Love Uncovered

By Angie Daniels

Chenoa Campbell is a feisty detective who believes as a woman, she has to constantly prove herself. When her ex-partner is gunned down, she vows she won't rest until she finds his killer. However, in order to work on the case, Chenoa must partner with Zearl Sinclair, a man from her past who still manages to sends her body into overdrive.

Zearl Sinclair has had his share of disappointments. First his mother and then his ex-wife. He has closed his heart to the possibilities of love. After returning home and joining the local police department, Zearl is surprised to find that his new partner is Chenoa Campbell, his best friend's younger sister. He’s not interested in "babysitting" Chenoa, however, the desire brewing between them is hard to resist. Can Chenoa and Zearl find love in the midst of danger?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angie Daniels
• Release date: Jun 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781941342343

Angie Daniels

Angie Daniels is a free spirit who isn’t afraid to say what’s on her mind or even better, write about it. Since strutting onto the literary scene in five-inch heels, she’s been capturing her audience’s attention with her wild imagination and love for alpha men. The USA Today Bestselling Author has written over thirty novels for imprints such as BET Arabesque, Harlequin/Kimani Romance and Kensington/ Dafina and Kensington/Aphrodisia Books. For more information about upcoming releases, and to connect with Angie on Facebook, please visit her website at angiedaniels.com.

Book preview

Love Uncovered

~~The Campbells~~

Angie Daniels

Caramel Kisses Publishing

Copyright © 2018 by Angie Daniels at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Series

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Booklist

Biography

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the graduate students of the Master of Human Resource Management program at Wilmington University in 2003. Shouts out to Andre, Mark, Justine, Tina, Thea, and Latasha for making those intense weekends filled with hard determination and laughter.

I finally completed my thesis!

The Campbells

Love Uncovered

When I First Saw You

Can’t Put a Price Tag on Love (2019)

Chapter 1

While waiting at the checkout counter, Chenoa Campbell’s gaze traveled out the storefront window where a familiar face caught her attention. Jeremy Abbott, her former partner, was standing near a bench outside Radio Shack with both hands stuck deep inside the front pockets of his denim jacket. A frown bunched her forehead as she watched his eyes darting rapidly from side to side. He appeared nervous and slightly agitated.

Chenoa searched his face and tried to reach into his thoughts. Watching him with keenly observant eyes, she quickly determined he was waiting for someone.

She handed the cashier her money then stole another look in his direction. Jeremy glanced down at his watch, shook his head then began to pace a small path in front of the store. The mall was busy, so several times he was blocked from her line of vision, but when she caught sight of him again, he was still there, waiting. For whom? she wondered.

"Six ninety-five is your change," a voice said, breaking into her thoughts.

With a start, Chenoa glanced over at the cashier. I’m sorry. I was thinking about something. She stuck her change in her purse, reached for the bag, and headed out the store.

Maneuvering around a bunch of teenage boys, she strolled across to where Jeremy was standing. She had to call his name several times before he stopped in his tracks then turned with an absent smile.

"Hey, Campbell. What are you doing here?"

Chenoa gave him a curious look. I was about to ask you the same. I’m doing a little shopping. What about you?

"I... um was waiting for someone, but it doesn’t look like they’re coming." A set of keys slipped from his shaking hands. He reached down and retrieved them then glanced over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Chenoa.

Something was wrong. She had worked with Jeremy for over three years. That was long enough to know when he was acting unusual.

She shifted her weight to her other leg and placed a hand to her hip. Is something wrong?

"Nothing’s wrong, he said all too quickly. He gave her a weak smile as if to reassure her then glanced down at his watch again. Look, I got to go. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Then he added as an afterthought, It’s my turn to pick up doughnuts." Before she had a chance to remind him to remember chocolate sprinkles, he turned and walked away.

Dumbfounded, Chenoa watched him leave. Jeremy looked over his shoulder every other step. With her lips pressed firmly together, she stood there until he was out of sight. Finally she shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t about to spend her evening worrying about him. Nevertheless, first thing tomorrow morning they were going to have a long talk.

The smell of fresh baked pretzels fluttered under her nose. She followed the scent to a stand to her right. Chenoa knew she didn’t need a pretzel, not after the scale topped at one hundred and forty-five pounds at her last doctor’s appointment, but right now she was too hungry to care.

