The Unearthing of Blackstone Read online

  What he discovered, however, made his heart race and his pulse accelerate to the point that he needed a moment to simply calm himself and breathe. The food was a nice distraction, but once it was gone, he was left with her voice replaying in his ears and the memory of all the heartfelt notions that had poured forth from between those perfect, pouty lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and it wasn’t simply because he’d found his prize. The woman was fucking stunning. Point blank. From a physical standpoint, she was easily a nine and a half, and he rarely gave anyone such a high score. As far as his task was concerned, all of the nights he’d spent sitting up and struggling with this case were finally over.

  A payday of epic proportions was forthcoming, but that wasn’t the most important accolade on the near-distant radar. He was drawn to Brooklyn. This was as clear to him as the fact he was sitting there in that chair. The way she spoke pulled him into the moment. She wasn’t anything like he thought she’d be, by first impression alone, and that took him for a bit of a loop. He expected some shy, milly-mouthed woman who would say her piece in monotone then take her seat. Instead, she took a risk and poured a bit of herself into it. She gave everyone something they could feel. He had to hand it to her, she embodied class, the kind that only women of his mother’s generation seemed to know how to wield… and she had an innocence about her, almost timid, but when she spoke — she had the voice of a grown ass woman, moving and doing big things. She had power, control, and poise. She knew who the hell she was and what she was doing, and that was a humongous turn on; so much so, the pants that kept playing with his nuts, grabbing them like saran wrap, now had something much more substantial to grip onto…

  Her body wore the long gown; the dress didn’t wear her. Each and every curve of the woman’s frame screamed to him. The sweetheart shaped upper portion of the dress glistened in black and hugged her flesh like a second skin. Her breasts appeared small; she hadn’t filled out much in that area since the age of eighteen, but they were perky, something he could envision slicking his tongue across. He was a vile creature, as most men were, but at least he was honest. He’d surveyed her temple as if he would be given a test soon after… memorized every damned detail. Her thighs appeared ample, her ass not too big, not too small, but just right. Everything blended into a pair of legs barely shown through a slit that gave him just enough of an eyeful to make his cock swell further and give a salute. As he watched her hugging and kissing people after dessert had been served, he craved dessert, too, one that came in the form of his client’s daughter, with a bit of whipped cream on top — two scoops to be exact…

  Ace was disturbed with himself at this point. He turned away from everyone and put his head down, chastising himself for going there, and letting himself drown in deviant thoughts. For goodness’ sake, Mr. Henderson’s child had been missing but there was something much worse that he felt even more ashamed of… Here she was, a grown woman enjoying the fruits of her hard work of hiding like a cat under a broken down porch all this time, and he was about to spoil it, pull the plug, bring everything to a damned halt. He was going to ruin her night and possibly her life, just like that! She wouldn’t know that it was ruined until dear ol’ dad paid her a visit, but the work was being set in motion. For the first time in his career, he was hesitating on doing his professional duty. It all began with him digging in the proverbial trash of Mr. Henderson’s life, and now here he stood, pussyfooting on closing the damn door on this thing.

  What the hell am I doing?

  He looked across the way and caught a glimpse of her, her head thrown back as she laughed while in the company of another woman. The sight did something to him he didn’t dare describe.

  He’d been around attractive women before, he’d slept with his share, but this woman made him go somewhere he’d never travelled. Her beauty was simple. He surmised that she, too, cleaned up well and that it was an epic make-up job that made her look like a damned professional model that evening. Regardless, he could see past that for the woman didn’t even need enhancement…His age-progression photo was right on the money.

  He waited to get closer to her, to see that little beauty mark on the back of her neck. In a way, he didn’t want it to be there. He wanted this woman to be someone else, so that he could go ahead and heed the attraction raging within him without any hang-ups…yet, a part of him knew that it was. This was simply a way to torture himself, to allow himself to understand and realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that the woman was who he suspected to be all along.

  He made his move to discover Lynne Henderson. He needed to converse with her, see how open she was to general banter, but once he reached her, he paused. He gingerly reached out and touched her arm and she swung around in his direction. All he could do was swallow his own tongue. Hard. Their eyes locked and he no longer had a voice, mouth, a body, nothing…He was just floating there, hanging himself with an invisible thread by the damn rafters.

  “Yes?” she broke him out of his trance. Her soft, feminine voice grabbed him and held him close.

  “Oh, yes, I just wanted to tell you congratulations.” He rocked on his heels; pleased with the way he’d saved himself from looking like a damned fool.

  She smiled at him and tilted her head ever so slightly.

  “Thank you…uh, do I know you?” Her brows dipped in perplexity.

  She’s like me. Never forgets a face…

  His smile soon faded. He didn’t expect her to engage him in conversation; he figured he’d be doing all the driving. But…hers was a logical question. He kicked himself for spending most of his time staring at her ass versus getting his lines together.

  “Uh, I’m not certain. I’m a sociologist, an industrial sociologist.”

  So you just came up with that shit, huh? Horrible…

  She nodded and smiled, but remained silent.

