A Dangerous Man Read online

  A Dangerous Man

  By

  Rachel Cade

  Copyright © 2019 Rachel Cade

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Special Thanks to Ljay

  For seeing something in a little story called Breakdown

  And to Cecily for all your time and advice

  Introduction:

  The Elite

  Growing up in a politically connected family, events like this were the norm for Ciara Kimball. She knew the routine, smile and wave as she descended the staircase. Make small talk with people you barely knew; lots of cheek touching.

  Over the years the only thing that really changed was the fashion.

  From her old bedroom mirror, Ciara looked herself over. There was a low hum of jazz coming from the main floor, once she opened the door chatter would follow.

  She'd opted for a fairly conservative dark blue dress; floor length with a halter neckline. Oddly enough she had no shoes that were an exact match for the blue, so she opted for a black pump the hemline would hide.

  A soft knock came to her door.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  She was sitting at her vanity when her mother Dawn entered her room with a smile. She wore a pale blue gown that sparkled with her jewelry when she walked.

  “You look beautiful,” Dawn said, stopping behind her.

  Ciara smiled in response. “So do you.”

  Her mom smoothed Ciara’s pent up hair. “Glenda Hill will be here tonight.”

  Ciara placed a diamond stud in her ear. “The mayor’s wife. Isn't she always at your events?”

  “Some. And you would know that if you were at all my events, missy.”

  Ciara flashed a smile. “I can't keep up with your social calendar mother.”

  “Smooth.”

  “Have you been downstairs?”

  Ciara turned her head from side to side assessing the earrings.

  “No but your father is. It’s always easier for a man to get dressed.”

  Ciara pretended not to stare at her mother's reflection as she spoke.

  “Are you ready? I thought we'd debut together.” Dawn peered at her daughter through the mirror. They had the same wide eyes and rich cocoa skin, high cheekbones and full curving mouths. Ciara had a few inches extra inches of height thanks to her father, and usually wore her thick hair down passed her shoulders.

  “I need a few more minutes. Besides, I don't think you picked that gown to share the spotlight.”

  Her mother squeezed her shoulder affectionately. “I'll see you soon.”

  Several sways of fabric later, her mother was gone, and she was left alone again.

  Fifteen minutes later she was at the top of her staircase, staring down into the foyer, about thirty people huddled in various groups, speaking in polite hushed tones among themselves.

  As with most of her mother's events it was an older affair, but politicians weren't above the occasional sneak in of a date half their age. Ciara descended the stairs, silently observing the well-dressed power players.

  She smiled when she reached the bottom.

  Three steps away from the staircase her mother joined her.

  Dawn’s silver streaked bob was styled to perfection, she was holding a glass of champagne, and within moments a waiter materialized to offer Ciara one of four on a silver platter.

  She accepted it with a soft thanks.

  “Mother.”

  Dawn kissed her cheek. “You look lovely.”

  “As do you.”

  The repeated greeting was for show. In D.C. everyone was always watching.

  She proceeded to lead her daughter by the hand through the crowd, while greeting multiple people with promises to return for more conversation.

  A quintessential social butterfly was who Ciara had grown up with.

  Just when Ciara thought Team Kimball had fraternized with everyone her mother was leading her in a new direction. Ciara recognized him even with his back turned.

  Sighing, she kept a polite face as her mother got his attention.

  “Richard?”

  He turned, holding a glass of champagne. Richard greeted Dawn before his eyes quickly settled on her.

  “Ciara. How are you?” His smile gleamed against deep brown skin.

  “I’m fine Richard.”

  Standing between them her mother pressed the conversation, “Richard is starting his own law practice.”

  “Really?” Smile widening Ciara offered a congratulations.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk for a bit.”

  After her mom’s departure, Ciara sighed more openly.

  “Always.” Ciara added before taking a drink.

  “Pretty brazen, isn’t she?” Richard offered with a wink.

  He‘d changed a lot since they dated in high school. New muscle widened his lean frame, and he no longer wore glasses.

  Pity, she thought the frames fit his face well.

  She admired his suit, but mentally stopped herself from guessing the label.

  “So are you really starting your own practice?”

  Richard furrowed his brow. “Yes, of course.”

  Ciara shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that, sorry.”

  “Sure, why not? At some point you have to change. Working at a law firm can be, safe. But I’m ambitious. I was looking into going my own way.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “So what are you up to these days?”

  The question was inevitable, but she felt unprepared.

  “Soul searching.” It wasn’t the answer she planned to give. It certainly wasn’t the answer she was supposed to give. But his honesty sparked something inside of her.

  Richard’s smile was slow as his eyes assessed her. “That can mean a lot of things.”

  Ciara took a sip of her champagne, realizing it was almost gone.

