Controversy (6 page)

“I'm just stating the facts. There's no proof any crime has been committed. Just a report from a concerned girlfriend of Matthews's, who no one knew about. Who knows, maybe he had more than one drink and decided to take off and celebrate his freedom papers? Heck,
she
threw a party.”

Griff shrugged as if he could buy that excuse. “Time will tell. But…” He paused and then shook his head. “Never mind.”

His partner's hesitancy piqued Kyson's curiosity. “What is it?”

Griff paused a little longer before saying, “Well, it's just that after meeting Ms. Adams, hearing about her misadventures in her former neighborhood
and
seeing her mile-long rap sheet, she doesn't strike me as the sort to be afraid of anything.”

“Me neither,” Kyson said. “What's your point?”

“No point,” Griff confessed. “I just wonder what the chances are that she's really afraid of rats. And if not—”

“Then what spooked her in the basement?” Kyson finished his partner's sentence.

“Not just her, but her sister Sheldon, as well.”

M
ichael had never prayed so hard and so many times in one day in her life. And no matter how hard she tried to maintain her hard-as-nails persona for her sisters, she was sure they could now see the visible cracks. How could they not? Her ex-husband was tied and gagged in the trunk of her car, for Pete's sake.

Maybe it's time to admit that I've finally cracked?

She couldn't remember when she'd started with her tough-girl routine. Maybe being the middle child, she figured she needed to do something in order to stand out in a family of six children. Sheldon didn't have to do anything for entitlement. She was the oldest. Of course, she was known for having a buttload of children.

Frankie was the first to marry a multimillionaire and she rarely missed an opportunity to rub that into people's faces. Joey was the second—marrying a well-to-do director and now shooting her very own movie. Peyton, the baby girl in the family, was successful in her own right—a big-time art agent who was now married to a man who was blazing a trail with his own artwork.

And what did she have?

She was divorced from a man who took years to get to the altar. No career. No children. She was just a plus-size woman knocking on forty with no clue on how to start her life all over—depending on whether she would have a life that didn't include prison bars when this was all over.

“It's gotta be in here somewhere,” Peyton said, rummaging through another chest of drawers in her bedroom. Each of her sisters was assigned to different boxes or closets, looking for Peyton's old pink datebook.

“I always thought you were a little more organized than this,” Sheldon complained, closing the door to the armoire.

“I wasn't exactly trying to keep up with Ricky after the divorce. Since I haven't heard of him blowing up the music world, I'd just assumed that he'd found some other sugar momma to take care of his grown butt.”

“Someone is still bitter,” Frankie commented.

“Hardly,” Peyton countered. “I've definitely upgraded.”

Michael had to agree. The fact that Peyton had found true love the second time around gave Michael hope, however small.

A deep rumble by the bedroom door caused the women to jump, but when they all turned to see Peyton's husband filling the doorway, everyone visibly relaxed.

“Mind if I ask what you girls are doing?” he asked.

No one said anything, including his wife.

“How about a hint?” he asked.

Silence.

A twitch of annoyance flashed along his jawline, but he obviously figured out no one was going to answer his question and he finally turned away from the door.

“All right then,” he acquiesced. “I'll leave you girls to your secrets.”

Once his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Peyton turned to Michael with her eyes blazing. “This better not come back to bite me on the ass,” she warned. “I'll never forgive you if I'm dragged to jail and forced to give birth behind bars.”

Michael drew a ragged breath and then lowered her gaze back to the pile of books and memorabilia. What could she say? What did everyone expect her to say?

“Look, girls. Let's just stop.” She slammed the drawer closed. “I'm sorry I've dragged you all into this. This is my problem and I should be the one to face the music. Maybe I did tell Ray and Scotty to do what they did. I don't know. I don't remember.” Michael walked over to Peyton's king-size bed and plopped down. “I really messed up this time.” She hung her head just as tears crested her eyelids and slid down her face.

It didn't go unnoticed by Michael that her sisters were a bit slow in drifting over to surround and support her. She could hardly blame them. In all Michael's years of outrageous stunts and petty vengeful tactics, her actions rarely affected just her.

She was thirty-eight and it was time to grow up.

Sheldon was the first to sit next to her and loop a supportive arm around her shoulders. “No matter what happens, we're going to be there for you.”

Peyton, with her bulging belly, sat on her right side and did the same thing. “Of course we will. Just not in the cell with you.”

Frankie leaned against the closet door and folded her arms. “Amen.”

Despite her misery, her sisters' grudging support drew a smile from Michael. “I guess I can't ask for any more than that.”

