Guilty By Association Read online

  ENDORSEMENTS FOR PAT SIMMONS

  Simmons shines in this godly romance. This avid reader was overwhelmed by the compassionate writing and Scriptures that spoke to my soul. There were points that I identified with each character that led me to further investigate other Scriptures. She uses family history, murder, prison, and postpartum depression along with Scriptures to show God’s ultimate sacrifice and constant forgiveness of sins. The character development and storyline pace will have you mesmerized as two families face their demons. Crowning Glory is a masterpiece of Christian romance which is definitely a MUST read.

  —MONIQUE “DELTAREVIEWER” BRUNER

  Talk to Me is a great book! I am an avid reader and Talk to Me is one of the best I’ve ever read. I found myself laughing out loud—sign of a good book, grinning from ear to ear, and then saying “no she did not”! Once I started reading, I couldn’t put the book down. The storyline was intriguing and the characters were well developed. I finished it in two days! You definitely will not be disappointed. Pat Simmons is definitely gifted to write a good story! Thanks, Pat, for sharing your talent with the world!

  —LESLIE HUDSON, BALTIMORE, MD

  Guilty of Love by Pat Simmons was my first experience with Christian fiction and I must admit that I truly enjoyed reading this novel. I thought that Ms. Simmons did an excellent job of inserting the character’s spirituality into the dialog in such a natural manner that didn’t come across as being preachy and she was also able to interlace a multitude of rich African American history in the process. I felt each and every emotion of the heroine and it touched me deeply within. This story centered on a very difficult, heartbreaking issue, and how Cheney dealt with it came across so incredibly real to me. It was astonishing to find such strong characters in a novel, even with the weaknesses evolved from their past experiences. I advise the reader to keep a big box of tissues handy because you will need them on numerous occasions. Thanks go to Ms. Simmons for a truly inspirational story.

  —NIKITA, REVIEWED FOR JOYFULLY REVIEWED

  The author provides great lessons for someone going through any aspect of their life in terms of health, relationships, bearing children, and family values. She truly deserves an encore for Not Guilty of Love as she distinctively uses faith as her theme for the book. I look forward to the continuation she has in store!

  —EKG LITERARY MAGAZINE

  Still Guilty was a really good and powerful story. Pat Simmons brought it to the line. As I read this book, it was just what I needed. I was going through my own personal struggles and all of the Scriptures that Cheney and Parke recited I jotted down for my own personal use. I have told SO many readers about this series and I’m looking forward to reading more books by Pat Simmons!

  —CARMEN FOR OOSA ONLINE BOOK CLUB

  I felt as if I was part of this story. I found myself wanting to help the characters. I loved Still Guilty. I want to read other books by this author. She is a talented author. LOVED IT!

  —READERS’ FAVORITE “BOOK REVIEWS AND AWARD CONTEST”

  guilty

  by THE JAMIESON LEGACY

  association

  PAT SIMMONS

  MOODY PUBLISHERS

  CHICAGO

  © 2012 by

  PAT SIMMONS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  Edited by Kathryn Hall

  Interior design: Ragont Design

  Cover design: Faceout Studio

  Cover image: iStock, Sshutterstock, Masterfile, Veer

  Author photo: Naum Furman

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Simmons, Pat.

  Guilty by association / Pat Simmons.

  p. cm. -- (The Jamieson legacy)

  ISBN 978-0-8024-0368-1 (pbk.)

  1. African Americans--Fiction. 2. Domestic fiction. I. Title.

  PS3619.I56125G85 2012

  813′.6--dc23

  2011038313

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Praise God for the youth of today—

  for Jesus shall deliver them from all temptation.

  The term “angry black man” is widely used throughout the African American community. However, it’s not limited to one ethnic group to describe the disobedient and rebellious spirits directed toward family and society. Yet, be encouraged. God has a plan:

  In the last days, God says, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit in those days, and they will prophesy.

  (Acts 2:17–18)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Boston, Massachusetts

  “He called again,” Sandra Nicholson told her son, Kevin “Kidd” Jamieson, as soon as his commanding figure cleared the doorway of their Hyde Park condo.

  Grunting, he shut the door. Kidd’s nostrils flared as he swaggered across the hardwood floor. The persistent caller claimed to be Cameron Jamieson, a distant cousin who had tracked down Kidd and his younger brother, Aaron “Ace” Jamieson, through some genealogy nonsense.

  In one of his frequent attempts to reach Kidd, Cameron mentioned to Sandra that he was completing his second engineering degree at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Ever since this so-called relative’s first attempt to call, Kidd wondered if the whole thing was a prank. After all, in the Black community, everybody claimed to be a cousin.

  “I told the man we weren’t interested in whatever he was selling,” Kidd spewed, before brushing a tender kiss on his mother’s cheek. Fighting hunger pains, he headed to the kitchen.

