Surviving the Chase

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  He’d been tempted to scold Donathan when they left Liege, but thought better of it. He couldn’t get that crazy woman and what happened to his friend out of his mind. In fact, when he and Donathan were leaving the club, he could have sworn he’d seen a woman who looked like Austyn, except she had long blond braids.

  His cell phone buzzed, and he quickly glanced at the screen. He swiped the glass to clear the message. Why the hell did Payton keep texting him? Her name alone conjured up the image of her with a man’s fingers stuffed into her mouth, and he felt wounded all over again. The phone vibrated again, then again, and each time Tony swiped the screen to make the words vanish.

  “Is Najee okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Do we need to cut this short so you can handle that?” Donathan motioned toward the phone.

  Tony’s body language shifted. “Man, that’s yesterday’s news,” he mumbled.

  “A dose of yesterday’s news might be just what you need right now—”

  “Quit playing like you don’t know,” Tony snapped. “I know Sydney told you.”

  “Told me what?” Donathan said, his face now twisted in confusion.

  Tony hesitated a moment, before he said, “Payton and I had a thing, but like I said, she’s yesterday’s news.”

  Donathan leaned back in his chair, processing this new information. “Excuse me, but did you just tell me you were fucking Payton?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Sydney knew about this?”

  “She found out that night those pictures of you and Austyn were posted on the internet. Man, look. It’s really not a big deal. I mean it’s pretty obvious what it was...”

  “Not as obvious as you seem to think it is. Two single people sneaking around like cheating married people. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “We weren’t sneaking around. Just two consenting adults, without expectations, having a good time.”

  “Really?” Donathan said. “Then why the secret?”

  Tony mulled over the question a few minutes before he replied. “Because of this reaction I’m getting from you and the one we both got from Sydney. We wanted the situation to be defined by us—no outside pressure to make it more than it was.”

  “Okay, I get that, but what about now? Bring me up to speed on why she’s blowing up your cell, and why you’re ignoring her?”

  Tony picked up the whiskey glass, sniffed the contents, and gulped it down in one shot.

  He cleared his throat. “Bottom line—I was fucking her exclusively, but as it turns out, I’m the only one who got the memo.”

  “Did you just use Payton and the word ‘exclusive’ in the same sentence? I know she didn’t agree to that.”

  Tony grew quiet as he contemplated Donathan’s question. No, Payton hadn’t agreed to any such thing.

  “C’mon, man, you’re killing me. You know better than that.”

  “Man, it just happened. Chalk it up to a lapse in judgment—a normal progression.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I would agree, but Payton is not normal.”

  Tony laughed, easing the sudden tension. He really didn’t know what to say. Outside of the calls that ended in nasty exchanges, Tony had not really addressed the status of his relationship with Payton. She was texting him like crazy right now, and she’d called him a few times, but he had refused to return her texts or calls. The truth of the matter was, he’d fucked up.

  He’d let his guard down during his mother’s illness, had let Payton become more than a place for release. Idiosyncrasies and all, she’d become a place of comfort for him, and he thought they were better than her letting another man hand-feed her in public.

  The phone vibrated again, and this time he read the message.

  I really need to talk to you... I need to see you...

  His groin tightened, and a smug smile played at the corners of his mouth. His mind said, Hell, fucking no, but his body begged him to make a quick detour to Lakeside Drive, barge into Payton’s apartment, and fuck her like she needed to be fucked. He wanted to yank her hair, palm her ass, and feel the things she did to him with her tongue. But she’d made him look like a fool, and he wasn’t going out like that. The waiter replaced his drink, and Tony slid his phone across the table in Donathan’s direction before downing another gulp of bourbon.

  “Sounds like an invitation to me. Why don’t you text her back? Both of you—”

  “Hell no! I’m not texting or calling her ass back.”

  “Calm down.” Donathan chuckled. “All I’m saying is, you could use a little stress relief right now, and that right there seems like the easiest place to get it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Payton Marie Jones barely made it through the X-ray machine before the female TSA agent accosted her. The aggressive touching began below Payton’s armpits, brushing her breasts and trailing down both sides of her body, before a quick pat to her midsection.

  “Wait a minute! What the hell are you doing?” Payton screamed, clutching her chest with her hands. She was wearing a thin cotton T-shirt dress, which gave her body very little protection.

  “Ma’am, next time you can request to do this in private.”

  “Do what in private?” Payton said, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You’ve already felt on my tits and practically squeezed my ass. You should warn people before you start copping your feels.”

  The TSA agent turned beet red, clearly embarrassed by the remarks. “Ma’am, I’m just trying to do my job—”

  “Your job does not give you the right to put your hands on me without permission. I don’t believe this shit!” she said, scanning the crowd, surprised to see David Bryant a few passengers back waiting to pass through the X-ray machine. Why hadn’t she seen him before now? His dark brown eyes locked with hers and sent intense searing heat into her before he slowly looked away. He didn’t utter a single word, but she knew what he was thinking. How much he detested it when she made scenes in public. Payton took a deep breath.

  “Are you done with this pat down?”

