Smoke Screen

By Monique D. Mensah

Lauren, Ryan, and Simone meet again after the tragedy that brought them all together ten years ago. A serial killer is on the loose in Detroit, murdering men and leaving her mark, and each of these women has a motive to kill. Simone, a sexual abuse survivor and advocate for young girls, has begun to heal her wounds over the past ten years, but she is still trying to reclaim her life. Her mother, Jessica, thinks it’s unhealthy for Simone to immerse herself into a world of pain and jaded love when she has yet to fully heal herself. A new, unexpected love interest only complicates things further. Ryan is willing to do whatever it takes to become a mother, even if it means betrayal. With her biological clock screaming and a shameful ten-year secret bubbling to the surface, Ryan is determined to get what she wants, but she may lose her husband—and her mind—in the process. Lauren, one of Detroit’s most prominent defense attorneys, redefines justice and seeks a way out of the career that has left her feeling trapped and torn. She can’t set her moral standards aside for a $400,000 salary, winning acquittal after acquittal for the demonstratively guilty. But how far will she go to rid Detroit of its criminal filth?

As Lauren, Ryan, and Simone’s lives collide yet again, forcing them to deal with the tragedies of their pasts, the three women regretfully learn that no one is safe behind the thin shield of a Smoke Screen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monique D. Mensah
• Release date: Jun 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452438795

Monique D. Mensah

Monique D. Mensah is a native Detroiter with an innate love for the written word. She has been an avid reader of fiction since her early years in elementary school when she used to read The "Nancy Drew" and "The Babysitter's Club " series. She inherited her fondness for the arts and African-American fiction from her mother who regularly enjoyed black literature. Her mother encouraged her to read at least two novels per month with a promise of increased allowance during the summer months away from school. Monique's talent for writing was first discovered by her third grade teacher who regularly asked the young student to share her short stories with the class and sometimes the principal and other school administration during assemblies and PTO meetings. At that time she declared her dream to become a published author, as she believed it was what she was destined to be. She continued to receive praise for her writing throughout middle and high school. While attending the University of Michigan, Monique put her dreams of becoming an author on hold as she earned her Bachelor's Degree in Business Management. After graduation, she landed a job in the mortgage industry. Although the job provided steady income and a comfortable lifestyle for both her and her young daughter, she still felt unfulfilled as she realized that she always wanted something more. After being prompted by her best friend to , "just write a book", she started her first novel. Finding time during lunch breaks at work and late night evenings, Monique completed her first manuscript, Who Is He To You. Shortly after, she launched Kisa Publishing and published her debut novel. Monique now resides in Southfield, MI where she is raising her daughter and working full-time as an enrollment counselor for a private university. She also works as a freelance copywriter and copyeditor and is currently working on her second novel. Stay tuned for more drama-filled pages of literary adrenaline as this break-through author gives readers fresh perspectives and edgy plots as never written before.

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SMOKE SCREEN

SMOKE SCREEN

Monique D. Mensah

Published by Monique D. Mensah for Smashwords

©2011 Monique D. Mensah

Discover other titles by Monique D. Mensah at Smashwords

WHO IS HE TO YOU: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/9875

INSIDE RAIN: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/24554

This book will also be available in print July, 2011

For an autographed print version, visit the author's website for purchase.

www.MoniqueDMensah.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I am grateful for this gift, and even more grateful to be able to share it with you. You keep me writing.

Thank you!

Prologue: Ten Years Ago

I still can’t believe it. This is crazy, Ryan. Lauren walked out of the small kitchen in Ryan’s condo and popped a cheese puff into her mouth before plopping down on the couch next to her best friend.

I know. It’s all been like the worst nightmare.

They sat for the next fifteen minutes, watching the ten o’ clock news in silence. Tears ran down Ryan’s face as she listened to Carlan Harmon reveal the details of Anthony Pembroke’s murder. The only man she’d ever loved was dead at the hands of his wife, Jessica Pembroke.

She cried for so many different reasons. She cried because she felt responsible for his death. If she hadn’t gotten involved and kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. She cried because the relationship she thought she had was never anything at all. It was nothing more than the lies and deception of a married man who was raping his 14-year-old daughter, Simone. She cried for Simone. She felt sorry for the girl whose life was ruined. She’d lost her innocence and her father, along with any chance of ever having a normal, happy life—all in the millisecond of a gunshot. It was heartbreaking.

Lauren wrapped her arms around Ryan’s shoulders. It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to work out for the best. God wouldn’t place any burden on you that you can’t handle.

Don’t get all religious on me, Lauren.