“Um, excuse me,” Linc's heavy baritone sliced through the mini pity party. “Whatever you girls are in here whispering about doesn't have anything to do with Phil popping out of Michael's trunk like a jack-in-a-box, does it?”

“What?” the girls thundered as they jumped to attention.

Linc stepped back as if afraid he was about to be attacked by his crazed group of sisters-in-law. “Yeah, I just saw him hop out of the trunk and take off running down the driveway.”

This time Linc did jump out of the way as Michael, Sheldon, Frankie and his wobbling wife rushed out the bedroom and out of the house.

A million thoughts raced through Michael's head as she led the pack outside, but the moment she saw her car's trunk propped open, she knew it was all over. Still, she ran all the way to the car and glanced inside the now-empty compartment.

“Somebody just shoot me.”

 

As usual, at the end of his shift, Kyson drove to his neighborhood gym and proceeded to work out his stress and frustrations by punching a hundred-eighty-pound bag until he was drenched in sweat. Today, he had plenty to work off.

Nine years on the force, eighteen months of those in homicide, and it still wasn't any easier knowing that each day he went to work he had to deal with senseless murders, ruthless drug dealers and combustible marriages. And nearly everyone he had to talk to, investigate or interrogate hated the police.

It was a thankless job.

Only a few understood why he did it: Jada. He sighed and pulled his thoughts from that minefield and returned to punching the bag.

Minutes later, Kyson stopped long enough to pace and catch his breath.

“You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that punching bag owed you money.”

Kyson's head turned at the familiar purr and he leveled a smile at the gym's owner and resident hard body, Crystal King. “Well, look who blew back into town.”

“Missed me much?” She smiled and approached him with her arms flung open wide.

Kyson accepted the hug but couldn't stop chuckling when Crystal hung on a little too long and used the time to feel him up. “C'mon now. Don't make me slam the cuffs on you.”

“Promise?”

He laughed. “Women like you are how fools like me end up in a chalk outline. Where's your husband?”

She finally stepped back. “Oh, he's around here somewhere.” She shrugged. “He's probably peeking in on the strip classes upstairs.”

Laughing, Kyson turned back to the punching bag. He didn't have time for the type of games Crystal played. She spent most of her time flirting and propositioning her gym members in hopes of remedying her husband's attention-deficit problem.

“How come you don't have a woman?” she asked after watching him take a few jabs. “A six-four, dark-chocolate brother like you should have women dripping off of him.”

“I am married,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“What—to your job?”

“What I do is important.”

“Whatever.” She laughed. “A fine specimen like you should be settled down with a woman and making chocolate babies.”

He stopped punching as his laughter deepened. “Where are
your
babies?”

“Are you kidding? My husband is pumped up on steroids. Half the time he can't get it up, let alone get me pregnant.”

“Sounds like the makings of a happy marriage.”

“Hmmph!”

He eyeballed her. “If you're so unhappy, why don't you just divorce him?”

Crystal shrugged as her expression pinched. “Because I love the idiot—even if he is shooting blanks.”

“So you're in it to win it?”

“You got it. And if he ever even thought about leaving
me
—I'd kill him.”

Kyson shook his head. “You might want to rethink telling a cop that.”

“Please,” Crystal said, following him to his water bottle and towel. “No body. No crime. Everyone knows that.”

Kyson stopped in his tracks. “What did you say?”

L
uscious mounds of pecan-brown skin pressed against Kyson's hard chest. A light, feathery moan filled his head while he concentrated on rotating his hips just right. Each stroke elevated his heart rate. Soon he would either explode with an unbelievable orgasm or die from a massive heart attack. Gazing into Michael's rapturous face made either prognosis worth the risk.

Thick, strong thighs wrapped around his waist and anchored Kyson in place, allowing him to sink deeper into his dream lover's warm honeypot.

This was heaven.

Through the mesh of his dark eyelashes, he watched as Michael pressed her large breasts together. Twin raisin-size nipples surrounded by a pair of beautiful caramel areolae hypnotized him as they bounced and jiggled before his eyes. His mouth watered while unbelievable hunger pains forced him to bury his head in the deep valley between her breasts. He feasted like a starved man—greedy for every inch of her sweet body.

At the feel of her vaginal muscles tightening and milking his essence, he instinctively knew she was on the brink of an orgasm.

“That's it, baby,” he coached. “That's it. Give it to me.”

Give it to him, she did.

His own control slipped, an amazing sensation unfolded, rendering his ability to breathe almost impossible. “I'm coming, baby,” he warned, already feeling the pending explosion.

Michael opened her eyes, locked gazes with him in order to deepen their bond at this crucial time.

