Surviving the Chase

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  Austyn leaned over and fumbled in the glove box. “Did I do something wrong, Officer?”

  She retrieved the fake driver’s license and registration she’d acquired after she purchased the car, and with her hand shaking she handed him the documents.

  He stepped back, gave the car a quick once-over as he reviewed the documents.

  “Los Angeles? You’re a long way from home.”

  “I’m really sorry, Officer,” she said, squeezing her thighs together, making her skirt rise even higher. “Was I speeding?”

  The officer ignored her chitchat, and was unfazed by her attempts to exploit her femininity.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Austyn kept her head down. She could feel a blanket of perspiration rolling down her back. She imagined there was a Most Wanted picture of her taped to the dashboard, and a police officer running her real name through the database. She couldn’t let this happen. She was too close to Lois, and she needed to finish what she started. Her eyes darted to the on-ramp at the next intersection. If she maneuvered onto the highway, she’d be exposed from too many angles and the law would apprehend her in no time. So, caught up in devising her escape plan, she didn’t notice the officer standing back at her window. He handed the driver’s license and car registration back to her.

  “Ma’am, one of your taillights is blown out. I’m going to let you go with a warning this time, but you need to get it fixed immediately.”

  “Thank you, Officer. I promise to take care of the taillight first thing in the morning.”

  The police cruiser pulled into traffic, and Austyn blew out a ragged sigh and rested her head on the steering wheel. That was too close for comfort. Way too close.

  CHAPTER 20

  After sitting in nauseating stop-and-go traffic for over an hour, Payton parallel-parked next to the curb of Lake Chalet Seafood Bar and Grill. She needed a drink. The beautifully revived historical building was nestled along Oakland’s Lake Merritt and reminded her of an old California mission.

  Lake Chalet’s main clientele were city politician types doing table business, and the Oakland set who appreciated the picturesque windows with spectacular views of the lake.

  Payton hoped a few glasses of wine would suffocate her frustrations. She’d reached out to her uncle Sheldon for the umpteenth time without response. Where the hell was he? She began to get worried. He had gone off the grid before, but something in her gut told her this time was different. Maybe it was all the talk about Lois Greene and Austyn.

  Payton dialed Sheldon’s number again, this time with the intent to leave him a voice mail. As she waited for the greeting to end, Payton’s thoughts raced back to the Motel 6 in Pleasanton. She couldn’t believe Austyn Greene, the lunatic bitch who was terrorizing the city, was her half sister. Hell, who was she kidding? It was her suspicions of this very fact that caused her to drive out to Pleasanton in the first place. She spoke in a hushed tone into the receiver.

  “Uncle Sheldon, this is serious. I’ve called you several times, and I need you to call me back as soon as you get this message.” She pressed the red icon on the iPhone screen. Stepping up to the patio bar, she announced, “I’ll have a glass of the P. Harrell ‘Haight Street’ Riesling.”

  Glass in hand, Payton walked along the length of the dock, wrestling with her feelings. She took a seat on the resin wicker love seat closest to the water and tried to repress them, before downing the contents of her glass in one continuous gulp. On so many levels, she felt sorry for Austyn, because she knew that Lois Greene fucked up everything she touched. On the other hand, Austyn was dangerous and had hurt people whom Payton loved.

  When Payton turned to motion for the waiter to order another drink, she did a double take at the sight of a woman coming down the extended pier toward her. She’d seen many pictures of Celestine and David Bryant online and in the social pages of the local paper, had even breathed the same air with her at a few charity functions. But the two women had never been formally introduced. Normally, Celestine, who was an entertainment attorney, was the picture of power or glamour, depending on the occasion. Perfect hair, power suits, or ball gowns and diamonds draped at her throat.

  Today, she wore a charcoal-gray maxi sweater that flared above her black skinny jeans and a black Golden State Warriors “The City” T-shirt covered with rhinestones and crystals. A pair of black strappy sandals, crisscrossed around her ankles, punctuated the casual yet chic look that many high-powered women coveted but couldn’t pull off.

