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practically throwing it back in his face—she couldn’t turn around the next day and ask him for a favor! How could she possibly frame such a request?
    Hey, Warrick? I know you despise me and hold me personally responsible for your sister going to prison, and I know I pretty much told you to go to hell when you approached me with a business proposition, but could you ignore all that and give my friend’s brother an internship at your company? And, by the way, I’m still not selling my property to you!
    Idiot, Raina scolded herself, thumping her head on the desk. Not only would she have to put aside her pride in order to approach Warrick for a favor, but she’d have to promise something in return. Since giving him the one thing he wanted—her land—was out of the question, she couldn’t think of anything else to offer. He and his family had already taken so much from her. Her pride, dignity, peace of mind. Her trust.
    She didn’t have any more to give. And the truth was that she wanted nothing more to do with Warrick. Ever.
    Still, a promise was a promise.
    With a deep sigh of resignation, Raina lifted her head from the desk and reached for the phone to make a call. Since she’d torn up Warrick’s business card, she didn’t have his cell phone or home number. And she already knew, from previous experience, that his secretary in Philadelphia guarded his schedule and personal information the way the CIA guards top-secret documents.
    Raina knew who to call to get in touch with Warrick. Once she received Tina’s brother’s résumé, she would contact Warrick. And once she had him on the phone, she wouldn’t beat around the bush. She would simply pass along Alphonse’s résumé and ask Warrick to kindly forward the information to his company’s internship coordinator. If he decided, out of the goodness of his heart, to do more for Alphonse, then all the better. Either way, Raina would have kept her word to Tina.
    She wasn’t asking for much, she reasoned. After everything Warrick and his family had put her through, this small favor was the least he could do for her.

Chapter 5
    W hen Warrick pulled up in front of Randall Mayne’s lakeside house that afternoon, he found his uncle inside the detached garage with his head under the hood of a 1956 Ford Thunderbird sports car.
    Since retiring from the Houston Police Department five years ago, Randall had enthusiastically thrown himself into his favorite hobby of collecting and restoring classic cars. The blue T-Bird was one of many such vintage vehicles he owned.
    As Warrick approached the entrance to the garage, he could hear Frankie Beverly and Maze blaring from the stereo. Randall Mayne was crooning the lyrics to “Joy and Pain” in a deep, slightly off-key baritone.
    A slow, mischievous grin stretched across Warrick’s face. Sauntering over to the car, he joined loudly in the chorus: “Joy and pain are like sunshine and rain…”
    Randall jerked at the sound of his voice, bumping his head on the roof of the hood and swearing. Warrick grinned, watching as his uncle straightened and stepped around the fender to stare at him.
    â€œBoy, don’t you ever sneak up on me like that again!”
    Warrick laughed. “You must be losing a step, old man. The cop I used to know could hear a cat tiptoeing across a room.”
    â€œWho you calling an old man?”
    â€œThere are only two people in this garage, and I sure as hell wasn’t talking about me.” Though, at just fifty-six, Randall Mayne could hardly be considered old.
    Randall looked at his nephew, his expression stern. But he couldn’t hold it for as long as he used to. A moment later his lean, handsome face broke into a wide grin. He grabbed Warrick, dragging him into a bear hug that evolved into a playful headlock. Warrick laughed as he endured the familiar ritual, knowing that even if he were seventy