Creed: Eyewitness Read online

  Jessica Watkins Presents

  CREED

  Eyewitness

  Phoenix Daniels

  Copyright © 2016 by Phoenix Daniels

  Published by Jessica Watkins Presents

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Without limiting the right under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form by means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

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  PROLOGUE

  Taylor, so engulfed in her thoughts, almost hadn't noticed the dark SUV that was moving dangerously fast behind her. She immediately changed lanes to see if the driver was simply in a hurry. But once the SUV was parallel to her, she was face-to-face with the business end of a firearm. She gripped the clutch and kicked it up to the sixth gear, riding faster than she'd ever ridden, successfully leaving the SUV in the dust. But, all of a sudden, a dark sedan swerved into the same lane, almost clipping her rear tire. When the sedan sped to parallel her right side, Taylor snatched her pistol from the back of her pants. When the barrel of a shotgun extended out of the back window, Taylor fired a succession of shots at the driver. The sedan began to swerve and veer to the side. She must have hit the driver.

  Good.

  Unfortunately, Taylor's brief celebration was short-lived when she was suddenly, struck from behind and sent flying to the grassy knoll on the side of the expressway. Unable to control the bike, Taylor dropped… hard.

  She hit the ground screaming, knowing immediately that her shoulder was either broken or badly dislocated. Her vision was blurred by tears, but she knew that she needed to run. Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move. She could faintly hear cries of agony, and suddenly realized that they were her own. Taylor had never felt such intense pain in her life, and she didn't think it could get any worse, until she was mercilessly flipped onto her back. She howled in agony as her helmet was yanked from her head. Whoever wanted her dead was about to get their wish. Taylor was sure of it. And although she cried, she refused to beg. She took a painful breath and looked directly into the eye of the person that was about to end her life. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw the face hovering above her. To say that she was shocked was a gross understatement. Warm tears escaped her eyes, falling into her ears.

  "W-why?" she choked.

  Without the mercy of an explanation, he pointed his weapon and fired a shot into Taylor's chest. Her body jerked violently upon impact. As she began to lose consciousness, she realized that a bullet had actually entered her body, and although it burned, it wasn't as painful as she would have assumed. As she looked up at the angry, but familiar face, thoughts of the people she loved danced around in her mind. But just before the world went dark, it was his name that she cried out.

  CHAPTER 1

  Four months prior...

  Taylor

  Taylor rolled her eyes during uniform inspection. Because of a ridiculous new rule that officers with tattoos on their arms had to wear long sleeves to cover their ink, inspections were more tedious than ever. She often wondered who down at headquarters had the time to sit and figure out what they could do to fuck with police officers, even more than usual. Working the unforgiving streets of Chicago, one would think that the bosses would try to make life at work a tad bit easier. But no, some fat, white-shirt was actually sitting in his office like, "Ooh, let's fuck with them like this." Nine times out of ten, it was someone who made supervisor because of someone that he knew, someone who'd probably never worked a day on the streets, and surely someone who had never even seen "The Hood.”

  As she stood for the petty inspection, she tried to remember a time, not long ago, when she was in love with her job.

  Taylor was thirty, and she'd been a cop for eight years. She grew up in Roseland, a tough neighborhood on the Southside of Chicago. Her dad was a cop, so being a cop was in her blood. Ever since she could remember, it was always her career path. She didn't mind donning her uniform and strapping on her duty belt to interact with the citizens. She didn't even mind the possible danger that she faced every night. But what she did mind was the politics that came along with the job. If she could work her beat and assist her fellow officers without the drama from the powers that be, her job would be a dream. Maybe then she would even have more time to work on her nonexistent love life.

  After roll call, Taylor and the rest of the midnight crew began to file out of the roll call room.

  "Montgomery, fall back!" the watch commander shouted over her chattering colleagues.

  Taylor rolled her eyes and turned to face her supervisor.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "You caught a detail. You gotta report back here at eight hundred hours."

  Is this motherfucka serious?

  "Eight? Sir, when am I supposed to sleep?"

  "Reverse seniority," was his dry ass response. "You gotta work a traffic detail for the grand opening of that new mega church."

  He stared down at his clipboard. "Umm... Yeah. Worship House."

  Taylor shook her head, realizing that the police department was the only place of employment where one could be considered a rookie with eight years on the job. She was constantly getting stuck with bullshit details.

  "Don't be late!" he ordered as he left the room.

  "Yes, sir," Taylor mumbled as she followed him out.

  Creed

  "Governor Creed, your speech for the opening of Worship House," Kenyatta “Kena” Watkins, his executive assistant, offered softly as she placed a few sheets of paper on his desk.

  He stared at the paper, seriously wishing that there was a way to get out of making an appearance at yet another megachurch, where the only person that would benefit from its existence was an already rich, politically plugged preacher.

