Authors: Michelle McGriff

Blood Relations (4 page)

BOOK: Blood Relations

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Chapter 5

“Dad, it's Nita on the phone,” Reggie called on his way out the door. He was headed out to practice. The team sucked as a whole, but he loved playing with his friends and they loved having him on the team. With Reggie on board, at least they got touchdowns during the game. Reggie was the MVP, no questions asked, and he enjoyed being the star. Reggie really had his heart set on playing college football, and not in Moorman U's colors.

“So does being the MVP of a team that loses all the time really count?” Chance had asked once while signing the permission slip that would allow Reggie to play out of town. Reggie just chuckled.

“It counts,” he huffed, puffing up slightly, strangely and suddenly resembling a man Chance would forever be working on forgetting. With his chiseled jaw line and broad shoulders, Reggie looked a lot like him sometimes. Although Doc's skin was that of a white man, he was Allen Roman's half brother. He was half black, with a heart darker than any skin tone could be. Blain, aka Doc, had a charm that women found irresistible for the most part, and maybe Rashawn had gotten caught up a little bit. Chance would never know for sure how Doc had ended up getting so close to her he had access to her home as easily as his crazy brother Allen Roman did. But none of that mattered now. Chance shook his head, erasing the memories as quickly as they came.

The memory of the big monster of a man breaking him into as many pieces as possible without killing himâ
death might have been preferable at that moment
âbrought a chill over him. Chance shuddered slightly as he remembered the moment he saw his life flashing before his eyes. He'd nearly died that day because of his love for Rashawn and Reggieâand he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He loved his family and would fight for them to the death if he had to. Minor though it all seemed, in comparison there were things worse than what he'd been through, in Chance's mind. For instance, Reggie calling him by his first name whenever he could get away with it, pushing the rules to a breaking pointâChance had to put the hammer down on those seemingly small things. Reggie would never understand why life and the rules seemed so out of whack, but it was okay. He didn't need to understand. Chance just needed to be a good father and he knew he would always be.

Chance took time with Reggie as well as his own daughter, Rainey; helping them with homework and extracurricular activities, and even taking them on camping trips and to amusement parks and such. He even stretched further and included his “other Chance” in many of the activities. All of the children got along;
they are keeping me young
, he would force himself to think. Of course, Rashawn and Juanita were another story, in Chance's mind. Their bickering, bitching, and plain old crazy actin' was surely driving him to an early grave.

Year after year, the two women in his life went at it. Sure, he took good care of his body, keeping himself in shape. He would run for miles sometimesâmore for his own peace of mind than anythingâbut still. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror he would simply shake his head in wonder. “You'd think I was Denzel Washington or somebody ...” Chance would say to the aging reflection.

Chance also enjoyed his work. He was a remedial math teacher at Moorman University. He'd taught there for more than fifteen years now. But since Rashawn's aggressive climb to dean began, he had dropped to part-time in order to give the children more attention where she was coming up short. It was a choice they both made and it had worked out. Chance was better with the kids anyway, in his opinion. As he picked up the grocery list on his way to the phone, he thought about Rashawn's domestic skills. She was great housekeeper, planner, wife, and woman. It wasn't as if Rashawn had ever really planned to be a motherâlet alone a mother of two-and-ahalf active teenagers. Being dean of a university offered her a better fit.

Glancing at the grocery list now, it was clear that the kids had added things, intermingled within Rashawn's balanced nutritional pyramid. Along the way up the list, he notice items with tell tale signs of balance invasion:

Whole wheat rolls. Oreos. Soy Dream. Polish Dog w/cheese. Tofu ... yeah right.

This position as dean was her calling. Of course, this promotion also meant that he was now going to have to increase his duties around the house, like shopping and cooking. That thought and this whacked-out grocery list nearly caused him to forget who was on the phone.

“Helleeerrrooo,” he sang nonchalantly into the receiver.

“Chance ... hi, ummm, I was wondering if Junior could stay over 'til the weekend,” Juanita led, as was her style. Chance was immediately brought back into focus, his mood dropping several degrees.

He answered while looking over the grocery list. “I'll pick him up on Saturday, Nita. He comes here after school. You pick him up. I get him every other weekend. Why are you always trying to change up stuff?”

“But, Chance ...” she began. He knew this was coming. Juanita never wanted Junior to extend his visit without ulterior motives. She'd made their son an unwitting accomplice to her job, that being to both bug the hell out of Rashawn as well as milk him for funds. As for Junior, he'd be a great corporate man when the time came. The training he was gaining from his mother was priceless. What a piece of work Juanita was.

