Chapter 1 1
He’s the one who got away!

I stood at the threshold of Ethan’s office in the prestigious Williams Towers, where he sat behind his mahogany desk with only the dim light of the desk lamp illuminating the space.

It was a wonder he didn’t hear me enter; he should certainly be more aware of his surroundings at this time of night. Although I guessed with a thirty-second-floor office in this zip code, there were no concerns about safety. And I knew how Ethan was when he focused. Without even a glimpse of his brown eyes, I imagined his expression—thoughtful—as he studied the papers on his desk. A legal brief, perhaps?

For a moment longer, I stood staring at the man I once loved. And then something stirred inside me. Once loved? Everything I felt for Ethan Thomas was supposed to be long gone, severed by the last words he’d spoken to me before he walked out of my door.

But now old emotions collided with common sense and exploded into confusion. I wasn’t sure what to feel. There was a time when something would have stirred inside Ethan, just having me in such close proximity. But now… I guessed not.

I tapped on the door. Ethan raised his head, and his shoulders straightened.

“I’m sorry,” I said when he didn’t speak. Stepping inside, I added more to my apology: “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

His eyes followed me as I sauntered toward him, but still, he said nothing, and I tried to discern what I saw in his eyes. If his complexion were lighter, I believe I would’ve seen the heat rising beneath his skin. Or maybe just the opposite; maybe I would have watched the blood drain from him, since the way his eyes widened and his brows shot up, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

Finally, his lips moved. “Journee…” He still said my name like it was the opening notes of a love song. “What… what are you doing here?”

Slipping my shawl from my shoulders, I tossed it onto one of the high-back vintage chairs facing his desk. But I remained standing. “It’s good to see you, too, Ethan,” I said, as if he’d expected this visit.

He shook his head before he stood, then buttoned his suit jacket, always needing to look composed. He said, “I’m surprised.”

“I can understand that.”

“Security didn’t… um… call to tell me you were coming up.”

“That’s because I didn’t stop at security.” With a shrug and a half smile, I said, “You know how I do.”

I didn’t give him a chance to reply as I moved to the massive windows behind his desk. The floor-to-ceiling glass exposed the still-somewhat-heavy traffic on the 610 freeway—even if it was already well after eight. Life in Houston, especially on the Thursday night before Labor Day. My eyes made their way to the gushing fountains below. That tourist attraction was a more beautiful sight in the night’s light.

“What an amazing view.” Glancing back, I took in the expansive corner office with its wall-to-wall windows. The mahogany furniture alone—the desk, chairs, credenza—could be a down payment on a home. “I like your new office. You’ve done well.” I wanted to add a question to my compliment. Ask if he had any regrets that here, in his own law firm, was where he’d ended up instead of pursuing his political dreams.

He nodded, then gestured toward the chairs. “So, when are we going to talk about why you’re here?”

“Now is good.” I took my time rounding his desk, my hips swaying, knowing his eyes were on me. I’d dressed for this occasion. He was seeing me for the first time in almost fifteen hundred days, so I’d chosen this purple (his favorite color) Chanel (his favorite designer) wrap dress. When I sat down and crossed my legs, I watched him watch the hemline of my skirt rise. He cleared his throat before he sat down but didn’t make a move to add more light to his office. Just left us sitting there, staring at each other in the glow of the lamp on his desk. It felt almost… sensual. It seemed almost… purposeful.

He said, “So, I know you weren’t just in the neighborhood.”

“Actually, I was. I just finished a business dinner at Roka Akor.” His head tilted at the mention of that four-star restaurant, but I didn’t elaborate. There was no need for Ethan to know this was at least the twelfth dinner I’d had over the past three months as I pursued a multimillion-dollar city contract—the WestPark revitalization project—for my firm.

When I stayed silent, Ethan asked, “And so, you decided to drop by on your way home?”

“Not heading home. Not yet. I have to stop at my office, and that’s not too far from here.”

“Your office is in River Oaks, not the Galleria.”

