The "Blackboard" bestselling author of "The Edge of Midnight" delivers a new tale of romantic suspense. While trying to find out the truth about her murdered father, Narice Jordan is kidnapped by the mysterious Anthony St. Martin, who calls himself the Saint. Original.

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The Edge of Dawn

Chapter One

Arson. The word and its implications echoedinside thirty-seven-year-old Narice Jordanlike remnants of a bad dream. Arson. No matter whereshe turned the word was there, laughing, taunting, remindingher that the fire responsible for her father'sdeath had been deliberately set. According to the Detroitpolice a person or persons unknown had pouredgasoline around the perimeter of Simon Jordan'shome, then tossed in a match. The memorial celebratinghis life had been held yesterday, and now a brokenheartedNarice stood waiting in her motel room for acab to the Detroit airport for her pre-dawn flight backhome to Baltimore.

She hadn't been able to sleep, so she was staring at atwenty-four-hour stretch with no rest. Both mind and spirit were exhausted. The cab company dispatcherpromised the driver would arrive by three a.m. Accordingto the gold watch on Narice's brown wrist, it wasjust about that time now.

As if cued, a knock sounded on the door. "Who isit?" she asked through the wood. A peek through thetiny spy hole showed a short, stocky brother dressed inan ill-fitting olive green suit.

"You called a cab?"

Narice undid the locks and opened up. "Yes, I did."He showed her a smile. "You Ms. Jordan? Going tothe airport?"

She nodded. "Let me get my bag." Narice had alreadysettled her bill, courtesy of the check-out serviceon the TV, so she had no need to go down to the desk.She took a quick look around the room to make sureshe hadn't left anything behind. Satisfied, she grabbedup her purse and the handle on the wheeled suitcase.Exiting, she closed the door softly behind her.

It was dark. The air was still close and sticky like itis sometimes in mid July. As she followed the driverdown the stairs she could feel the heat building up insideher black suit, but she paid it little mind. She wastoo busy mentally blessing the cabbie for being early.She hated rushing through airports.

The yellow cab glowed eerily under the glare of thebig lights ringing the parking lot. The heels of herpumps clicked loudly on the pavement. The driveropened the passenger door and took the suitcase fromher. "I'll put it in the trunk. You get on in."

Before doing so, Narice fished around in her shoulderbag to make sure she had her ticket. After puttingher hand on it, she bent to get into the back seat andfroze at the sight of the well-dressed White man in thecorner with the gun in his hand. "Come in, Ms. Jordan.I've been waiting for you."

Fear made her instinctively back up and away, butthe stocky body of the driver firmly blocked her path.

"Get in," the cabbie ordered.

"No!" she yelled, but before she could tense herbody for fight, the driver stuck a gun in her ribs. Shestilled.

He whispered harshly. "Do you want your family tobury you, too?"

Narice's head snapped around. Did he know somethingabout her father's death? Afraid, she said, "Whoare you?"

He answered by forcing her into the cab. The doorslammed shut beside her and her fear climbed. Shestared at the man in the shadowy corner. He was smiling."Put on your seat belt, Ms. Jordan. We wouldn'twant anything to happen to you."

She eyed the man warily. "Where are you takingme?" Every horror imaginable played vividly throughher mind.

"Just put on your belt."

Auto safety was not her concern. "Where are we going?""Relax. No one's going to hurt you."

Relaxing was impossible; she was scared to death. As the cab pulled away, she prayed someone had seenher being pushed into the cab and that they would callthe police, but she didn't hold much hope.

They left the motel lot without incident, turned ontoWoodward and headed downtown. Narice could see afew other cars traveling the same route, but at this timeof morning traffic was sparse. The cab stopped at a redlight and a police car cruised up and stopped a laneover. Narice's hope soared. She had to let them knowshe needed help. She gave a quick look over at the manseated in the shadows. He had his gun pointed her way."Sit back against the seat, Ms. Jordan. Slowly, please."

Her hope withered. Tight-lipped, she complied. A fewseconds later she watched the light turn green. The policerode beside the cab through the next two lights, thenthe officers must have received a call because their carsuddenly accelerated. Lights flashing, they roared away.

Narice felt very alone. Another look over at theshadowy man showed his slow, pleased smile. She wasfighting to keep herself under control so she couldthink, but it was hard. What is this about? Where am Ibeing taken? Who are these men? A million questionsscreamed for answers. "Where are you taking me?"

"The better question is why?"

Her reply was terse. "Okay, I'll bite. Why?"

"Because you hold the key to a long-lost treasure."

"What kind of treasure?"

"A beautiful blue diamond known as the Eye ofSheba."

Narice had no idea what he was talking about. "I think you snatched the wrong person. I don't knowanything about a diamond."

"But your father did."

Narice stilled. She studied him for a moment andwondered what was really going on here. She notedthat he'd spoken about her father in the past tense.

"You knew my father?"

"Once upon a time. Yes."

"He died in a house fire last week."

"I know."

"The police are calling it arson. Do you know whoset the fire?"

"If I tell you too much now, you may not tell mewhat I wish to know later. Let's just enjoy the ride,shall we?"

Excerpted from The Edge of Dawn by Beverly Jenkins
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.