  “Kevin Jamieson,” she snapped, following him. Whenever she fe
lt the need to “scold” her grown-up son, she called him by his given name. Then, planting her hands on her hips, she noted, “He isn’t pedaling goods. He represents your father’s side of the family—maybe the good part. At least feel him out.”

  Family, huh? More like … Kidd didn’t finish the thought. “Okay, I’ll put an end to this, once and for all. You have his number?”

  Kidd didn’t need this added frustration. He was the older of two sons born to a never-been-married mother. He found no fault with her, just his absentee father. Kidd’s priority was, no matter what, to take care of his mother. That charge had become a little harder after he was laid off from the Gillette Corporation—a job he labored at for eleven years. The unfortunate turn of events also forced him to give up his apartment.

  His mother tore off a sheet of paper and handed it to Kidd. Studying the number, he punched in the digits and leaned against the granite countertop.

  “Hello?” Music blasted in the background.

  Assuming it was Cameron who answered, he didn’t waste his words on preliminaries. “Let’s meet.”

  And Cameron didn’t play dumb. That earned him a point of respect. Kidd heard him muffle the phone. “Hey, it’s my cuz. Turn it down,” then repeating his order, he added, “lower!”

  Kidd grunted. Cuz? The man didn’t know him, yet claimed him anyway. That seemed odd, considering his worthless father had turned his back on him and his younger brother.

  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “Now,” Kidd demanded. Let the man come on his turf.

  Cameron didn’t stutter or skip a beat. “You name the place, and I’m there.”

  Kidd did and disconnected.

  “You could have invited him here, honey. He’s very polite when he calls, not rude like you just treated him. Don’t make me ashamed, Kidd.”

  Shaking his head, Kidd washed his hands in the sink and dried them on a paper towel. Grabbing a plate out of the cabinet, he explained to his mother. “He may have our number, but he doesn’t need to know where we live.”

  Seemingly without a care in the world, he began lifting lids and peering into pots. “Mmm, sweet potatoes and collard greens. Thanks, Ma.”

  Sandra sat at the table, folded her hands, and then cleared her throat. “How long do you plan to make him wait, Kidd?” She didn’t mask her irritation with him.

  “He’s interrupting my dinner plans, and I’m hungry. Job hunting isn’t what it was when I finished junior college.”

  Kidd took a seat at the table, after piling enough food on his plate to feed him and his mother. He bit off a chunk of cornbread without saying grace and then made the mistake of glancing at his mother. She raised a censoring brow that prompted him to bow his head and sanctify his food.

  As he chewed, he reflected on the pending meeting. What was the purpose? It never was one of Kidd’s goals in life to build a relationship with any Jamieson. As a matter of fact, he had considered changing his last name a couple of times. To his mother’s displeasure, he would have preferred to use her surname. At the end of the day, Kidd viewed Samuel Jamieson as a reproductive donor bank that held the power to replenish the earth—nothing more.

  It wasn’t until he was a teenager when his family learned—thanks to debt collectors trying to track down Samuel—that he had already been married twice and spawned eleven children. Unfortunately, neither of those marriages was to Kidd’s mother. The memory of his “hide-and-seek” dad began to fade as he grew into manhood. Now at thirty-one, it had been more than twenty years since he’d last seen Samuel.

  When Kidd finished eating, he went upstairs to change clothes and pack his pistol. He wanted to be ready for whatever would go down.

  Driving the short distance and parking, he wondered, What does this man expect? For us to shake hands and shoot some pool? Kidd got out of his car and nodded to a few men loitering near the parking lot. For some, their presence might seem suspicious, but not for him. He could easily blend in with those men. In fact, he knew two or three of them from tinkering on their cars. If this Cameron was a true Jamieson, surroundings like these wouldn’t intimidate him.

  “Whatz up, dawg?” Black Eye, a convicted felon, greeted him at the door of the club and slapped his back. He looked around and glanced over his shoulder. “Kidd, some light-skinned brotha walked up in here a few minutes ago like he was a regular—and he ain’t. The guy claimed he was your cousin and you’re expectin’ him—a big guy. Got two other fellows with him. One could fit in and the other … ain’t no way. A tie? Up in here?” Black Eye roared. “You know, I’ve got ya back if you need me.” Black Eye thumped his chest.

  So Cameron had sense enough not to come alone. Kidd smirked. “Don’t know him. I came to check him out.”

  Black Eye patted the waist of his pants. “I got this.”

  Kidd reached out and stopped him. “No, I got this.”