That made me sit back a bit. “I know why I knew where you worked, but I didn’t send out announcements, the way you did, when I opened J. Alexander and Associates.” I paused. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” There was joviality in my tone, but I was more serious than not. It pleased me that I was still on his mind.

He shook his head, a bit too quickly for me to believe him when he said, “No, I just know someone in your building and saw your name on the directory. But I know you didn’t come here to discuss that.” He pressed the tips of his fingers together, and I recognized that stance. “So, Journee, this isn’t a social visit.”

I nodded. “It’s not.” I took a deep breath before I said, “I need your help.”

His eyebrows rose. “You need my help?”

Now the chuckle was in his tone, which annoyed me, and I half expected Ethan to launch into a lecture about how surprised he was to hear those words come from me.

I was grateful when he didn’t add anything else, and I pulled my cell from my purse, scrolled through my texts, then held the cell so Ethan could read the screen.

You’re going to spend the next twenty years in prison. Vengeance is mine.

Ethan’s eyes stayed on my phone as if he was reading the message a few times. Finally, he sat back and gestured for me to speak.

I said, “I’ve been getting messages like these for a few weeks. It’s weird. I’ll get a message like that, and then another one, like this.” Once again, I held up my cell.

This time, when Ethan leaned forward, he read the text aloud: “?‘The prudent see danger and take refuge, but the simple keep going and pay the penalty. Vengeance is mine.’?” He paused, raised his glance toward the ceiling as if he was thinking. “The first part is Proverbs 27:12.”

Impressive. But Ethan being a man of God was just one of the thousands of reasons I had for once loving him. Once?

“But the ‘vengeance is mine’… that’s New Testament. Romans 12:19.” He steadied his glance on me.

“Every text ends with that scripture.”

He said, “So someone is sending you scriptures.”

“Scriptures and threats,” I told him.

“Who could be sending these to you?”

I half shrugged. “The first time, I called the number, and all I heard was white noise, like the number was out of service. Since then, every text comes from a different number.”

Ethan nodded. “A texting app. So, why would someone be sending these to you?”

Again I shrugged, but this time rather than meeting his eyes, I glanced at the view over his shoulder. “I don’t know… I’m not sure.”

“Journee,” he said. This time, my name didn’t sound like music at all. Sounded more like Ethan was losing patience with me.

I connected my eyes with his. “Did you hear about Simon’s arrest?”

He stared at me, and I waited for him to say something like, I told you so. But all Ethan said about the man who’d been my mentor, the man who’d taught me everything I knew about being a real estate broker, the man who’d made it so that I had the kind of lifestyle I could never have imagined when my mama had my sister and me wandering around the streets of Houston homeless, was “Yeah, I heard. A multimillion-dollar fraud investigation of one of the city’s most notable residents is hard to miss in these streets. Not to mention how his arrest was a ratings draw for the media.” His eyes narrowed. “But what does Simon’s arrest have to do with those texts?”

I wondered just how much I should say at this point. “I got the first text the day Simon was arrested. I think it’s all connected; someone is trying to link me to Simon and all his troubles.”

His gaze was steadfast. “Are you linkable?”

I squinted. Was that an accusation in his tone? “No,” I said. “I left Simon”—my voice lowered—“and all his schemes behind. I left him not too long after you left me.”

I half expected Ethan to say, You finally listened, but instead he said, “I’m glad to hear that.” Then he cocked his head. “So then, why are you here? Because from what you’ve said so far, you certainly don’t need me.”

A thousand memories of the millions of times I’d spoken those words to Ethan cascaded through my mind. But rushing in right behind the memories of the few times we fought were all the moments we loved.

Dang! I was thinking about our love again. I sighed; it was amazing that all it took was this man’s presence, and my heart was racing back to the past. Now all I could think about was that Ethan Thomas was the first man I loved—actually, the only man besides my daddy.

And Ethan had loved me, until he didn’t anymore. Or at least until he told me that he loved himself and his career more.

The heaviness of what we once were hung in the air, but finally, I responded, “I do need you.”

