Truth or Consequences

by Sharon C. Cooper

  Malik’s brows drew together. Something in his gut fluttered at the thought that maybe Natasha had thought of him as much as he’d been thinking of her.

  He pointed at himself. “She mentioned me?” He tried, but failed to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  A smile slid across Layla’s glossy lips. “Yep, she mentioned you.” They walked around a corner and Layla’s steps slowed. “Hey, it looks like you’re in luck. There she is now.”

  Malik followed her gaze until it landed on the woman who had featured in many of his dreams, whether it be day or night. What he hadn’t expected to see was a man with his hands on her, helping her to a chair.

  “What the hell,” he mumbled and hurried in her direction, not liking how pale she looked nor how close the guy was standing next to her. Layla jogged alongside him to keep up.

  “Malik,” Natasha said when she glanced up. “What are you doing … oh God, did Quinn send you? Did something happen to my sister?” She leapt up, stopped abruptly, and grabbed her head, stumbling forward.

  “Oh shit.” He reached out and grabbed her around the waist to keep her from going head first to the floor. “I’ve got you.” He squinted at the man who had a hold of her arm. “I said I have her.”

  Seconds passed and the guy didn’t let go. Instead, he glared into Malik’s eyes as if challenging him to a duel.

  “Take your hands off of her or so help me—”

  “Malik, please … don’t.” Natasha held onto his arm as if it were a life preserver. She was clearly too weak to stand on her own.

  The stranger finally released her. Outside of his mother, Malik couldn’t ever remember feeling so protective of a woman. He didn’t know who the man was, but if he had to guess, he’d say he was military. The immaculate dress shoes, straight-back posture, and conservative haircut screamed military. However, it was the lethalness in his eyes when he stared Malik down that made him think the guy might even be special-forces.

  “Here, sit her down,” Layla said from behind him.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Malik sat next to Natasha, her eyes closed and her skin getting paler by the minute as she slumped in the chair.

  “She’s been suffering from a migraine for most of the day,” Layla explained, the back of her hand against Natasha’s forehead and then her cheek.

  “A migraine?” Malik repeated. “You mean to tell me a headache can take her out like this.”

  “Malik, why are you here? Is it … Alandra?” Natasha’s voice hitched. “Please don’t tell me—”

  “She’s fine. I just came to see you,” he said, deciding to delay telling her about the conversation that he’d had with Rosalyn. Well, part of the conversation anyway. There’s no way he would tell her about what the woman read in her sister’s journal.

  “Natasha, have you taken anything?” Layla asked.

  “No,” she mumbled. If Malik hadn’t been practically sitting on her he wouldn’t have heard her. “Waiting … until I get home.”

  Malik looped his arm around her and Natasha rested her head against his shoulder, surprising the hell out him. His heart leapt inside of his chest at the feel of her in his arms, recalling their naked bodies doing the horizontal tango. The memory throttled him like a lion on its prey, sending blood straight to his groin. They didn’t know each other well, but that night there was a connection between them that he had never felt with any other woman. His feelings for her weren’t just about the sex; he and Natasha connected on all levels. Now, holding her close brought the memories all back.

  “This is her second dizzy spell in the last ten minutes,” Ray said. “She slammed into me coming through the door and I had to catch her before she fell.”

  “Who are you anyway?” Malik asked.

  “This is Ray Newton. He’s a health records technician here at the hospital,” Layla said absently, now checking Natasha’s pulse. Malik glared at Ray. Unease gnawed inside his gut, twisting and churning like it used to do when he was on an op and something bad was about to happen.

  “Layla.” Natasha opened her eyes, barely, and lifted her head from his shoulder. “Can you contact Dr. Johnson? Find out when’s a good time to meet with him Monday regarding what we discussed earlier.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not looking too good and your pulse is racing.”

  “Can’t you give her something?” Malik asked, his arm still around her. It felt surreal to have her so close, thinking that he would never see her again. Her familiar scent—cinnamon with a hint of vanilla—drifted through the air around him each time she moved.

