Crazy Love (25 page)

T
rent pulled off his rubber gloves, dumped them in the garbage, then set the mop and bucket inside the broom closet before sauntering up to the front of the store, where Tameeka was counting the cash receipts. Judging by the smile on her face Heaven on Earth had had a good day. “Hey, Ms. T, I'm finished. Everything is clean and sunshiny fresh,” he sang jokingly.

She stopped counting the stack of twenties and glanced up at him. “Are the bathrooms clean?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you refresh the potpourri and replace the candles?” Trent made the checkmark sign in the air. “Okay, smarty-pants. Have all the rugs been vacuumed?”

“It's done,” Trent said smugly.

“What about the windows? You know I hate fingerprints.”

“Everything is done,” Trent said proudly.

“Well, is the—”

“Ms. T,” Trent said, laughing, “how long have I been working for you?” Tameeka grinned to herself as she stuffed the money along with credit card slips into a deposit bag.

“About three years,” she answered.

“And every night you ask me the same thing. And I always tell you the same thing. Everything is clean and the way you like it.”

“I know,” Tameeka said, then sighed. “It's not that I'm doubting you. You're a good worker. I just like to make sure that everything is clean. I'm a stickler for stuff like that,” Tameeka sheepishly admitted.

“No problem,” Trent answered, then settled down on the couch.

“Hey, what are you doing? It's time for you to go.” She glanced down at her watch. It was five o'clock.

“I'm waiting for you.” He didn't want to leave her alone. Just last night he saw two suspicious-looking men hanging around the store and he warned her about them then. “I want to walk you to your car,” Trent answered, and Tameeka's jaw dropped. Men twice his age were not as chivalrous as Trent. They could learn a thing or two from him.

“That's so sweet. I'll be okay. I won't be long. I need to finish some paperwork, then I'll be right behind you.”

“I'd rather wait,” Trent said, and to prove it he reached into his book bag and pulled out a book. He flipped it open and began reading.

“Trent,” Tameeka called. “You really don't have to wait. I'll be okay. You go on home!” she demanded in a firm voice.

Trent pulled his attention away from his book. “Are you sure? I don't mind waiting.”

“Go on!” she insisted.

“Okay,” Trent answered slowly as he returned his book to his bag and inched toward the door. “I can stay if you want,” he offered, hoping that Tameeka would change her mind.

“Go on, boy,” Tameeka said laughingly, and playfully shoved him out the door, then watched as he trotted down the street to the bus stop. She locked the door securely behind her and dimmed the lights, then walked wearily to her office. It had been a long day.

She fixed herself a cup of tea, then settled down at her desk. She shuffled some papers around, sat back in her chair and stared out into space. “You fucked up, Tameeka. You really fucked up!” she chastised herself. She reached down and tugged open her desk drawer and pulled out a picture of her and Tyrell.

They had it taken at the circus. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and her head was resting on his shoulder. Later that night, Tyrell had taken her home, where he had made hair-pulling, screaming-at-the-top-of-her-lungs love to her. “We were so happy,” Tameeka whispered as the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She sobbed uncontrollably until she felt like someone had wrung her dry.

“I'm not gonna make any money crying over things that I can't change.” She plucked a handful of tissues out of the box and wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I should invest in this company, given all the tissues I've been using lately.” She shook her head and threw the picture back into the drawer, then turned to the stacks of paper on her desk.

Two hours later she was still bent over her paperwork. “Oh, crap. Where did the time go?” She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms up high over her head. “Time for me to head on home.”

Tameeka gathered up her purse and the deposit bag stuffed with money and hurried to the front door. She quickly activated the alarm, then stepped out the door; even though it was early fall, it was so humid it felt like she had walked into pea soup. Tameeka plucked at her top and fanned herself. Busy fussing with her top, she didn't see the pair of cold, lifeless eyes peering out of the darkness, watching her every movement.

Just one of the drawbacks of living in the South, she silently reminded herself as she hunched forward to insert the key into the lock. “Damnit,” she cursed. The keys had slipped from her hands and dropped to the ground. “That's what you get for hurrying,” she muttered to herself as she bent to pick them up.

Moments later she was so intent on locking the door that she didn't hear the muffled footsteps shuffling up behind her. Nor did she feel the hot breath on her neck. She righted herself, slipped the keys in her purse, then stepped back and her foot connected with something hard and unmoving.

“What the—” Her eyes widened in alarm and she suddenly needed to pee. Her grip instinctively tightened around the money. Then just as fast as her fear appeared it disappeared and her lips curved up into a smile. Silly girl. Trent came back to help me. “You're such a gentleman. I'm glad you came—” She turned around and her mouth froze into a capital O. It wasn't Trent. Instead it was a six-feet-tall, two hundred-pound monster. He was wearing a black ski mask and peering at her with cold fish eyes.

“Thanks. Nobody ever called me a gentleman before,” he drawled. Then, as if he had flicked a switch, his voice turned deadly. “Give me your money,” he demanded.

“What?” Tameeka asked stupidly and suddenly an overwhelming urge to laugh blanketed her, but something told her that it wouldn't be a welcomed sound. “What did you say?” she questioned, and to her own ears her voice sounded hollow and detached, as if she was watching herself in a dream.

“What part don't you understand? Give—me—your—fucking—money—
bitch!
Don't make me have to use this,” he growled, and stuck something hard into her side.

