by Carmen Green
“Fine. Take me back to jail. At least there I had a room and a toilet. I think the ladies were getting used to my singing.”
In his mind, Byron heard the toilet flushing on his career, not for the first time since he met Tia.
He felt something inside snap. Probably his sanity.
“You’re not going back to jail. You’re probably the only woman in the world that could commit ten felonies right now and get away with it. Damn!”
His outburst stunned her into silence, and he took advantage of her silence and rubbed his aching head.
Tia was right, but who the hell cared, because all the wrong things kept happening to her.
Byron calmly got out of the car and helped Tia out of the backseat. He held her by the shoulders. “I’m going to look into this, and I’m going to get you an answer. I’m going to get you in your house, if I have to die trying. But you’re going to have to trust me.”
“Trust ... you.” She tried the words on for size, the crinkle around her nose expressing her inability to swallow them. “I would”—she raised her hand toward the closed condo door—“but my track record for trusting men is about as good as my ability to stay out of jail. I hope you understand.”
She had a point.
“Where can I take you?” he asked.
“You’re kidding, right?”
She shivered, and he realized how much colder the night had become. He assisted her into the car and turned on the heat.
It was pitch black outside, the neighbors snuggled inside their homes, having dinner. Tia should have been one of them, but here she was, again misplaced.
“Where’s your car?” he asked. “I’ll follow you and make sure you get settled in.”
“Over there. Wait.” Her voice rose slightly. “I don’t see it in my space.”
Tia looked around the parking lot, and Byron had a sinking feeling. He beat Tia out of the car and stabbed the air, indicating for her to stay in the vehicle. He took the stairs in threes and banged on the door.
Ida Wilkes took her sweet time answering the door before giving him the answers he needed. Pissed, he trotted down to the garbage can and retrieved a black garbage bag, threw it in the trunk, and climbed in the car.
Byron couldn’t help himself and took pity on her. “Would you like me to get you some dinner before you go back to your friend’s house?”
“Rachel and I kind of fell out.”
Somehow, Byron wasn’t shocked by this news. “Well, there’s got to be someone else.”
Tia looked down, folding her arms over her stomach.
“What’s in the bag?” she asked.
“Your duvet. You told Dr. Khan you wanted it. You can have it dry-cleaned.”
Her gaze rested on him so long, he grew uncomfortable.
There was so much behind her beautiful black lashes, and he wanted to know what she was thinking in the worst way. But he couldn’t ask. Not after the day she’d had. “It’s okay, Tia. It might not mean much, but I thought—”
“Thanks,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
Then she reached out and touched his hand and squeezed.
Byron did something he never did. He let it stay there.
“You’re welcome. Any other family or friends you can stay with?”
“I’ve had a terrible run on friends lately.” She cleared her throat and pulled her hand back. “It’s ironic. We all got dumped on my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and slowly but surely, we’ve all gone our separate, crazy ways.”
Tia was abnormal again. She still didn’t see any of this as bizarre or even unusual, and the hard part was that he was starting to see things her way.
What did that mean? He was already attracted to her. Already had tasted the forbidden fruit and loved every microsecond of their kiss. Right now all he had to do was make a right onto I-285 and go home. He could have her in his bed in thirty minutes flat.
But then she’d be in his home. She’d be in his head. Her life would take on more significance than it already had, even though he spent a great deal of his day and night thinking and dreaming about her.
He’d saved her tonight from certain imprisonment, like he’d done for LaPrincess, but she was dead.
Byron thought hard on that, forcing himself to remember the feelings of betrayal and pain at knowing all his effort had gone to waste. Being a cop was hard. The people were memorable, but he didn’t have to take them home and make love to them.
Thinking about making love to Tia was going to have to be enough.
Back on firm ground, Byron decided to get her where she had to go, and quickly. “Where are your folks?”
“Retired to Vegas. My father hated to disrupt his gambling by having to fly out there once a month. Now it’s practically intravenous.”
Again, Byron kept quiet. The more he got to know Tia, the more comical it became.
Tia was quiet too long. “What are you cooking up over there?” he asked.
“I’ll have to go to Megan’s. I’ll ask her to let me stay a couple days. I don’t have any other choice.”
“That’s a good temporary solution.”
“What did she do to my car?”
“She had it towed.”
Tia covered her face, and Byron braced for the tears. His sisters were always crying. He couldn’t walk into his mother’s house without somebody wailing about something. He was so used to it, he usually saw the tears and headed for the den to find his father. The old man was lucky, having going damn near deaf a couple of years ago. Whenever Byron’s mother or his sisters started crying, his dad just turned up the TV real loud until nobody could stand being in the same room with him.
Byron looked at Tia just as she pulled her hands away from her face and folded them in her lap. No tears. Not a single drop. Now he really didn’t know what to do. “Tia, I’ll do my best to get your car back.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“I will, Tia. I’m on your side.”
“You already told me that.”
They got under way, leaving the Lenox area behind.
Byron wondered how she’d make it over the next few weeks. Truthfully, it would probably take that long to get answers and a solution to the homeowner/ rental mishap. He was almost sure she’d have to evict the tenant, but without being well-versed in property law, he couldn’t think in exacts.
