One More Night

by Brenda Jackson

  When she was gone, Lance looked at him and chuckled. “I take it you had lunch with Summer.”

  Darius met Lance’s amused look. “What makes you think that?”

  “She’s the salad girl.”

  Darius couldn’t help but smile. When he’d left Houston because of Ethan’s accident, Lance had shown up in Charleston to give him the support he needed. It was during that time that he had told Lance all about Summer, even how much she liked eating salads.

  “I’d like to meet her. Invite her over one—”

  “It’s not that kind of relationship, Lance, and you know it,” he said quickly, deciding to squash any foolish ideas that might be floating around in his best friend’s head.

  “Whatever you say,” Lance said, smiling.

  “I’m serious, Lance.”

  “Of course you are. I believe you.”

  Darius frowned. He could tell his friend really didn’t believe him. “It’s hard to love someone who has hurt you deeply,” he said.

  The amusement disappeared from Lance’s face. “I’m glad everyone doesn’t feel that way, Darius, or I wouldn’t have Kate as my wife. If you recall, I almost lost her when I announced my engagement to another woman. But she still found it in her heart to give me another chance.”

  Darius’s frown deepened. “So, what are you trying to say?”

  Lance held his friend’s gaze. “What I’m trying to say is that if you love someone, there can always be forgiveness.”

  * * *

  “I really appreciate you walking me out to my car again, Barney, but it’s really not necessary,” Summer said to the security guard at her side.

  “No problem, Ms. Martindale. Besides, it’s Mr. Franklin’s orders.”

  Summer shook her head, still not sure how Darius could give orders when he wasn’t paying the man’s salary. She was just about to ask Barney how that was possible when he suddenly said, “Someone has slashed your tires.”

  “What?”

  “Your tires,” he said, pointing his flashlight on her car. “They’ve been slashed.”

  Summer followed the beam of light and saw what he was talking about. She hauled in a deep breath, recalling the last time her tires had been slashed and who had been responsible. She forced herself to calm down as old fears tried to resurface.

  That was all seven years ago. Tyrone was locked up and couldn’t touch her. More than likely, the husband or significant other of one of the women at the shelter was venting his anger on her since the shelter was standing in the way of the person he really wanted to take it out on. But it couldn’t be Samuel Green, since he was still locked up, held without bond.

  “I need to follow procedures and report this to the police, Ms. Martindale,” Barney was saying, interrupting her thoughts. “Please come back inside while I contact the authorities and complete an incident report.”

  Summer turned her attention away from her tires. “Yes, of course.”

  She moved to follow him back inside. She’d heard reports of acts of revenge being directed at staff members who work with victims of violence. Incidents of rock throwing, drive-by shootings and even bomb threats had been reported. As far as she was concerned, the person who damaged her tires was nothing but a bully.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Martindale?” Barney asked with concern when they had reached the door to go back inside.

  She forced a smile on her lips. “Yes, I’m fine.” She heard the words she’d just spoken, but wasn’t sure she believed them herself.

  Chapter 7

  “What’s this about your tires getting slashed last night?”

  Summer glanced up and saw Darius leaning in her office doorway. News had spread quickly. The evening crew from last night had a lot to share with the staffers that had arrived that morning. She’d figured he would hear about the incident sooner or later. She wished it had been later, since she really didn’t want to talk about it right now.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the story, Darius, and I’m not in the mood to rehash it.”

  “Humor me,” he said, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him. She couldn’t help but study his features. There was something different about his eyes. Their darkness was still striking, but now they contained an element of hardness she hadn’t seen since that first day he had discovered her working at the shelter. And his lips were pressed together in a tight line. On most days, it wouldn’t take much to look at his lips and remember how they had introduced her to pleasures of the most decadent kind in a single night.

  “I’m listening.”

  Summer blinked. While she had been staring at him, probably like a lust-crazed woman, he had taken a seat in the chair in front of her desk. She leaned back, trying to relax under the intensity of his direct gaze, but found it difficult to do so.

  “What you’ve already heard is probably correct,” she started. “Barney walked me out to the car like he’s been doing since that incident with Samuel Green and noticed my tires had been slashed. We came back inside, called the police to report it and he filled out an incident report. End of story.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She heard the near growl in his voice. He was angry, she could tell. And she knew his anger was not directed at her but at whomever had slashed her tires. Given his mood, that was a comforting thought.

  “I want to find out who did it,” he said in the same tone of voice. “What did the police say?”

  She shrugged. “Not much. They would have liked a list of the women residing here to check out the names of husbands and boyfriends, but because of our confidentiality policy, we couldn’t provide it for them. I contacted the TCC earlier today to see if we could have two guards here at night instead of one.”

  “I thought there were two guards here since the night of that incident with Green.”