  The TSA agent moved aside, and Payton stepped around the burly, handsome woman, then quickly collected her things from the conveyor belt. When she pivoted, David was standing within inches, his six-foot frame towering over her. Blistering eyes, broad shoulders, and close-cropped hair with hints of salt and pepper peeking at his temples. His perfect lips drove women crazy. And even though this man was incredibly handsome, it wasn’t necessarily about his looks or the power that seeped from his pores. David had that “it” factor, and he knew it. He winked at her.

  “Hmph,” Payton grunted, clutched her belongings, and defiantly made her way toward the gate.

  Screwing a powerful businessman definitely had its perks. David owned several Bay Area automotive dealerships, including a Mercedes one. He’d offered her a cute little coupe—on the house, of course—but Payton knew better than to accept a gift of that magnitude. If she took the car, David would think he owned her, and she was the type of woman who had always done things her way. She planned to keep doing just that.

  During the two years they’d been friends, she’d traveled with him on numerous occasions with David’s special code of conduct. No checking in together, unnecessary chitchat, or sitting together on the plane—crazy-ass rules. As far as David was concerned, on business trips their time together stopped before they exited the hotel room, which never quite made sense to Payton.

  In Oakland, he wined and dined her out in the open, but for some reason business trips and airports were off-limits. In the beginning, Payton was fixated on this behavior and questioned David about it every chance she got. His response was some jargon about respect for his wife, which was a huge oxymoron coming from a married man who was cheating in the first place. But in the end, as long as Payton was in first class, too, she didn’t give a damn if she sat next to David Bryant or not.

  She thought back to him feeding her in public at Pican’s a few weeks earlier. This display of int
imacy had pissed Tony the hell off. In fact, he still wasn’t accepting her calls or returning her texts. David cleared his throat. Payton met his gaze head-on, her mind racing in a hundred different directions, none of them pleasant.

  “What?” she hissed.

  David grinned, shook his head, and took a seat next to her.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she mouthed.

  “Relax and breathe, Payton. Just breathe.”

  * * *

  The flight to San Francisco was uneventful. By the time the car service made it across the Bay Bridge and dropped her off at her condo, Payton decided to head toward Pittsburg. As far as she was concerned, Highway 4 was one of the worst commutes in the country, and on her final day off, she wanted no part of that. It was barely 10 a.m., and since it was only a thirty-five-minute drive, she had plenty of time to stop by the bank, locate her wayward uncle Sheldon, and make it back to Oakland before rush-hour traffic.

  Adrian Marcel’s soulful serenade wafted through the sound system as Payton quickly fell into a driving rhythm. She prayed her uncle Sheldon was sober today and that she wouldn’t get wrapped up in any of his nonsense. It seemed like the older her uncle got, the more ridiculous and exaggerated the drama in his life became. Who was she kidding? This was not about old age at all. It was his addiction to crack cocaine that kept his life in chaos. But lately, who was she to judge? She thought about the way her own life had been going over the last few months, and she still couldn’t believe she’d allowed Sydney to talk her into that online dating fiasco. What the hell was she thinking? Luckily, she’d had sense enough to follow through on the date minimum requirement and received a full refund. But lately it seemed like every time they got together, their conversation focused on why Payton preferred to date married men. Sydney pleaded with her on more than one occasion to “stop dating other people’s husbands.” But that was easier said than done. She’d tried the non-attached-man thing with Tony and look where that got her.

  When she took the Railroad exit, she dialed the number she had for Sheldon again with no answer. She snickered at the irony. Yesterday, he blew up her cell phone repeatedly, and today her calls were the ones being sent to voice mail. She sat at the red light and pondered her next move. Sheldon didn’t have a car, and the last time she saw him, he was riding a gray ten-speed bicycle. Pittsburg wasn’t that big, but he could be anywhere.

  As if it had a mind of its own, the midnight-blue Lexus drove toward Tenth Street and made its way to the familiar address. The ink on the contract finalizing the sale of the property was barely dry, but when she pulled alongside the curb in front of the house, a Sold sign was already staked in the front yard. The tri-level single-family home looked sad and lonely, no longer the place she grew up in. Soon after her father died, her drug-addicted mother abandoned her, and this house became her solace. Apart from her grandparents, her uncles Sheldon and Donald vowed to spoil her rotten and they did.

  Payton was devastated when she returned from college at UCLA to find not one, but both of her uncles strung out on crack cocaine. This broke her grandparents’ heart. And once her grandparents died, both men became her cross to bear.

  Before she sold the house, she was practically living in Pittsburg, managing their mess. The brothers were fraternal twins, and Sheldon Jones was more than enough trouble for the both of them. Currently, Donald was in jail on a probation violation. Aside from him leaving a woman by the name of Sonya Mitchell to squat in the basement, he had the milder temperament of the two.

  Just when she thought she’d have to delay the sale of the house to evict Sonya Mitchell in civil court, the woman had been caught passing bad checks at a department store in Antioch and sent to jail. Payton was so grateful when Detective McGrady, the police officer assigned to the case, informed her that Sonya Mitchell would be in jail long enough to sell the property without further incident.

