My Soul Then Sings Read online

  “I’m not kidding. Now, I feel like I might pee my pants.” His joke fell flat and real fear set in.

  Karlie screamed, “Help! Help!” at the top of her lungs.

  Brian held on though his hands felt clammy. They were about 100 feet from the end of the line. He gritted his teeth. He would make it. He saw Griffin zoom in on them with the camera and tried not to look like a wuss.

  Brian’s bravery, however, ended with another distinct snap. “Oh no!” He used his lower body to propel himself forward. He was not going to die out here. Not today. He kept moving until his feet touched the other side.

  There is a God. Brian bent over and kissed the earth with utmost relief. A couple of seconds later, a frightened Karlie landed.

  She was at his side in a flash. She spun toward the guides and snarled, “What happened? I thought you double-checked everything. We were hundreds of feet in the air, and he could’ve fallen.”

  The men looked confused. They rushed to Brian and assisted him out of the faulty device.

  Brian flung off the harness.

  While Karlie raged, they hemmed and hawed. “Uh, sorry, man. That never happened before. I . . . don’t know. . . I can’t imagine . . .”

  Before Brian could say anything, Karlie grabbed onto one of them. Her hands twisted the man’s shirt as she shook him with rage. “You can’t imagine. He could’ve died, you buffoon!”

  The cameras kept rolling, but Karlie was past the point of caring. The lens zeroed in on her face.

  Brian saw the worry, the fright, and his heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry, and he swallowed. She walked over to him and placed her hands over his heart. Brian prayed she did not feel the thunderous vibrations as his heart rate escalated.

  Her voice broke, and her chin quivered. Then she looked up at him through tear-spiked lashes. He had to close his eyes for a second to keep from becoming overwhelmed by those honey depths.

  “Brian, this is a sign,” she sniffed. “I think we should call it quits. You could’ve died. You could’ve died.”

  He jutted out his chin. “But I didn’t. I’m not going to back out because of one mishap.”

  Karlie shook her head. “Mishap? What an understatement!” She chuckled. “How can you be so calm about this? Don’t you value your life?”

  Brian looked at her and for once let the emotions surface that he felt but could not say. “I value my life. But I believe in you, and you’re worth it.”

  “It wasn’t what he said, Karlie, it was how he said it,” Jamaal yelled through the line. “He was looking at you like a lovesick puppy.”

  In her bedroom at the Pismo Lighthouse Suites, Karlie squatted on her bed as she fielded Jamaal’s questions.

  “He almost died,” Karlie said, shifting her long legs under her body. “It was an emotional moment. I . . . I think Brian said it to boost ratings. You know he has a way with words.”

  Jamaal snorted. “Well, his plan worked. You have over half a million hits, and it’s only five p.m. our time. ‘Your Adventures of Karlie Knightly’ video is trending on every social media site. TMZ even called me trying to get a statement. I don’t even know how they got my number.”

  Karlie clutched her chest. “I’m sorry, Jamaal. I didn’t mean to get you involved. This wasn’t how I imagined our first trip.”

  His heavy breathing echoed through the line.

  Karlie hoped Jamaal was trying to compose himself.

  “Come home, Karlie, before Brian kills himself or you over some stupid stunts,” Jamaal said. “You two need a heavy dose of common sense.”

  “We both are college-educated, and Brian’s idea isn’t stupid,” Karlie said. “It’s working. I was scared out of my mind, but I’m proud of myself.” She heard a snort of derision and gritted her teeth.

  “What’s next?” Jamaal asked. “Swimming with sharks?”

  Jamaal doesn’t know how close to the truth he is. “FYI, we’re not swimming with sharks. We’re going kayaking next in Florida.”

  “Kayaking? Now, I’ve heard it all. Aren’t there gators in Florida waters? Listen, Karlie, I’d better not get a phone call that you’ve been eaten by an alligator.”

  Jamaal’s words fell on deaf ears. She heard a light rap on her door and cupped the phone. “Enter,” she said. Brian strolled inside. They had chosen to stay in the two-bedroom Family Suite as both rooms featured king-sized beds.