  Payton took a quick glance at the dark, shimmering waters of the lake. There was no need to panic. Her rule of thumb was never to discuss her bedroom antics with acquaintances, especially when they were the wives of the men who partook in those bedroom antics with her.

  Before Celestine reached the love seat, she stopped at a nearby table, dusted off the burnt-orange seat cushion, and took a seat. She removed a small silver compact from her oversized designer tote bag and studied her reflection. Payton glanced away, happy there would be no undignified confrontation today. She simply wasn’t in the mood.

  “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

  Payton whipped her head around at the sound of Celestine’s voice. A young man, whom Payton knew to be Celestine and David’s son, joined his mother at the table.

  DeMarcus Bryant was well over six feet tall, in his early thirties, and extremely good-looking by any woman’s standards. With meticulously cropped hair, dark eyes, and well-balanced facial features, he was the spitting image of his father, only a few shades darker. And not only was he good-looking, but his money made him a double threat, which meant a constant flow of thirsty women was hoping to become his flavor of the month. He kissed his mother on the cheek and placed two cocktails on the table.

  “Ma, it’s not even like that. With Dad giving me more responsibility at the downtown dealership, I’m extremely busy, and when I’m not working, I’m spending time with Chanelle.”

  “How is my grandbaby anyway?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And the situation with her mother?”

  DeMarcus laughed. “Ma, are you serious? You slapped every child custody injunction on that woman the court would allow.”

  “Well, I just want what’s best for my grandbaby. I don’t want her to be used for greed or as some kind of custody pawn.”

  Overwhelmed by the Bryant family’s lively conversation, Payton gazed at the authentic Venetian gondola gliding across the still water, then stared at her now-empty wineglass. Unable to relax, she motioned for the waiter, and for the first time made eye contact with DeMarcus.

  Once or twice, they’d encountered one another at the dealership when she stopped by for a meeting with David. Her visits were strictly for professional reasons, nothing that divulged she and his father were bed buddies and fucked every chance they got. DeMarcus leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and took a hearty sip of the deep copper liquid that filled his glass. His distrustful eyes held her gaze, as he asked Celestine, “Is Dad on his way?”

  “Yes, love. He said he’d be here in about fifteen minutes.”

  Payton took that tidbit of information as her cue to leave. Of all the restaurants in the city of Oakland, why did the Bryant family have to choose the one across the street from her condo for their little family reunion this evening? She grabbed her handbag and sashayed toward the exit, her eyes again locking with DeMarcus as she passed by the table. This time an inviting sneer crossed his lips.

  “DeMarcus! Quit staring. It’s rude. I raised you better than that. I mean, she’s cute, but just a tad bit old for you. More of your father’s type.”

  Payton paused mentally but her feet kept moving. Did that bitch just say she was too old? Well, Celestine was right about one thing. Her husband, David, sniffed at this “old” ass every chance he got.

  An air-conditioned breeze escaped through the restaurant doors, bringing with it the smell of mouthwatering seafood. Payton w
alked up to the main bar and took a seat a few stools away from David, who’d just stepped up to the bar. He was fit for a man in his early sixties, and the tailor-made suit hugged his frame perfectly like a second skin, a DILF (Dad I’d Love to Fuck) by anybody’s standards. He adjusted his necktie, and the simple gesture unleashed a flood of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She could almost feel the handmade silk with beautiful detail looped around her wrist... something David loved to do. For a quick second she wanted to smile, but then she remembered she was pissed by the impromptu Bryant family reunion invading her lakeside sanctuary. David ordered his standard, Casa Dragones, a sipping tequila, before the bartender made his way to her. “What can I get for you, beautiful?” the bartender asked.

  “I’ll take a bottle of the P. Harrell ‘Haight Street’ Riesling to go and put it on his tab,” she said, gesturing in David’s direction.

