandon murmured, closing his eyes as a painful ache spread across his chest.

  God, please give me the strength to get through this.

  Chapter 5

  Tamia

  On Sunday morning, still suffering the effects of a broken heart, Tamia dragged herself out of bed, showered, and threw on some jeans, then headed downstairs to the gourmet grocery store located inside her apartment building.

  She felt listless as she wandered down the aisles, absently adding items to her cart as cheery Christmas carols wafted through the store. The Phoenicia was shiny and new, boasting a wide selection of international foods, a salad and olive bar, a pita counter, a large wine collection, and a restaurant.

  As Tamia rounded the corner of the spice aisle, she nearly collided with another shopper.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled quickly to the attractive black man behind the other cart.

  “No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t watching where—Miss Luke?”

  Tamia was surprised to find herself staring into the smiling face of Lester McCray, one of the jurors from her murder trial.

  “Mr. McCray . . . um, hello.”

  “Miss Luke. Didn’t we just run into each other last month?”

  “We did. Imagine that.”

  Lester smiled warmly. “As I mentioned before, I live nearby. So I just had to come over and check out the new grocery store everyone’s been talking about. It’s great. Really impressive.”

  “I think so, too,” Tamia said. “I’m glad it’s here.”

  “It’s definitely a welcome addition to the neighborhood.”

  Tamia smiled, but she was pondering the odds of her running into Lester McCray not once, but twice in the span of a month. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was stalking her.

  The thought sent a chill through her.

  Lester’s eyes roamed appreciatively across her face. “So how are things going? Are you working again?”

  “I was. Briefly.” Tamia tucked her hair behind one ear. “It didn’t work out.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Lester said sympathetically.

  “It’s all right. It was for the best.”

  He nodded. “Don’t get discouraged. Something better will come through.”

  Tamia smiled wanly. “I’m counting on it.”

  Lester hesitated, glancing around as if to make sure no one was standing nearby before he said quietly, “I have to admit I was shocked to hear that your sister was responsible for . . . what happened. I can’t even imagine how devastated you must have been.”

  Tamia’s muscles tightened, heat washing over her face. “I was devastated,” she said tensely. “But I’m really trying to put all that behind me.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Lester gave her a rueful smile. “I guess I’ve just blown any shot at convincing you to have coffee with me.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

  “I know. I was one of your jurors, so it’s a conflict of interest.” Lester sighed. “I guess I was hoping you’d changed your mind about that.”

  “I’m afraid not.” At that moment, Tamia’s smartphone rang. Grateful for the interruption, she flashed a smile at Lester. “It was nice seeing you again, Mr. McCray. Take care.”

  “You too, Miss Luke.”

  Tamia pulled her phone out of her poc
ket as she walked away, pushing her shopping cart. Just as before, she could feel Lester McCray’s eyes following her, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  She answered the phone. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Tamia.” It was her friend Honey, whom she’d met last month at the homecoming party to celebrate her acquittal. A week later, Honey had showed up on Tamia’s doorstep with a black eye and a busted lip, courtesy of her boyfriend, Keyshawn.

  “Girl, you have perfect timing,” Tamia said.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you later. Where have you been? I called yesterday to see if you were back from New Orleans yet, but you didn’t answer the phone.”

  “I know. I meant to call you back but . . .” Honey trailed off.

  Tamia frowned. “Where are you?”

  Honey hesitated for a long moment. “I’m back home. With Keyshawn.”

  “What?”

  “It’s okay,” Honey hastened to assure her. “He wasn’t mad. He was happy to see me. He said he missed me.”

  Tamia sucked her teeth in disgust. “Have you forgotten the reason you left him in the first place? He gave you a black eye and threatened to kill you!”

  “I know, and he apologized for that. When he found the diamond bracelet that Bishop Yarbrough gave me, it just set him off. It made him jealous because he knows he can’t afford to buy me expensive gifts—”

  “Whatever,” Tamia spat, impatiently tossing a bag of pasta into her cart. “Abusive men always have some sorry excuse for their behavior. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  Honey heaved a resigned breath. “I hear what you’re saying, Tamia, but I had to come back home. I couldn’t let Keyshawn go to the media about me and Bishop Yarbrough.”

  Tamia scowled, but she knew Honey was right. She had everything to lose if her secret affair with the megachurch pastor went public. At the same time, staying with her violent boyfriend could get her killed.

  Tamia clenched her jaw, hating the sense of helplessness that had gripped her. It reminded her too much of her childhood and the terrible fights she’d witnessed between her mother and her stepfather.

  “Where is he?” she gritted through her teeth.

  “Keyshawn? He went to work this morning.” Honey paused. “He expects me to be here when he gets back.”

  “So you’re his fucking prisoner now?”

  “Apparently.” Honey sighed in defeat. “None of this would have happened if Bishop Yarbrough hadn’t given me that damn bracelet. And do you know he had the nerve to call me while I was in New Orleans? Here I am trying to spend time with my family, and he’s blowing up my phone wanting to know when I’ll be back because he can’t wait to see me again.”

  Tamia scowled, shaking her head. “That man is the biggest fucking hypocrite.”

  “I know, girl, but he’s one of my best clients. Anyway, I told him we have to lay low for a while because Keyshawn’s been acting jealous and suspicious. But I promised to call him tonight to get him off before he goes to bed.”

  Tamia rolled her eyes in disgust. “TMI, heffa.”

