I watched Debbie head out of my office, thinking that in many ways she was like a man. The fierce, ambitious blonde was the breadwinner in the family. Her husband stayed home with their three kids. And here she was, the one having an affair with a subordinate, the way so many men in positions of power do.
Once again I pressed the hold button, realizing for the first time that maybe it was Eli on the line. I cleared my throat and started speaking in my most professional tone. “Thanks for holding—”
“Oh, Vanessa. Thank God.”
My heart picked up speed at the sound of Carla’s voice. She was my neighbor and babysitter, and if she was calling me so soon after I’d arrived at work, that meant something was wrong with my daughter.
“Carla—”
“Vanessa, you have to come home. You—you just have to. Right now.”
“Oh my God. Something happened to Rayna.” Had my two-year-old fallen down the stairwell, or gotten into something poisonous, or burned herself? Panic clawed at my throat. “Carla, tell me what happened!” I pushed my chair back and shot to my feet, already reaching for my purse. “How bad is it?”
“No, it’s not Rayna.”
My pulse was pounding so loudly in my ears, I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly. “Rayna’s okay?” I asked.
“Yes, she’s fine. She and Amani are beside me, coloring.” Carla blew out a frazzled breath. “Vanessa, it’s…it’s Eli.”
“Eli?” Panic turned to confusion. Why would Carla be calling about Eli? Had he returned home already and by chance gone to pick up Rayna? I fully expected him to leave Leroy’s place and head straight to the studio, where he and a few former athlete friends were working on their new passion—a hip-hop demo. I had my doubts as to whether or not they’d get a record deal, but I supported Eli nonetheless.
“Maybe you don’t have to come home,” Carla said suddenly. “You have a TV there, right?”
“Why do I need a TV?”
“Vanessa, listen to me. Turn on the TV to CNN. Right now. There’s a commercial playing, but the story’s coming up next. Oh, Vanessa. I’m so sorry.”
Carla had me wondering what the heck was going on. Why would Eli be on the news? Had he been arrested for something stupid like drunk driving? I dropped the phone and raced to the conference room. Thankfully, there wasn’t a meeting going on, so the room was empty. I found the remote, turned on the television and fumbled around with the buttons until I got to CNN.
I caught the tail end of a Viagra commercial, and then CNN began again. The female news anchor announced this hour’s headlines. I bit my fingernail, waiting for her to say something about Eli.
“Also this hour, the bizarre death of Eli Johnson.”
I gasped, stumbled backward. I landed against the conference table and gripped it for support.
Bizarre death? Eli was…dead?
I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. Then my mind began to race, searching for answers.
Surely it wasn’t my Eli Johnson.
Of course not. How could it be him? Eli had stormed out of our apartment just after nine the night before and said he was going to stay at his best friend’s place. I knew Eli, and he wasn’t a morning person—and definitely not a Monday morning person. It was highly unlikely that he was out of bed already, much less in time to have died a bizarre death. And if anything had happened to him, wouldn’t Leroy have called me before the media got hold of this info?
No, it didn’t make sense. It had to be another Eli Johnson.
Still, the minutes that passed seemed like hours before the full story of Eli’s death began. I was anxious to hear confirmation that my Eli was alive and well—and still pissed at me.
“And in what the police are calling a bizarre crime of passion, former Atlanta Braves player Eli Johnson was found murdered early this morning.”
I didn’t have to hear the news anchor say “former Atlanta Braves player” to know it as my Eli—because a picture of him flashed on the screen to accompany the broadcast.
And then my world crumbled.
“Shortly after seven this morning, Johnson’s body was found in an upscale Miami home, in the exclusive area of Bal Harbour…”
I must have cried out, because someone came running into the conference room. And the next thing I knew, arms were wrapping around me. I didn’t move, my eyes glued to the television screen.
“Apparently, he was killed by a bow and arrow,” the reporter said, enunciating her words to match her shocked facial expression. “But if that weren’t bizarre enough, Johnson and his female companion, Alyssa Redgrave, were both shot with the same arrow, their bodies bonded together in death as they had been in passion. Conrad Redgrave, the victim’s husband, reportedly turned himself in to police after the incident. He confessed to shooting Johnson and his wife after returning from a business trip and finding them in bed together.”
Beside me, I heard a gasp. Or had it come from my own mouth?
“Eli Johnson was thirty-nine years old.”
“Oh, Vanessa. I can’t…I can’t believe it.”
The news anchor moved on to the next story, and I finally turned to look at who was holding me, and saw my friend Alaina. Her beautiful Cuban-American face was now full of shock and concern. Shock and concern I didn’t know how to deal with. I pulled away from her and numbly walked toward the conference room’s floor-to-ceiling window.
“He’s really dead?” Alaina asked.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t find the energy to speak. Instead, I stared out the window at downtown Miami, but didn’t see a thing.
Eli was dead. Good God in heaven.
Someone else entered the room—a few people, I think—but I didn’t turn around. I heard whispers and words like, “Murdered!” and “with some other woman” and “holy shit.”
The next person to approach was Debbie. She stepped between me and the television and rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Sweetie, I am so sorry for your loss. And I can’t believe Eli turned out to be such a pig. Men.” She snorted and shook her head. “Obviously, you’ll want to head home. You can take as much time off as you need.”
I heard but didn’t entirely comprehend what Debbie was saying. My head was in a fog. I continued to hear the anchorwoman’s words, like some warped drone in my head.
“But if that weren’t bizarre enough, Eli and his female companion, Alyssa Redgrave, were both shot with the same arrow, their bodies bonded together in death as they had been in passion.”
“Vanessa, are you hearing me?” Debbie asked.
“I’ll get her some water,” Alaina offered.
I didn’t protest as Debbie sat me down on a chair. I could hardly think, much less feel.
Eli was dead.
The reality of it hit me as I stared out the window at the cloudless sky. Eli wasn’t only dead, he’d been with another woman. Killed by her jealous husband while in the throes of passion.
My Mr. Right. The man I was supposed to marry a year and a half from now, next October.
I’d known when the day started that it would be full of drama, but I hadn’t expected anything like this.
chapter two
“I’m fine,” I insisted as my coworkers continued to fuss over me. The initial shock of the devastating news had penetrated