  Have you ever spoken to a girl before, Ace? Have you?! What the hell is wrong with you?! Better yet, have you ever done an investigation? Jesus!

  She briefly turned away when someone tapped her shoulder. He glared at the back of her neck, zooming in like a telescope. A few loose curls almost blocked his view, but there it was…the beauty mark. Gently, he pulled at her wrist, a bold move, but one he felt necessary. She turned back to him, her face a bit vexed from his intrusion, but she seemed to quickly soften when he added a smile to the mix.

  “My name is…” He hesitated a fraction. “Ace…Ace Blackstone.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you Mr. Blackstone. You said you are an industrial sociologist? Where do you work?”

  “I’m an independent contractor.” His suaveness returned and saved the damn day. “I am hired by various companies to study their workplaces, their people and how they respond to pending changes in their work environment. I enjoy it.” Ace surmised he’d actually told a half lie. He was in fact an independent contractor, hired to study people. Such was a long stretch of the truth, but he felt a bit more at ease that there was some legitimacy to his tall tale. He couldn’t figure out why the fuck he even cared about that detail, but he did.

  “Very interesting.” She displayed a slight grin, causing the apple of her cheeks to plump up.

  “You mentioned you delved into your family tree, your family history as a child. I think that is admirable, especially if you found what you were looking for…Did you grow up here in Chicago?”

  Her smile faded a bit, but she kept her composure nevertheless as she crossed her arms over her breasts, flattening them.

  Her body language tells me she is putting a wall up or that she is about to lie… Whichever she choses, it is to escape my question…

  “Uh, no…actually, I grew up in Louisiana. If you’ll excuse me,” She turned back towards the small crowd gathering around her, her eyes searching for someone, possibly anyone to make him fade away. Instead, he remained there, unable to budge even if he wanted to. Clasping his hands at his waist, he waited — he’d have done so for hours, though it was merely
seconds. After awhile, she glanced over her shoulder.

  “It was nice meeting you Mr. Blackstone.”

  Ace had in that brief interaction, and her earlier address, got more from her than she’d ever imagined. While he listened to her acceptance speech, he noted she did not have a Texan accent. Matter of fact, it had a slight drawl that reminded him of Louisiana, just as she professed but some words were coated in a Midwestern tilt that he himself was steeped in. Chicagoans had a certain way of pronouncing things, as all people did, and apparently she’d been here long enough to inadvertently adopt some of the linguistic warping. He wasn’t buying her Louisiana story however. That slight twang of hers seemed manufactured. To an untrained ear it sounded passable, but she pushed it a bit too hard. Some words weren’t quite right, and Ace prided himself on his skilled hearing.

  Secondly, she was subdued, and she’d hesitated when they first made eye contact. He sensed a mutual attraction. All that did was spur him on for it could only make things easier, much easier. He had his foot in the damned door now and no one was slamming it closed until he got his fill. His question appeared innocent, but due to the nature of her personal situation, she tightened up, became cautious. She’d however looked back at him after dismissing him and spoke kindly, letting him know that, in some regard, she was irritated that their conversation had to end, but he’d made her so uncomfortable, she surmised it more than likely wasn’t worth it anyway.

  This was the part where many private investigators went wrong. They’d make her right there, especially if their client was nearby. ‘Make her’ was what people in his field used to describe ‘capture’. These were the unskilled new fellas who were so eager for the ‘kill’, they’d cause their prey to escape into the night. Chances were high in this case that the prey would never be discovered again. Or the P.I. would keep pushing, asking too many personal questions, one after the other, interrogation style. That was a definite ‘no-no.’ You pushed just enough to gauge a reaction, and then you withdraw; the formula had to stay true. The key, was to keep them talking, and since Ace realized at an early age that people enjoy talking about themselves the most, he used it to his advantage.

  This was not true of people who were on the run, however. They wished to talk about anything and everything but themselves; thus, speeches such as this were a rare insight. He took note that she was careful to not delve deeper than the obvious.

  For it was clear that she was black, and an archeologist. It was a known fact that most of the African Americans in the United States were descendants of African slaves. These ‘confessions’ were not startling in the least. When people keep talking, however, they do in fact make mistakes, and she’d made some that she was, more than likely, none the wiser to. She only offered facts about her background, but it was the tiny details, both said and unsaid, that he was looking for and sifting through.

  Why would such a bright, pretty woman leave an affluent, loving family to do it all on her own, leave it all behind? What is going on with you, Lynne Henderson?

  He stood there, looking at her back, and staring at that beauty mark on her neck as she continued to mingle with her colleagues. At this point, the case should have been considered closed. He’d found the subject, confirmed her identity. He not only got warm on the case, he didn’t get burnt. She had no clue who he was. He’d taken a least twenty photos of her with his Samsung Galaxy phone camera, as well as a few using a small, traditional Canon camera. There was nothing left to do but to leave the banquet, return to his office and finish his report. Then, after it was compiled, he should call Henderson, have him fly over there and meet him at the airport so he could drop him off front and center, at the museum entrance, all before Starbucks was swarmed with customers the following morning.

