Authors: Carmen Green

What a Fool Believes (15 page)

BOOK: What a Fool Believes

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“You're going to have to take control. Reiterate why we're here,” Byron told the defeated man.

“And what are you going to do? Arrest them all for choosing bad men? Leave me alone, if you don't mind. I feel sorry for you.”

“Why?”

“You still hope. I have a friend who drives for M.A.R.T.A. Maybe he can hit me with his bus. We can make it look like I fell. I fall all the time. That won't be hard.”

“Shut up, Fred. You wouldn't die.”

A short sob jumped out of Fred's mouth as his head hit his chest. “Just my miserable luck.” He whimpered into the fold of his arm, sounding like a sick dog.

Byron stared at the bald spot on his teacher's head, aggravated that the man didn't have more testosterone.

Well, it didn't matter. He was an officer of the law, and his job was to serve and protect. Everyone. Even dumb ass, abusive husbands married to these very angry women.

The women were just blowing off steam, he told himself.

The anger management course was ending soon, and they wouldn't jeopardize completion of this class for short-term satisfaction.

There was one thing he could do.

While Fred regrouped, Byron took the list of names, addresses, and e-mail addresses to the office down the hall and copied them, before slipping them back into Fred's bag.

Outside again, he dialed the precinct and relayed the information to the duty sergeant and requested that a patrol car be sent over to pick up Ginger's husband. Perhaps with him being gone when she got home, that would allay any further thoughts of retribution.

He snapped his phone shut just as Tia and the rest of the class entered and took their seats.

They were calm. Collected. Quiet. Something was wrong. The anger was gone. In its place was eerie, cold, calculated resolve, which no man ever wanted to see on the face of one woman, let alone nine of them.

Fred raised his head in time to see the women's silent procession and tried to crawl under his desk. When he couldn't get under, he was left hyperventilating in his chair.

Byron gestured to Tia to meet him outside the room, and she rose.

The women looked at her with warning glares, but she reassured them by waving her hand, and they backed down.

What the hell was going on?

“What is it?” she asked, leaving the door half open.

Her perfume made him want to kiss her neck and do things he'd only imagined to her body. “What are you planning?” he asked, focusing.

“None of your business.”

“You're going to poison them? They're all going to have some mysterious accidents, right? You do remember what jail was like, right? Want to go back as perpetrator, accessory before and after the fact?” He got really close to her. “Do you want Manuel to take everything from you, including your freedom?”

“I'm over him. I just want my home back.”

Tia's words temporarily paralyzed him. Byron wasn't sure whether to be angry or afraid that he hadn't nipped this in the bud a long time ago. He crossed his arms, not believing her.

The Tia he knew wanted to skin Manuel and hang his rotting flesh outside the lingerie department at Macy's as the national symbol for all angry women.

“That's quite an about-face.”

“I'm told that's a woman's prerogative.”

A humorless chuckle shook him. “Not unless she has something comparable to replace it with. You've wanted revenge far too long, far too deeply. That desire wouldn't just fly away, Tia.”

“I'd think you'd be happy to not have to follow me around anymore. Excuse me. I have a class to finish.”

As she passed, Byron caught the scent of strawberry shampoo. It clouded his judgment, and he had to fight the urge to hold her still and do naughty things to her.

She passed him, and when she looked back, he saw deceit in her eyes. The lightbulb in his brain went off. He snagged her arm, and electricity shot to the soles of his feet.

“You're not fooling me. You're all going after Ginger's husband.”

“Why would you think that?”

He held her gaze for as long as possible. She was up to no good, and that frustrated him. Up until now, he could almost understand Tia's desire to get back at Manuel. But revenge on a man for another woman? That was just stupid.

And that wasn't Tia. “You're a fool if you do this. I'm a cop. I have to do my job. You're going to screw up, and I won't be able to help you.”

“Like you have in the past?”

“That's right,” Byron assured her.

She tilted her head to the side. “Thank you for helping me stab myself, get thrown in jail. And most of all, thank you for helping me get back into my home. Knowing you has been priceless.”

Ouch.
“Don't do this, Tia.”

There was no question Tia had been dealt a bad hand, but a better future was on the horizon. If Tia didn't deviate, she'd have everything she deserved.

But what if she liked her walk on the wild side of life?