  Karlie placed her finger over her lips and pointed to her cell phone.

  “I’m hungry,” Brian mouthed. He snatched the menus placed near the phone.

  Karlie gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Jamaal, I’ve got to go. My flight to Florida leaves early in the morning, and we’re scheduled to go out on the water at about three p.m.”

  “Have Neil and Myra seen the video, yet?” Jamaal asked.

  “Yes. He wants me to come home.”

  “Well?” Jamaal demanded. “Since my opinion doesn’t matter, what about Neil’s?”

  Karlie’s gaze met Brian’s. He was openly listening in on the call. “I’m staying with Brian. I’m going to Florida.”

  Brian’s eyebrows shot up close to his hairline. “I’m surprised you told him that,” he said once she’d ended the call.

  Karlie shrugged. She didn’t want to recount her entire conversation with Jamaal. It drained her. “Let’s order our meal.”

  Once they called down for room service, Karlie warmed up her vocal chords. She ran through several notes. Tentatively, she belted out, “This is my Father’s world . . . and to my listening ears . . .”

  Brian cut in. “Can you go five minutes without mentioning God?”

  “Can you go five seconds without His breath?” Then she continued with her song. “All nature sings, and round me rings . . .”

  Brian rolled his eyes and observed her from under hooded lids.

  Karlie closed her eyes and visualized the scenery “This Is My Father’s World” evoked. “The music of the spheres. This is my . . .”

  “Now I understand,” Brian interrupted.

  She stopped singing and glared at him. He was messing up her groove. “Understand what?”

  “The reviews. Where’s the emotion? Because I’m not feeling it.”

  She spoke through gritted teeth. “Well, I am. I don’t care if you’re not feeling it. I just want to sing my song without any rude interruptions.”

  “I have to intervene when you’re butchering a perfectly good song. When you sing, it should evoke an emotion not a yawn.” He added an exaggerated yawn for effect.

  Karlie cupped her mouth. “Stop,” she breathed, touching her chest. “You’re brutal.”

  “Truth often is,” he said in a gentler tone. Crooking his chin at her, he said, “Close your eyes. Think about today when you realized I could’ve been killed.”

  Karlie complied. Her chest constricted. She felt her pulse quicken and shook her head. “I don’t want to remember.”

  “You need to,” he said.

  Karlie heard his steps and felt the bed sink beneath his weight.

  “How did you feel?” he asked.

  “I felt . . .” Tears pricked her eyes. She swiped them away. She continued in a shaky breath, “I didn’t want to lose you. My best friend.”

  “Now sing. Not that tired song but a better song. Let your soul sing and reach my soul.” He placed her hand against his chest.

  She felt the thump of his heartbeat. Karlie opened her mouth, but the words would not come. She released short, raspy breaths. “I can’t. It’s. Too. Much.”

  “Why do you keep running away from emotions?” he asked.

  “I can’t.” Karlie gulped. She folded her arms about her, feeling exposed.

  Brian jumped off the bed so quickly she opened her eyes and noticed his clenched fists. “Ugh! I know what the real problem is. You need to get laid!”

  Her mouth popped open. Had he just said what she thought he said? “Don’t get crass with me!” she snapped. “Why must your mind always be in t
he gutter?” She was surprised to hear him use such everyday words. Surely Brian had more eloquent terminology to use.

  Brian moved into her space. He dared her. “At least if you got laid, you’d have something worth singing about! I’d listen to that song.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the Spababies corporate offices in Garden City, Ryan slammed the phone down.

  Yentl and Griffin had increased their price. The morons. Since they had been under contract, he could not buy them out like he had the other cameramen. So, Ryan had told them to tamper with the seat only enough to scare—and they had almost killed his son!

  Now, it was a YouTube hit.

  Ryan replayed the video and stopped when Karlie touched Brian. Shivers ran up his spine seeing her hand on Brian’s arm. Curling his hands into a fist, Ryan did not want to believe what was happening before his eyes, but it was.

  His son and his daughter. Together. It was unseemly. No way could he let that happen. He had to come clean.

  Fast.

