Avenging Alex

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

To my mother who is my heart and soul

It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.

 

—Friedrich Nietzsche

Thanks to my screeners and friends who always keep me grounded and on purpose with the vision:

Thank you to WITSEC (Witness Protection Program).

 

And finally a big THANK YOU to the editors and staff of Urban Books.

 

e-mail: [email protected]

Approximately seven miles west of Pasadena, California, sprawled at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, was the city of Monrovia. This was the community that was chosen as the location to stash Alexandra Solomon and her mother Jamilah once they were removed from the safe house. Over a year had passed since they'd entered witness protection and Alex was still ill at ease with her new life, and with good reason. There were several agencies involved with her surreptitious transition throughout 2009. For several weeks before leaving Georgia, an excess of documents were signed off on and negotiated in order for the reformed Ms. Solomon to assume a new identity. In the process she was inundated with a barrage of questions regarding her ties to the drug traffic in the southeastern portion of the country. As part of her agreement with the US Attorney's office, she was bound to give sworn depositions and intimate knowledge of the nefarious criminal activities of one Xavier Rivera.

Because the WITSEC program is designed only to take care of a witness's basic living and medical expenses, Alex had to put forth some effort to find other means of supplemental employment. Her company back in Atlanta was dissolved and arrangements had also been made for all of the legitimate business and personal assets she'd amassed as an event planner to be liquidated. Some of the funds went to pay off any debt that remained in her name; the balance moved with her when she entered the program, essentially eliminating all traces of her previous existence. In spite of that, the lingering look of a stranger gave her pause, and every backfiring car gave her a start. Given all that they knew, the federal authorities seemed no closer to apprehending Xavier Rivera than they'd been before she and her mother were relocated. Alex, or Adriane as she was now known, was convinced that if someone as ruthless and resourceful as Rivera wanted to find her, he could. Despite the reassurance of John Chase, the inspector from the US Marshal's office assigned to protect them, Alex tried not to take anything for granted, including her asylum.

The 1,100-square-foot, ranch-styled house that they called home was in a quiet, well-kept subdivision, where people were friendly enough but not overly so, which suited Alex just fine. It was comfortable with its warm colors, contemporary furnishings, plush area rugs, and modern prints that adorned the walls. Neither Alex nor her mother were allowed to keep any photographs that displayed people they had known, or obvious landmarks of places they'd been or lived. Every single one of their personal items and mementos was methodically screened to prevent any violation that would cause them to be ejected from the program.

All the change was more than a bit unsettling for Jamilah Solomon, who hadn't really considered the implications of eradicating her years of history in the United States or those of her homeland in Nigeria. She made a conscious effort to adjust accordingly for the safety of her family.

“Mama, you don't have to do this,” Alex stressed.

Despite having been in America for over thirty years you could still hear the thick rich colors of Nigeria when Jamilah spoke. “I not only have to, my daughter, I want to. Besides, what kind of life would I have if I could never see you or my grandchild again?”

Once they settled into their new identities life plodded along at a familiar pace. Adriane (Alex) found a job at an upscale boutique and Janette (Jamilah) tended to her granddaughter, Cerena. Still, the potential threat that loomed over them was never too far away from Alex's mind.

 

 

At the sound of a crackling rumble of thunder, Alex threw back the comforter and sprang out of bed. She cautiously pulled the curtain back to see that the wind was blowing a tree branch against the house. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky and illuminated what she thought to be a man watching her from the other side of the street. Was it the same man she'd seen the day before?

A muffled scream clung to the back of her throat as she jerked away from the window and darted to the nightstand next to her bed to retrieve her .380 semiautomatic. It was against the program's policy for her to have a gun in her possession, but she'd decided not to leave her safety completely to chance, or in anyone's hands but her own. Whatever she'd seen was gone when she moved back to the window to get another look. The telephone rang and startled her. She hesitated to answer, but opted to before the noise woke her mother.

