What a Fool Believes (12 page)

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Authors: Carmen Green

BOOK: What a Fool Believes
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The clock read 9:30. She'd had the morning from hell, but things were hopefully looking up.
Byron's face popped into her mind. He'd been stern and angry, but when she left him, his eyes had been wary. Behind them, though, had been something else. Longing, she realized. Did he have a woman? Definitely not. Who'd have a hard-ass like him?
Tia flicked the computer mouse back and forth idly.
He'd rescued her again. Was there a limit to how many times a person could be saved by one police officer?
She didn't think so but bargained that if she made it through the day without getting fired,
and
got the condo without any drama, she'd kiss Byron Rivers on the mouth.
In 2065.
 
By the time Tia walked through the revolving doors of Colony Square, the sky was dark, winter showing off its power. Cold air braced Tia on each side, and she hesitated, wishing her next steps were to the destiny of her choosing. Except her chauffeur-driven squad car was waiting.
Byron stepped out and came around just as she reached for the handle. “You can't sit in the front,” he said.
Tia sucked her teeth, attitude enveloping her like the cold wind. “Do I have to look like I'm under arrest as I leave the job I barely have?”
“Why is everything always a fight with you?”
“Back in trouble again, Tia? This is so you ... so perfect.” Chance had walked up behind Tia, catching her off guard.
The smirk on her face stung to the soles of Tia's aching feet. Her mother had always taught her that hate wasn't possible if love lived in a person's heart, but that was another lie Millicent Amberson had passed on to her gullible child.
Tia's purse slid down the sleeve of her borrowed jacket. Screw the rest-of-her-life list. Kicking Chance's ass was the only thing she had left to do before she died. “Chance, I've had it—”
“Tia, we have to get going if we're going to make it to our dinner reservations on time.”
Byron's arm slid around Tia's neck in a semi-choke hold.
“You're”—Chance looked off into the distance for the answer to her assumption—“you're not here to arrest her?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because she's guilty of a crime?” Chance said, as if Byron were the biggest doofus in the world.
“I don't usually incarcerate my dates. We're late, darlin',” he said to Tia.
He'd only planned to peck her on the lips, but after this morning's nonsense and his midmorning dreams, he couldn't help kissing Tia for real. All day he'd felt anxious, until now.
He took her into his arms and let their mouths touch. Slowly, her soft lips slid against his, and when the delicate tip of her tongue greeted his, Byron knew this was no longer playacting. He let his guard down and enjoyed the moment.
When their mouths finally separated, he realized her scary-looking boss was still there. “Good night,” he told her.
Byron opened the passenger door and helped Tia inside. She glanced up at Chance, who had turned a lovely shade of stupid, and rolled her eyes.
When Byron climbed inside and shifted the car into drive, Tia kissed him again, her fingers playing at the base of his scalp. His cheek tingled.
“Is she still looking?” he said, his voice heavy until he cleared his throat.
“Yep.” Tia watched through the passenger rearview mirror.
“She's a piece of work.”
“Her jaw is still on the ground. She's Cruella De Vil, black heart included.”
Byron drove around the corner and merged into evening traffic, the bright red and white lights from other cars winking at them.
Tia yawned, lack of sleep catching up to her. Although her heart pounded and her eyes begged to close, she couldn't really rest until she was inside her home.
She gazed at him and couldn't look away. She noticed the strength of his jaw, the curve of his full lips, and the way he gripped the steering wheel in his large, capable hands. Tia blinked, feeling things she had no right to. “I owe you. Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
Inexplicably, the statement rubbed her like sandpaper against raw skin. “Is everything with you about your job?”
“You trying to say I don't have a life?”
“I'm asking if you do.”
“Yes, I have a life.”
“No elaboration? ‘Yes, I do,'” Tia imitated. “You just seem like you could be, and I'm not saying that you are, but boring.”
“Is that so?” He smiled, and his dimple winked at her. She wanted to stick her tongue in the little indent.
“Yes. What do you do for fun?” Tia asked, needing to know more about the man that had insinuated himself so intricately into her life.
“I have fun, and it's none of your business.”
“Good answer,” she said softly. “You just had your tongue in my mouth, and I shouldn't know what you do to have fun?” Tia giggled and squeezed his right leg. The muscle jumped against her palm. “Talk about putting the cart before the horse.”
She pulled her hand away and looked out the passenger window. “You hide behind your job. I said thank you. A simple ‘you're welcome' would have sufficed.”
He looked at her, then back at the road.
“Thank you, Byron,” she said pointedly.
He breathed deeply and shook his head. “You're welcome.”
Tia folded her arms. “That wasn't so hard, was it? So,” she said, glancing out the passenger window, enjoying the familiar scenery, “what do you do when you're not working? You a member of the stun gun club?”
“You are not funny,” he said, although he smiled a little. “Once you're in the house, you should consider changing the locks.”