She had just stepped into the long line when sounds exploded. Gunshots. Running feet. Women and children screaming. Immediately, she reached inside her purse for a nine millimeter Glock.

"Police! Get down!" she cried as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the direction of the shots. Her breath stalled. Lying on the floor near the top of the escalator was Jeremy. His right hand clutched at his chest; the front of his shirt was covered in blood.

"Jeremy!" she cried, sinking to her knees beside him. Her eyes quickly darted through the crowd looking for a possible shooter, but no one stood out.

"Someone, call an ambulance! she screamed at the people gathering around her. Hold on, Jeremy." She reached into her bag for the silk blouse she had just purchased and pressed it firmly to his wound, hoping to slow down the loss of blood.

He greedily gasped for air then turned his face toward her and his hand came up to touch her arm. His fingers were cold against her skin. With a great deal of effort, he shoved a small piece of paper into her hand.

"He’s ... the one. The words were garbled, loud enough for only Chenoa to hear. A fit of coughing overtook him and blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. Be… careful." His eyes shone hard as steel for the flicker of a moment before his body went limp, and his head rolled to the side.

"No. Jeremy, wake up! She pounded on his chest, trying to keep his heart pumping just a few minutes longer. Dammit, you can’t die on me."

Someone stepped forward from behind her, coming to one knee beside Jeremy. Excuse me, miss. I’m a doctor.

Chenoa stumbled out of the way and allowed the young woman room. Please, stay back! she said to the growing crowd. While she watched the woman check for a pulse, she snatched her cell phone from her hip and dialed headquarters. She reported the homicide and asked for officers to secure the scene.

By the time she ended the call, the woman rose and gave her a grim look. I’m sorry, but he’s gone.

Tears stung the backs of Chenoa’s eyes as she shook her head in denial. She hadn’t witnessed a homicide in two years, yet even then it had been a complete stranger, not a dear friend.

"Oh, no! Chenoa heard from somewhere over her left shoulder. She swung around to see her sister, Chante, standing in the crowd. She’d dropped her bags and gasped, That’s Jeremy, isn’t it?"

Chenoa nodded then moved to stand beside her older sister. Instantly, Chante curved an arm protectively around her waist.

"What happened?" Chante asked.

Chenoa closed her eyes for several seconds and when she opened them again, she returned her gaze to Jeremy’s lifeless body. I don’t know, but I’m definitely going to find out.

* * *

"Have a seat," Sergeant Robert Lawson said before he moved behind his oak desk and eased into a large leather chair.

Chenoa closed the door behind them then plopped down in a chair across from his desk, sinking into its cushioned depths.

"You don’t look too good," he observed.

"No, I guess I don’t," Chenoa answered. She dropped her head to her hands. Her thoughts were spiraling with the events of the past several hours and she felt as if her head were about to explode.

Everything had happened so fast she still couldn’t believe that Jeremy was dead. The ambulance, the reporters, the crowds of people at the mall, and the blood.

She looked down at the evidence of his murder smeared across the front of her sweater. Blood. Jeremy’s blood. Soaked through, no doubt. It took all she had not to rip the clothes from her body just to rid herself of the smell, the memories of what had happened.

"Are you all right?" Lawson asked, regarding her closely.

Chenoa glanced up at her boss of three years. Tall and solidly built, the middle-aged father of five had a head full of raven-black hair with a touch of gray at the temples. His extraordinary golden brown eyes were filled with genuine concern.

Chenoa released a long sigh. I’m fine, she answered. She wasn’t really but there was no way she was going to break down in front of him even if was understandable. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves. Why do you ask?

Lawson leaned forward in his chair. Because a good friend died in your arms today, Chenoa. It’s all right to cry.

Chenoa noticed the slight shake in his hands and realized he was far from unaffected himself.

The retired marine captain may have had the military running through his blood, but the man she knew was a far cry from being cold and heartless when it came to his officers. Even though the marines was known for training its soldiers to hide their emotions and become tough as nails, Lawson was often seen expressing his feelings. When a rookie was killed last year during a robbery that went bad, Lawson showed sorrow like all of the rest of them. When his mother passed last year of heart failure, he was often found at his desk, head down, stricken with grief. Chenoa knew Lawson would understand and probably hold her in his arms while she cried for the loss of her friend, but she couldn’t do that. She was a detective and tears were a sign of weakness. It was already hard enough being one of three women assigned to the Wilmington Police Department. Showing any signs of weakness would only make her life as a newly promoted detective even harder.