“Hello,” she whispered tentatively.

“Hey, it's me. I just got your message. Is everything all right?”

Alex peered back toward the window. “Yes . . . uh . . . I mean, no. I think I just saw someone outside.”

“You think?”

“I can't be sure, but it looked like someone was watching the house.”

“The same man you told me about?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“Are all the doors and windows locked?”

“Yes.”

“Is the alarm set.”

“Yes, it's armed.”

“I'm on my way. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't open the door to anyone but me. Understand?”

“John, you don't have to—”

“Yes, I do. I'm on my way.”

Alex hung up the telephone and held the gun close to her breast. Damsel in distress was not a role she fit comfortably into, but she had to admit she was glad to have a man like John Chase to watch out for her.

Alex threw her head back and tossed her chestnut brown highlighted tresses. The mod pixie hair cut she once sported was longer now, softening the look of her caramel complexion.

Without turning on the light she picked up her terrycloth bathrobe from the foot of the bed, slid into it, and crept slowly across the carpeted floor. She opened the bedroom door and looked up the dark hallway, first one way and then the other, just to satisfy herself that no danger was lurking. She tiptoed from her room to a room directly across the hall. The glow of the nightlight illuminated the pastel clouds and chubby-cheeked angels plastered on the walls surrounding her baby's crib, as if somehow the notion of the inanimate wallpaper was protection enough.

Alex inched closer. She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched her baby sleeping. She leaned in and readjusted the soft white blanket covering her, and caressed the girl's face.

“Alexandra.”

Alex jumped nervously and spun around, aiming the gun in her hand at her mother, Jamilah.

The woman shrieked, “Oh, for the love of God.”

“Don't sneak up on me like that.”

The woman caught her breath. “You know I can't stand those things. Please, put it away.”

Alex relaxed and lowered the gun. “I'm sorry. It was raining so hard. I thought I heard something. I just wanted to check on Cerena.”

“With a gun?”

“I needed to be sure.”

“Did you call John?”

“He called me. He's on his way over.”

Jamilah sidled up beside the crib and peered inside. “This precious angel can sleep through just about anything. She reminds me so much of you when you were a baby.”

“When I found out I was pregnant with her all I wanted to do was protect her. I thought I could give her a real chance at life.”

“You've done that, Omolola. You made the best decision you could have made under the circumstances.”

“That's what I thought at the time. Now, I'm not so sure.”

“Why? Because of who the father is?”

“I thought I loved him, Mama. He betrayed me in the worst possible way. I should have known he was too weak to handle the world I lived in.” Alex sighed. “I should never have trusted him. He's made my life hell. Because of him we've had to give up everything and go into hiding. I remember sitting in that jail cell in Atlanta wondering what I was going to do and how I was going to get out of this. And then this miracle happened.”

Alex kissed her daughter's forehead and turned to leave the room. Her mother followed. The girl made a cooing noise and wriggled a bit but didn't wake. Alex put the gun back in its hiding place and proceeded into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle of Grey Goose vodka from the freezer, and filled a glass with ice.

“Would you like a drink?”

The woman waved her hand and shook her head. “What woke you besides the storm, Omolola?”

“Don't you mean Adriane?”

Her mother's expression soured and she grimaced. “I don't care what name those people give you; you will always be my Omolola.” Jamilah brushed her hand over her lush, peppery mane and took a seat at the kitchen table.

“I want this nightmare to be over,” Alex continued. “I want to stop seeing Xavier Rivera in every shadow.” Harkening back to her previous life, she supposed this existence was justifiable recompense for how she and her former associates made others feel when threatened: anxious, scared, and constantly on edge. “Not a day has passed in this last year when I haven't regretted taking Rivera's phone call after Ray died.” Alex scoffed. “Just one bad decision after the other.”

“Do you think vodka will help you come to terms with the regret and allow you sleep?” Jamilah asked.