He'd successfully averted any conversation about himself, returning to the reason why she was in his car. She'd tried to even the playing field, yes, for her own comfort, but he wasn't having it.
“I'll take that under consideration,” was all Tia could manage through tight lips.
He glanced at her before bringing the squad car to a smooth stop.
“Have you been patrolling the condo parking lot since our unfortunate meeting?”
“No. My zone was changed.”
“Because of me?”
“The 22,400 people that live in zone two needed another patrol car added for their protection. Nothing to do with you. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Acute embarrassment knocked on the door of her ego and gave her a fat lip. Life, as he'd so eloquently mentioned, wasn't all about her. So why did she feel as if she were under a hot microscope?
“I was just wondering if you'd seen anything out of the ordinary?”
“No, but you're not expecting anything strange to happen, are you?”
Strange?
Tia didn't know how to answer that.
Dumped. Jailed. Deserted by her one loyal best friend. Potentially losing her job.
Tia wasn't sure, but she didn't think things could get any more bizarre. “No.”
“Have you had any encounters with your ex?”
“No, I haven't seen Dante, or talked to or thought about him, except about how much pleasure I'm going to have when I squash him like the little bug that he is.”
The car jerked, and Tia lurched forward, her hands smacking the dashboard as cars screeched to a halt behind them.
“Have you forgotten how to drive?” she sniped. “I just did twenty-four hours in jail. I don't want my last thought to be, is my mother going to get my coffin at a closeout sale on the Internet?”
Disbelief skittered across his face, and Tia knew she'd just made another mistake.
“This is a camera light,” he said with force. “I have to obey the laws like everyone else.” Byron jabbed his finger at her, then the light. “But that's beside the point. You must have enjoyed your stay in jail, because you just made a threat against a man you've been ordered to stay away from. You're talking to a police officer, for God's sake.”
“I may be, but I'm also talking to a man with four sisters. You should know when we're talking junk and when we're not. Besides, Byron, in the same situation any one of them could have been me.”
He really laughed then. Tia considered wringing his neck, but then she wouldn't be a visitor in prison, but a resident.
She shoved her hands under her thighs.
“My sisters would never threaten to take out their ex-lovers. They're all upstanding citizens, as you should be.”
“After what I've been through, I should be able to get a taste of revenge. An eye for an eye. You've heard of it.”
“Don't try to get me to agree with your sick philosophy.” He was quiet for a moment. “What are you planning?” Byron demanded.
“None of your business.”
“You're done with him. He's gone. You're getting your house back, and pretty soon your life will return to whatever normal is for you. Why would you want to risk freedom for revenge? Is he worth it?”
Tia didn't say that she wanted to hurt Dante for hurting her, because these emotions were new. All her life she'd always been the calm one. Always in control. But now all she could think about was rocking his greasy-headed boat. In the deep sad recesses of her heart, she wanted to examine what had happened to their relationship. But then the reasonable woman inside her wanted to leave the past behind—after she got him back.
Still, Byron's points were valid. Her life was inside that house around the corner, and she could start over.
“You're right. He's not worth it.”
Byron patted her knee, leaving a memorable handprint. “No, he isn't. Get in the house. Deal with your personal issues and move on.”
Byron eased the car onto the property and drove slowly.
Any rebuttal Tia wanted to make was swallowed in the familiarity of being so close to home. The stoop looked lonely without the huge pots of petunias she'd planted last year to add an inviting splash of color. Each day when she'd left the house, she'd smile at the blooms, and upon her return every evening, it was as if the flowers were welcoming her home. Tomorrow she'd put the pots out even though it was too soon for the flowers. That would show the world that the ugly smudge their breakup had left on the neighborhood was being erased. It would signal that she was moving forward.
She'd hung the sea green shears over the single-pane clear glass side panels on either side of the front door four weeks ago, her dream of a serene entryway to the house falling apart with the breakup. Decorating had been her focus all those weeks ago. Making the relationship work had been important.
Now the thought of seeing Dante again made her stomach squeeze.
Byron parked next to the handicap spaces and got out. Coming around, he opened her door, offering her his hand.
Tia thought of leaving him hanging but didn't. Just because she felt evil didn't mean she had to be evil. Besides, he'd be out of her life soon, too.
Stepping out of the car, she eased ahead of Byron and walked up the short flight of stairs, her heart thundering.
“You got your keys?” he asked.
“I do.”
Tia inserted the key and was attempting to turn it when the door was wrenched open.
She backed up, surprised at the black woman who stood before her, clad in a floral silk robe, curly weave cascading down both sides of her face. She was thick, her lipstick faded, her mouth twisted at being disturbed.
“Who the hell are you?” Tia demanded.
“The new tenant, Ida Wilkes. I heard you might be stopping by. This is for you.”