"I’ll be fine. So, please, don’t worry about me. She knew the quiver in her voice would probably betray her even though she tried to sound in control. I’d rather you put your energies into finding the person who murdered Jeremy." Her hands closed in a tight fist to conceal their trembling.

"Oh, we will. Don’t worry about that," he vowed, seemingly letting the topic of her well-being drop. But Chenoa knew better. Lawson would keep an eye on her for a while to see that she was holding up as well as she pretended to be. He was a man trained to be observant, to notice any detail no matter how minor. He would definitely recognize weakness and would immediately put her on leave with no room for discussion. Lawson knew his officers like the back of his hand and often had the uncanny ability to read their minds.

"Why don’t you tell me what happened?"

She rubbed her eyes, trying to massage out the headache that was threatening to stake claim at the corner of her forehead. I don’t know what happened, Chenoa answered honestly. When I stopped to talk to him, he seemed nervous. He kept looking over his shoulder, watching everyone around him.

"Did he tell you what was wrong?"

Lowering her head, she shook it. I asked, but he said it was nothing. Apparently, he was waiting for someone.

For some reason, she didn’t mention the note that he had given her.

On her way into the station, she had pulled it out and read it. Until she had a chance to figure out what it meant, she would keep that piece of information to herself.

Chenoa took a deep shaky breath then exploded from the chair. Damn! I should have insisted. I should have followed him and kept asking him questions!

Lawson watched her for several long seconds, letting her burn off a good amount of anger; then he asked, Did you see anything?

"No. She paced the length of his office. He didn’t want to talk and I didn’t want to pressure him. I thought I would wait until morning then ask him about it. Then I heard gunfire and women and children screaming. It had happened so quickly and the only thing I saw was Jeremy lying on the ground with two bullet holes at the center of his chest."

"Did you check the crowd?"

She came to a halt. Her gaze snapped to his. For what? Someone holding a gun? She gave a harsh laugh that was far from amusing. The murderer was gone long before Jeremy had even hit the floor. But, yes, I checked the crowd as best I could without knowing what in the hell I was supposed to be looking for. The shooter had been right there somewhere among the crowd watching her every move. It could have been anybody.

Chenoa drew a deep breath, once again forbidding herself to cry. If only she had known who Jeremy was meeting.

An abstract thought crept to her mind. What was Jeremy working on? she asked.

Lawson stared at her thoughtfully, trying to decide if he should share that information with her before finally saying, The Cocktail Murders.

Her brow arched and she returned to her seat. I didn’t know he was on that case.

Lawson’s mouth tightened momentarily. That’s because he was working undercover.

The highly televised crimes spanned a six-month period. Barmaids and a waitress found dead. A serial killer who was smart enough to have left behind nothing but a truckload of unanswered questions plagued the state.

Chenoa’s mind began to race. Jeremy must have gotten too close. He had somehow stumbled on the truth.

Suddenly, she remembered Jeremy’s partner. Has anyone contacted Payton?

Lawson nodded.

There was a long prolonged silence as she kept rewinding the series of events, trying to think what she could have done differently. If she had insisted that Jeremy tell her what was going on maybe he would still be alive. That possibility would haunt her until his killer was found.

She rose from the chair. I want on the case.

Lawson ran a hand across his head. Campbell, this is not the time for revenge. Besides, we have no evidence that says his murder had anything to do with his involvement in that case.

She tilted her chin in a defiant gesture. But I am determined to find out. I want justice. Jeremy was more than just a former partner. You know as well as anybody no one is going to be more determined to solve his murder than I am.

He gave her a long worried look then released a sigh. Campbell, go home and get some rest. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

Without saying another word, she turned and walked out of his office.

Chenoa went home, stripped, and climbed into a tub filled with mango-scented bubbles. She looked down at the blood under her fingernails. The thought of Jeremy lying in her arms had her hands shaking so hard, she almost dropped the soap. She took a deep breath. Somehow she would have to find a way to come to terms with what had happened.

Jeremy was gone.

She momentarily closed her eyes as emotions flooded her, but again she struggled to keep visions of his lifeless body at bay.