What if this was the new Tia forever?

“Byron, Tia, will you two please take your seats?” Fred called toward the door, sounding weary.

“Just a minute,” Byron replied, turning back to Tia, whom he hadn't released. “Am I right? Are you all planning to kill Ginger's husband?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

She squirmed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Dammit, Tia.”

Byron tried to make her look at him, but she wouldn't.

“I've taken an oath of secrecy, Byron, so don't try to get information from me.”

“You're a grown woman, but you're playing a petty, childish game.”

She yanked her arm away but stepped back to face him. “All you men are alike. When you don't get what you want, you try to bully us. When that doesn't work, you threaten and blackmail. And when that doesn't work, some men beat on their women. What exactly are we supposed to do? Keep trusting that eventually your word is going to be good enough? I'm sick to death of hearing your promises. The rest of the women are, too.”

“I told you the policeâ”

“Can't do a damned thing. I'm not in my house, and you're the police! Ginger's face carries the rage of her husband, and you're arguing with me about what you think might happen to him, a spousal abuser.” She shook her head. “I'm not telling you anything. If you want to know what's going on in my life or what we're planning, I guess you can keep doing what you've been doing.”

“And what's that?”

“Watching my ass.”

Tia snatched the door open and walked into the classroom, leaving him standing alone.

He watched her all right, and when the door closed, he punched his fist into his palm, wishing he could take her and her smart mouth and make love to her until every bit of her was so satiated she didn't want to do anything but sleep.

He hated it again, but Tia was right.

Law enforcement had let them down. He'd definitely disappointed Tia, and there was no excuse for what happened to Ginger
.

The women had a right to be angry. And they were going to exercise that right. Foreboding was a luxury feeling, an emotion most men didn't ever experience. But he'd grown up with four sisters and a mother. He knew when bad news was heading his way.

This was a Category 5 hurricane. And if he wanted to keep his job, he'd have to conquer this storm on his own.

He was already in Tia's life. He had to now make himself at home there and convince her and the rest of the women to let their anger go.

In his gut, he knew someone's life depended upon it.

Chapter Eighteen

Tia dropped the newly edited copy into the bin for the evening weatherman, Ben Macklin, and walked back to her cube.

It was nearly seven-thirty p.m., and once again, Chance had pulled the trick move and let the interns go home without the editing for the late show being completed. As the senior flunky, Tia knew if the work wasn't done, Ben would pitch a fit. Then his producer, Barb, would complain to Chance, and somehow it would be Tia's fault. She was just trying to head trouble off at the pass.

The truth was she didn't mind staying. With no home of her own to go to, she wasn't in a rush to embrace Megan's madness too soon.

Back at her cube, she absorbed the quiet, letting it sink into her restless body. Her ankle popped, and she stretched the other one just enough to elicit an echoing response. How her mother hated that she and her father cracked their bones, as she called it.

I'm getting old
. She'd just celebrated a birthday, and the highlight of her day was a comparison of how she and her father made noises with their bodies.

Nostalgia and homesickness wrapped her in the scent of freesia from her mother's large bosom and Polo from her daddy's bear hugs.

She wanted them to be on Beverly Crossing Way in Stone Mountain, Georgia, the way they'd been for twenty-nine years. Then she could have gone home when all this trouble had started with Dante, and she could have lain in her queen-size bed and looked at the stars she'd stenciled on her ceiling during freshman year in high school and fixed her jacked-up life.

She wouldn't have slashed the tires or stabbed herself in the foot, and she wouldn't be in trouble at work. She'd have money and her purses, and she'd have a nice home. And she wouldn't have an overwhelming desire to be in her childhood bedroom, fantasizing about a new life.

Opening her desk, Tia looked closely at the drawer, expecting to see her change.

Sifting through her papers, she searched for the money, then shrugged. Maybe one of the guys had borrowed it and would give it back tomorrow. Most of them didn't know how cash-strapped she was, and she wasn't going to tell them that her finances had more holes than a fisherman's net. She needed her change for dinner.

Disappointed, Tia clicked the computer mouse and went to the online site where she'd listed her purses. Two had sold! Champagne bubbles of elation sparkled through her. Five hundred dollars was now in her account. She'd package the purses as soon as she got home and get them in the mail tomorrow.