Byron shook his head. Dante Manuel was more than the illiterate idiot he’d presented himself as in court. His goal was to screw Tia over as badly as possible, and he was doing an amazing job.
They neared a fast-food restaurant, and Byron pulled into the drive-through. “Want a salad or something?”
She leaned close and studied the menu.
“Two number fives, super-sized. One with Coke, the other with hot coffee with three creams and four sugars. Six ketchups, please, and two salts.”
He ordered, gazing at busy Buford Highway before looking at her. “You got a tapeworm or something?”
“Are you trying to stomp on my feelings? You offered and I’m eating. That a problem?”
Byron just threw up his hands.
Their food came, and she gave him directions to Megan’s house. He drove down I-285, heading toward Chamblee, one of the most richly diversified areas of metro Atlanta. Traffic had petered off from rush hour but was thick enough to make them move slowly down Chamblee Tucker Road. In a way, he wished he’d waited to buy food over here, where the choices in cuisine were as varied as the residents.
But then again, Tia was contained, unable to wreak havoc on any of her unsuspecting neighbors.
“What’s the penalty for assault and battery?” she asked, eating one french fry at a time, as if they were an expensive delicacy.
Byron choked on his and coughed, beating a yellow light. “Are you trying to get me fired? I gave you a break today with your boss. All I’m asking is for a few days to help you, and you want to know the penalty for A and B? Prison, dammit! Locked up for the longest possible sent
ence, if I have anything to do with it. Are we clear?”
She stared at him openmouthed. “No need to get hostile. Make a right, third building on the right,” she snapped back.
Byron slammed on the brakes in front of the town house, got out, and started getting Tia’s boxes out of the trunk. She finally made her way around back, her bags of food clutched to her chest.
“Put your coat on,” Byron ordered, his breath fanning out in a cloud.
“I’m going inside in just a second.”
“Tia,” he growled, his head starting to hurt even more. “I went all the way back to work to get that coat. Put it on.”
“Fine.” She slid the coat on without further argument.
“Which place?” he asked.
“Up the stairs, the door on the left.”
“Is she home?” Byron wondered. There appeared to be no movement inside.
“I guess. I told you she’s recovering from her breakup and doing renovations.”
“Good grief,” he muttered, garnering a look from Tia.
“What’s your problem?”
“You, your friends, and your luck. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Not our fault. We loved lousy men.”
He knew that, but acknowledging it would make him feel sorry for her, as he’d done for LaPrincess, and then she’d go back to Manuel.
“Or,” he said aloud, just to needle her, “you’re all crazy. You’ve been driving me crazy since the day I met you.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Tough.” Tia rang the bell, waited, then laid into it.
“Don’t you think that’s being a little obnoxious?”
She didn’t answer and, for five minutes straight, punched the bell until it sounded like a screeching cat. Byron shifted the boxes and yanked her hand. “Come on. I know a women’s shelter that’ll take you for one night.”
She folded her arms across her body, her posture saying she meant to have her way.
“I’m not going to a shelter! I’d go home with you before I’d go there. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”
Byron was aware of all that he’d gone through for Tia. Even though this was his night off, and he was currently on his personal time, he was aware of every hellacious moment they’d spent together. But then he remembered when they’d been eye to eye, his body to hers, and he’d felt real wanting for her.
Even now, Tia was oblivious to his thoughts. Her going home with him was the just the beginning of what she could do for him.
Her gaze challenged him.
“You have no idea what I’d like, Tia. If I were you, I’d keep ringing that bell.”
The depth of truth in his words caused her eyebrows to arch in that incredibly sexy way that was classically Tia. All he could think about was running his lips over hers and kissing every inch of her body.
If only he could put the boxes down and show her what was on his mind.
He could see her retreating by the twist to her mouth and the way she rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be the test dummy for your stun gun.” Tia spun around and rapped on the door. “Megan! Open this door! I think she’s coming,” Tia said to Byron, although she didn’t turn around again.
To his surprise, the inside lights flipped on, and a woman snatched back the curtain. “Go away. I don’t want company.”
“Meg, I need a place to stay.”
“Go to Rachel’s. I can’t have company right now.”
“What are you? On a personal time-out? I need you,” Tia yelled through the door.
“No.”
The curtain fell back in place, and Bryon turned to go down the stairs. Tia ... at his house ... Everyone in hell was about to get a glass of ice water, apparently.
Tia smacked the door with her palm. “Megan Patricia Lewis, I’ve been your best friend since college. I’ve nursed you through the breakup of forty-six boyfriends, your two-day lesbian phase, and your religious conversions, all six of them! I loaned you money for having that mole removed from your nipple and for your Brazilian wax, which you didn’t even tell me about, or else I wouldn’t have been caught by surprise by Mr. ‘cut it all off !’ Now if you can’t do me this one favor, the one and only time that I’ve ever asked you for anything, then you’re just a lousy, selfish, crazy piece of crap for a friend!”
Byron just shook his head and tried not to absorb the insanity. He also vowed to go to church on Sunday.