  Nodding, Black Eye stepped back and let Kidd enter. As he wound his way through the lounge, he fist-bumped some, winked at a few ladies, and nodded at the bartender. Then he paused and took a deep breath. Yeah, this was his turf. If the relative imposter tried to put anything over on him, Kidd would personally break all two hundred and six bones in his body.

  With the back room in sight, he observed the three occupants. The light-skinned guy was buffed, maybe six-one or -two. Kidd had been a wrestler in high school and a boxer in the streets. Either way, he could take him.

  As he edged closer, his heart suddenly slammed against his chest. What if … what if this man really was his relative and knows something about his father? Kidd had no idea how to process that information. He took a deep breath. The only Jamiesons he knew in the world was him and his brother. He had never met any at school, at work, or anywhere else for that matter.

  As if sensing Kidd’s presence, Cameron glanced over his shoulder. He stood. Standing face-to-face, they eyed each other. Kidd squinted, looking for any familiar features—nothing—until Cameron worked up a cocky smile.

  The moment of recognition was swift. The cousins weren’t a mirror image, but enough similarities were noted. Some of the same expressions that flashed across Cameron’s face when he grinned matched Kidd’s brother, Ace. Where Cameron was fair-skinned, Kidd had the richest deep-brown tan a person couldn’t buy in a bottle or get in a tanning booth. Both had thick, wavy hair.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  Shrugging off his jacket, Kidd grabbed a chair, whipped it around, and sat without taking his eyes off Cameron. “Show me what you got.”

  No argument. Cameron retook his seat and opened a thick folder. His two friends sat back, looking as if they didn’t want to be there. Cameron appeared to be confident and not intimidated in the least. He whipped out a long sheet of paper with a maze of lines and names. The document piqued Kidd’s interest for a minute when the name “Samuel” stuck out amid the sea of Jamieson descendants.

  “I brought copies for you—”

  “I didn’t come to read. You said we’re cousins. Break it down, beginning with Samuel Jamieson.”

  Cameron grinned. It was smug like his, and Kidd didn’t like it. “I don’t have to read it because it’s all up here,” he announced, while pointing to his head.

  “My tenth great-grandfather, Paki Kokumuo Jaja, was the firstborn son of King Seif and Adaeze, which means princess. A member of the Diomande tribe, he was born in December 1770 in Côte d’Ivoire, on the Gold Coast of Africa. His name means ‘a witness that this one will not die.’

  “In the fall of 1790, he and his warriors were attacked and savagely beaten by slave traders, chained, and kidnapped. Paki was among hundreds of thousands who were hauled to the Gates of No Return castle. As they waited, many captives prayed they would die, including my tenth great-grandfather. They were unmercifully stacked together in the bowels of a ship—not the ironic Good Ship of Jesus under the command of Sir John Hawkins—but Snow Elijah. The biblical reference is uncanny, isn’t it?”

  Kidd’s hea
d was spinning with the information. “Listen, my black skin could rival a panther’s, so there’s no doubt I’m from Africa. Why don’t you cross the water and stick to relatives who lived in the twentieth century?”

  Cameron lifted a brow. “It’s rude to interrupt. You didn’t want to read the notes, so I’m giving you information verbally. I’ll bring you up to speed in less than five minutes.”

  Backbone. Kidd admired that, but it didn’t mean he had to accept the man as a blood relative.

  “Snow Elijah landed first in the Caribbean and dropped a payload of human cargo. Then it headed off to the coast of Maryland, a state known for harsh slave laws. Automatically, my tenth great-grandfather was separated from his bodyguards. Because of his stature and strength, Paki was sold at the highest bid of $275 to a wealthy slave owner, Jethro Turner, in front of Sinner’s Hotel. That purchase gave Turner exactly one hundred and thirteen enslaved people.”

  “I’m warning you, Cameron, get to the point. Or, do I need to draw blood to get a DNA sample?”

  “And I told you I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m on a roll,” Cameron snarled. “Paki married Turner’s daughter, Elaine. Besides my great—you know—grandfather, they had four other sons: Aasim, Fabunni, Abelo, and Orma. Orma was your eleventh great-grandfather. His name means ‘free’. Although he was born free, he sold himself back into slavery for a woman, Sashe, who was a runaway, but recaptured.” Cameron concluded and leaned back.

  Figures, a fool from the beginning. Kidd had had enough. “That tells me nothing about my old man and how you and I are related.”

  “Sure it does. It tells you that my tenth great-grandfather and your eleventh great-grandfather were brothers. Your father and his children are direct descendants of Orma. If you want to know more, I have stipulations.”

  “You sought me out. Not the other way around.” Laughing, Kidd stood and grabbed his jacket. “Whatever you want to drink, it’s on the house.”

  Cameron also stood. “I can buy my own drink. And for the record, I’d make a better bouncer than that gatekeeper at the door. The Jamieson men are a force to be reckoned with.”