  “That lasted all but two days before one of them was pulled. Evidently, the TCC rehashed the idea and felt only one was needed. That’s why I called them—to see if they would reconsider since the staff members around here were beginning to get nervous. However, the man I spoke with at the TCC said adding an additional guard wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “I asked for Kevin Novak but the person I talked to was an older gentleman by the name of Sebastian Huntington.” She saw his jaw twitch. “You know him.”

  “Yes, I know him.”

  Summer noticed that he’d said the words in a tight voice with more than a little distaste. “He wasn’t very friendly,” she added. “Nothing at all like Mr. Novak.”

  He didn’t say anything but from the way he was looking at her, she knew he was taking it all in. And then he asked, “Is there anything else?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing other than the piece of paper that had been placed on my car, which I also mentioned to the police last night.”

  He lifted a brow, his posture on full alert. “What paper?”

  “One night last week someone placed a note under the wiper blade. Barney had walked me to my car, and he pulled it off and gave it to me, thinking it was some kind of sales flyer. It wasn’t until I stopped at a traffic light and glanced at it did I notice what it said.”

  “And what did it say?” he asked, leaning closer and moving toward the edge of his seat.

  She swallowed, remembering precisely what was written in bold letters on the paper. “It said, ‘I take care of my own.’”

  * * *

  The moment Darius left Summer’s office he darted into an empty conference room and called Kevin. He picked up on the second ring. “This is Kevin.”

  “Kev, were you informed that Huntington had reduced the number of security guards at Helping Hands?”

  “No.”

  An angry Darius went on to tell Kevin about the incident that had occurred last night.<
br />
  “Huntington has no right to make those kinds of decisions without discussing it with the committee first, and I am part of that committee,” Kevin said, almost livid.

  “The man’s been a part of the TCC for so long I believe he thinks he owns it, which is why he constantly overlooks anything the younger members have to say,” Darius said.

  “And how is Summer Martindale?”

  “She’s a little shaken up, although she was trying not to show it. The staff here is nervous—first Green breaking doors down and now this tire-slashing incident. It doesn’t bode well. There have been revenge-type incidents reported in various cities around the country, and they are aware of it. We need to make sure they feel protected.”

  Darius tried to convince himself that his concern for Summer was no different than his concern for any other woman he’d once been involved with, but deep down a part of him knew that wasn’t true. He would even go so far as to admit missing her whenever he spent time away from Helping Hands.

  They were feelings that he didn’t want to feel. One way to remedy that was to start keeping his distance, but then he wouldn’t be able to make her feel the way he had felt when she’d left. He just needed to make sure he kept things in perspective.

  “I totally agree,” Kevin said, bringing Darius’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ll confront Huntington myself, and if I have to, I’ll call a special meeting of the board.”

  Moments later, Darius hung up the phone feeling a lot better than he had before making the call to Kev. He knew his friend wouldn’t like the “executive” decision Huntington had made regarding the security at the shelter any more than he did. As usual, the man was trying to throw his weight around, fighting for power he really didn’t have. But Darius relaxed a bit, knowing Kev was on it.

  He glanced at his watch. He needed to leave for a while to attend to business concerning the fire at the refinery—he had to talk to several guys who had been off work the day he’d met with the employees the last time. But he intended to return to the shelter before Summer left for lunch. The thought of her walking anywhere alone troubled his mind.

  From now on, he would make sure that she was well protected. At all costs.

  * * *

  Three days later, Summer glanced over at Darius before looking down at her watch. It was a little past eight in the evening. She had volunteered to stay for a few hours to help man the abuse hotline, and he had surprised her when he volunteered to assist her.

  At first, she hadn’t been sure whether women on the other line would want to unload their pain and anguish to a man, but from overhearing bits and pieces of his conversations, she could tell he was handling things quite nicely. She would be the first to admit that he had a good demeanor for assisting those who called in, male or female.

  “What time are you leaving?” she asked him. Since the night her tires had gotten slashed, he had made it his business to return to the shelter every day after being at the refinery in the mornings, to walk her to the café for lunch. And if she remained late in the evenings, he did so, as well. Then he would not only walk her to her car, but would follow her home to make sure she got in safely.

  “I’ll leave when you leave,” he said, glancing over at her.

  In a way, his protectiveness irked her. She didn’t want him to feel like she needed him in any way. “There are two security guards now, so I’ll be all right.” She really hadn’t been surprised when, the day after the tire-slashing incident, two guards were on duty. There was no doubt in her mind that Darius had had something to do with it, although what exactly, she wasn’t sure.

  “I plan to leave in a few minutes,” she said.

  He smiled over at her. “Then so will I.”

  And he did. After she had handled the last call she would take, she gathered up her belongings and headed for the door with him by her side. He nodded to the guards on duty as they passed.

  “Nice night,” he said.