  But instead, he tapped her shoulder again. He stared at his fingertip gently indent the fabric there. Such small shoulders…carrying so much weight…

  She stirred ever so slightly at his touch, showing her awareness of him. It pleased him at some deep-seated level.

  “Yes, Mr. Blackstone?” She turned towards him, her eyes almost pleading. He didn’t miss her throat slightly cave as she swallowed, then how she ran her hand across her flat stomach, as if she were hungry. A nervous movement, one that women often did when attracted to the opposite sex. He suppressed a grin.

  “I know… that this is rather…” He looked around the room, at the lights and posters of an upcoming Eskimo display. “It’s rather odd, but…I don’t know your situation, don’t want to impose. Would it be possible… for me to take you out for lunch or dinner in the near future?”

  Her tight expression relaxed, She dropped her hand and let it swing freely by her side. Her lips curved into a smile.

  “Mr. Blackstone, I’d love that.”

  Yes!!! His internal cheerleading squad put on a full show, chock full of rainbow sprinkled confetti, a big band that of course featured a tuba player dressed in regal attire, and red pompoms swinging wildly to the ‘win’ song.

  “However, I am so busy as of late, I’m afraid I simply wouldn’t have time. Thank you for the offer, though.”

  No!!! Boos erupted inside of his head; the crowd in the stands had turned on him, becoming vipers, hissing their dismay. The tuba was tossed on the ground, leaving a sad, wilted groan in its wake…

  She patted his hand like a little puppy who was told ‘no’ for the squeaky toy he’d had his sorrowful eyes set upon.

  “Everyone has time to eat…”

  No, he wasn’t going down without a fight. There were still thirty seconds left in the game…

  Did I just say that shit? I did…

  Ace was now certain he had a terrible case of Tourette syndrome. His mouth was spewing all the wrong things.

  She greeted him with a warm smile, her dark eyes glistening.

  “That’s true…”

  He relaxed a bit, slid his hand into his pants pocket.

  “So, would it be possible to do this in the next few days? I’d really like to get to know you, Ms. Greene. You’ve piqued my interest and if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re just beautiful.”

  And he was sincere about that. A becoming red glow appeared on her face.

  She’s blushing…and still smiling. Good.

  “Well…” She shrugged. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. I tell you what.” She looked over her shoulder and pointed at someone calling her name in the near distance. “I’ll be right with you, Kevin!” She laughed lightly and waved once more at the gentleman vying for her attention. Again, she raised her hand to rest across her stomach.

  Hmmm, she’s a bit nervous.

  Her glossy red-painted fingernails shined under the lights, almost more than her sparkling white teeth as she continued to look around and smile at everyone. She appeared to be buying time, stalling the entire process out. Regardless, he wasn’t giving up.

  Whatever you say, I’ll say something better, and if you turn me away, Brooklyn, I’ll simply return. I want to take you out, and that’s what I’m going to do…

  After she’d completed her stalling, she leisurely turned back towards Ace, front and center. His eyes focused on her damn lips and he found himself rocking closer to her, wanting to see if they felt as soft as they looked. He leaned forward, barely able to control himself.

  She cleared her throat, as if trying to wake him up from his daze.

  “I will take your number and call you if I get a moment.”

  Ace immediately snapped to his senses and eagerly dug into his jacket pocket for his leather wallet. Making a quick decision, he removed one of his plain business cards, the one without the private investigator title below his name. She took the card and looked at it inquisitively.

  “I guess you like to keep it simple.” She surveyed the plain thing. “It only has your name and number.” She tapped it, bit her lip and smiled as she turned it over to the back, noting that it, too, was blank.

  “Yes, I believe in keeping things simp
le. And I feel there is no need to complicate an invitation for dinner. As I stated, we all have to eat, and you may as well eat in good company, at least every now and again,” he teased.

  She smiled again; a reddish hue blossomed across he cheeks. He’d made the woman blush so many times, he lost count.

  “Who’s to say that when I eat alone, I’m not good company?”

  Oh, I like that. She wants to get a little sassy, talk to me a bit. Okay, this is going to be gooood…

  Despite the mutual flirting, something rather peculiar was transpiring.

  They were surrounded by hundreds of people, yet, in that moment, it felt as if they stood alone and the entire place had vanished. The voices and music because indistinguishable. His body heated up inside, while his entrails knotted with the strings of anticipation. He briefly closed his eyes and inhaled her perfume. The woman was taking him there…

  “I know that you’re good company. Why do you think I’m trying so damn hard to be a part of it?”

  And at that, he had her. Laughing lightly, she waved his card in the air, turned around and stepped away until they were several feet apart.

  “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Blackstone.”

  You better…

  He watched her saunter off, then realized the marching band and crowd in his mind had cheered and went home. Everything came to a screeching halt and all he could think was how he wasn’t sure what the fuck had just happened. Except that he had derailed his entire original plan.

  This isn’t right.

  But he couldn’t stop himself. He simply could not.

  Whatever had just occurred, it felt tangible and real. Despite the lacking rationale for his actions, he had no doubt he’d never be able to live with himself if he hadn’t taken that route. Now, all he needed to do was wait for her to come to him.

  And she would…

  ~***~