  "Kena, is it too much to ask for a natural disaster to get me out of delivering this speech?" Governor Victor Creed half-joked.

  Kenyatta smiled and walked out of his office.

  Victor snatched the speech off of his desk and skimmed over it.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  It was yet another mechanical performance that he'd have to put on. He could care less about introducing another megachurch. He was nearing the end of his first term as the governor of Illinois, and he had yet to meet a megachurch with a pastor that actually gave two shits about the community. Maybe there were one or two of them out there, but Victor had yet to meet them. Money, he had learned during his campaign, was the driving force behind most of them. He knew this because during the election, he had bought every last one of their endorsements and paid for every last vote that had ensured his victory. The truth was, the church was most influential in the Black and Hispanic communities, and he needed their support to get elected. So Victor greased every palm necessary to guarantee his place in the Governor's Mansion.
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  For Victor, winning the election was not an option. His future in politics had been mapped out long before he was born. Victor Creed Sr. was a retired Illinois State senator and had never allowed any options other than politics for his son's future. Victor was groomed to become president of the United States. He wasn't complaining though. Victor loved being the governor. He loved the power. It was the power that allowed him to do good things for the people of Illinois. Although most people were under the impression that the Republican Party was only interested in making the rich richer, for Victor, that couldn't be further from the truth. He vowed to help those that needed help, and to be fair to those that were well off. He wanted to make the quality of life better for every citizen of Illinois.

  Victor tossed the papers onto his cluttered desk and slouched down in his chair. He covered his eyes with his hand and massaged his tense eyebrows. It was only nine o'clock on a Saturday night, and he was already exhausted. But sleep would have to wait, because Kara Edwards wouldn't. Victor had promised his tall, voluptuous, toffee-colored press secretary that he'd have a late dinner with her at her place. It was a promise that he was beginning to regret.

  Victor recalled the very first time that she'd walked into his office wearing a skin-tight sweater that showed a suggestive amount of cleavage. He'd wanted a sample, and it was obvious that she had wanted to sample him as well. And although in the beginning she claimed that she wanted the same detached, physical liaison that Victor had wanted, she had become very emotionally attached. He often found himself reminding her that he wasn't interested in a love connection. Likewise, she would reassure him that she was on the same page, but her actions proved otherwise. Kara was becoming possessive and clingy, and Victor realized that they were nearing their end.

  Since his wife's untimely death in Louisiana during Hurricane Katrina, Victor just couldn't imagine investing in another relationship. But to all, it seemed that he was the most available bachelor in Illinois, and at thirty-seven, the youngest. Victor was well aware that he was on or near the top of every single woman's wish list.

  Memories of Rosemary, his late wife, invaded Victor’s thoughts. He could see a vivid picture of the beautiful young woman that he had never wanted to marry. It was as though she was standing before him. She had a lustrous mane; the color of wheat and bright blue eyes that were filled with hope and promise. Rosemary was smart and talented; a successful immigration attorney. Victor had loved her, but not enough to marry her. Like a monarchy, Rosemary was handpicked by Victor Sr. She was well-bred from a politically influential family. But like most people of privilege, she was self-centered and spoiled. Rosemary was a mirage; a political hallucination forged by a powerful family. Even her choice of practice, immigration law, was designed to portray a woman of compassion.

  The union between Victor and Rosemary had been more of a partnership than that of husband and wife. She was the perfect accessory. But now that she was gone, he had to admit that she was missed.

  The shrewd buzz of the intercom snapped Victor back to the present.

  "Governor Creed, Kara Edwards is waiting on the line," Kenyatta grumbled, with a noticeable tinge of irritation.

  Ever since Kara suggested Kenyatta's termination for not divulging Victor’s whereabouts, there was no love lost between them. Kara felt that as his press secretary, she had the right to know his every move. But since it was Kenyatta's job to protect his privacy, Victor felt that Kara Edwards had crossed a line and immediately had to force her back into her lane.

  "Put her through." Victor snatched the phone off of the cradle after the first ring. "I'm on my way," he said briskly before hanging up. He was not about to give Kara a chance at her usual whining.

  Victor stuffed the speech into his briefcase and snatched his suit coat off the back of his chair. As he left his office, he tried to come up with the gentlest way of informing Kara that they were about to share their last night together.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taylor

  "Gotdamn! It's hotter than Satan's nut sac out here!"

  Taylor chuckled at Will's vulgar over-exaggeration. Will was another sucker with no seniority that got assigned to the traffic detail at the megachurch. He was right, however; it was hot as hell outside, but Satan's sac was a bit much. It had to be at least ninety degrees out, and most Chicagoans could easily survive ninety-degree temperatures. But factoring in a poly-blend uniform, an unbearably hot baseball cap, and a twenty-pound utility belt digging into her hip, for Taylor, traffic control was the worst kind of torture.