  “I could, but it would probably knock her out.”

  “Go ahead and give it to her if it’s going to make her feel better. I’ll get her home.”

  “No,” Natasha protested. “I can get home. Then I’ll take something.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive,” Layla said cautiously, as if expecting a battle.

  “She’s not driving.” Malik stood and scooped Natasha up into his arms, ignoring her protests. “If you can hand me her bags, I’ll head out now.”

  Layla grabbed the bags. “I’ll carry them.”

  “Malik, I can walk,” Natasha mumbled against his chest, her words contradicting the limpness of her body.

  “I know, baby,” he kissed her forehead, “but I would prefer to carry you.” Malik hurled a parting glare at Ray before heading for the exit.

  Chapter Three

  Malik drove through the Lincoln Square neighborhood, glancing at a sleeping Natasha curled on the passenger seat of his Chevy Tahoe. He hadn’t been to her place in months and was going by memory. A quick glance at her driver’s license revealed the address.

  He found it hard to believe that she was sitting next to him, even if she was barely conscious. How many times had he dreamt about seeing her again? It seemed longer than three months since Quinn and Alandra fled the country, running away from trouble that started years ago when Alandra was kidnapped by a Mexican drug cartel. He hated that his friends had to endure that nightmare, but had they not, he wouldn’t have met Natasha.

  Malik pulled up to the small bungalow and cut his engine. He sat back and perused the front of her house, glad to see that she had left a few lights on. Taking his gaze away from the house, he savored the beautiful woman sitting next to him. There was still something about her that stirred a longing within him.

  He exited his truck and patted his pocket for her keys as he went around to the passenger side. Natasha hadn’t stirred the whole trip. After opening her door, he reached over to unhook her seatbelt. Her subtle, yet enticing fragrance gave him pause. It was the same perfume she wore that night. That night that had ruined him for any other woman.

  Malik stared at her. He ran his hand through her brownish-red hair that hung just passed her shoulders, wanting to touch more than her long tresses. He took in the delicate features of her light-toffee complexion, a combination of her African American and Hispanic heritage. Malik’s gaze traveled lower to her mouth, longing to kiss those lips of hers again. Add those features and her perfect curvy body, combined with brains and a sweet disposition, and you had the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Okay, get it together, Malik. He straightened and adjusted himself, not surprised by how easily his body reacted to her.

  “Natasha.” He gently shook her. Her soft snores were the only sound in the cabin of his truck. “Natasha. Come on, baby, wake up. You’re home.” He shook her again and her eyes lifted half-mast, but he could tell she was still out of it. Something inside of him softened, hating to have to wake her, knowing she wasn’t feeling well.

  “All right, let’s get you in the house.” He would just take her in, get her settled, and leave.

  Gathering her in his arms, he nudged the truck door closed and walked the short distance to the front of her house. Suddenly, the door swung open and he instinctively pulled her closer.

  “What happened?
” a tall, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and a book in his hand asked. “And who are you?”

  “Malik. I’m a friend of her sister, Alandra.” Malik quickly went through the mental catalog of what he knew about Natasha, trying to remember if she had a brother. He knew there was another younger sister, but couldn’t remember if there was a brother. “Who are you?” he finally asked.

  The man looked him up and down before responding. “Her husband.”

  The shock of his words hit Malik full force. He thought back. If he wasn’t mistaken, Natasha had told him she’d been divorced for ten years. No way could she have given herself to him the way she had that night if she were married. Or maybe she’d just gotten married. It had only been three months since their time together, but while in the military, he’d known people to fall in love and marry in less time than that.

  “Where can I lay her?”

  “Tasha, sweetheart. Tasha?” The guy grabbed hold of her upper arm and started shaking her. “What have you done to her? Natasha!” He shook her harder and Natasha stirred in Malik’s arms, snuggling closer to his chest.

