What a Fool Believes

by Carmen Green

  Regretted reporting to work.

  Regretted patrolling the condo parking lot.

  Regretted catching the woman vandalizing.

  He just wanted to go home. The Lakers were playing tonight.

  His biggest regret was not setting TiVo to record the game. He’d been so sure he’d be home by tip-off.

  Damn.

  This lady was in a lot of trouble, but he couldn’t help but complete his list of regrets.

  He regretted scaring her so badly that she dropped the knife that gashed her foot, which caused her to faint, which made him think she was hitting on him, which made him elbow her in the eye, which made her injuries worse than they should have been.

  Why had he thought her capable of such a lame ploy?

  Because she was a woman, and women were the masters at playing the sympathy symphony.

  Okay. He’d made an honest mistake.

  But no one would see it that way. This was the second time in thirty days that one of his prisoners had been on the receiving end of his reflexes, and his new captain would have something to say about that.

  The rest of the events ran play by play through his mind.

  When she’d fainted, he’d swept her up against his chest.

  Her breasts rose and fell in a smooth, slow rhythm. He’d held her there, his first aid training gone, before reality slapped him into the present, and he’d called for an ambulance.

  He’d perched her atop the hood, his thigh at the center of her body, his left hand across her midriff.

  In warmer temperatures, under different circumstances, he could conceive of them on a journey to intimacy. But the situation wasn’t ever going to be like that.

  This lady was a woman scorned, and she was going to jail.

  He was in trouble, too, but that didn’t matter right now.

  He nudged the exam room door open and stuck his head inside. “How’re things coming along?”

  “We’ll be a while,” Dr. Khan said, bent over the woman’s foot.

  “You in a rush to blacken my other eye?” the woman asked.

  Chocolate. Her right eye, her good eye, was a delicious-looking chocolate. Byron tried to speak quietly. “I already apologized for elbowing you.”

  “I don’t see how you could think I was going to do something to you, you big baby!” Tia tried to cover her mouth, but her handcuffed wrist stopped her.

  Her gaze darted from her arm to him, and he shuffled his feet. She was about to blow.

  “You have a right to be angry.” He knew those were the wrong words before they’d completely fallen from his mouth.

  “You bet I do,” she yelled. “These cuffs are for total humiliation, right? I guess I’ll hop on my one good foot, with my one good eye to guide me, and make a break for it.” She shook her head, disgusted.

  “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re superior at it. Feel better?”

  An internal war waged. He’d get in big trouble if anyone found out, but she was pretty much incapacitated.

  “I’m taking these off because”—I’m a sucker, he thought but didn’t say it—“you should be more comfortable.” The toe of his shoe rammed the bottom of the steel bed frame. Noise reverberated upward, and annoyance flashed across her pretty face.

  Guilt be damned. She hated him. Snatching his pad from his pocket, he clicked his Bic and noticed that she’d put her hospital gown on backward.

  Officer Rivers did the unthinkable.

  He peeked.

  She jerked the gown closed.

  “I wasn’t looking at your bra,” he snapped.

  “Right, and my eye is black because I ran into your elbow.”

  “You did fall into me.”

  “Because I was stabbed,” she told him, as if he were the biggest knucklehead in the world.

  Dr. Khan, who’d kept quiet, patted the woman’s arm, sharing a bond. “Now, now. You mustn’t get worked up again.”

  “Dr. Khan, I’ve never been worked up in my life.” She breathed hard and fanned herself. “But I’ve had it with men who don’t take responsibility for their actions. Frankly, it feels good to say exactly what’s on my mind. Now beat it, Pinko,” she snarled at Byron. “I’ll be ready for jail when I get done.”

  Barracuda woman had returned.

  “I was going to go easy on you—”

  “Right. I just got my two front teeth capped. Want to knock them down my throat with your big stick?”

  The doctor burst out laughing.

  Byron walked into the hallway and slammed the door.

  It popped open. He slammed it again and stalked to the coffee machine, where he shoved in quarters.