  It was ten o'clock. Taylor was only two hours into her day and she was already, ready to go. She hated directing traffic; stopping, waving on, and directing motorists and pedestrians that pretended to be deaf and blind. She'd been cussed out at least four times, and had almost gotten run over twice. Taylor was hot and irritated. She snatched the Velcro on her bulletproof vest, pulled the vest off and tossed it into the back seat of her squad car, knowing that if she got caught without it, she could get written up.

  Oh well.

  As hot as it was, Taylor was willing to deal with a supervisor. She just prayed that no one shot at her. Hell, as tired as she was, they might have been doing her a favor. If she lived, she could rest up in an air-conditioned hospital.

  "Heads up, Tay," Will warned with a nudge.

  Another caravan of black SUV's was approaching the entrance. Taylor didn't even speculate as to the important person that was being escorted into the massive church. She walked over to the sidewalk and held her hand up, stopping vehicles and pedestrians in order to allow the caravan entry into the parking lot. A line of SUV's entered one behind the other, except for the third vehicle in line. When it reached the mouth of the lot, the driver slowed down to a creep. Taylor could see nothing but her reflection in the tinted window, but she couldn't help but feel as if she was being watched. Nonetheless, she continued to hold off the pedestrians until the last vehicle in the caravan passed.

  Taylor continued to serve as an armed crossing guard for pedestrians and motorists alike. She held up her white-gloved hand and waved a line of pedestrians, who were on their way to the church, across the street. As if she wasn't already annoyed with the traffic detail, some impatient asshole decided to rest on their horn.

  "Move!" shouted a woman in a green Honda. "Damn! Get the fuck outta the way," the driver yelled, despite the fact that they were at a church.

  Taylor did her best to ignore the rude woman and continued to wave the pedestrians along. But, of course, Taylor's actions only seemed to infuriate the driver even more. She released a series of expletives as she, once again, assaulted everyone with her horn. Taylor snatched her citation book out of her back pocket and walked over to the woman's car. The lady's hostility was evident as she huffed loudly upon Taylor's approach. To no surprise of Taylor, the first words out of the woman's mouth were, "Don’t come over here fuck'n with me! I know my rights!"

  "Ma'am, did you also know that according to the Municipal Code of Chicago, honking your horn in a non-emergency situation is a citable offense? I need your driver's license and proof of insurance," Taylor said, responding in an unruffled tone.

  The driver's mouth dropped open and her eyes became the size of saucers. Apparently, she thought that it was perfectly okay to be disrespectful to Taylor and to impede her from doing her job. But it wasn't okay. Taylor had to summon the patience of Job to keep herself from snatching the ignorant cuss out of her car through the window.

  Reluctantly, the driver handed over her driver's license, but she tossed her proof of insurance out of the window. Taylor looked down at the insurance card, then back to the woman that was glaring at her with narrowed eyes. As Taylor walked away, leaving the card on the ground, she looked over at Will. He shook his head in disgust and continued to direct traffic. Taylor hopped into her squad car and entered the lady's driver's license number into the portable data terminal. When the results came through, Taylor got a little excited.

  She
got out and returned to the Honda.

  "Ma'am, please put your car in park, step out of the vehicle, and place your hands behind your back."

  "This is so fucking stupid! You ain’t got shit better to do?!" she shouted in outrage.

  "No, ma'am, do you know what's fucking stupid? Fucking stupid is honking your fucking horn like a fucking idiot, and cussin’ out the police like a fucking idiot, while driving on a suspended license. You have a traffic warrant; that's fucking stupid. Now get the fuck out of the car!" Taylor snapped.

  Having no other choice, the woman exited her car and put her hands behind her back. Ignoring the crocodile tears and apologies, Taylor led her to the back seat of her squad car.

  "Watch your head," she warned as she all but shoved the woman into the back seat.

  "You got this?" she shouted to Will.

  "Yep. See you later," he responded with a wave of his hand.

  Knowing full well that she was about to write the hateful woman a plethora of tickets and impound her shit-colored Honda, Taylor couldn't muster up enough guilt for the feeling of delight she felt as she drove the hateful woman into the station.

  ******************************

  Hours later, after a grueling day at work, Taylor was relaxing in the new Jacuzzi tub that she had installed in her master bath. She had recently purchased her first home on the South Side. At thirty, she figured it was time. Her new three-bedroom home in Hyde Park was a work in progress. Thankfully, it was a solid brick structure, surrounded by a lovely landscape. Taylor had decided to remodel one room at a time. In the nine months that she'd been there, she'd had the kitchen, the living room, and the master bed and bath remodeled. The guest bedroom and the guest bathroom, along with the basement, would have to wait. She hadn't planned on having any overnight guests anytime soon anyway.