  Malik wasn’t known for being a patient man and this dude was pushing his luck. “Listen, she got sick at the hospital and I offered to bring her home. Now you can move your ass out the way so I can lay her down somewhere, or she goes home with me.”

  “Like hell! I’m not letting you take her anywhere.”

  “Then move.”

  He stepped out of the doorway. Malik followed the man to the back of the house and down a narrow hallway. They stopped at the second door on the right, and the guy turned on one of the lamps. Malik took a quick glance around as he approached the queen-sized wrought iron bed covered with a white comforter and a mound of colorful pillows. The room screamed feminine touch, and from what he could see, there was no sign that a man shared the room.

  Malik went to lay Natasha on the bed, but stopped when she curled into him, snuggling closer, her small hand on his chest. She felt so right in his arms, but one thing he definitely didn’t do was another man’s woman.

  He laid her on the bed and stepped back, noticing the photo of her and Alandra on the nightstand. If she were married, why wouldn’t she have a photo of her and her husband? As a matter of fact, when he walked through the house, he didn’t see any sign that a man lived there.

  His gaze swept the intimate space again before he returned his attention to the man who was now slipping off Natasha’s shoes.

  “So who are you again?” Malik asked, his gut telling him that this so-called ‘husband’ was lying.

  The man dropped the last shoe to the floor and stood to his full height. Though tall, Malik still had him by at least seven or eight inches.

  Malik didn’t miss the way the man’s features darkened, his light-colored complexion slowly turning red.

  “Who I am is none of your da—”

  “Oh but it is.” Malik stepped to him and the man took a step back. “Since I promised Alandra I’d keep an eye on Tasha, I sure as hell am not leaving her here with someone I don’t know. Now who the hell are you?” Natasha mumbled something and turned on her side, still not waking. Layla had warned that the medication she’d given her would knock her out.

  Malik turned his attention back to the man standing before him. “I asked, who are you?”

  The guy sighed, threw up his arms, and let them drop to his side. “Dr. Martin Lockham, Natasha’s … ex-husband.”

  Malik stared at him for a moment, deciding on whether or not he was telling the truth. “So if you’re an ex-husband, what are you doing here?”

  He met Malik’s gaze with a smirk. “Tasha and I are trying to work things out, get back together.” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his pants and rocked on the balls of his feet. “So if Alandra really did ask you to look after my wife, your services aren’t needed. I’m surprised my sister-in-law didn’t tell you about me.”

  Malik folded his arms across his chest and glared at Martin, not missing the way the guy kept licking his lips and clearing his throat. He’s lying.

  “Actually, I’m surprised your ex-wife didn’t tell me about you when I was with her last night.”

  Martin’s cocky smile slipped, telling Malik everything he needed to know.

  “Why you sonofa—” He charged toward Malik, but stopped suddenly when Malik dropped his arms and expanded his stance. All Malik needed was a reason to kick his ass.

  “Man, you don’t want none of this.” His voice was a low rumble as he approached Martin, who didn’t back down. “I don’t know what type of game you’re playing or why the hell you’re here, but don’t ever fuck with me.”

  “Malik … Marty, what’s going on?”

  Malik turned at the sound of Natasha’s voice. She was laying on her side, her tired, glossed-over eyes zoned in on them. “Malik, thanks for bringing me home. Good night.” Her voice was weak, but her words and her stare were solid.

  He stared at her without speaking. Just like that, he’d been dismissed. Ain’t this some shit.

  “I’ll show you to the door,” Martin said, humor in his tone. “And yeah, thanks for bringing her home. I can take it from here.”

  The next morning Natasha laid in her queen-sized bed, with pillows all around her, feeling out of sorts. She hated taking medication, especially for her migraines. They always knocked her out, leaving her feeling loopy and exhausted the next day.

