Page 108 of Cannon
But the screen showed an unfamiliar number with a New Jersey area code. My stomach tightened.
“Hello?” I answered, keeping my voice neutral.
“Is this Queen Marie Davenport?” a deep male voice asked.
“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?” I sat up straighter, pulling the sheet to cover my nakedness even though the caller couldn’t see me.
Cannon’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing beside mine. He could sense my unease.
“This is Detective Morris from the Elizabeth Police Department in New Jersey. I’m calling about Adele Davenport-Jones.”
My mother. My heart stuttered in my chest. “What about her?” The words came out sharper than I intended, years of hurt and abandonment making my voice brittle.
“I regret to inform you that we found Ms. Davenport deceased in her home earlier today.”
The room seemed to tilt sideways. “Deceased?” I repeated, the word hollow in my mouth. “What do you mean deceased?”
Cannon sat up now, his hand coming to rest on my lower back, strong and steady.
“Ms. Davenport, I’m sorry to tell you this over the phone, but your mother was found murdered.”
I dropped the phone. Guilt immediately washed over me because the last time we spoke, I had cut her off. She was paranoid and felt like someone was watching her. Perhaps she was right.
Chapter 41
Queen
The Jersey precinct smelled like old coffee and broken dreams. I sat there, gripping the metal chair beneath me, feeling the cold seep through my designer dress and into my bones. Cannon’s massive frame hovered behind me, silent and watchful, his presence the only thing keeping me from crumbling.
“Ms. Davenport,” the detective said, his voice flat as he flipped through his notepad. “Your mother was found in her bedroom yesterday morning. Someone broke in through the back door while she was sleeping. Single gunshot wound to the back of the head. She died instantly.”
The room started spinning. Back of the head. Just like?—
“You okay?” Cannon’s deep voice rumbled behind me, his hand briefly touching my shoulder. His intense eyes searched my face, seeing too much.
“Fine,” I whispered, but I wasn’t there anymore. I was back in that hotel room all those years ago, my mother’s screams ringing in my ears.
Back then I thought she was screaming because of pain, but once the haze wore off I knew those screams were of pleasure.
I was only eleven, naive, still believing my mama could do no wrong. I’d grabbed her gun from her purse, hands shakingso bad I nearly dropped it. The door to the hotel room had been cracked open. Inside, I heard grunting, moaning.
“Kill him, baby! He’s hurting me! Shoot him!” She screamed when she saw me enter the room.
I saw a man’s back, his body moving on top of my mother’s. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger. The back of his head exploded. Red everywhere.
It was Alfred, the man that owned that small hotel. Only after he slumped over dead did I see the look in her eyes. Not fear. Triumph.
“Good girl,” she’d purred, pushing his body off her like it was nothing. “Now help me find his stash.”
“Ms. Davenport?” The detective’s voice yanked me back to the precinct. “We have reason to believe this wasn’t random. Was your mother involved in anything illegal?”
I almost laughed. What wasn’t Adele involved in? Scams, blackmail, drugs—mama once had her fingers in everything.
“No,” I lied smoothly. “My mother is just a widow.”
Cannon shifted behind me. I could feel his disapproval without seeing his face. He knew I was lying, but this wasn’t his business.
Then guilt hit me suddenly. Mama had called me a few weeks ago, her voice high and frantic like it always got when she was slipping. Talking about being followed, watched. Eyes in the walls, men in cars, the usual paranoid shit that had colored my childhood. I’d written it off as another one of her manipulative games, especially when she started begging for money. Thousands to get away, she’d claimed. But I’d shut her down cold. Told her she wasn’t getting another dime from me to feed whatever new habit she’d picked up. I cut her off.