The woman shoved a sheaf of papers into Tia's hand.
Incomprehension flooded her as she stared at them. Lease agreement? What the hell?
“There must be some kind of misunderstanding,” Tia said. “This is my home.”
The woman cocked her head. “
You
would be the one not understanding. You see, you might own it, but I rented it. This lease agreement says so. Buh-bye.”
Rage suffused Tia, and before she could think through her actions, she launched herself through the closing door, caught a handful of hair, and yanked.
Chapter Fifteen
In the back of the squad car, Tia wiped her tears.
Byron was glad that he hadn't cuffed her, after the unexpected attack on Ms. Wilkes.
“I want that crazy bitch arrested!” Ida Wilkes stood on the stoop outside, holding her head, pointing at Tia. “She yanked out my weave. She assaulted me!”
“She thought your hair was going to close in the door. She was trying to help you.”
Great lie
, and so far from the truth, Byron had a hard time keeping a straight face. Hair streamed through Ms. Wilkes's fingers, a whole section of French braids visible on her scalp.
“What the hell kind of excuse is that?”
“I can't account for her logic.” Byron looked back at Tia, who was unrepentant and hollering in the car. “Who leased you this condo?” he asked Ida Wilkes.
“The former owner, Dante Manuel.”
“He's not the rightful owner. Ms. Amberson is.”
“Mr. Manuel said he was, and I believed him. I acted in good faith, and now you're tryin' to say I'm out my hard-earned money? I don't think so.”
“Would you happen to know Mr. Manuel's current address?”
“No. He said he'd gotten an acting job in Los Angeles. That's why he needed to do everything in cash. I made him give me a receipt, though. And he said he'd contact me for the rent in a few months. That was fine with me. I'm paid up for a minute, anyway.”
“This is a misunderstanding,” Byron said, reading the lease, which looked legit. Manuel had made the agreement the day before the hearing, but Byron wasn't sure what took precedence. Manuel had been living in the house up until Judge Dunn's order, and as a resident, he had been able to make decisions regarding the property. Leasing it was another ball game, one where Byron didn't know the rules. The judge would have to get involved, and that made Byron edgy because the question became, where would Tia go in the interim?
Whether he was five miles away or three thousand, on the west coast, Manuel was doing a good job of sticking it to Tia.
“When did you meet with Manuel?” Byron asked Ms. Wilkes.
“Two weeks ago, Wednesday. I paid him forty-five hundred dollars, four months' rent in advance, and didn't have to pay a security deposit. So you tell crazy ass over there, this condo is legally mine. Here.” She stomped into the foyer and pulled several boxes from against the wall and shoved them onto the porch with her foot.
“He said she might come for these.” The woman glared up at Byron. “I don't want to see her around here again. If I do, I'm gone kick ass first and take names later.”
Pissed now that nothing had gone as planned, Byron pulled the handcuffs off his belt. “Are you threatening Ms. Amberson? If you are, I'll be glad to charge you and take you to jail.”
“Brotha, please! If she ain't goin' to jail, I
definitely
ain't. Besides, I ain't threatenin' nobody. I'm
promising
that if she tries to break into
my
house again, she's going to meet Ms. Whoop Ass.”
The door slammed in Byron's face, and he turned to look at Tia. Her eyes were round, and they widened as he walked down the stairs, his arms laden with her boxes. He could see her struggling to open the back door, but the futile attempt just further infuriated her.
He could hear her through the glass, screaming, “What the hell? What the hell?
What the hell
?”
He was asking himself the same damned thing. After arranging the boxes in the trunk, he opened the driver door and slid in.
“That's my house, and I want it back now.”
“Tia, Manuel leased it, and the agreement looks legit. You're going to need a lawyer.”
“Why?” she screeched. “I have you. You were told to get me into my house. You promised me this morning. I can't believe this. What the hell just happened?”
Byron turned around, bulletproof glass and metal separating him and Tia. Her face was taut from crying, her dark eyes piercing by the overhead light.
“He rented the place to her the day before the hearing,” Byron said, striving to stay calm. “Manuel took forty-five hundred dollars from her, and now she refuses to leave.”
“I'm the rightful owner of that condo. I'm supposed to be in there, not her! Do something!”
“Tia, first of all, quit screaming. Second, you snatched her damn near bald,
and
she has a legitimate lease agreement. You'll probably have to go through the process of evicting her.”
“I'll take care of that right now. Let me out of this car. Evicting her isn't a problem for me. Come open this door. I'll do what you
couldn't
do.”
Tia kept bumping the door with her shoulder, a slightly deranged look in her eyes.
Why were all women crazy?
“You're not going anywhere near that house. Tia,” Byron said forcefully, trying to get her to look at him. She finally stopped moving. “I'll put in a few calls, and within the next couple days, we should have an answer as to how to get her out.”
“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.

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