  Women were nothing but trouble. He knew firsthand. He had four sisters, and they were the source of enough aggravation to choke a horse.

  Where were the women of the fifties? Sweet, nice women who enjoyed being women? Every day he met women who fought, cursed, and handled themselves like mini men. He didn’t get it. And then, there were the psychos.

  Angry lady down the hall would get what she deserved when she went to jail.

  He drank his coffee, then spit the searing liquid back into the cup. Man! This woman was pissing him off. It would be his pleasure to process her into jail. Vandalism wasn’t a felony, so she’d be in holding until she made bail, but that would be enough to diffuse her mean streak.

  Back at the exam room, Byron raised his pad and stared at the blank sheet. Damn. He still didn’t have her name.

  “You wrote on his car?” he heard Dr. Khan ask the woman.

  “Yes.”

  “And slashed his tires?”

  “He gave me crabs and trich. And he still has my new duvet.”

  Byron frowned, his judgment shifting, although he told it not to. Truth was, the creep deserved to get his car redecorated. But that didn’t negate the fact that her actions were still against the law.

  “Good for you,” the doc said. “This is going to hurt, but once it’s numb, I’ll stitch you up, and you can go home ... on your way.”

  “To jail,” the woman corrected, sounding teary.

  Here come the waterworks. Good. She’d brought this on herself. He steeled himself against his main weakness.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow. Cripes, that hurts,” she wailed.

  “It’s not Rivers’s fault, you know,” Dr. Khan told her.

  “Don’t defend Officer Enthusiastic. He should have asked me why I was there. Youch! How many of those blasted things do I need?”

  “Shoe minimized the damage. Thirteen, maybe fifteen.”

  “Do you think he’ll take me directly to jail?” Byron’s heart tripped over the vulnerable question.

  “Definitely. He’s a real stickler.”

  “So you’ve dealt with him before?”

  “His detainees. Six weeks ago, then again last month.”

  “Boy, do I feel lucky,” she said, half crying now. “My ex gave me a communicable insect, and my arresting officer gets frequent visitor points when he brings a prisoner to the ER. This sucks.”

  Byron didn’t want to agree, but what could he say? Her eye was wearing his elbow print.

  “Why don’t you rest, and I’ll finish up? You’ll be home in no time.”

  “Yeah, after I spend the night in jail with a butch named Alice. Oh, God. I can’t believe this is happening,” she sobbed. “My stomach is burning like crazy. Can I get some antacid?”

  “Sure.”

  Dr. Khan got her history and then called a nurse. Byron stepped aside as her request was delivered.

  Great. She probably had a bleeding ulcer she hadn’t known about before tonight. Byron threw his head back, his mind closing the door on the hope that he’d catch the last quarter of the game.

  Dr. Khan chuckled. “I’ll give you a mild painkiller, and you should sleep fine.”

  “It’s not the sleeping I’m worried about. It’s the where that scares me.”

  “When you come see me in a week,
you’ll feel differently. Have you ever taken an anger management class?” Doctor Khan spoke with deceptive casualness.

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re still angry.”

  “I didn’t cheat on me. So why should I go to some class?”

  “Your ex is guilty of being a bad man, yet it is you who is under arrest. This is your first offense, right?”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before. I guess I just snapped.”

  “Last stitch,” Dr. Khan said softly. “We’ll get you situated with some crutches and a prescription.”

  “Do you have samples? I don’t think I’ll have access to the drive-through pharmacy on my way to the county lockup.”

  Dr. Khan made soothing noises to the weeping woman. “No problem. Come to my office in one week for your checkup. The nurse will get you a new top. Yours was ruined.”

  He’d used the cotton top to stanch the flow of blood, but would she believe him if he told her?

  Byron couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking. He was thinking he was a schmuck, no different from the vandalized former boyfriend.

  “I’ll be back in a moment.” Dr. Khan stepped into the hallway and pulled Byron into the exam room two doors down.