I’m not. But it’s the truth. Always remember that. You will make it through this.

What am I going to do?

You’re going to pick up your life and move on. You’re already doing so well. You have everything going for you; you just have to know what to do with it. And when you can’t quite figure it out, you’ve got me, and your mom, and everyone else who loves and supports you to help you through. Trust me; everything will be okay.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see the signs?"

You were so in love with being in love that you couldn’t see what was happening to you. You were blind; but everything in the dark comes to light eventually, no matter how painful it might be."

I wonder what’s going to happen to Simone.

I don’t know. I can’t say that I wouldn’t do the same thing if I was her mother, but where does that leave Simone in the end? That girl will probably be messed up for the rest of her life.

Don’t say that. People can heal. I’m working to heal.

Yeah, they can heal with a lot of help from trained professionals. With all that money the Pembrokes have, I know that won’t be a problem.

I love you, Lauren. I don’t know what I would do without you. Through everything we’ve been through, you’ve always been a true friend, and I want you to know that I thank you for that.

Aw, girl, I love you too. And you’re going to find a good man to love one day. Real love, not the kind of love that don’t love you back. Lauren held her best friend in a tight embrace. Ryan, there is nothing more important in this world than loving yourself.

I think I’ve finally figured that out, and I’m willing to give it a try.

And I’ll be right there in your corner, cheering you on.

Ryan’s heart was filled with gratitude as she looked into the eyes of her friend of 30 years and said, Thank you.

###

Jessica Pembroke sat on top of a thin, soiled mattress inside a cold jail cell. To keep herself from shivering, she wrapped herself in a scratchy blanket stamped with the words Oakland County Jail. The cell reeked of the tasteless jail food she had vomited into the stainless steel toilet. The puke green paint on the walls and floor gave her a headache. She was the only one in lockup; the others had come and gone as she waited a month for her trial date. She was alone, but she didn’t cry. There were no more tears left inside her. There was no room for tears. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of her daughter, Simone, and what this all meant for her. What would happen to her baby? Where would she end up? Would she continue to cut herself—or worse? Would Simone hate her for doing what she had done to protect her? The thought of her only child alone with no one to care for her, crying out to her mother for comfort, made the bile rise to Jessica’s throat again. She leaned over the side of the bed and vomited once more, not bothering to flush the toilet.

The charge was first-degree murder. She was facing a life sentence, and Jessica didn’t have the money or the energy to beat it. Ross’s bank accounts were frozen, and he didn’t leave her a dime, as per their signed agreement. There was no way out of this abyss, and reality seemed to drain the life out of her as each hour passed.

He had to die. Anyone could understand that. Any mother would have done the same, but no one wanted to admit that. No one wanted to acknowledge the ugliness of her desperation. Jessica stared at the wall and emptied her mind. It was best to keep a clear head. There was no sense in thinking about anything she couldn’t change. Everything was just happening to her, and she had no control. Her entire life had been that way. She tried so hard to escape her mother and her past. She had done everything she could to redesign herself into the perfect wife and mother, living high-society life. Jessica had tried so hard, and in the end, it meant nothing. She had given up who she was because she thought she had to, but it was all in vain. She never wanted this for herself or her child. She would trade it all if she had the chance. She was, and always would be, Jessie Wolinsky, the poor little bi-racial girl from the trailer park. It was finally time to accept that.

Pembroke, announced the light brown-skinned corrections officer as he approached the cell. He stood tall and thin at about 6’4", and he enunciated her name as if it created a nasty taste in his mouth. Jessica watched blankly as he unlocked and entered the cell.

Stand up and turn around. Hands behind your back.

The orange jumpsuit she wore made a swishing sound as she obeyed. She felt the cold metal of the handcuffs that the officer put on a little too tightly.

Turn around.

She did. He escorted her out of the cell and into a slightly bigger room, just as bare and cold, and guided her to the table in the middle of the room, telling her to sit in one of the three chairs. After she was seated, the officer removed the handcuffs and left the room, locking the door behind him. Jessica waited for what she guessed to be ten minutes or so before the door reopened and two men walked in.

They were dressed in expensive suits; Brooks Brothers was her guess. Their briefcases, made of fine leather, swung by their sides as they made their way to the chairs on the opposite side of the table. Jessica recognized one of the men as Conner J. Daniels, senior partner at Creswell & Lattimore, which was Ross’s law firm. Conner, a white man in his mid to late forties with a pinched nose and radish colored cheeks, had frequented her home for dinner parties and drinks in the past. He looked at Jessica with what seemed to be contrived sincerity. He was the first to speak.