  The extent of her parent’s expectations was for her to marry well. Her formal education was a tool to be used to navigate elite circles. There was no need for her to use her business major. She was going to end up with someone like Richard and give them grandchildren.

  “What do you do outside of law?” she asked.

  His brows raised. “What?”

  “Outside of law,” she repeated. “Do you have any other interests? Wait. I remember you used to draw. Comics!” Delight rushed her voice at remembering.

  Richard’s gaze shifted from side to side. His grin was nervous.

  “Ciara that was a long time ago.”

  “I know. But you were so good at it. You said you were going to apply to-”

  Richard shook his head, the action quieted her. “I grew up from all that. That was a kid’s dream.”

  Ciara nodded. “Of course.”

  Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  She turned to see her father, Dennis.

  “Daddy.” Her smile was automatic as they embraced.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, squeezing her gently to his chest.

  Dennis Kimball was a tall lean man, as usual immaculately dressed; tonight he wore a standard black tux. At fifty-two, the former congressman could easily pass for ten years younger, fifteen if he dyed the gray from his temples. He kept his hair cropped low on his head, and since she could remember
always wore a highly groomed goatee against his sharp chin.

  He greeted Richard, who lifted his drink in response and whisked his daughter away before she could offer a decent goodbye.

  “Your mother is still up to her old tricks hmm? Did I save you from an uncomfortable conversation?”

  “Probably.” she admitted.

  Of her two parents, she’d always been more of a daddy’s girl. He was always the first to come to her defense whenever she misbehaved; which had been often.

  “What were you two discussing?” he asked.

  “He was sharing with me his plans to start his own practice.”

  “Really? Then what was with those facial expressions?”

  “We were also reminiscing about hobbies. He enjoyed drawing.”

  “Sweetheart, did he bring that up or you?”

  Ciara remained silent and her father sighed. “I always told you, let men steer the conversation.”

  “Right.” She kept her laugh subtle.

  “Are you interested in him?” Dennis asked as he led her out of the room.

  “I don’t know.” She answered honestly.

  “Then that’s a no.” Ciara squeezed her dad’s hand in gentle reprimand. “And that’s good because I know someone that’s a better fit for you. You’ll meet him at the charity auction.”

  “Dad. I don’t know if I’m interested in dating right now.”

  “When have you not been interested in dating?” He turned his head to her brow raised. “One you’re a Kimball, two you’re beautiful. You should always be on the lookout for a suitable partner.”

  Nodding Ciara leaned against him playfully. Dennis shimmied his shoulder, making her laugh.

  More guests had arrived. Ciara was in the familiar company of councilmen, state representatives and other random members of government. She spoke their names and greeted them with poise, navigating through them with ease beside her father, like the professional socialite her mother raised.

  “I knew I’d find you two together.”

  “Dawn.” He leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek. She accepted the kiss, but there was a flatness in her eyes that meant they must have been arguing over something again.

  Ciara's smile widened; ignoring the tension while she watched them interact.

  One day they adored one another, the next day pure hatred. As time wore on their relationship became so unpredictable, she’d moved to the carriage house on the other side of the property.

  Despite it all they would never leave one another. That was for certain. Too many people were watching.

  Her mother came up behind her, speaking lowly in her ear, “Cross your fingers I get the Thompson's to donate fifty thousand tonight.”

  Ciara barely knew who the Thompson's were. But her mother certainly did, along with what they had for breakfast and what time they went to bed. Her parties appeared to be charming social events when in reality they were planned akin to a corporate takeover.

  Current finances, occupation and marital status were known, skeletons were peeked at but undisturbed, you were not invited to her gatherings if you were of no use to her.

  Ciara raised a brow. “Are you sure about that mother? You had to almost pull teeth for the thirty-five you got last year.”

  “Thirty-six,” she corrected. “And Eric wasn't a freshly elected senator thanks to special election.”

  A photographer appeared near them and requested a picture.

  They obliged and huddled together for a photo that would make the next day’s Post, the happy Kimball family.

  Chapter One:

  Breakdown

  “You want a what?”

  Two weeks later she was standing in The Anita Allen Gallery, across from the woman herself.

  Her raspy voice echoed off the high white walls around them. Anita was a glamorous woman of seventy-six with a ready smile and barely a wrinkle in her face. Her hair was always styled in a bun high on her head; accentuating her toffee skin tone. What she lacked in height she made up for in personality. She was a family friend that Ciara had known all her life.

  “A job.” Ciara resisted the urge to laugh as she repeated herself. “Is everyone I tell going to have this reaction?”

  “I just assumed you would marry well and divorce fabulously.”

  Ciara wanted to sulk a bit but had to grin instead. “You mean like you?”

  Anita took her hand and led her over to a wooden bench in front of an abstract painting. Her auburn hair glinted in the sun that filtered through the skylight.

  “Where is all this coming from?” Anita asked as they sat.

