The Unearthing of Blackstone Read online

  THE UNEARTHING OF BLACKSTONE

  by

  TIANA LAVEEN

  Copyright © 2014 by Tiana Laveen

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Tiana Laveen

  Book cover design by Travis Pennington

  Edited by Natalie G. Owens

  KINDLE EDITION

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE

  A Word to the Potential Reader

  THE UNEARTHING OF BLACKSTONE

  Prelude

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Book Club Questions

  Author’s Biography

  A WORD TO THE POTENTIAL READER

  Greetings. My name is Tiana Laveen, and I enjoy writing multicultural romances. Most of my books have erotic/sensual/sexual scenes, however, I use my love scenes as character development as well as to bring the characters closer as a couple. In other words, the love scene isn’t just ‘in there’ because I require it or my characters command it. It is in there for a multitude of reasons, and I tend to allow my characters, for any given book, to ‘tell me’ when they are ready to consummate their relationship. With that said, I respect a reader’s right to read romance with ‘heavy ‘ love scenes and/or erotica, and to have what they desire in the manner they wish to receive it. I enjoy writing love scenes immensely; however, please be warned that not all of my books, including this one, will get to a love scene quickly. Pace is important to me. If the characters require a build up and more development beforehand, then I will honor their individual personalities. In other words, some of my characters consummate their relationships quickly, others take their time. In this book, the characters decided not to have a love scene right away for a multitude of reasons which hopefully will be obvious as you read it.

  If this is something that concerns you, or is not to your liking, please be warned at this time that you will not get to that first intimate scene in the first few chapters. For those of you that do not wish to read sex scenes, this is more than likely not the book for you. Some people’s definition of erotica is different to that of others and this book may cross the line for many. The main characters involved in this book do have an active sex life that is described in graphic detail, so if you wish to avoid such depictions, you may want to reconsider your selection. For ‘the sex’ happens. And it happens a lot. 

  Thank you,

  Tiana Laveen

  THE UNEARTHING OF BLACKSTONE

  PRELUDE

  Ace Blackstone slipped his cigarette butt into a shallow bath of bourbon. The curved, silver accented glass on his desk had been there for two nights in a row. He glanced around his shadowy office, only semi-lit from a dull marine blue tiffany lamp, and casually turned towards his window, scooting his chair towards it. Peeking between the soft veils of fabric, he allowed a thin trail of light from vibrant Michigan Avenue to spy inside of his seventeenth floor office. The early Autumn Chicago evening had been unsettlingly cool, so he rose from his sable brown leather chair, pushed against his desk and made his way to the thermostat.

  “Shit…this bill is going to be real outlandish.” He returned to his desk and ran a calloused hand against his forehead, his eyes practically sewn shut from exhaustion as the pit of his gut rallied and rolled for nourishment to no avail. He sluggishly unbolted his steel-trapped eyes and tried not to glance at the damn photos on his laptop, but he couldn’t help himself…

  He gave in. One eye opened, then the next — trepidation bursting through, until he was face to face with the damned woman once more. Now, he knew her name, her whereabouts, who she was, what she was doing, and had heard her voice… all without her knowledge. Normally, that would mark the end of an event. CASE CLOSED. He’d call his client into his office. The timely report in hand, he’d explain the account in full detail along with providing collaborating evidence and an address on which to find said ‘missing person.’

  There was just one problem...his gut told him otherwise. He always trusted his gut, but his intuition may just get him hurt. How unprofessional to delay such an occurrence. What a terrible predicament he’d gotten himself into.

  Ace snatched his sights away from the computer screen, swiveled around towards the backdrop of his window once more, and ushered the dark charcoal gray curtains further open with two fingers from his left hand. Sitting there with his head bent low and his heart even lower, he people watched as they moseyed about along the street cluttered with cramped parked cars, speeding buses, lavish bistros and ostentatious shops. That was his job…to watch people. To observe the nuisances that others missed. That was what detectives did. He was damn good at it, too, the best in the city — some said the entire country — and he took pride in his work. He also had a bit of a reclusive personality and reputation, but that didn’t slow down his business in the least.

  There was never a person he couldn’t find; even if they were deceased, he’d find that out, too. Well, there was one unsolved mystery, but that simply couldn’t be helped. It was an ongoing private case, and he accepted it as such, at least for the time being. He focused instead on what he could change and tailor, the things he could control and mold and give a stamp of a conclusion to. He asked a premium price for his work. In return, his clients were guaranteed fast results they could time by a clock. Now he was buying time, but the price was always too damn high. He was running a tab and in arrears, and he soon realized the Grim Reaper in charge of the clock was after his ass, hastening his hurried steps towards his premature surrender of the evidence. The customer was calling, leaving eager voice messages, and here he was hauled up in his brick-walled posh office, continuing to stall as if it, too, were part of the job.