Hello, Jessica.

Conner.

It is a shame we have to meet under such unfortunate circumstances. How are you holding up?

Why do you care?

He laughed a practiced chuckle and adjusted his tie. We care about all of our clients. Isn’t that right, Terrence? He looked to the caramel-skinned man by his side for confirmation. Terrence, too, adjusted his tie before answering.

Yes, of course. You are our number one priority, Mrs. Pembroke. Your well-being is what drives our visit today.

Jessica frowned. "You’re representing me? Why?"

Conner took over. Jessica, we know what Ross did to your daughter. We’ve been studying the facts of your case for the past three weeks and, quite frankly, we can’t afford to let your husband’s actions ruin the firm’s reputation. We stand to lose a lot if this information is made public in a lengthy, ugly, and sensational trial. Conner paused and Terrence picked up where he left off.

We’ve pulled a lot of strings; we are using a lot of resources to keep this out of the media and ensure that the details of this case remain under wraps. That includes providing you with the best legal defense possible, pro bono.

Jessica hunched her shoulders, unconvinced. And what defense is that? I killed him. Case closed.

Conner jumped in. Yes, you killed him, but we are more interested in the reason. With the evidence we have of his relationship with Simone, we are prepared to argue extreme emotional distress. Under the circumstances, no jury will convict you—not with our team representing you. Being the largest and most powerful law firm in the state has its advantages.

So where does that leave me? I get off; then what? I have no money. I have nothing. And how do you know I won’t go to the press after the trial ends?

Terrence said, We thought of your financial situation and the possibility of you going to the media. We are prepared to offer you a settlement to keep things, he cleared his throat, quiet.

Hush money? Jessica raised an eyebrow.

Call it what you will, but more than just your freedom is at stake here, and we are willing to do whatever it takes to protect the reputation of our firm. He slid a folded piece of paper over to Jessica. I think you’ll find the terms of the settlement offer to be very fair.

Jessica opened the paper. The bold black numbers jumped out at her, and she allowed herself to smile inside. Five million dollars was enough money to move out of state, obtain the support Simone needed, and live the rest of their lives in comfort. She would finally be able to live on her own and stand on her own two feet. Jessica looked up at the attorneys, her eyes glimmering with hope. Gentlemen, let’s discuss the details of my case.

###

Simone lay in bed, engulfed by darkness. She was as still as the night, staring at the ceiling as though it might change. Her heartbeat was steady and her breathing was smooth and easy as her blanket lay loosely over her body and her feet peeked from the bottom. She held her journal close to her chest while the words of her last entry swam around in her thoughts.

I am at peace, and I trust in the Lord that everything will be okay.

She smiled to herself as she realized that she meant those words. She was at peace. He was gone. Her father had left long ago, replaced by a monster. Now, the monster was gone too. Her mother loved her enough to protect her from that monster, and she was grateful for that. For the first time in months, Simone was able to lie peacefully in her bed at night without fear of her father’s impending visit.

Because there was no immediate family to care for her, Simone had been transported to a group home for girls. Surrounded by other troubled teens and a jaded staff, she felt good. Every girl there had a story. Everyone had a past, and Simone was no exception. She opened up to them about her cutting and was relieved to find that she was not alone. Friendship was something new to Simone, and she wasn’t sure whether she could ever trust anyone enough to give them that title, but she found her housemates easy to talk to. They talked and cried together, and Simone looked forward to their company. Through prayer and counseling, she found that her desire to self-mutilate was diminishing.

It was far from the life she had lived with the big house and the private school, the expensive clothes and fancy cars, but she was okay with that. Simone knew that things weren’t always as they seemed. Those people who had envied her for the life they thought she had lived had no idea of what she had to endure. The material things meant nothing. Happiness was everything.

Before closing her eyes to go to sleep, Simone prayed to the God she had once thought unreal. She thanked Him for answering her prayers and delivering her from the life she had begged to leave every night. Then, she talked to her father—the father she remembered from before the pain.

Daddy, I know you love me, and I love you too. I will never forget you, all the things we did together, and the times we shared. They meant the world to me, Daddy. I’m so sorry we ended up this way, but you knew what had to be done. I know you knew because you told me. I just want you to know that I’m okay now. I’m okay, and eventually, I will be happy. Good night.

She didn’t know what was going to happen to her mother or where she would end up. All she knew, as she closed her eyes each night, was that she was going to be okay. That was enough to keep her going another day.

Chapter 1: Man Eater

What a fantastic fuck!