From her direct deposit paycheck, she quickly paid her mortgage and other bills, leaving herself with just over fifty dollars in spending money until her next check, in two weeks. A message popped up reminding her to mail her taxes, and Tia groaned. She still had yet to compile them, but she was probably going to get a refund. Making a note on a piece of paper, Tia shoved it in her bag. She'd get on that tonight.

First, though, she'd have to stop by the ATM and get money out to last the rest of the month. Maybe more bags would sell soon. If several of the more expensive bags sold, she'd have enough to get an attorney and get her home back. Then her life would be on track.

In the meantime, she dialed the judge's clerk and left a message to get on his calendar. Tia had no idea how this was done, but it looked as if Judge Dunn's prediction would come true. She rationalized, if she got on his calendar, she could always get an attorney faster.

Seeing three e-mails from her anger management classmates, Tia opened the first one.

Revenge plan one:We should pull a Stella and burn his clothes and all his possessions. See how he likes playing Mr. Man in clothes from the thrift store.

Tia giggled, knowing the author was Pebbles.

Been there, seen that. We need to be much more original. Gary should suffer.We should give him a little something to help him sleep, cut all the hair off his body and tattoo INFIDEL across his forehead. I know a guy who'll give us a discount. Love, Debbie.

Tia's laughter echoed in the stillness of the quiet office.

The idea was original, but it wasn't without flaws. Michael Jordan had made bald fine back in the nineties. Once Gary got over being bald, his hair would grow back, covering their work, and even then, some women would still feel sorry for him.

Tia clicked on the next e-mail.

Take away what he wants most.

She looked to identify the sender but didn't recognize the address. The tone of the message creeped her out.

Several of the ladies responded, asking for more details, but others weighed in on the first two suggestions.

Tia voted for tattooing but added that it should be little
I
's all over his face, with slow-fading ink. The whole idea smacked of the seventeenth century and
The Scarlet Letter
.

An old punishment for an old crime.

Tia voiced her assent and waited. A quick vote followed.

Not surprisingly, the second suggestion got the most votes, although two of her classmates lobbied hard for the public burning of his property.

Take away what he wants most.

Tia frowned when the message popped into the mailbox three more times in quick succession. Who are you? she typed. Identify yourself.

When the author of the messages stayed silent, Debbie posted the official total, and the tattooing won. Relieved, Tia sat back and waited. Somebody would have to plan how they'd trick Gary so that he'd be at their mercy enough for them to accomplish their goal.

All the women in the class chatted back and forth, suggestions flying.

Tia scanned them, then leaned forward when she saw her name mentioned. Tia, your job will be to distract Byron.

Apparently, he'd made it a point to contact each of the women and let them know that the police were there for themâand their spousesâif the need arose.

Byron had made it clear that the department wouldn't tolerate any acts of revenge. Several of the women chimed in that they supported Ginger and would do whatever was necessary, short of getting arrested.

When? Tia typed.

Starting today.

Tia ran her fingers through her hair, then held her stomach, feeling a sudden case of nerves. It wasn't as if she hadn't been alone with Byron, she just hadn't
had
to be alone with him.

Besides, he'd been right. They had decided to go after Ginger's husband. But they'd been talking silly stuff until tonight. Max out his credit cards and send out company e-mails about his nonsexual abilities, nothing like the ominous-sounding e-mails that had come through earlier. She was glad that nobody had wanted to act on those suggestions.

Closing her eyes, Tia inhaled deeply and reflected on her life with her ex. She stopped a minute. That was a first. She hadn't ever categorized Dante that way before. It felt good. Tia knew she'd moved another step away from their past and let her thoughts flow.

They'd been happy for a time, but unhappy for far longer. He was gone now. She didn't know where and didn't care.

Dante had wanted a certain lifestyle, and now neither of them had it. What a mess they'd made.

Yet the end was near. Now that she'd stopped wanting to hurt him, she'd slept comfortably last night. Better, in fact, than she had in a while. And her stomach didn't have its customary burn.

The thought consoled her. One day soon she'd be sitting at home, in front of her fireplace, and she would look back on these days and be thankful they hadn't lasted forever.

Work had been agonizingly slow this week, with no storms brewing over the Pacific or the Atlantic. The wildfires in Oklahoma had been doused, and it had stopped snowing in California.