  She must have fallen asleep immediately because she couldn’t remember anything after sending Malik home. A sweet sensation flowed over her body and her eyelids drifted shut at the thought of Malik. No one would ever believe how gentle and thoughtful he could be considering how intimidating and dangerous he appeared. She was probably one of the few who had seen his other side. When he had flown from D.C. in the middle of the night, to pick her up from Chicago and then fly to L.A to see Alandra, she saw the man he hid from others.

  Three months earlier:

  Natasha stared out at the moonlight shining over the Pacific Ocean. Arriving in Huntington Beach, California in the middle of the night, she hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing one of its famous sunsets. Instead, she spent her time saying good-bye to her sister, Alandra, and brother-in-law, Quinn Hamilton.

  She turned from the window and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, which was balled up in her hands. She had mourned for Alandra years ago when she thought she’d died after being gunned down. Her sister had returned from the dead, only to have to turn around and disappear again. It didn’t seem fair that Natasha was losing her a second time, and she still didn’t understand why they had to leave the country.

  “Someone so beautiful should never have tears in her eyes.”

  Natasha jerked her head toward the doorway, surprised to see Malik Lewis. Tall enough to be a pro basketball player, with a strong, solid body and broad shoulders, he easily filled the doorway of the bedroom. The intensity of his dark eyes and his steady gaze sent a wave of awareness through her body, rooting her in place. She usually leaned more toward the preppy, white-collar, serves on numerous non-profit boards type of man. Yet, there was something mysterious and dangerous about the man standing before her. Something that stirred a longing inside of her that she hadn’t felt in years.

  “Alandra told me you were a tea drinker.” He lifted the mug, steam billowing above it. “I thought you might like a cup … to help you relax,” he said, but didn’t step into the room.

  Natasha studied him holding the mug that was dwarfed within his large hand. Right now, she could use more than a cup of tea, unless the one he held had a big dash of hard liquor in it. Something to dull the pain in her heart is what she really wanted.

  “I personally prefer a shot of tequila when I need a pick me up,” Malik shrugged, “but that’s just me.”

  Natasha couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. Being around him was the one thing that had made the unexpected trip bearable. On the flight to L.A. he had kept the conversation li
ght, except for when he gave her a hint of the trouble that had led him, Quinn, Alandra, and Wiz to Washington, D.C. Still, she wasn’t sure what had taken place, but she knew it was bad. Not just because of a few bruises Alandra had obtained since she’d last seen her, but because the three former SEALs were sticking to her sister like a second skin. Something traumatic had happened. Her sister was jumpy and Quinn’s behavior was no better. She understood it was his natural instinct to be protective of his wife, but Alandra could barely go to the bathroom without him following close behind her.

  Malik stepped into the room and handed her the tea. “If you would prefer something stronger, just say the word. Quinn has a full bar downstairs.”

  “Thanks,” Natasha took a timid sip from the mug, “I’ll keep that in mind. Before the night is over, I might take you up on that offer.”

  Setting the cup on the bedside table, she dropped down on the bed. Her heart hadn’t felt this heavy in years and part of her wanted to cry. The other part of her wanted to throw something. She didn’t associate with a lot of people due partly to her work schedule. Mostly she didn’t have a lot of friends thanks to all of the moving around they did as kids, her father being in the military and all. Alandra was more than her sister, she was her best friend.

  “I guess they’re gone, huh?” she asked of Alandra and Quinn.

  “Wiz just left to take them to the airport. There’s a private jet waiting for them.” Malik stood against the wall in front of her, studying her with those intense eyes of his. She could only imagine the fear he had instilled in enemies he confronted when he served in the Navy and on special ops.

  “Are you ever going to tell me where they are going? Where they’ll be living?”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, as if she didn’t have a right to know. As if she was some child who couldn’t be trusted with the truth. He pushed away from the wall and sat on the bed next to her. His huge thigh grazed her leg and the nearness sent a blast of heat shooting through her body. “It’s not safe for them, nor is it safe for you to know where they’re going.”