  Ryan leaned back in his chair and visualized Patricia’s reaction when he broke the news. She would be surprised at his deception. No, surprised is too lenient a word. She would be furious. He shuddered. Ryan had no doubt Patricia was borderline certifiable. She knew her way around a scalpel. How else could someone cut into a skull and enjoy it? Ryan made a mental note to avoid spilling his guts in the kitchen.

  Prim Baker entered the room. “Mr. Oakes, there’s a Kyle Manchester here to see you from Manchester and Barnes.”

  “What’s going on?” Ryan straightened.

  “He wouldn’t say but was persistent he needed to see you.”

  Ryan adjusted his tie and ran his hands through his hair. “Send him in.” He kept his eyes peeled on the glass doors. Within seconds, a stocky gentleman came into view. His gait and mannerisms made him seem as if he owned the place.

  Kyle Manchester held out his hand. “Mr. Oakes, thanks for your time. I was in the neighborhood getting a haircut and decided to personally deliver my news.”

  Ryan returned the perfunctory greeting but remained seated. He wanted to show he was not intimidated by the other man’s presence. He affected a relaxed pose. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re being sued by Jackson Higgins,” Manchester said, showing a set of white teeth. “He says that you stole his ideas when you went into business with Michael Ward of MJW Conglomerate. He is asking for 60 percent of the proceeds you’ve made from the Spababies franchise.”

  Sixty percent was an obscene amount of money. Ryan slinked further into his chair. An instant headache formed around his temples. Why is this happening now?

  “Mr. Manchester, I assure you, your client has no grounds. I hired Jackson two years ago to complete a task, and I paid him double his fee. I can show you the contracts to prove it.”

  Ryan moved to press his intercom.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Manchester said. “We’ll discuss everything at mediation on August twelfth.” He placed the legal documents on Ryan’s desk. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Ryan observed the other man’s confident swagger and resisted the urge to slam his fists on his desk. He grabbed the envelope and tore it open. He scanned the documents and bit back an expletive. Forgive me, Lord.

  He stormed into the hall, sailed past the receptionist, and barged into Prim’s office. “Please set up a meeting with Nigel Lattimore of Lattimore and Ward. Urgent.”

  “Will do,” Prim said, pulling up her contacts list.

  Ryan needed to deal with the man on top. Ryan admired Nigel’s expertise and work ethic, and he claimed Nigel as the closest person he had for a friend. Once Ryan had met Patricia, he had dropped his pals and latched onto her.

  Ryan yanked his cell phone out of his jacket pocket intending to call Patricia. His call went to voice mail. He hung up without leaving a message and exhaled. Then he sent her a text message: Meet me for lunch? Lunch was code for a hot and heavy lovemaking session at their home ten minutes away. Ryan had not chosen this location by accident.

  His intercom signaled. He pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Nigel will be here to meet with you at twelve thirty. I’ve ordered lunches from The Garden City Bistro.”

  “Nigel will be pleased.” For the first time since Kyle Manchester flounced into his office, Ryan smiled. “Make sure you order something for yourself.”

  “I did,” Prim said.

  Ryan’s thoughts returned to Patricia. He needed his wife’s arms about him and the heat of her body beneath his. He eyed the papers on his desk, and he eyed the clock. It was two minutes past ten a.m. He might be able to get some alone time with Patricia and still make it back to meet Nigel. It had been awhile.

  The quicker he handled the case, the quicker he could get back to the Brian and Karlie issue. These situations took preeminence over making love to his wife. He groaned, knowing what he had to do.

  Ryan sent Patricia another text: Have to cancel. Another time.

  After pressing the Send button, Ryan shook his head. When had his priorities changed? His wife always came first to the point of obsession. His secret was changing him for the worse.

  Though he was in shape, Ryan felt every single inch of his forty-five years. Fatigue seeped through his being. Having skipped services since his talk with Pastor Ward, Ryan decided it was time he quit avoiding God.

  He sank to his knees. “Lord, I need your direction. Help me make the right decisions. Forgive me for my many mistakes and help me make things right.”

  You know what to do, the Holy Spirit whispered in his ear.