  A few weeks ago, she’d been so fed up with all of her uncles’ shenanigans she thought once she sold the house and gave them their share of the inheritance from the sale, she would wash her hands of the situation. But now that it was done, she found herself torn. There was no way in her right mind she could give each of them $75,000 cash to end up in the hands of the local dope man. Her cell phone rang.

  “Where are you?” Payton asked, relieved that Sheldon had finally returned her call.

  “Heeeeyyyy, how is my number-one niecy?” he sang, sounding like he’d just won the lottery.

  “Are you alright? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

  “I’m a busy man, got things to do.”

  “Well, I’m busy, too. I told you I’d be out here today,” she snapped.

  “Girl, calm down. I’m right up the street. Meet me in the parking lot of the courthouse.”

  “The courthouse? Why didn’t you tell me Uncle Donald had a court date?”

  “Who said anything about Donald? I was up here supporting a friend who had to go to court today, and it’s a damn shame they made that girl go to rehab for thirty days. If she wanted to get cleaned up, she’d go to rehab by her damn self.”

  Payton laughed. She guessed crackheads had friends, too. Then she pounced on the opportunity. “So why won’t you get clean?”

  “Girl, don’t start with me this morning,” he said irritably. “Just come on up here and give me my money. They holding me a spot at the Mar Ray Motel, and I need to check in before they run out of rooms.”

  “Why don’t I just meet you at the motel? I can pay for a long-term rental for you,” Payton said. The rush of the realization of what selling the house meant finally hit her. Both her uncles were now homeless, and it was all her doing. But as executor of the estate, she had to do something. The exposed wires, ripped-up carpet, and trash everywhere pushed her over the edge. Her choice was simple. Keep the house and let Sheldon burn it to the ground, or be fair and make sure they all got their financial share.

  Payton hung up the phone and drove toward the motel, passing shells of people wandering around the sidewalks. Once word got around that Sheldon had money, fake friends and acquaintances would be eager to help him spend it. And unfortunately, Sheldon didn’t have a discerning bone in his body. She looked to the heavens and shook her head. He wasn’t going to like it, but she couldn’t in good conscience give him full access to that kind of money. She just couldn’t.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Donathan entered his office through the side door, he overheard Elaine, his secretary, on the phone.

  “I’m sorry, but Dr. James is not available for interviews at this time. Would you like to leave a callback number?”

  From the commotion outside, and the word “interview,” he assumed it was a reporter. Not a flicker of judgment crossed her mocha-almond face as she handed him the newspaper.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Elaine Bates had been his secretary for well over ten years. She was organized, efficient, and somehow always knew exactly what to do without him saying a word. He unfolded the paper, witnessed the picture of him splashed across the cover, then made his way to his office. He was sick and tired of being the most sought-after story in the Bay Area. The blog chatter and local newspapers were out of control, some saying the “Sex Doctor” got what he deserved. Days passed, and reporters still camped outside his home, followed him wherever he went, hounding him for a story, and now they were at his office.

  He closed the door, eased behind his desk, and stretched his long legs, as if settling in for a while. He needed the craziness to stop. The media had become such a circus that he felt it was in the best interest of his patients for him to cancel appointments and refer those who needed it to some of his colleagues for the next few weeks.

  He opened the newspaper for a closer inspection and read the headline.

  Suspect Drugs and Castrates Victims

  Three men are dead after witnesses say they were last seen with a beautiful young woman. Police suspect this is the same woman who allegedly terrori
zed radio personality Dr. Donathan James.

  He balled up the paper and sailed it across the room.

  “Dammit, this story just won’t die,” he mumbled.

  Donathan knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this from his parents much longer. Maurice and Sylver James had returned home from a monthlong vacation in Europe last night. Although he had spoken to his parents several times since the incident, Donathan believed the situation would blow over before they were back on American soil. Now there would be hell to pay if they caught a glimpse of him on the news or read this article in today’s paper without warning.

  His mother, the prim and proper Sylver Monet James, was mortified when Donathan ditched medical school to pursue a doctorate in psychology instead of following in the footsteps of his highly acclaimed father, the cardiac surgeon. And all hell broke loose when he took the radio show gig. She couldn’t understand why her son, who’d been afforded all the best opportunities in life, would stoop so low as to talk about sex on a live radio show.

  Of course, he didn’t see it that way. In college, once he took his first psychology class, he knew what his lifelong work would be. The science and theory of the human psyche intrigued him. And the radio show afforded him the opportunity to share a few theories with the masses, but to his irritation, it also made him a local superstar.

  Handsome celebrity. A serial killer. Sex. Castration. Who was he kidding? Hell yeah! This had all the elements of continuous juicy headlines for weeks to come. His private line rang. “Shit,” he grumbled after glancing at the caller ID. It was his mother.

  Bad news didn’t waste any time spreading, but he wasn’t ready to talk to her right now, hadn’t quite flushed out what he was going to say. If he lied and told her he had a patient, he could hurry her off the phone. But if he didn’t speak with her, Sylver James would show up on his doorstep next, and with all the paparazzi that situation would be much worse. On the fourth and final ring, before the call went to voice mail, he picked up.