They had been partners until he was promoted to detective in early March. After a nasty divorce from his first love, he was thankful for the raise in pay in order to keep up his child support payments. Suffering from a broken heart, the only things that held him together were his two preschool-age daughters.

Despite his home life, Jeremy had always been the life of the party. The office just wouldn’t be the same without his jokes and horseplay.

Chenoa opened her tearstained eyes and for the next ten minutes lay motionless as she remembered the past three years.

Jeremy had been the only officer she had completely trusted. Other than with her family, trust had never come easily for her, especially not with men. After several failed relationships, she had come to realize that once trust was gone, rebuilding it was a long and painful process she just didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with. Instead she made certain not to place that kind of trust in anyone else. She could take care of herself. At least that’s what she had thought.

What she would remember most about Jeremy was that he changed her way of thinking when he had saved her life.

They were on a stakeout and she had underestimated a seventeen-year-old drug dealer. If Jeremy hadn’t walked in the room when he had, she would not have lived to have seen her twenty-fifth birthday. After that she realized no matter what, her partner had her back.

After he’d made detective, she was partnered with two other officers but neither had come even close to the type of police officer Jeremy had been.

"Who would want to kill him?" she asked out loud as if she expected an answer. When she didn’t receive one, she reached for her washcloth and wiped fresh tears from her face.

It would be a long time, if ever, before she would be able to get the last few minutes of his life out of her mind.

As that moment played in her mind again, she reached down on the side of the tub for her jeans, removed the small sheet of paper he had given her, and unfolded it.

12Gs.

She frowned. What did that mean? Twelve thousand dollars? Maybe it didn’t have any reference to money and was an apartment or a locker number. And if it was a clue, what did it have to do with his death?

Angrily, Chenoa balled up the paper and tossed it into a small nearby trash can. No point in getting it wet. She would retrieve it later.

Sinking lower into the tub, she closed her eyes. A throb was beginning to radiate at her temple. It was days like this she hated being a cop. It was days like this that even with her overwhelming career and large family, she felt so alone.

She had few friends and most were either married or practically married. They’d rather spend their free time with their men than hanging out at the mall. Her closest friend, Candace Price, lived in Missouri with her younger sister. The only friend she had in close proximity was her older sister, Chante. The thirty-three-year-old was the one whom Chenoa confided in and shared girl time with.

Then there were her brothers, Martin and Dame, nine months apart, who were always there if she needed them. Despite the way she was feeling, a smile tipped the corner of her lips as she remembered her mother explaining that back then she had no idea a woman could get pregnant while breastfeeding. Martin had turned thirty on his last birthday. His mission in life had always been to keep his younger sister safe. Twice a month he had lunch with Lawson, a dear friend of the family, and offhandedly checked on her activity. Sometimes Chenoa felt like pulling her hair out. Other times she just took it in stride and appreciated the fact that even though her brother was nerve-racking, he did love her.

Dame was two years older than her and as wild as the wind. Every morning he drove around on the back of a garbage truck. Currently he was content with his chosen field. However, on weekends he attended classes in pursuit of a business degree. He planned to open his own office-cleaning business in the next two years. Even though Chenoa often teased him about smelling like garbage she loved her brother dearly.

She lathered her body with her favorite scented soap and gave a weary sigh. Surrounded by her family, she didn’t know how she could ever feel alone. Yet that was exactly how she felt.

She hadn’t been overly worried about her single status, especially since, with her demanding career, she rarely found time for fun. But lately as she lay awake at night she thought about her golden years. Other than a pension and a hefty IRA account, what would she have to show for it, and would there be anyone to share it with?

Later this year, her parents, Betty and Carlos, would celebrate forty years of love and commitment to one another. They were proof that happily ever after wasn’t just something you read about in a romance novel. Sometimes when her parents weren’t looking, she would observe the way her father smiled into her mother’s eyes and she realized that she wanted what they had.

She had dated a few men in high school and even fewer in college. Most of them tried to get her to see the need for sex before love, but she wasn’t having it. She wanted everything that she had read about. Satin sheets, champagne, soft music, and a man that loved her. She was certain that when she met her soul mate, she would know it. Years ago she had begun to believe that everyone had one out there somewhere. The big question was would they ever find each other? And when they did, would they know?