And to think I once loved her,
Chance thought, his brain drifting to her bed. She was a wild cat, seductive as hell. He was crazy about Rashawn, true, but nobody had it on Juanitaâshe was a sexual pro. No, it wasn't loveânot in the purest senseâit was lust, greed, and insatiable need that kept them together and kept him going back after they broke up. To be truthful, it was only by pure resistance that he hadn't gone back since he and Rashawn married, because Juanita hadn't stopped trying. As a matter of fact, over the last few months it seemed as though she must be in a dry spell, as her attempts had become less than covert. Chance was going to have to up his defense for sure. He didn't feel guilty about his feelings; he was human. And Juanita wasâsex crazed.

“... and he needs ...” Chance heard Juanita say, as he once again tuned into her voice. It didn't really matter what she was saying. In the end, of course Junior would extend his stay through the weekend, and probably stay over the entire winter break. And Chance would purchase whatever the boy needed ...
It's only right.

Junior was his son.

Well, as much as Reggie is.

Chance wasn't stupid. He was barely five ten and Juanita was a half a minute taller than five feet even, and already, at barely fifteen years old, Junior was eye to eye with him and nowhere near finished growing. In addition, with Juanita's eyes being grey in color and his own being brownâalbeit on the light side, closer to hazelâJunior's onyx pools just didn't fit the DNA profile. Suffice it to say, there was very little about Chance's namesake that he could claim, as claiming blood relation was something that, in his heart, he was not be able to do.

Paternity test? What was the point at this late date? Chance knew he was the only father Reggie or Junior had, and would ever have. Juanita was a sexually charged womanâwho knew who Junior's father was. Back then, “no” was not part of her vocabulary when it came to sexâhis either, for that matter. Chance felt that he was in the running just as easily as any other man.

That was half of the attraction, and that she'd actually agreed to marry him, to settle down with him considering how many men wanted her. Back then it had been flattering. But faithful was something Juanita could never be. Even while she was married to her last husband, Dennis, Chance often revisited his comfort spot between her thighs. Shameful as it was, he'd even slept with Juanita on a regular basis while dating Rashawn. They weren't committed at the time, so Rashawn forgave him for the indiscretion, but only with the promise that he had truly recovered from his diseaseâThe Juanitas. He'd worked hard to recover, and now believed in his heart that he had. Anytime he felt as if he would slip back into darkness, Junior was there as a bright, reminding light. Just knowingâor worse yet, not knowingâthe truth had set Chance free of her spell. But not for Juanita's lack of applying the juju. And, truth be told, Juanita was looking kinda good these days, too.
Not that I'm really looking all that hard,
Chance told himself.

Chance knew who Reggie's father was, but Chance Jr. didn't stand a chance of ever being related to anyone beside Juanita. Besides, being a father to both boys hadn't put a dent in anything he had going on, and his daughter, Rainey, was enjoying actually having two big brothers. It was probably the best thing for her. Chance enjoyed having sons; he'd always wanted sons. So it was working out, at least for him and the kids.

“... and you promised that spring break Junior was gonna stay with you and you didn't keep your word then, eitherâthat's all water under the bridge, I know, but this is Christmas. It's bad enough I have to spend it alone, but don't do this to Junior. Or maybe it's Rashawn who's making you neglect yo' chile,” Juanita went on.

It was time to stop her now. She was bringing Rashawn needlessly into the mix. There was one thing that would turn him off quicker than anything, and that was Juanita's jabs at Rashawn. Chance had to admit that Rashawn had all but stopped commenting on Juanita and her little nasty remarks. There were so many other things to be busying her mind with: her job, her responsibilities, and lest he forget, Rashawn's crazy sisters. She had five of them, and with the holiday season they were coming out the woodwork, and would soon be converging on him full force.

“Nita, that's enough,” Chance answered. “I'm bringing him home,” he continued, barely getting in a good-bye before hanging up.

He heard her cursing as the receiver headed quickly toward the cradle.

Chapter 6

At the police station, Detective Lawrence Miller watched as the strange guy he'd never seen before stood looking through one of the older files, flipping it over from front to back, as if there were extra notes expected there; more information than the weak report held. Finally he looked up. “So is this all you've got?” Ovan asked.

Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn't on the case. I wasn't even a detective back then.”

“Yeah, but damn, this case was a biggie. It made the news and all that. I mean, good cops were killed. Hell, one of the killers was a cop! It was big news and you don't remember it? Right here in your precinct and you don't rememberâ”

“It wasn't my caseâI told you that. I wouldn't know. And at the time this was not my precinct. I told you that, too. It's an ancient case, closed case. Why you here bringing up old stuff?” Lawrence sighed heavily. This third degree was not his thing. He could dish it out, but surely taking it was another storyâone he wasn't interested in. And this guy didn't seem to be too overly serious about things. He was acting like it was playtimeâyuckin' it up with the chief and all that before coming out here to the pit, acting like he owned the joint. Chief just came out of her office smiling like a teenager and said, “Let him see the file.” That wasn't like her to just give someone free reign at a fileâa closed one at that. Lawrence was speechless.