  Honey laughed. “I’m heading out to run some errands, but what’re you doing tomorrow? Are you free for lunch? You need to catch me up on what’s been happening in the world of Tamdon.”

  “Tamdon?”

  Honey chuckled. “That’s my nickname for you and Brandon.”

  “Oh.” Tamia’s throat tightened. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

  “Cool. I’ll call you when I’m on my way to your apartment.”

  “Okay.” Tamia disconnected and stuffed her phone back into her pocket, then headed for the checkout counter. She hadn’t been waiting in line long when she saw Lester McCray. He got in the same line, standing behind two other customers.

  When Tamia met his gaze, he gave her a smile that made her skin crawl.

  She paid for her groceries, grabbed the two bags, and quickly left the store. As soon as she boarded the elevator to return to her apartment, she pulled out her phone again. Without thinking twice, she sent a text message to Brandon: I need a favor.

  By the time she stepped off the elevator, he was calling her.

  She picked up, her pulse thudding. “Brandon.”

  “Hey, baby,” he murmured.

  Her knees went weak. Closing her eyes, she said quietly, “You can’t call me that anymore.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” There was an ache in his voice that matched the ache in her heart.

  She swallowed hard, fumbling out her keys as she reached her front door. “I didn’t want to call your phone in case you were at church with Cynthia.”

  “She went without me.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  “I just got your message,” Brandon said. “What do you need?”

  Tamia let herself into the apartment and closed the door. “Would you happen to have the home addresses of the jurors from my trial?”

  “Their home addresses?” Brandon repeated, sounding puzzled.

  “Yeah. As an attorney, don’t you have access to jurors’ personal information?”

  “Only if the judge releases it, and it has to be for a good reason.”

  “Oh,” Tamia murmured, carrying her bags into the kitchen and setting them on the granite counter. “Never mind, then.”

  “What’s going on, Tamia?”

  She hesitated, debating how much she should tell him. She didn’t want to sound any alarms before she had to. If she had to. “Do you remember juror number eight?”

  “The brotha who couldn’t keep his eyes off you during the trial?” Brandon chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I remember him. Why?”

  “I’ve run into him a couple times,” Tamia explained, striving to sound nonchalant. “So I was just wondering if he lives around here.”

  Brandon was silent for a long moment. “What aren’t you telling me, Tamia?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you. I was just curious, but I should have realized you wouldn’t have Lester McCray’s address.”

  “Just because I don’t have it doesn’t mean I can’t get it.”

  Of course he could. Brandon was one of the most powerful attorneys in Houston. He had more connections than there were stars in the universe. And he’d have no trouble persuading some court clerk to give him the information he wanted, no questions asked.

  “I don’t need his address,” Tamia clarified. “I just want to know if he lives around here.”

  “All right. Give me a day to find out and get back to you.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Brandon.”

  “You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me you’re not keeping anything else from me.”

  “I’m not.”

  After several moments, Brandon said slowly, “All right.” He clearly didn’t believe her.

  Tamia leaned back against the counter, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You should have gone to church with your fiancée.”

  Brandon sighed. “Why?”

  “Because it would have been less humiliating for her to have you by her side two days after you . . . postponed the wedding.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Did you have a better night?” Brandon asked quietly.

  Tamia closed her eyes. “I’m not gonna answer that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s no right answer. If I tell you that I slept horribly, you’ll feel guilty or, worse, you’ll feel sorry for me, and the last thing I want is your pity. But if I tell you that I slept like a baby . . . well, you might think I’ve already gotten over you. And nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Brandon exhaled a ragged breath. “Tamia—”

  “I have to go, Brandon,” she said softly. “When you get the information I asked for, you don’t have to call. You can just send me a text.”

  He said nothing.

  She swallowed tightly. “Good-bye, Brandon.”

  Be
fore he could respond, she ended the call and set the phone down on the counter. Her eyes burned with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She had to be strong. Stronger than she’d ever been. It was the only way she’d be able to move on with her life.

  Releasing a shaky breath, Tamia forced herself to unpack and put away the groceries.

  Just as she finished the task, her phone rang. She picked it up and checked the display screen. When she saw the number to the Christina Crain women’s prison, her heart thumped into her throat.

  Fiona.

  She hadn’t seen or spoken to her sister since the harrowing night that Fiona had confessed to murdering their grandmother ten years ago. After she’d been taken into custody, she’d refused to have contact with anyone. Against the advice of the public defender assisting her, she’d waived her right to a jury trial and was now waiting to be sentenced by a judge.

  Tamia stared at the ringing phone, grief and fury pumping through her veins. Not only had Fiona murdered their grandmother; she’d killed Dominic’s wife and let Tamia take the fall.

  Was it any wonder Tamia wanted absolutely nothing to do with her?

  Your sister needs you, Mama Esther’s voice whispered through her mind.

  Tamia’s fingers tightened around the phone. She paced over to the breakfast counter, then reluctantly pressed the talk button and agreed to accept the collect call from her sister.

  Seconds later Fiona’s small, tremulous voice came on the line. “Hey, Tamia. How’re you doing?”

  “I have nothing to say to you, Fiona,” Tamia said coldly.

  “I know. And I wouldn’t have called unless it was really important. I . . . I need you to do something for me.”

  “What the hell makes you think—?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Tamia froze, the blood draining from her head. “Wh-what did you say?”

  “I’m pregnant,” Fiona repeated in a low whisper.

  Reeling with shock, Tamia sat down hard on the nearest bar stool. “When . . . ?”

  “I found out a week ago. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Dre—”