I looked down at my lover, adoring him as he lay peacefully, sprawled across his bed. The oversized comforter hid half his face, but I could still see the smooth, gently tanned skin that covered his defined cheeks and chiseled chin. I giggled to myself, tickled by a sudden flashback of the intense lovemaking that had occurred just minutes prior. The way that same comforter had entangled our bodies, contorting my lover and me into positions even I had never explored—Ooh, it was so damn good.

Adam, I whispered, you’re a bad, bad boy.

The icy blue eyes that had lured me to Adam during our first encounter were slightly revealed beneath heavy eyelids, veiled by some of the thickest, longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a man. Had I been vain, I might have envied him for them, but I had a sexy set of bedroom lookers myself. I loved being able to admire Adam’s baby blues, even in his state of rest.

I sleep with my eyes open too. We have so much in common, baby.

Adam didn’t stir at the soft sound of my voice. My eyes traveled from Adam’s perfectly crafted face down to his broad chest. Usually, I didn’t dig men with chest hair, but the way his lay so smoothly across his pecs made me revaluate my preferences. Adam was changing me, and I liked it. I was becoming a new woman, a better woman. I bit my bottom lip and released a soft moan as I gazed affectionately at his curved manhood, still pushing a good six inches—limp.

Damn, didn’t think a white boy could be packing like that, baby! I laughed balefully, then caught myself by covering my mouth with a heavily jeweled hand to stifle the noise. Shhh! I placed a slender finger over my lips. I don’t want to wake my sleeping beauty. But I couldn’t help but let another giggle slip through despite my feeble attempt to hush myself.

I slid to the edge of the bed, away from my latest conquest, careful not to disturb him. I dangled my slender, shapely legs playfully for a few moments before standing, humming a tune that ran chronically through my brain.

Whoa, oh, here she comes. Watch out, boy, she’ll chew you up … hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm … No matter what time of day, what I was doing, that song played incessantly in my head.

Still humming softly, I sauntered into the bathroom in Adam’s master suite. The mirror that covered the width of the wall behind the sink reflected the image of a woman I barely recognized. I paused for a moment to evaluate myself. It was my eyes. My eyes had changed over the years, showing evidence of my journey. I’d traveled a long road to get here, and if I stared into my own eyes long enough, they’d betray me, allowing me access to the deepest parts of my mind, those shadowed corners of my psyche that served as shelters for my pain, my struggle, and my vulnerability. I stood there, stifled by recollections of my past, asking myself what I was doing here. Who had I become? Man after man, night after night … what was I trying to prove? Each one was no different from the others. After a while, all of them became one blended image, transforming into one man, one target that I’d allowed full access to my body, not because I wanted to, but because it was my purpose—to let him have me. And somehow I’d convinced myself that I had taken him, conquered him, and I had prevailed.

Who are you?

Before I could answer that question, I snatched my gaze away from the mirror, dipping my head downward and redirecting my thoughts. When I looked back up at the mirror, she was back—the woman I knew and loved, the woman who had worked her way into this life, lavishing herself with a gift no one else could ever bestow her—vindication. My life, and everything and everyone involved, was predestined to arrive right here, at this point, in this moment.

I have the power.

I possessed the power to right the wrongs of this universe, to balance the scales and breathe life into the archaic notion of justice. No, not justice—justification, for everything happened for a reason. God had given me the power; therefore, I was justified.

For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more.

Luke 12:48, one of several Bible verses engraved into my brain, flashed before me and scrolled the mirror like movie credits. This is my destiny, my responsibility.

With great power comes great responsibility.

I remember the first time I saw Spiderman, sitting at home on the couch, popping kernel after kernel of salty popcorn into my mouth. That’s when it had hit me, when my purpose was solidified, set before me so clearly. God’s message to Luke and Uncle Ben’s advice to Spiderman—similar meanings, both perfectly aligned and presented before me to set me on my journey. This is my purpose.

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, a wide grin that one may have mistaken for a sign of joy or pleasure; but no, this smile signified my understanding. I was chosen, blessed with great power and the consequential weight of responsibility—vindication, justification.

I turned on the faucet and ran lukewarm water in the sink. Grabbing a cloth and a bar of soap from the overnight bag I’d placed in the bathroom earlier, I began my whore bath, scrubbing the intimate areas that Adam had stroked with his lips, his tongue, and his rod. Under different circumstances, I would have opted for a shower, but I knew I had not been afforded that luxury.