  “Well, let’s make sure that’s okay with the gentleman.”

  David nodded for confirmation but avoided looking in the direction of the familiar voice coming from the other end of the bar. The bartender stepped away, and within minutes returned with the wine Payton requested sealed in a to-go wine bag, as required by law.

  “Save a glass for me,” he said as if talking to no one in particular.

  Payton laughed weakly. Usually a bottle of wine would last her a few days, but this bottle would be empty by night’s end. She tucked the wine bag under her arm and stood up to leave.

  “Your family is seated on the dock. And I’m sure you’ll find it interesting to know that wifey thinks I’m cute, and even though I’m too old for your son, according to her, I’m just your type.”

  “Payton, you didn’t—” he said, looking at her for the first time.

  And she knew right away who she was dealing with. This was not the man who brazenly fed her in public. This was the dude who acted like he would be condemned guilty of some phantom shit simply because he knew her. A complexity of David Bryant she never quite understood but was quickly growing tired of.

  “Now, you know better than that. Your secrets will always be safe with me,” she said, her voice trailing off as she made her way toward the front door. Once she reached the exit, she glanced back, and just as she thought his eyes were fixated on her ass like glue, she winked.

  “Nice tie.”

  * * *

  Less than five minutes later, Payton pulled into her reserved parking space in the underground garage of the luxury high-rise condos across the street. Once inside her building, she decided she was too wound up and needed to exert some of her pent-up energy before uncorking her bottle of wine.

  The gym at Essex was deserted, so she hurried upstairs, changed into her workout clothes, and quickly made her way back downstairs. Next time she saw David, she would make it a point to let him know that Lake Chalet was her territory, and his family rendezvous were not welcomed there.

  An hour later, Payton stepped off the treadmill, gasping for breath, her mind preoccupied with the physical sensations in her glutes, hamstrings, and quads. A reprieve from the unfamiliar sensations squeezing her heart. Feelings were the enemy. She didn’t want to feel. But when Tony came to mind, her resolve vanished. She took out her phone and checked for missed messages.

  There was one. As she pressed in her password and waited for the message to play back, she prayed it was from Tony. She could really use his smart thinking right now.

  “Hello, Ms. Jones. This is Brandy from Brown and Franklin Real Estate Investments. We found a few boxes in the attic of the Pittsburg property, and I’d like to get them to you. I’ll be here today and tomorrow until five p.m., and you can stop by and pick them up. Otherwise, give me a call to schedule another time.”

  Payton glanced at her watch. It was already past five o’clock, but the phone call was a sign she needed to take her ass to Pittsburg. Though the trip would have to wait until tomorrow, because the only thing on her to-do list this evening was the bottle of wine chilling in the fridge and the recorded shows on her DVR. In the morning, after a good night’s rest, she would be better equipped to deal with her uncle Sheldon.

  She fired off a text.

  I’m coming to Pittsburg first thing in the morning. Be in your room. It’s important.

  CHAPTER 21

  The wheels of the plane touched down in Oakland and jarred Miles Day from a restless slumber. Due to a global computer glitch, he’d spent well over six hours at O’Hare International waiting for his flight to depart. During the delay, he read numerous stories on his iPad about the thousands of passengers stranded in airports worldwide, and right now, with the wheels down, he was glad to be home.

  Fourteen days, and he could not wait to lie in his own bed and smother his head in his own pillows. He searched his memory. Even though the South Side of Chicago would forever course through his veins, this was the first time he could remember thinking of Oakland as home since he’d moved here a few months ago.

  As the plane taxied toward the gate, Miles opened his eyes and squinted, adjusting to the now-bright overhead cabin lighting. He powered up his cell phone to call for car service, then quickly changed his mind. In the time it would take for them to send a sedan, he could have hailed a taxi and been pulling up to his front door.