  No, anything but that, Ryan bargained. I’ll pay more tithes and help with the ministries. Help me provide a distraction for Brian and Karlie.

  Ryan stood and brushed off his pants, satisfied with his deal. His cell phone rang. Pastor Ward’s face popped up. God worked fast. Ryan swiped the answer button and cheerily greeted him.

  “Brother Oakes, I haven’t seen you for a few weeks. I’d like to meet up with you sometime tomorrow.”

  “Sure, I’ll have my secretary check my schedule and contact you. I’d like to share some of my ideas with you as well.”

  “Ideas?”

  “For ministry,” Ryan said. “I want to donate . . .” He saw Nigel holding up some containers. “Ah, Pastor, I have to go, but we’ll be in touch.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  Ryan led Nigel into the conference room. The men scarfed down their lunch and caught up on their day. Once they had finished their wraps and salads, Ryan told him about the lawsuit.

  Nigel perused the documents before looking up. “There are pretty serious allegations here. Jackson claims Spababies is his brainchild.”

  Ryan shook his head. “No, it’s mine. I hired him to help me flesh out the concept before I presented it to Michael Ward.”

  Nigel nodded several times and stroked his chin. “It sounds like a case of he said, she said, or in this case, he said, he said. Did you log his hours spent on the project? Did you hire a secretary or did he type the presentation? Who was involved in the official meeting and presentation?”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. It wasn’t easy to do, but Nigel’s barrage of questions had rendered him speechless.

  “That look on your face says you’re clueless,” Nigel said. “Ryan, you’ve owned several businesses, you know the drill.”

  “I . . . I might have . . . What I mean is, Prim might have chronicled his visits and his billing statements.” Ryan knew he was a stuttering fool, but the past two years were hazy in his mind.

  “For your sake, I hope she has copious records because Jackson’s main argument is he invested more time and effort because you were involved with your other interests.” Nigel looked up at the ceiling.

  Why? It was not as if the stucco surface had the answers. “I’m drawing a blank.”

  “Not surprising. I suggest you get a notepad and jot down all you can remember. Open the project files and specify are
as in which you were directly responsible. Itemize everything. I mean, everything.”

  A chill crept up Ryan’s spine. “I’m on it. I have cameras installed, and I will create a detailed sketch for you. Believe me, if Jackson crapped at twelve twenty-one p.m., I’ll know it.”

  Nigel used his feet to swivel the chair from the desk. “I know a man. Frank Armadillo. I’ve used him, and Michael has as well. He’s . . . I don’t even have the right word to describe how good he is.”

  Ryan arched an eyebrow. “Discreet?”

  Nigel gave him a knowing glance. “Very.”

  Grabbing a stack of Post-its from the center of the table, Ryan flicked one down to Nigel. “Put his name and number here.”

  Nigel swiped through his phone to find the digits.

  Ryan squirmed. His spirit felt ill at ease. Nigel’s connotation about this Frank person was not sitting well with him. If Ryan needed evidence, it sounded as if Frank would magically be able to provide it. He did not feel comfortable with all that, but he was less comfortable giving Jackson millions of dollars.

  Nigel must have seen Ryan’s pensiveness. “Frank is legit—if you need him to be. Keith used him on Michael’s case.”

  Ryan’s tension eased. If Pastor Ward employed Frank’s services, the man could not be all that bad. Ignoring his inner vibes, Ryan folded the sticky note and slipped it into his shirt pocket.

  Why am I even on here?

  Patricia scrolled down her social media profile page. She had been on her page for about an hour. She typically lurked, reading updates and statuses but didn’t stay on for any length of time. It was 2:30 a.m., and she was still in her office. She had not bothered going home. What was the point?

  Patricia blew out a breath and picked up her cell phone.

  Ryan had texted her for the tenth time. She rolled her eyes, not wanting to see his face. Not after he had gotten her hopes up with one text and dashed it with another.

  Patricia missed her husband.

  And it was high time he missed her.

  She spun her chair back to the films lining her display board. She had been studying the X-rays for several days. On her table, Patricia had created a simulated life-form of the twins. With tired eyes, she observed the still frames.