If it was timed just right, they could come together. Judging by her own choppy breathing, it was going to happen in the next four, three, two, one—

Riinnng! Riinng!

Kyson's eyes flew open at the sound of his alarm clock. He shot up in bed, glanced around, disoriented. When he recognized his small bedroom and noticed the empty space next to him, disappointment stabbed him so deep, it felt like a real physical wound.

For a few long seconds, he allowed the alarm clock to ring while he sank his head into the palms of his hands. When he finally shut it off, a part of him still couldn't believe what he'd experienced was just a dream.

It felt so real.

Kyson pulled back the bed's top sheet and climbed out. This morning's hard-on was harder and throbbed mercilessly and threatened his no-sex-or-masturbation-during-training rule.

For years, Kyson had been an ultimate fighting fan—a style of mixed martial arts competition. Throughout his life he'd studied jujitsu, judo, karate, kickboxing, tae kwon do and wrestling, but he'd never given thought to become a fighter.

The suggestion came from his older brother, Khail, a onetime UFC titleholder himself. An unfortunate knee injury had ended Khail's career, but he never wasted an opportunity to fill Kyson's head with similar hopes and dreams.

The truth of the matter was that Kyson wasn't so sure a UFC title was what he really wanted. He just loved how the intense training and fighting relieved much of his job's stresses.

Kyson, as he'd done for the past three days, recalled his visit to Michael Adams's home. Remembered in vivid detail how his body had ignored years of training and responded to the curvy beauty like he was a hormone-driven teenager.

Despite a shower the night before, Kyson hit the shower again that morning, using more than a generous amount of baby oil when he closed his eyes and replayed his vivid dream frame by frame.

Brown skin.

Hard, dark nipples.

Soft, thick thighs.

Warm, slick honeypot…

Toes curled and weak-kneed, Kyson threw back his head as his climactic groan bounced and echoed off the tiles around him. For several seconds afterward, his ears hummed while blood rushed from his head.

“Kyson!”

Catching his name above the steady stream of water, Kyson shut it off.

“Kyson!”

“Khail,” he mumbled and pulled open the shower door. “Just a second!” He grabbed a navy-colored towel and wrapped it around his hips.

As usual, he discovered his brother bent over headlong into the refrigerator. “Why don't you ever eat at your place?” he asked. “You know how small a brother's paycheck is on the force.”

Khail stood with an armful of food. “And it's my fault you didn't take a job utilizing your engineering degree because…?”

“The point is, I'm on a budget,” Kyson said, an expert at dodging his brother's loaded questions. “Missed you at the gym—again.”

“Sorry. It's was my and Aimee's six-months-since-we-met anniversary last night. Had to do it up for her.”

“Wasn't it yours and Brenda's anniversary last week?”

“Yeah. I need to start meeting chicks in different months, for real.”

“You're supposed to be my trainer, remember?”

“I know. I know.” Khail nodded, making himself at home while he prepared himself a monster sandwich. “You better hurry and get dressed if you're going to get your four-mile run in before you head off to work.”

“I'm off today.”

“What? They finally give a brother a day off?”

“Yeah, but my partner's not so lucky. He's training a rookie today.”

The phone rang.

“The department,” the brothers grumbled in unison.

Kyson answered the call by the third ring and was pleasantly surprised to discover it wasn't the department, but his baby sister, Naomi.

“‘Happy birthday to you,'” she launched into the verse the moment he answered. She performed the whole song groggy and off-key, but that was what made it all the more adorable. Plus, she was making the long-distance call from Georgia, which made it even more special.

“Thanks, Baby G.” Kyson looked over his shoulder at his brother, who was just taking his first bite of his sandwich. “I'm glad
someone
remembered what day it was.”

Khail stopped chewing and then started speaking with a mouthful of food. “Oh, snap. It's your birthday, huh?”

Kyson rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his sister. “Thanks for calling, Baby G. When you coming out this way again?”

“When the ground stops shaking and those damn trees stop burning.” She laughed. “I keep trying to tell you and Khail that California is going to drop off into the ocean. But a hard head will make a soft butt.”

Kyson laughed. “Then I guess that means I'm going to have to trek back to the Dirty South if I'm going to see my favorite sister in the whole world.”

“Funny. I'm your only sister.”

“Good thing,” he volleyed. “The world wouldn't have been able to take two of you.”

Kyson, the middle child of the three siblings, was generally considered the levelheaded one. He was oftentimes odd man out among his friends for actually believing the legal system could work. He had to believe in order to make sense out of being a cop.

A damn good cop.

“So, are you keeping to your rule on your birthday?” Naomi probed.

