as the strobe lights flashed across the manâs face and reflected off the mirrored walls she was stunned to see who she thought was Xavier Rivera raising his glass to her. Clearly spooked, she jumped off the stool, not looking back, and bolted for the exit. The more people who crowded in on her the more claustrophobic she felt as she frantically pushed through. She couldnât get to the door fast enough. When she got outside she got the attention of one of the bouncers.
âLady, what is it?â
âPlease, you have to help me. Thereâs a man in there who wants to kill me.â
âWhat?â
Alex instantly realized how insane she sounded. The brawny bouncer moved her aside and looked through the throng of people passing into the club. Alexâs hands shook as she rifled through her bag to find the parking ticket for her car to give to the valet.
âAre you sure thereâs somebody after you?â the bouncer asked. âYouâre not high on somethinâ are you?â
âNo, Iâm not high dammit. I know what I saw,â Alex responded. âPlease. I just need to get out of here.â
The valet ran to get her car while she waited, cowering behind a man as thick as a linebacker. When the valet finally pulled up Alex jumped in and sped off without offering a tip.
It felt like she couldnât breathe from the time she left North Hollywood until she pulled up at her house in Monrovia. No one had followed her. It was just after nine-thirty and the street was quiet. She exited the car and bolted into the house. Neither Jamilah nor the baby was there. She looked across the street to see that the lights were on at the Hudson house and surmised that Jamilah must still be there playing cards. She called her up to be sure, calming herself before she spoke.
âHi, Mama . . . No . . . No . . . I just got home. I had a headache and the club was just too loud. Is everything okay over there? Cerena is sleeping. Good. No. Take your time. Have fun.â After speaking to Jamilah she instinctively dialed John but hung up before it rang. She took a deep breath and lay back on the sofa. âIt wasnât Rivera. It couldnât have been him.â
6
Dresses lay crumpled on the dressing room floor of Lorraine Chaseâs large walk-in closet. Shoes were scattered haphazardly. She felt as nervous as she did the first time John asked her out. She needed for everything to fall into place tonight if she planned on seducing him back into their bed. It was silly, she thought, trying to capitalize on her daughterâs moment. After all, how romantic could the sight of twelve five-year-old girls prancing around on stage in tulle and crinoline be? She had to find the right look that wouldnât make her appear too eager. Her seduction should be pointed, but subtle. John was no fool. After changing more times than a runway model she tried on a form-hugging skirt and blouse with a plunging neckline, but it was going to take more than revealing cleavage to win him over. The only real weapons in her arsenal were their children. He would do anything for them; that much she was sure of.
Chloe stood excitedly at the window, waiting to see her fatherâs truck. âMommy, come on,â she squealed.
John pulled into the driveway and Chloe dashed out to meet him. He hoisted her in his arms and kissed her. âYou guys ready?â
He looked up and saw Lorraine at the door. Sheâd settled on a less obvious skirt and a lightweight knit sweater that accentuated the blue in her eyes.
âDid you get the camcorder?â
She held it up. âI got it right here.â
âWhereâs John Michael?â
âIâm coming,â the boy shouted as he bounded down the steps with little thought to his broken arm.
âSlow down, John Michael,â Lorraine cautioned him. She handed the camcorder to John and turned to lock up the house. âDo you want to take the
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