  He glanced at his calendar. Tomorrow he was due at the hospital bright and early, then home in enough time to read a goodnight story to Arielle and Lauren via FaceTime. The thought of his daughters made Miles smile. Over the past two weeks, he’d spent every moment he could with them. Yet, his heart ached at the thought of what him being divorced and living in another state would do to them.

  The plane barely came to a complete stop before Miles stood with his leather backpack slung across his shoulder and retrieved his carry-on luggage from the overhead compartment.

  “Mr. Day, here are your items,” the flight attendant said, handing him the inconspicuous black garment bag.

  “Thank you.” He smiled and folded the attire across his forearm, eager to escape the confined space.

  When the doors opened, Miles hurried up the jetway and through the deserted terminal. Once outside, he moved with intention toward the taxi curbside pickup of Terminal 1. He shoved his luggage and backpack in the back seat of the cab, then folded his over-six-foot frame into the tight confines of the back seat, second-guessing his decision not to phone for car service.

  “Jack London Square, corner of Broadway and Second Street.”

  It was late, no traffic, and the ride downtown would be over in no time as long as the Black Lives Matter protesters hadn’t taken over the freeway or blocked traffic on Broadway. He, too, was outraged that black men were being murdered in this country with no accountability, and even though he didn’t have the answers, something had to be done.

  Miles turned his attention to the digital taxi display. Like a tourist, he mindlessly viewed news clips and a few restaurant promotions. But what he saw next made him want to put his fist through the small LCD screen. Donathan James was promoting the local morning radio show. Seeing his face brought back a rush of memories for Miles.

  He despised the arrogant mothafucker. If only Miles had the foresight to maintain his composure that day instead of making a complete fool of himself fist-fighting another grown-ass man. And in front of so many of his colleagues. Those were the ramifications he would have to live with, but truth be told, the images of Donathan conjured up something else. Sydney James. No matter how much he tried not to think about her, she kept pushing her way into his mind. During his self-imposed exile to Chicago, Sydney reached out to him numerous times, and it took tremendous willpower not to respond to her attempts at contacting him. What he needed to say to her would be done face-to-face, not via text or cell phone.

  Miles was smart enough to know the consequences of coming between a man and his wife, and that was the reason he’d fled to Chicago—to get his mind right. But before he stepped foot on the plane to return to Oakland, he decided that he was done pretend
ing that nothing happened between them. He wanted her.

  What did Sydney see in that dude? It was painfully obvious that Donathan James was a fucking idiot. What married man would let his wife shack up in a hotel for days without bothering to check up on her? Donathan James personified a poor excuse for a husband. It was men like him who didn’t miss a good thing until it was no longer sleeping next to him. Probably a side effect of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Point-blank, Miles was there for Sydney at a time when she needed a friend, and he didn’t give a damn what Donathan thought about it.

  But who was he kidding? If he was being honest, his attraction to Sydney began the moment he was introduced to her as his colleague. He’d broken the family motto he shared with his brothers: Never fuck with married pussy. They were words to live by, but he crossed the line that night at the Waterfront Hotel and there was no turning back.

  He couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman this much, not even his ex-wife, Stephanie. A fleeting thought passed through his mind and lingered. He remembered how he palmed Sydney’s ass and teased the clean-shaven flesh between her legs. His reward and punishment, her sweet juices on the tip of his tongue. Once he tasted her, the realization of what was happening slapped him in the face. Even though Sydney was the initiator, she was drunk, and the last thing he wanted or needed was for her to wake up with regrets. He promised her in that moment that if and when he ever pleasured her again, it would be because she wanted him to, not because she had too much to drink or because she was mad at her husband. Now he was back and armed with his motive to make good on that promise.

  The yellow cab came to a stop in front of the Ellington luxury full-service high-rise. Before Miles could open the car door, he was greeted by the on-staff security guard, who opened the door closest to the curb.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Day. May I take your luggage?”

  Miles hesitated, then allowed the young man to retrieve his bags.

  “Thanks, Calvin. You can take it right up and leave it by the door.”