  She looked up at the sky and saw the full moon and the stars, and how they illuminated the otherwise dark sky. He was right. It was a nice night.

  “I’ll be following you home again.”

  She glanced over at him. “It’s your gas.”

  She said nothing as they continued walking. When he opened the car door for her, she slid inside, noticing how his gaze shifted to her legs when her skirt accidentally showed a little bit of flesh. She started to say something about his wandering eyes and decided not to. It probably wouldn’t do any good anyway.

  The drive to her place was uneventful and whenever she glanced in her rearview mirror, he was there. She would admit that, considering the incidents of the past two weeks, she felt a semblance of security knowing he was near, just like the days and nights following that episode with Tyrone.

  She parked her car in the driveway and was surprised when he parked behind her and got out of his vehicle. The other times he had followed her home, he had stayed in the car while she went inside and then left. She wondered why he had changed the routine, and she didn’t like the way her skin seemed to feel warm all over as he came closer.

  “You have a two-car garage. Any reason you aren’t parking in it?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

  “It’s full of boxes. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.” She paused. “Why did you get out of the car?”

  She appreciated him seeing her home, but she had no intentions of asking him inside. Her house was her place. Her own private space. When she had moved to Somerset and found what she thought was the perfect neighborhood along with the perfect house, she had moved in, determined to keep bad memories from past experiences outside. Darius was a reminder of a bad past experience.

  “I overheard you mention to Marcy that you had a dripping bathroom faucet that was keeping you awake at night. I thought I’d take care of it for you.”

  “Now?”

  “I don’t have anything else I have to do.”

  Summer sighed. She did. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get around to calling a plumber later this week.”

  “No need. It will only take a minute. Then I’ll be out of here.”

  Standing in the shadows, she could barely see the features of his face in the moonlight. But what she did see was a man who had first been her friend and then her lover. She didn’t know what he was now, aside from very determined to look out for her.

  From the look of things, his mind was made up. She really wanted the faucet fixed. Since he had volunteered, she might as well take him up on his offer. “All right, then. Thanks.”

  “I’ve told you more than once that you don’t ever have to thank me for doing what I do when it involves you, Summer.”

  She swallowed. Yes, he had said that more than once. Most times had been when they were sitting on a sofa, hugged up while watching television. She’d enjoyed those nights when they would sit curled up with a movie, sharing a bowl of popcorn in her living room, talking.

  Another thing she had appreciated about him was that he had never tried pressuring her into sex. That night when they had finally made love, it was because it was something they both wanted, not something he had pushed her into doing.

  “Yes, I know you don’t need my thanks, but I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it,” she finally said.

  “Fine. Let me grab my toolbox out of the car.”

  She waited while he went back to his car. Moments later, she grabbed her mail out of the box and opened the door, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake letting him inside.

  He followed her and closed the door behind them. The click of the lock made her fully aware that they were alone, totally and completely. Trying to ignore her nerves, she threw the mail on the table. Since she paid most of her bills online, she knew the majority of it was nothing but junk mail anyway.

 
“Nice place,” he complimented, glancing around. She knew he was taking stock of her place.

  She tried to ignore how at home he looked in her living room. Like he belonged there. “Thanks.”

  This house was a lot more spacious than her apartment had been, and since she had a job that paid well, she could afford nice furniture.

  “Which bathroom has the dripping faucet?”

  “The one in my bedroom.” Too late she realized that he was going to go into her most private room.

  “Which way?”

  “Down the hall to your right.”

  When he disappeared around the corner, she inhaled deeply, deciding she needed to do something other than just stand there while he repaired the faucet. She needed to at least appear busy. Unfortunately, there weren’t any plants she had to water, nor were there dishes in her sink that she needed to wash. Her gaze lit on the junk mail that she had placed on the table and she decided now was as good a time as any to go through it.

  * * *

  Darius moved down the hall toward Summer’s bedroom, thinking she had a lovely home. It was an old house, but very well cared for and maintained. He also liked the vibrant colors that suited her decor and the furnishings that blended in so well. And she was still neat as a pin, he thought, entering her bedroom and glancing around. His gaze came to a stop on the queen-size bed and he couldn’t help but wonder what man had probably shared it with her. A rich, older man, no doubt.

  Overhearing the conversation about her dripping faucet had given him the perfect excuse to invite himself in. For some reason, he had wanted to see the house that she was living in without him. Although they’d never actually discussed marriage seven years ago, as far as he was concerned, it had been the next thing on the agenda for them. He’d known that after what Whitman had put her through, it would be hard for her to put her trust in any man, but he had been willing to be patient and give her whatever amount of time she needed to learn to trust a man again. She’d needed to know that he was someone she could depend on. Someone who would always be there for her. Too bad she hadn’t given them a chance.