Ethan was stone-still, as if those four words shocked him. Four words he’d waited years for me to say. He finally said, “How do you think I can help?”

“I need to find out who’s sending these texts. I need to know what they may know so I can figure out if I’m in any true jeopardy when it comes to Simon.”

His eyes thinned. “If you left Simon, what would someone know?”

“I did… I mean… I just wonder…” I stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I’m sure this has something to do with my past business dealings. Not with how I conduct myself today.”

He nodded. “Well, if you want to find out who’s sending those texts, you need a private investigator.” He leaned forward as if he wanted his next words to make a point. “But… you don’t need me.”

Inside, I flinched. He’d been waiting a long time to punish me with words I’d always said to him. Had my words in the past slashed him with the same sharpness I just felt?

“I know what I need,” I said through my hurt. “And I know who I need. I need an attorney, a criminal defense attorney, the best criminal defense attorney in Texas.” I held up my hands to proclaim my innocence. “Just in case. You know I’m always prepared.” I paused. “And I came to you because you just handled Sara Nelson’s case.”

Sara Nelson had been a well-respected broker who’d been indicted along with two coconspirators for a false-appraisal real estate scam that could have landed her in prison for almost ten years.

“You kept her out of prison.”

He nodded. “I did, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about here. You said you’re not connected to Simon but, in a way, you think you are?”

“That explains it perfectly, and I want to make sure I’m not in a vulnerable position because of my early days with Simon. And if I need legal representation, then I’ll have you.”

He squinted, shook his head, sat back. “If you want my help, you need to tell me everything: what you really did with Simon, not just the things you told me about before. And then how you think these texts may be connected. I need to know anything and everything. And then I can decide if I want to help you.”

“Decide?” I asked, shocked that Ethan had to consider this. Why wouldn’t he just agree to help? Wasn’t I the first woman he ever loved?

“Decide whether I want to or even if I can help.”

I nodded, averted my eyes again. Studied the beautiful view once more. “Okay,” I said, finally facing him. “What do you want to know?”

Instead of answering my question, Ethan leaned back and chuckled. “Things have certainly changed. I can’t count the number of times you made it perfectly clear to me that there was nothing I could ever do to help you.”

“It wasn’t like that.” When he raised his eyebrows, I said, “Okay. Yes. I always thought I could handle everything myself. But not this.” And then, because I thought it would help, I added, “I really do need you.”

“What if I told you that saying those words now—it’s too late?”

That blow came so quickly, it was shocking. Made me almost stand up, spin around, and march out of there. I didn’t need this… I didn’t need him… I didn’t need anyone.

But all of that was a lie. It was hard for me to say, but I needed Ethan in so many ways, so I swallowed that pride. And even though it tasted like poison, I sat there ready to take more of his shots. I said, “I’m hoping you won’t tell me it’s too late.”

“It is,” he said. I sucked in air, but then he added, “At least, it’s too late tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “I have… another engagement.”

Another engagement? This late? Was he just saying this to blow me off?

He said, “Let me think about this, Journee.”

I reached for my shawl and wrapped it over my shoulders, hoping that would hide the way his words made me tremble. It was hard for me to digest what had happened in these past minutes. Ethan Thomas was really thinking about leaving me out there to handle this alone. I gathered myself and pulled out my trump card. “You once told me you loved me.” I paused. Those words would move him for sure. But he said nothing. “And I’m hoping some of that love is still there,” I said, pushing harder. Another beat passed; still nothing but silence. “I hope with everything in me you’ll help me.”

He peered at me, tapped the tips of his fingers together—still remained silent.

I continued with words that were so hard for me to say: “Please, Ethan.”

Now, his silence was an insult. So I nodded, blinked back tears, then stood and spun toward the door. But before I took a step, Ethan spoke up. “I’ll text you tomorrow. One way or the other. If you still have the same number.”

A gasp pushed through my lips, but I didn’t face him. I nodded, then kept moving out the door, out of the building, and into the night air. I’d walked into this building with such confidence about what my ex would do. But Ethan had shaken me, and now I had no idea how this was going to play out.