  “Damn it!” He turned away from the curtains and glanced back at the computer. He was certain he looked rather pitiful. Something about her pulled at his heart, and his savvy ways let him know, the client that wanted her found was up to no good. Hell, he could spot his own kind. Ace had been up to no good for the majority of his natural born life. He was a fucking pro at it and if it paid to not be worth a damn, he’d have been a millionaire eons ago. This client was hiding something, and it gave him cause for pause. That sort of dirty dealing had a strong scent; it moved and
slithered a certain way…real sly like, some kind of ravenous beast out stalking its oblivious prey. The hungrier the lion, the more desperate he was and the harsher the kill once he cornered the quarry and had it in his grasp. This particular lion had paid a lot of damn money — one of the biggest paydays to come his way.

  It wasn’t that Ace had never seen dough like that before, he had. Afterall, Mom and Dad weren’t exactly destitute. His mother, a now retired anesthesiologist for Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and his father, also recently retired from the position of Sales Director at Discovery Services had both done well for themselves. Trouble was, Ace was rarely home to abide by their rules or to reap the benefits. He drifted from his thoughts to reach out and stealthily open a desk drawer. There she was — a bottle of sweet Crown Royal, its purple robe a sight to behold. He undid the top, removed a fresh glass from the same drawer and poured it to the rim, steadying it at last, lest he waste even one tiny drop. Putting the golden rim to his lips, he took down half the damned thing in that one, hasty swig.

  “Ahhhh….” He slammed the glass down, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes once more, stretching his legs out. Gently, he ran his fingers through his hair, then across the stubble on his jaw. He was reminded once again that his days had no beginning or end; everything was a big, stinking blur.

  Trapped as he was in his own skin, no amount of spirits, be they the liquid kind or the ones that haunted him in his dreams, would make the sticky situation come unglued. He sighed and reached for his phone, swallowing his own spit that caught in his throat, which caused him to cough into the receiver before the second ring. The voice answered, and he pushed past the sinking feeling that grew inside of him like a wayward grape vine before it choked him to death. His tongue heavy with fermenting lies, he found himself mute for some seconds. Finally, he got it out, though it sounded like a strangled, mangled mess of a declaration…

  “I received your correspondence. No worries, I’m still on the case…”

  ~***~

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Thanksgiving will be here soon.” The woman with porcelain skin, slanted piercing blue eyes and a keen nose looked up from her indigo and white swirled teacup that she clutched like a lifeline, her discerning gaze upon him. Visits with Mom were always this way. Her black hair with white skunk stripe was pulled away from her face and wrapped like an elegant, illustrious gift atop her regal head. The delicate ivory lace collar of her sheer blouse embraced her neck. A black, long cardigan over the ensemble matched her flowing, sailor-style pants. Mrs. Blackstone possessed a natural, quiet elegance. Despite being a working woman for many years, she lived a life of sophistication. She had been raised on a farm and moved to Illinois as a teenager, wishing to make it on her own as an actress. Yes, an actress…

  No one came to Illinois to get a job like that, but Sarah Blackstone did. Anything was ‘big city’ to the young girl from Oklahoma with stars in her haunting eyes. She soon discovered she was better suited for the medical field after a man was hit with a car right in front of her. She did as her daddy had done with the hogs — applied pressure and saved that gentleman’s life. She took it as a sign from God and enrolled in college, then attended medical school as she worked two and three jobs to pay her way through. An incredible woman, with a sarcastic wit about her, and she still had a touch of naivety that Ace, her youngest son, found endearing.

  “Mom, Halloween isn’t even here yet. You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.” Oh, how Mom loved the holidays. He was greeted with a grimace.

  “I see you don’t care about that. So,” Ace surrounded the warm cup in his hands as he leaned forward on the opposite end of the dining room table, his seat creaking a bit. “What would you like me to bring this year?”

  His mother took another sip of her tea and brandished a sly smirk with glossy pink lips.

  “You having a wife…that’s what I’d be thankful for. Oh,” she tapped the table with her short index fingernail, her manner teasing, “I’ll even wait until Christmas.”

  Ace sighed and leaned back in his seat.

  “That won’t be happening, Mom. I don’t want to get married anytime soon, if at all. It’s just not for me.” He pointed to himself, to help drive the point home.

  “It’s that damn job of yours!” she scoffed, her lip-gloss suddenly going dull as her lips curled down at the ends. “I wish you’d get something else to do. I mean, just really!” She huffed.

  Ace smiled weakly and ran his fingertips over the silver and black runner, the delicate fringe still in pristine shape after years of use across the mahogany table laden with delicate China plate settings, collecting dust from lack of use.

