eet Brian “Freeze” Carter. He’s part pimp, part hustler. He drives a Bentley Continental T, which he can park anywhere he wants—because he owns the streets and demands respect. His bodyguards protect him at all costs…and live in fear of his wrath. Even the women who love him can’t melt his heart. If  only they could get deep into his soul, and pull him up from the underworld of the city’s thriving drug industry, maybe Freeze could finally find a way to clean up his act—before it’s too late…

 

But time is already running out. A Colombian drug cartel has plans in store for Freeze and his crew—and it’s going to take a whole lot more than cold cash, hot girls, and a pump-action Maverick for Freeze to tame an unknown enemy that wants to do him in for good. …

Pam woke into a frenzied, blurry state of semiconsciousness. Her cordless phone was ringing with that chirping sound right by her head. She’d forgotten to replace it in its cradle the night before, and fortunately there was enough power left in the handset to support the incoming call. She rubbed the crust from her face before finally opening her eyes, searching for some clarity at 3 a.m. Even in this foggy, groggy state, Pam could feel something of a hangover; and that was saying something, since she didn’t have so much as one drink the night before.

Eventually, she was able to focus on the inch-tall digital images of the alarm clock while wondering: Who the hell is calling at this hour?

And then she thought, Whoever it is, it better be important . . . like an earthquake, a missile strike, or the sky better be falling.

The dream was a good one this time, thank God. She had been sitting under a hair dryer, reading the front page of today’s Washington Post. The wash and set was a quickie job, something Pam always praised her hairdresser for.

“Congratulations, girlfriend,” Jenny was saying to her, already aware of the story in the Post. “You’re making the street safer for all of us. I just wish I could do more to show you my appreciation.” Jenny was always taking simple beauty shop talk to some other level, making Pam’s position with the Drug Enforcement Agency seem so sensational. And as usual, Pam would be left at a loss for words. Or on the other hand, she’d try to find some hidden meaning behind people’s comments—no matter who it was. In this case, Pam wondered if Jenny was making a pass at her.

I just wish I could do more to show you my appreciation . . .

Pam shook the idea from her mind, hating herself for always trying to second-guess people. Always looking for the lie, or the ulterior motive. Just like a cop, she told herself.

“That’s okay, Jen. It’s what I get paid for,” Pam answered, hardly looking up from the headline story, an exaggerated account of the recent DEA sweep in Seattle, Washington. The story told of . . .

“. . . the largest bust in Seattle’s history . . . a ring of 57 persons, including some housewives, 6 police officers and the County Clerk . . . the street value of the cocaine seized amounted to over $25 million,” the paper read.

“Yeah, but . . . it’s, like, so dangerous,” Jenny exclaimed in a low, breathy tone.

“Well,” said Pam, with her clever eye meeting Jenny’s pensive expression, “to tell you the truth . . .” She lowered her voice, as if to reveal the world’s biggest secret. “. . . a lot of what I do, how I survive? It’s dependent on my hair.”

Jenny’s head and neck cranked back a couple of inches. Her eyes focused on Pam with a tough-as-nails inquiry, knowing that those words couldn’t be true.

But Pam went on lying.

“Yeah, really, because you keep this golden crown of mine so sharp . . . so fascinating to look at . . . and the bad guys just lose it. They lose their minds. Really. Then . . . out of nowhere, bip-bap-boom . . .” Pam’s teeth and cheeks produced a sound (as best she could) to simulate the noise that handcuffs make. At the same time, she took the opportunity to reach out from under the newspaper. She clasped her fingers around Jenny’s wrist, pretending to shackle her.

The moment caught Jenny off guard, and the idea of this somehow seemed very intense, very real when coupled with Pam’s steel gaze.

“Stop playin’,” exclaimed Jenny, suddenly getting both nervous and serious as she softly removed Pam’s human handcuff.

“Okay, I will. Only if you hurry up and get me out of here.”

Pam had been thinking up these things while sleeping peacefully, alone, and she was about to take it to another level—an alternate scenario where Jenny actually did have something else in mind . . . that so-called appreciation she’d spoken of was somehow making Pam’s dreams warmer, wetter . . . something that was making her sleep an experience as opposed to her body’s daily routine.

That’s when the damned phone rang. She was still too dazed to know if this was a disappointment or not; still too foggy to wonder how she got to thinking such things in the first place.