  “Maybe I'm going crazy since I turned thirty.” She shook her head. “My midlife crisis is coming early. I don't know?” She hadn’t meant to pose it like a question. “I can find something new to do with myself.”

  “What about your modelling? I know you enjoy that.”

  “I do. But it’s not a career.”

  Anita leaned toward her with a raised brow. “Not a career to who? You or Dennis and Dawn?”

  Ciara’s sigh was low but still audible. “I’m never going to be in politics or a lawyer. I have a business degree I’m not even using. I just worry about stepping too far outside the lines.”

  “You need to stop worrying about what your parents are going to think. How are you going to be your own woman if you keep playing by their rules?”

  “You know it’s not that simple. They’ve already put up with so much of my crap over the years. I just don’t want to disappoint them again.”

  Ciara shook her head, hating feeling so down.

  Anita rubbed her arm lovingly. “You're changing. Trust me, it'll probably happen more than once in your lifetime.”

  “That's … comforting.”

  “Ha!” Anita cried. “Sometimes you just have to roll with the punches.”

  Ciara nodded in agreement before saying, “I just hope I don't get knocked out.”

  *

  Ciara was making her way to her car when the buzz of her iPhone rattled her purse. Just the walk from the building to the curb had her nose and upper lip sweating; D.C. was sweltering in late summer heat.

  Frustration caused her erratic movements as she snatched the phone from her bag.

  As she read the caller ID, her eyes rolled. “Hey Phillip,” she answered sweetly.

  “Bless you for answering the phone. Where are you? And please don’t say a yacht.”

  Ciara sighed. “That sounds nice, but no, I’m in D.C. a little bit from home - and it’s disgustingly hot,” she said, sliding into the BMW convertible.

  “Can you do me a huge favor? I’m in Annapolis on a shoot. My model is M.I.A. - can you please help me out?” he spoke over her groan. “Dinner’s on me.”

  Ciara flipped on her Chanel shades and adjusted the strap on her yellow sundress. “You want me to drive all the way to Anapolis, do a shoot for free, and all I’m getting is dinner?”

  There was silence on the other line for a moment.

  “Okay, I’ll throw in dessert.”

  Twenty minutes later, Ciara headed in the opposite direction of home, instead speeding along the highway to Annapolis with Phillip’s hastily written directions on her passenger seat. Honestly, though she was annoyed with driving on the highway, she realized she was glad he’d called; he’d provided her with a necessary distraction.

  Following her GPS directions Ciara merged onto the exit ramp, relieved to be free of the erratic patchwork of drivers zooming past her.

  But her relief was short lived, within the next ten minutes, she found herself on a dirty tree-lined path with no highway in sight.

  Swallowing, Ciara glanced around her car windows as the AC’s cool air blasted. She grabbed her cell phone. When she tried to call Phillip she realized there was no service. Was she that far from a tower?

  “Oh no – no, no, no, please don’t let me be lost.”

  Did she write the address wrong?

  She glanced at the paper.
“Shit. Ok, Cici, let’s just turn around. Go back the way we came. There’s got to be a way back on the highway.” She started to three-point turn in the road. Shifting gears quickly, not remotely liking the dingy Blair Witch woods she suddenly found herself in, she hit the gas to back up.

  Soon, she realized she was slowing down instead of speeding up. Her foot hit the gas pedal, once, twice, before she tried stomping it over and over.

  She tried to turn the engine again until she heard a screeching noise similar to the one she wanted to make.

  Ciara’s skull collapsed against the headrest.

  She closed her eyes against a muttered, “Fuck.”

  She removed the key from the ignition and grabbed her purse, yanking herself from the cool confines of the car. Slamming the door, she glared at the pearl white automobile. Sunlight flowed along its sleek lines, which seemed to mock her with uselessness.

  Her stiletto heels sank into the gravel beneath her feet, and for the first time in her life, she was irritated at her taste in shoes. Perspiration lined her nose and forehead as she tried to catch her balance.

  The area around her appeared very unkept. The trees that lined the makeshift road grew into denser woods as she tried to peer through them. Aside from the occasional high-pitched bird chirp, there was silence, no breeze to make the branches rustle, but most importantly, no sound of civilization.

  After ten minutes of trying to get reception, she finally understood that technology was going to completely fail her today. The only way she would get out of this shit was to walk and find some help. But what direction to go? She’d taken a few turns and couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. All the dirty paths looked the same; As if designed to get people lost. There weren’t even any road signs. Or actual paved roads for that matter.

  The four-inch Louboutins were very unforgiving. After trying to keep her balance on the uneven ground, she was cursing the designer as well as herself for not tossing a single pair of flat shoes into her car. If she tried to walk on this road barefoot, she’d need a tetanus shot. She wasn’t going to take the chance.