Several months ago she had met Greg Stone and thought him to be her soul mate. He had given her champagne, satin sheets, and soft music. For the second time in eight years she had shared her body with a man and was met with disappointment and heartache. Now six months after their fiasco of a relationship, she had pretty much given up on love and poured all her time and energy in her career. If love was meant for her then it would come her way. However, one thing she wasn’t doing was looking for it.

As she splashed warm water across her chest, Jeremy’s smiling toffee-colored face came to mind. When she and Jeremy were rookies, hitting the streets together, they had often talked about life and relationships. When he had met his wife, she had been so happy for him, then over the next couple of years she had watched the emotional roller coaster, he had ridden through the arguments, the births of his daughters, and then finally a bitter divorce that left him emotionally crippled. Love hurt, and that scared her more than anything. As much as she wanted it, she feared it. The uncertainty was why she was in no rush for it to come her way.

After rinsing the last trace of Jeremy’s murder away, Chenoa climbed out of the tub. She dried off with a large yellow towel then slipped into a heavy terry-cloth robe. Her headache had worsened and she decided to lie down for a while. Moving into the adjoining room, she flopped down on her bed and hugged a pillow close to her middle just as the tears began to cloud her eyes again. Her friend was dead. His beautiful daughters were without their father.

Chenoa pulled the covers over her shivering body and said a silent prayer. Jeremy’s death would not be in vain. She was going to do everything in her power to find his killer.

Chapter 2

Lawson tapped a finger against his chin, in deep thought. After what felt like forever, he raised his head and met her eyes. I will allow you to work on this investigation under one condition.

Uh-oh. Chenoa’s satisfaction certainly slipped a notch. A condition. This could mean trouble. Nonetheless, she opened her mouth and heard herself ask to hear his bargain.

"A simple one, really, Lawson said a bit too smoothly for her peace of mind. All you have to do is agree to work under the supervision of a more seasoned detective."

Chenoa mulled it over for a moment. She smelled a rat.

He buzzed the phone on his desk and asked his secretary to send the new guy in. Before Chenoa could push for answers, someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," Lawson called.

Chenoa kept her eyes on Lawson, not bothering to turn around even when she heard someone move in behind her.

"Chenoa Campbell, Lawson began, allow me to introduce your new partner, Zearl Sinclair."

Chenoa swung her head around and her gaze collided with a man she hadn’t seen in four years. She went completely still as she stared into his deep alluring chocolate eyes. No one had prepared her for his return.

"Hello, Chenoa."

Damn. Why did he have to make her name sound like a caress? Her mouth dropped open and she stared with wide, somewhat cloudy, disbelieving eyes. You’ve gotta be kidding.

"I assume you both know each other?" Lawson asked innocently.

"Yes," Zearl confirmed.

"Not really," Chenoa answered at the same time, only stronger.

She aimed daggers at him from her warm brandy-colored eyes as he lowered his large frame into the chair across from her.

"He’s my brother’s friend," she quickly explained with clenched teeth.

"Actually, I am a friend of the entire Campbell family." He tilted his head and gave her his signature killer smile that she hadn’t forgotten.

This is insane, her brain screamed. She would agree to be partners with Zearl Sinclair when hell would freeze over.

Quickly, she shook her head. I can’t work with him, she announced.

It was his turn to look confused. Why not?

"You know why," she grumbled.

"If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked," Zearl countered.

"Because you’d rather have me at home ironing your shirts."

He chuckled amusingly. That does have a nice ring to it. Do you also do windows?

"How dare you!"

"All right, all right, Lawson interrupted shortly then rose from his chair. I’m going to lunch. Whatever problems the two of you have, I suggest you work it out because I expected you in here bright and early on Monday. I want this case cracked!" The ex-marine’s voice rang with command, which meant he expected whatever orders he had given to be obeyed.

Chenoa sighed deeply, knowing he was right. Sure thing, boss. She offered him a weak smile. Someway, somehow, she’d have to find a way to get through the ordeal. She glanced over at Zearl and speared him with a look that conveyed the message that she fully intended to kill him later.

Lawson reached for his jacket on the back of his chair and strolled out the door without another word.

Chenoa pursed her lips and continued to say nothing. Their gazes met and fused. Against her will, she found herself admiring how well he’d aged.

Zearl had changed quite a bit since the last time she had seen him sitting across from her at her mother’s dining room table.

At