  “It’s not the job…”

  “Like hell it isn’t…you’re all cynical now. Those people come in there and come out, throwing their marriage problems in your face. They need a dose of common sense, not a P.I.”

  Ace tilted his head slightly to the left and grinned.

  “You’ve got it all figured out, Ma?”

  “I sure do. They ask you to find out if their wives and husbands are messin’ around. Well, of course they are!” She snorted. “They’re throwing away their damn money. If you know it in here,” she tapped her chest indignantly, “then there is no need to call my son, Detective Blackstone, Private Eye, with his sidekick, Captain Obvious!”

  Ace grinned at the funny outburst. Through it all she kept a poised demeanor and cutting tone still clutching onto a whisper of her country accent.

  He shrugged and chuckled. “Yeah, I’d agree with that to an extent…”

  “Well, aren’t they?” Her dark arched brow shot upward as if pulled by an invisible string.

  “I never discuss my cases with anyone, you know that. They are confidential. I will say that, more times than not, I do chase people who are hiding secrets. Most of these people are married and they may be,” he slicked his hand into his pocket, removed a box of cigarettes and slid one out onto his open palm, “living a double life.” Placing it to his lips, he searched his other pocket for his lighter. “They could be married with kids, be a lesbian or gay man living a straight life in the closet, and their spouse wants proof. They could be into some kinky stuff, like,” he shrugged, “going to some of these sex clubs and having orgies. Who am I to judge? It could be simple, not complicated in the least.”

  Ace relished the fact that he and his mother could talk about a myriad of things, and the woman wouldn’t bat an eye. They’d always had that sort of open and honest relationship, and as far as he was concerned, she was the only woman he needed to be bothered with for any length of time. The only one he could tolerate, quite frankly. Though he wouldn’t classify himself as a mama’s boy, he held her in high regard, and all other women were placed in the basement of his library of priorities while Sarah Blackstone swiveled on a radiant pedestal made of ivory and spun gold.

  “Such as? I thought infidelity was always complicated.”

  “Not always…sometimes it’s real simple. Miss Molly may not be taking care of her man, you know,” he said. “…So, he goes and finds someone who will.”

  He didn’t miss the way his mother’s upper lip turned stiff like a stone left in a deep freezer. The woman was a medical professional after all. She’d seen guts laid out on a gurney from a gunshot victim and a baby die in a first-time mother’s arms, and she never seemed to cave from the pressure — but she had a knee-jerk reaction to this sort of thing. It bruised her heart. He surmised it stemmed from her own upbringing with grandparents he’d never laid eyes on. Apparently, her old man, despite her strict, Protestant upbringing, had been a rolling stone. Ace figured, with his mother’s unconventional ways, she wasn’t exactly a prize to conservative eyes. The woman was courageous, even in times when she should have given way to acceptance.

  A wild, exotic bird in a golden cage — that’s how he’d describe her. Beautiful and dazzling to the eye, but gasping for freedom. The woman did her own thing, but kept a Southern magne
tism about her that her patients and family found irresistible. That Southern charm also came in the form of her old-fashioned beliefs. She wanted all four of her sons married to smart, beautiful women and to have a house full of children she could spoil. In a way, it was the only thing Ace believed she wished for in the entire world.

  Just then, his father walked into the room. His silky black jacket clung to his frail bones and his hollowed cheeks made his already long face look that much more distorted. He ran a finger down his nose, scratched his nostril and pulled up a chair, straddling the damned thing backwards as if he were a real cool cat with a jazzy beat to share. Ace chuckled internally at the notion as he lit the cigarette and blew out soft rings of wispy gray smoke. His parents were like night and day and not a moment passed when he could honestly tell himself he understood their odd relationship. He didn’t have the heart to tell his mother that not only did his job of chasing pussy mongers and cheating whores make him sick to his stomach at the thought of putting a ring on any woman’s finger, but the two of them seemed to him like puzzle pieces that were part of the same game, but on opposite sides of the board. They were more like good friends living under the same roof, and it had been that way since as far back as he could remember.

  He’d asked his older brothers about it, and they had no answers as well. Reid, the eldest, was a very serious man with a twinkling left blue eye. He fashioned himself as a teacher, but preferred his hobby: making train sets. Inside him lurked a little boy scratching to get out, and this duality led to a candidness that Ace respected and somewhat revered. “Are mom and dad for real?!” he’d asked, and Reid nodded.

  “Yeah, they are. They love each other.”

  Ace had then questioned the second eldest, Jett. Jett’s name was befitting; if his parents had only known at the time of his early morning, winter birth. He was a pilot, rarely home, and word was, when he spent time there, he made his wife and kids’ lives a living hell. He probably got married ‘just because.’ Nevertheless, he and Ace had a quiet respect for one another.