After placing the damp cloth back inside my bag, I retrieved another cloth and carefully wiped the faucet and knobs, cleaning away the mess I’d made. That, too, went back into the bag. I stood before the mirror, satisfied that my image had not betrayed me once again, and slid my hands sensually from the nape of my neck down to my perky breasts. I smiled at myself as I pinched my nipples, simulating Adam’s intense and prolonged foreplay. I pivoted on my heels and stole a glance at my round ass. I must say, I was damn fine, had a body most women would pay thousands of dollars for—just to appease some undeserving prick of a man. I winked at that fine woman in the mirror before turning back to gather my bag from the floor. My head snapped toward Adam’s bedroom at the sound of the ringing phone. Adam remained undisturbed.

I pranced out of the bathroom, back to the bedroom, catching sight of my naked body in another mirror and posing for a few seconds between each stride. The phone stopped ringing. I stood at the foot of the bed, absorbing Adam’s presence for a moment, sucking in the air that had been filled with our moans and cries of ecstasy not long ago. An artistic steel ashtray sat on his desk, sparking a craving that I had to succumb to. After slipping on the jeans that had been tossed on the floor beside the bed, I retrieved a sleek sterling silver cigarette case from my overnight bag. I ran my index finger over the engraved lettering: TREASURER. The brand alone exuded sexiness, exclusivity, and sophistication—me. Popping open the case with one flick of my thumb, I licked my lips in anticipation of the sweet toxicity that would soon dance through my body, bringing me to a state of calm and tranquility that I more than craved; I needed it at that moment. After easing into the chair positioned in front of Adam's desk, I leaned over and grabbed the remote control from the floor just next to my feet and clicked on the TV. I stole a peek at Adam as Carlan Harmon’s alto blared through the surround sound speakers while she reported the Channel Four nightly news. Adam didn’t move. I turned the volume down just a pinch anyway; I didn’t want to wake the neighbors—that is, if they hadn’t been awakened already by Adam’s girlish orgasmic squealing.

I removed a slim cigarette from its case, snapping the case closed and tossing it back into my bag. I toyed with the delicate white stick, tracing my lips with the filter, covered by its signature silver wrapping. A tacky red lighter, boasting a tasteless image of a voluptuous naked woman lay beside the ashtray. I cringed at the thought of using this gas station filth to light a Treasurer, but I just didn’t feel like reaching down into that damn bag again. I lit my indulgence with a quick Flick! and tossed the poor excuse for a lighter into my bag. That tacky shit didn’t deserve to be in a house as exquisite as Adam’s. I’d dispose of it at my first opportunity.

"Tragedy strikes again. Detroit has been terrorized by a serial killer, nicknamed the Man Eater, for two months now, and outraged citizens are demanding answers…" News anchor, Carlan Harmon’s feathered curls flittered around the frame of her face as she reported yet another Detroit murder.

Carlan, how do you manage to keep your hair so damn fluffy? I mean, it’s like humidity is your best friend, girl. I took a puff of my cigarette, taking my time and allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and travel through my bloodstream.

"Forty-year-old heart surgeon and father of two, Gerald Manning, was found stabbed to death inside a hotel suite at the Westin Book Cadillac in Downtown Detroit…"

Mm, mm, mm. I shook my head. Mr. Manning, just what have you gotten yourself into? I puffed, inhaled, exhaled, and flicked the cigarette ashes into the ashtray.

"As reported in the last three murders, traces of pancuronium bromide were found in the victim’s blood. The powerful muscle relaxant is used as the second of three drugs administered during lethal injections and as an aid to anesthetics during surgeries. Investigators believe that the drug was used to paralyze the victims while keeping them alert."

Puff … inhale … exhale … flick.

"…It has been confirmed that the killer did engage in sexual intercourse with the victim, apparently with no contraception, leaving DNA evidence at the scene. Investigators expect that the DNA will match the traces found at previous murder scenes. However, the DNA has not been linked to any known suspects at this time."

Puff … inhale … exhale … flick.

"Although there is no known connection between the victims, other than their gender, this heinous murder is unmistakably marked. The Man Eater has left her signature at the scene …"

Puff … inhale … Argh! Oh shit! I began to hack and cough as the smoke from my Treasurer deceived me. I quickly covered my mouth as I doubled over in an attempt to inhale some clean air and stop this choking fit. Adam didn’t stir. My composure maintained, I took another long drag, closing my eyes and resting my head on the back of the chair.

"… as Detroit is masked in fear and anxiety, police are working diligently to stop these senseless murders before the killer strikes again. We will hear a word from Detroit’s chief of police in just a moment …"

The phone rang again. I clicked the TV off and snapped my head toward the ringing phone in annoyance.