“What?”

“You know. No sex until fight night.”

Kyson chuckled. “You have your nose too far up my business, little girl.”

“Hell, I just want you to get a life.” She snickered and then yawned. “It's a damn shame your baby sister gets more than you these days.”

“With who?” he thundered protectively. “What's his name? What does he do? Who are his people?”

Naomi just laughed. “Chill. You're crazy if you think I'm about to tell you or knuckleheaded Khail my business so you can run police and credit checks on them. I can handle my own business.”

Kyson was silent, wondering if he should call up some of his old high-school boys in Atlanta and put a tag on Naomi. She didn't know men like he knew them, and the last thing he wanted was to see her hurt. “All right. I'm gonna leave it alone.”

“Good.”

“For now,” he amended.

“Whatever. You just make sure you find yourself a nice birthday present,” she teased. “Breaking your no-sex rule this
one
time won't be the end of the world.”

“I'm hanging up,” he said, determined not to have this conversation.

“All right. I'm just trying to help out.”

“Thanks, but I think I can handle my own sex life.” Despite that it currently consisted of him whacking off in the shower.

The moment he ended the call, Khail wrapped an arm around his neck and held him in a choke hold.

“Happy birthday, little man.” Khail rubbed his knuckles against the top of Kyson's head and then released him shortly before he passed out. “Tell you what. No training today. It's officially your day off.”

“I take it this means you didn't buy a gift?”

“I'm going to get you something better than a gift,” Khail boasted. “I'm going to get you laid. It's been a few months since you broke up with that psycho you were dating. It's time to get your feet wet again.”

“That's all right,” Kyson said, remembering the near-anorexic women with fake double D's Khail usually dated. “I can handle my own love life.”

“Love?” Khail said, truly perplexed. “Who said anything about love? This is about getting laid so you can stop jerking off in the shower.”

 

For three days Michael waited on pins and needles for the police to return and haul her off to jail. Three days of eating everything that wasn't nailed down. Three days of packing her clothes and then unpacking them at the thought of living the rest of her life on the run.

For the first time in her life, Michael was completely at someone else's mercy. The thought of it being her ex-husband made it all the worse.

Of course, her nerves might have been a little better if her sisters would stop calling every other hour. Then again, they had every reason to be as anxious as she did. Phil had threatened to have them all thrown in jail.

This stalling tactic either meant Phil had had a change of heart or he'd learned a few tricks of her trade and was making her and her sisters sweat. If it was the latter, she was impressed.

The phone rang.

Michael jumped. When she realized it was just a telephone, she nearly fainted with relief, but then remembered that bad news often came by phone. Crossing her bedroom, she looked at the caller-ID console on the nightstand. This time, she allowed herself to collapse on the bed, relieved to see Joey's cell number.

“Hey, Joey. What's up?”

“You're kidding, right?” Joey laughed. “Don't tell me you forgot about tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Joey sighed and then laughed. “So you did forget. Figures. Let me guess, you're still playing Nancy Drew with your ex. Girl, exhale already before you do something you'll regret. You're getting too old for us to keep bailing you out of jail.”

If she only knew.
So far, Joey was the only sister who didn't know about Phil's kidnapping and escape. So far, she and her other sisters saw no reason to drag Joey into it. They were pretty much just hoping Phil had calmed down and chalked the episode up as another one of Michael's wild pranks.

Keyword was
hoping.

“Michael, are you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm still here. Changing the subject, what did I forget about tonight?”

“Dad and Donna's first anniversary.”

Michael groaned. Only the shenanigans of the past few days could have made her forget about their father's anniversary party. While it was still strange to have another sister—one that was thirty-six years younger—she found it even harder to accept her new stepmother.

They all had.

“Yeah. Yeah. It's all starting to come back to me now.”

“Don't worry about it. I hear the mind is the first thing to go.”

Michael rolled her eyes. “Laugh all you want. You're just a year behind me.”

“A year and a half,” Joey corrected. “Get it right.”

Michael appreciated and welcomed this short reprieve and laughed. But going out tonight, when she was still waiting for Phil to make his intentions clear made her more than a little wary about going out. “Look, Joey, about tonight—”

“Don't even think about canceling. If I have to go, then so do you.”

Silence.

“Mikey,” Joey insisted. “We promised Dad we would put more of an effort into welcoming Donna into the family.”

“I know. I know,” Michael huffed. The main problem the Adams clan had with the whole Donna issue was the
way
their father had kept his relationship with this mysterious
young
woman hush-hush. That is, until he knocked her up and then did the gentlemanly thing by marrying her.