They didn’t hear a sound from inside.
Fed up, he pounded the door with his fist.
“Hey! Tia was in jail all last night,” Byron barked.
“And if you don’t let her stay here, I’m going to take her back to jail and lock her up.”
The curtain didn’t move as Tia stood at the door, shivering.
Byron lowered the boxes to get his handcuffs. He wasn’t taking any chances. “Come on. We’re going back.”
“She’s my friend,” Tia replied confidently, trying to see through the curtained glass. “Just give her a minute.”
Byron counted to sixty. Obviously, not that good a friend. He reached for Tia’s delicate wrist.
The door creaked open. “Is that true?”
Tia launched herself inside the door. “Yes. It’s just for a couple days. Bless you, Megan.”
Tia flipped on lights as she walked inside, Megan trailing, dousing them. Byron retrieved the boxes and unloaded them inside the foyer, went back for the duvet, and stopped inside the living room. He stared at the walls and wondered if this was his worst nightmare come true. Tia flipped on the overhead living room light.
The pictures on the wall confirmed it. This was the tenth floor of hell.
“Oh! Crap!” Tia exclaimed, and dropped her bags of dinner, as she stared at the life-size drawing of a man on the wall, his private parts obliterated by the real hammer still wedged into the drywall. Pink insulation poked out of the crotch area, tufts on the floor.
Megan used the heel of her hand to massage her temple. “I haven’t been myself lately.”
Byron eased his hand up toward his gun as he looked at all the depictions of the woman’s former lover. In each one, he was castrated in some form or another.
“Want some water?” Megan offered, shuffling off to the kitchen without waiting for their answer.
“Feels like I’m in a horror museum,” Tia whispered to Byron as she took off her coat.
For once they were on the same side.
“I didn’t know they had museums for the criminally insane.”
“She’s just venting. A lot. This is hardly criminal. A few drawings.”
“Fourteen. Definitely insane.”
“Here’s your water.” Megan handed them drinking glasses full of red and brown paint. “I think I’m thirsty.” She shuffled off again, went into the bathroom, and closed the door.
Byron shook his head, his gaze never leaving Tia’s.
“Thanks for the ride,” she told him, now that the level of insanity in the room had dimmed.
He laughed. Spontaneous and hard. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t stay here. She gave us paint for water and went to the bathroom to get herself a drink. She’s a total whack job.”
Tia looked around like she understood the madness. “That is a little off, but, whatever. Think of it this way. She’s not hurting anyone. And she didn’t say anything about hearing voices. I’m staying. I’ll be fine here.”
Byron allowed Tia to put her hand on his back and walk him to the front door. She took his cup of paint and set it in the corner on the floor.
“Admit that she’s crazy, and I might let you stay.”
Her mouth turned down in a smirk. “Megan is going to be fine. I can handle her.”
“Why would I believe that? You can’t handle you. You still have Ms. Wilkes’s dandruff under your fingernails.”
Tia’s lips folded into her mouth, and before he knew it, they were chuckling. She smiled, and it reminded him of the dawning of a new day. Despite every
thing they’d been through, he wanted to kiss her again. To pull her against him, wrap her in his arms, and taste her breath. Hadn’t she mentioned something about a Brazilian wax? He wouldn’t be able to get that off his mind, even if he had a rocket launcher.
Tia leaned into him, and he touched her arms to hold her off, but his hands defied his brain and let her come closer, until their mouths hovered a whisper apart. Time slipped.
Then he saw the tip of her tongue. The last cord of resistance dissolved, and he let his tongue greet hers. All the feelings he’d suppressed beneath duty and responsibility roared to the surface, and he let lust and desire flow through his body.
They were finally on the same page, in an alignment he understood. He really wanted to take her home. Byron lifted her closer to him, pressing the air from between them. Dressed, he couldn’t get any closer.
“Excuse me,” Megan said, blasting light on them.
Byron’s eyes struggled to assimilate to his surroundings. He bolted away from Tia, sanity rushing to his brain while all his stored sexual energy pooled between his legs.
“What are you looking for?” Tia asked Megan, rubbing her hands over her mussed hair. Her lips looked so delicious. Byron had to look away before he made a fool of himself.
Megan looked confused. “I forgot. Good night.” She went to her bedroom, closed the door, and burst out crying. Her heartbreaking sobs had the same effect as if she’d tossed ice on a candle.
Tia looked up at Byron, a thousand words rushing to her eyes even before she opened her mouth.
He braced himself for rejection, although he knew he should have been the one to go there first.
“I don’t regret that kiss,” Tia said, “so, don’t think I’m going to take it back.”
How had she known he was going to say they should have been smarter and not let their emotions get the best of them?
Logic dictated he be reasonable, except his penis was like a lightning rod for her. If he took back everything, he’d sound like Fred. And Byron was no punk.
Besides, regret wasn’t anywhere close to how he was feeling. “I’m not taking it back.” He caressed her jaw, wishing he had more time to explore her. But she and her friend were fragile. Too fragile. In the light of day, this would look differently. “In fact, that’s the last thing on my mind.”