Lawrence wanted to get rid of him. Hell, he wasn't even sure who this cat was. If Jim were here, he'd know how to get to the bottom of this. Jim was Lawrence's partner and loved working homicide. He was kinda like this guyâfull of fun all the damned time, but Jim knew when to do his job, and he was hella good at it. Lawrence wasn't about fun, not at all. He was too serious for that kind of silliness. Besides, homicide had never been fun, and if and when they actually closed a case, he preferred it stayed closed.

“Who are you with again?” asked Lawrence, noticing the dude's minute size (about five six or seven), British accent, and his pretty-darn-persistent attitude. The uptight, albeit expensive looking, suit, sharply edged facial hair, and diamond stud in his ear hadn't impressed Lawrence much either. This little white-looking guy was like a cross between James Bond, Prince, and the Hulk. Well, minus the green face and height . . . and bulk. Okay, so maybe not the Hulk ... Maybe the blond dude on that old TV show,
The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

“I'm Ovan Dominguez. I'm working a special task force for the British governmentâI told your boss all that. I even showed her my,” the little Napoleon began, answering one of Lawrence's many questions and looking devilish all the while, “... badge,” he said after a dramatic pause that left Lawrence feeling a little uneasy.

“So you're like the Euro version of the FBI? What's going on that our closed cases deserve a once-over from you kinda guys?”

“We think one of your closed cases might be open again.”

“Had a bad feeling you were going to say that. Do you realize that this is homicide? We don't like hearing that people who are dead aren't as dead as we thought. Kinda scary ... yadamean?”

“What soooo.” Ovan pointed at him, still balancing the open file on one of his palms. He was standing, and had been since Lawrence had made it known that Jim's desk was not available for him to sit. Sure Jim was on vacation for a couple more days, but still. “It's not that simple, but I feel your sentiments on that âdead back to life thing,' surely I hate when that happens,” Ovan joked. “But since it has ...”

“Why do I get the crazy feeling you're about to ask me for some help? Why do I get the funky feeling that I'm not gonna want to do it? Whyâ”

Ovan looked around and lowered his voice. “Look, Detective Miller, this case is A-1 classified andâ”

“And how did I know you were going to say that?”

Ovan smiled wickedly, forcing Lawrence to accept the reluctant bond of understanding, despite his misgivings and note to himself to make a few phone calls after this guy left his office. Since the chief looked all twitterpatted and flush, when she came out of the office after talking to himânow that Lawrence thought about itâhe had a feeling he might be alone in his suspicions. He shook his head of the thoughts connecting the chief and Ovan, and what could have possibly put that flush on her face.
No, wait, that kinda thing happens in vice. This is homicide,
he reasoned.
What did happen in there! Lawrence would have to give Jim a call as well.

Ovan Dominguez, the British equivalent of the FBI (or so he said) standing in front of his desk on a Wednesday evening. Yeah, this guy looked as shady as a summer lawn of a large plantation home in Atlantaâthe kind his mama said she grew up in. Lawrence all but expected Mr. Dominguez to pull out his dark shades and stun gun before leavingâthe kind they had in that movie. The one that made the person forget what they were thinkin'. Yeah, this Dominguez cat was up to something major. Lawrence could smell it.

“So, Mr. Euro, what do we know that you guys don't know that has you looking for a haunt? And, more importantly, whose haunting the hallsâDominguez?” Lawrence wanted to say his name again, too. Britain and the name Dominguez just didn't play the same tune in his mind.

“Someone who is a one- or two-time killer, Detective Miller, and if I'm right, he's going to kill again.”

“Is that right. And you know this how?”

“Because he's never stopped killing.”

“Your killer got a name?”

“Yes ... he does,” Ovan answered. He was toying with Lawrence now, and Lawrence was not too cool with that.

“Speaking of names, where did a guy like you get a name like Dominguez?”

“My father, I suppose. Look here, Detective Miller, before we become best friends I need to know I have your support on this case. Your superior assured me your cooperation.”

“Really. She did that, huh? Well, she shoulda checked my calendar.”

“Fine, then what I'm really asking, I guess, is that you don't get in my way.”

Lawrence burst into laughter. “Me in your way . . . doubt that.”

“Good. Then we have an understanding.”

Lawrence was now sure he'd be seeing more of this guy, and he wasn't looking forward to it.

BOOK: Blood Relations

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