  The East Indian woman gave him a smile, her dark eyes accentuated by stylish black glasses frames. “She’s had a rough night,” Dr. Khan began. “She needs to rest and stay off that foot. Now we can do this one of two ways. You can give her a ticket and see her home, or I can admit her to the hospital.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

  “Her blood pressure is up. Or something like that,” she said slyly.

  “Come on, Khan, I can’t just let her go.”

  The doctor shrugged, unmoved. “What she did was better than what could have happened to him in my country.”

  “I thought the women were all subservient in India.” Byron bit his tongue and tasted the bitter juice of badly chosen words. “Forget I said that.”

  “Certainly. I’m not excusing her behavior, just saying that she needs a break. Work with me?”

  “Fine.” He threw up his hands and shook his head. “What’s her full name? I’ll give her a ticket and see her in court.”

  “First is Tia. Didn’t get the last one. It’s on the chart. Thanks, Rivers. I owe you one.”

  They walked back to the exam room and went inside. The bed was empty, the gown discarded. Both reached for the chart and stared at the empty door folder.

  Dr. Khan looked up at him, a mysterious smile on her face. “I guess I underestimated her.”

  Damn. He wouldn’t even catch the game highlights on ESPN.

  Byron headed for the exit. “She won’t get away with this.”

  Chapter Four

  Tia awoke in the strange hotel bed, flat on her back.

  Blood thrummed to her heel.

  Her life was as beautiful as a train wreck.

  After cleaning up and swallowing pain pills with a four-dollar oatmeal energy bar from the minibar, she considered her options.

  She could skip work and save the explanation about her impaired state to Chance, her boss.

  Or she could give Chance the last reason she needed to fire her.

  Tia hated the position she was in. Dante had convinced her to dream big—with him in the picture. And now she was without him and almost out of a job.

  Reaching for her keys triggered an instantaneous migraine.

  Her car was still at the condo.

  Panicking that she might actually lose her job, she hopped to the bed and dialed. “Rachel,” she said when the machine beeped, “pick up.”

  Thirty painful seconds passed before Rachel fumbled the phone. “Hey, girl. What’s up?”

  “I need a huge favor.”

  “Right now? I’m kind of”—she hesitated, talking to someone—“in the middle of something.”

  Why did she sound so sleepy? And satisfied? “You’ve got company.”

  “Bingo. Bye-bye.”

  “Is it Kyle? I thought you two had broken up?”

  “We renegotiated the terms of our relationship at about midnight, and I exercised my rights until six a.m.”

  Tia couldn’t believe her ears. Rachel had wanted to send a “please call” AIDS postcard to Kyle just a few hours ago.

  She’d remind her about that on the way to get her car. “I need a ride,” Tia said.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Don’t ask. Can you help me?”

  “Tia, what’s the matter? Where’s your car?”

  “Look, meet me outside the Marriott in Buckhead in fifteen minutes. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “If you’re going to tell you me slept with that nasty slug,” Rachel said, her voice filled with reproach, “you may as well start walking.”

  Tia grabbed her purse. “Let’s just say, I’m having a hard time maneuvering on my crutches.”

  “On my way.”

  Tia scrambled to pack and call for a bellboy. On her way in last night, she’d seen a gift shop, and there’d been a straw hat in the window. She didn’t think she’d been seen at the condo, but the disguise would throw off anyone who might think she looked familiar.

  Byron sat in the daily update meeting, scowling at what he knew was the beginning of a bad day.

  Captain Chip Hanks circled the square room, belittling officers for one minor infraction or another. He’d come onboard two weeks ago, with the mind-set that he was cleaning up retired Captain Ryan’s mess. Hanks had destroyed the morale of what had been a close-knit unit of good officers. So far, three had already put in for transfers.