Even the volcanoes were sleeping, yet the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She turned around and met Chance's smoldering glare.

“Surfing the net on company time?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Another violation,” Chance purred, change tinkling in her hand. “Make it easy on yourself and resign.”

“Why should I? I do my work, I come in on time, and I give more than a hundred percent to this company. I'm not quitting, Chance, although I know that would be easier for you since you already promised my job to someone's niece.”

“You sneaky little witch. Lurking in bathrooms now? That's a new low, even for you.”

“I was using the facilities. Perhaps you should think about that before you start a personal conversation in a public latrine.”

“I-I,” Chance said, stumbling over her words.

“I'm heading to the Hilton, you care to join me?”

“I don't fraternize, Tia. I keep business and my personal life separate.”

“I understand. I was there a couple weeks ago and saw a woman get the piss slapped out of her. Made me wonder how a businesswoman could get caught up in being a victim. I thought I'd mention it in case we were looking for an expose-type story. The women behind domestic abuse.”

Chance's milky white face was splotchy and red. “I don't know anything about that. And thank you very much, but we have real reporters and producers who can come up with stories without your help. Just quit, dammit!”

Tia clicked the mouse three times in succession, then squeezed past Chance. “No can do.”

Tia grabbed the papers from the printer outside her cube and handed them to her boss. “This is a satellite view of Earth and its alignment to the moon. A tsunami might result. You never know. This is a satellite photo from a week ago, monitoring the gasses that surpassed the Earth's atmosphere from the fires out West. And this is the forecast for the next five days. I'm not sure, but I think I'm doing my job. Probable cause for firing me? I don't think so, but we might want to run it by the station's attorneys.”

“This isn't a right to work state, Tia. I can fire you for any reason I please.”

Tia glared at the pale-faced woman, tired of her, tired of the threats, and tired of being tired. She needed her job, but she didn't need the harassment.

“What's stopping you? You seem to enjoy coming around, holding this job over me. I overheard you on the phone basically giving my job away. If it's like that, then why am I still here?”

To her credit, Chance's face became mottled. “My parents seem to think you're worth saving.”

“That can't be it. You relish your authority but don't seem to quite have all your fingers on the big girl switch that will seal my fate.”

“Chance, why don't you tell Tia the real reason you can't just up and terminate her?” Ronnie/Rhonda said, coming from the side cube, making both women jump.

Dressed in a hot pink shirt and slimming black pants, he looked like he was ready to be lord of the dance or something. Despite his unannounced arrival, Tia was grateful for his presence. She needed a friend. Lately, all hers seemed to need a lot of counseling.

Rhonda/Ronnie's question lingered.

“What are you still doing here? All the gay bars in Atlanta closed?” Chance insulted her brother in a mildly irritated voice, her straight black brows crinkled at the very ends. How did she do that?

Rhonda/Ronnie growled at his sister, yet his expression was gentle. “My date's picking me up in a bit, darling. Then we're going to paint this town fuchsia.” He laughed at her wince. “Now that I've answered your question, you answer mine. Why don't you tell Tia why haven't you fired her?”

“That's none of her business.”

Tia didn't agree. “You harass me all day. You sneak around, stand over my shoulder, go through my desk, and try to intimidate me. I do my job. I'm about finished with the class. I don't know what more you want.”

“The desk is company property,” Chance shot back.

“You're avoiding again,” Ronnie/Rhonda chimed in. “Tia, Chance can't fire you because she has to have a two-thirds vote from the ownersâmeaning three of the four of us must agree before she can terminate an employee. Right now, she doesn't have that.”

“Ultimately, I have the final decision,” Chance said. “If you don't perform to standard, you will be terminated, and these”âshe held up the papers Tia'd given her moments agoâ“aren't going to cut it.”

“What are those?” Ronnie/Rhonda asked casually.

Chance glanced at the papers. “Aerial photos of the earth. Elementary stuff.”

“But part of the duties you assigned to her. I'd have to testify to the fact that she gave you what you asked for. Good night, sis. Sleep well.”

Chance stomped off, and Tia gave Ronnie/Rhonda a big hug.

“I didn't get fired and not realize it, did I?” Tia asked.

“No, cream puff,” he said, with a sad smile and serious eyes. “You were saved by the big, gay wolf.”

BOOK: What a Fool Believes

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