“It sure as hell couldn't hurt.”

“Omolola, I'm worried about you.”

“You don't need to. I'm fine, Mama. Go back to bed.”

“Now, how are you going to tell me not to worry? You're not eating. You're not sleeping. I'm going to worry about you as much as you worry about your own child. I just wish I could make this better for you somehow.”

“Mama, you've done everything you could possibly do. You gave up your entire life because of me. It's my fault you had to sacrifice so much.”

Jamilah stood and went to Alex. She put her arms around her and gave her a big squeeze. “Don't take this all on yourself. It was my decision to come with you. And they're going to find that man, you'll see. We're going to be all right, Alexandra. We have John here to look after us.”

“Yes, but for how long? He's got his own life. He's got other cases.”

“He's going to be here for as long as we need him. Besides, I have a feeling that man likes you.”

“Mama.” Alex pulled away, nearly blushing. “What would make you say something like that?”

“I see the way he's been looking at you. It may have been awhile, but I can still tell when a man feels something for a woman.”

Alex pondered her mother's words as she savored the alcohol in her glass. “He's just doing a job, and that job does not include having a relationship with the woman he's supposed to be protecting.”

“Uh-huh.” Jamilah smirked. “I think I will have that nightcap after all.” She pulled a glass from the cupboard. “John Chase is a man, and that's all I need to know.”

Alex grabbed the bottle and sat down at the table. “Romance is the last thing I need to be thinking about right now, especially with someone like him. I don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships.”

Her mother joined her. “Tirrell Ellis is nothing like John Chase, in case you hadn't noticed. Neither was Raymond for that matter.”

Alex considered the two men who had the most dramatic impact in her life: Ray Williams, her smooth-talking, now-deceased husband, who thrust the young college girl into a world of drugs, money, and glamour; and then there was the hotheaded Tirrell Ellis who threatened that lifestyle, and who was subsequently responsible for taking it all away.

The doorbell rang and both women gasped and froze in mid-thought. Jamilah clutched the top of her blue satin robe close around her neck and started to get up. Alex reached out her hand to stop her and went ahead of her. She leaned into the peephole, but it was too obscured to make anything out.

“Adriane,” the mellow baritone called out. “It's John.”

Alex disarmed the alarm and threw open the door as fast as she could unlock it. She'd grown accustomed to the sound of his voice. The presence of the solid, good-looking, dark-skinned, 220-pound, six foot two inch inspector was reassuring. His confidence was one of the things she found most appealing about him. She'd consistently been drawn to that attribute in a man. Her husband was like that; so was Tirrell, at least, in the beginning.

“What have I told you about opening the door without first making sure you know who it is,” the man chided.

“You don't think I recognize your voice after all this time?” Alex repressed the urge to smile.

Despite himself, John smiled. He looked over her shoulder and nodded to Jamilah. “Is everybody all right in here?”

“We're fine,” Jamilah assured him.

“I checked around the grounds,” John continued. “I didn't find anything out of the ordinary.”

Alex moved away from the door and allowed him to enter. He stomped his wet shoes on the mat outside before stepping in. Jamilah hurried to the counter and grabbed a handful of paper towels to give to him.

“Thank you.” John took the towels and wiped his brow and clean-shaven head.

“Inspector, can I fix you a drink?” Jamilah offered.

“No, I'm fine.” He turned his attention to Alex. “Could you make out anything about the man you saw outside?”

“I'm not even sure there was a man,” Alex admitted. “It may have been just my imagination playing tricks on me.”

“Alexandra,” Jamilah injected, “you didn't tell me you saw someone outside.”

“Because I'm not even sure I saw anything at all.”

“Whatever it was it scared you enough to get John over here.”

Alex rubbed her eyes and moved to the kitchen table for her glass. “John, it really wasn't necessary for you to come over here in the middle of the night like this. I'm sorry I dragged you out of bed or whatever.”