  “What about you, boy wonder?” he said to Byron. “I have an arrest report.” Hanks turned an innocent eye to the rest of the squad. “But no prisoner,” he yelled like a Baptist minister. “We’re all interested to know how a 140-pound woman with a gashed foot managed to elude her arresting officer. Slip out of the hospital and off into the night. Why don’t we start with her name? What is it again? I seem to have missed it on the report.”

  “It’s not on there.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I didn’t get it. I was too busy calling for an ambulance. I didn’t want a dead prisoner.”

  “But you took the no prisoner option, right? Funny, that box seems to have been eliminated from the form.”

  “The doctor asked to consult with me, and while we were talking, the prisoner slipped away. I screwed up,” he said. “But the last thing I or any of these other officers needs is a condescending boss who thinks belittling us is a substitute for being a good captain.”

  “Oh,” Hanks hooted. “If I were you, I’d shut my mouth. You didn’t learn much under Ryan, did you?”

  Byron stood straight. “You’re not good enough to breathe the same air as Captain Ryan.”

  “You’re skating on very thin ice.”

  Byron shrugged. “Not worried about the temperature of the water. You?”

  “In my office, now!”

  “I can’t believe you trashed Dante’s car.” Rachel glared at Tia disapprovingly. “That’s so unlike you.”

  “Last night you two were pushing me to beat a brother down. Besides, what about you, Ms. postcard-slinging nut bag?”

  “I can get crazy. We never expected you to.”

  That was nice to know now. “Stop worrying. I’m not a psycho stalking my ex-boyfriend. This was my one and only act of retaliation. What’s up with you and Kyle?”

  “Girl, making up is better than breaking up.”

  “Sick.”

  “Yeah,” Rachel agreed. “I know.”

  They cruised the lot, heading toward the scene of the crime, as Tia kept a steady eye out the window. The last thing she wanted was for Dante to see her retrieving her car after what she’d done to his.

  “So,” Rachel said hesitantly, “how long have you been in the hotel?”

  Tia’s stomach bubbled awake. “Two days. We were giving each other sp
ace.”

  “Didn’t you buy the condo?”

  “I bought it from the bank. His credit was crap after they foreclosed.”

  “So why is he there and you’re at a hotel?”

  “I couldn’t kick him out, Rachel. He lived there for two years before we got together. Besides, I thought we’d get back together. Obviously, last night’s developments change everything.”

  “I’m taking it by the suitcases, you checked out.”

  “Right.”

  “Where you gonna stay?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” Tia murmured under her breath. She didn’t have the money to continue staying at the hotel. Closing on the condo had depleted her sparse funds—along with her recent shopping trip to Neimen’s to celebrate her birthday and being a new home owner.

  And Tia didn’t want to ask Rachel to take her in. They’d been friends for ten years, but Rachel could get flaky. Sometimes she spoke, and sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes she wanted to hang out, and sometimes she went into a cave and didn’t come out for weeks. Then she’d return to the friendship as if nothing happened.

  But Tia looked at Rachel and Megan as the sisters she didn’t have. When she wanted them, she didn’t want them to be in self-imposed exile.

  Her brain scrambled as she struggled to find a good excuse not to ask Rachel.

  “Megan won’t mind if I crash with her for a bit, until this mess is straightened out. She’s closer to the job, too.”

  “She’ll mind, Tia.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “She’s in a bad place mentally.”

  “We all are—”

  “With Sonny getting married on her like that, she’s taking it hard.”

  “I can certainly understand that—”

  “And she’s having her apartment remodeled. She decided to buy out the owner.”

  Oh. Hell. “When did that happen?”

  “Last night, after you left. The owner had been after her for a while. When she called him, he agreed to her counteroffer. The remodeling, which he’s paying for, starts tomorrow.”

  “So what’s up with you and Kyle?”

  “We’re going to take things slow. I’m not into a commitment mind-set anymore.”

  Since when? Tia wanted to ask but didn’t. She had her own relationship issues. She could focus only on one set of problems at a time. She still needed a place to stay. “Maybe I could bunk with you for a day or two,” she said quietly.