She glanced stupidly down at the cash deposit bag, then comprehension dawned. “Oh—here—you—go!” Her hands were trembling so bad that she was afraid that she was going to drop it. He must've thought so too because his hand whipped out and snatched it from her. He tucked it inside his jacket, then glowered at her.

“You'd better not tell anybody about this or I'ma have to come back and kill you,” he threatened.

“I won't,” Tameeka stammered, between clattering teeth.

“Just in case you think I'm playing with you, here's something for you.” He pulled back and slapped her hard against the face. Her head snapped back and smacked the brick wall. All she remembered before crumpling in a faint was the shining gold tooth her attacker grinned at her as she slid to the ground.

1. They're an ex for a reason
   
2. They can fuck up your current situation
   

S
tacie stepped off the city bus and promptly sank into a pile of mud. “Damnit!” she cursed, then smiled grimly. It seemed to fit in with the theme of her day: Screw Stacie Day! She glanced down at her shoes and shook her head before trudging down the street.

Three interviews and eight hours later she was still unemployed. “I'm as jobless as a three-hundred-pound stripper.” The interviews were a waste of time. They either wanted greenies fresh out of college or tired, beaten-down robots. She didn't fit either mold.

A wave a panic washed over her when her stack of bills flashed before her eyes. The pile was getter higher than Mt. Everest, and it was still growing. The worst part was, there still wasn't any money to get Lexie out of the garage.

Stacie gritted her teeth and continued her trek home. “I can't believe this,” she muttered. “A whole day wasted.” Waist deep in her thoughts, she didn't hear her name being called.

“Yo, Stacie!” She turned to find a familiar cream-colored Jaguar roll up beside her. Sitting behind the wheel was Crawford Leonard Wallace III. Stacie rolled her eyes and kept walking.

That was all he needed, a challenge. Leaning out of the window, he called to her. “Come on. You're not going to say hi to an old friend?” he teased, then muttered in a playful tone, “Treatin' a brother like he some kind of dog.”

Stacie stopped and glared at him. The image of him throwing her out of the hotel room flashed before her eyes. “Hi and 'bye,” she spat, and continued walking, this time even faster. Crawford and his Jaguar were her shadow. “Come on, Stace,” he begged. “Don't be so mean.”

Just then, two thirty-something ladies dragged by. One was the color and the shape of an eggplant and the other, still wearing her hairnet, was prune colored. Both of them had on white blouses and navy pants, and looked as though they had spent the last fifteen hours voicing the all-time favorite phrase: “Would you like fries with that order?”

Crawford called out to them. “Hey, excuse me!” They both stopped in their tracks and turned weary eyes toward Crawford. The Jaguar was enough to get their attention, but the lady closest to Crawford recognized him, her eyes wide, and she elbowed her friend before whispering in her ear. Crawford grinned; he loved the attention. “I'm trying to convince this beautiful young lady to go out with me, but she won't,” he said, and pulled his lips down into a frown.

The eggplant-colored lady hungrily eyed the car, then shouted, “Hell, if she won't, I will. And I'ma good cook, my son just left to live with his daddy, and I can put something on you in the bedroom that'll make you hoarse,” she boasted.

Crawford laughed, but he gave her a second look. She wasn't much to look at, but you never know…he turned his attention back to Stacie.

“Come on, the least you can do is say hi to an old friend,” he teased. “I'm sorry for the way I acted the last time we were together.” Stacie stopped in her tracks and Crawford smirked. “I was the biggest asshole and I'm sorry.”

“You're really sorry?” she asked, and scrutinized his face for any trace of a lie.

“I'm really, really sorry,” Crawford repeated. “Come on, get in the car and let me take you out to eat.”

Stacie pulled away from the car and started walking. “Can't! I have a fiancé,” she called over her shoulder.

“Please let me take you out to dinner to show you how sorry I am. All we'll do is talk. Then when we're finished I'll bring you right home.” Stacie stopped again and this time Crawford got out of his car and raced over to her. “Come have dinner with me. I'll have you home in three hours, maybe even less. Your boyfriend won't even miss you,” he said as he subtly edged her to the car.

“Okay, three hours. No more. And I get to pick the place,” Stacie relented.

“Bet.” Crawford grinned as he made his way to the driver's side.

All we're doing is having dinner, nothing more, Stacie told herself as she slid into Crawford's car.

T
ameeka was huddled on the couch and her hands were wrapped around her cup of tea, but it didn't stop them from trembling. She stared up at Officer Watkins with terror-filled eyes. Lucky for her, not more than five minutes after she was knocked to the ground, a man and woman leaving a boutique saw her and called the police.

“Can you remember anything about him? An accent, his cologne, what he was wearing?” Officer Watkins asked gently.

“I told you, I don't remember anything,” Tameeka answered, then suddenly she remembered a flash. “He had a gold tooth,” she said warily, then looked down into her cup of tea. She looked like she had run headfirst into a brick wall. The right side of her face was three times its normal size and her right eye was puffy, with red welts zigzagging through it. Her once pretty outfit was stained and ripped beyond repair. She was wearing only one sandal, on her right foot. The left one had gotten lost during the scuffle.

“Wonderful!” Officer Watkins praised as he jotted down her comments. “How tall would you say he was?”

Tameeka knew he was tall, but not as tall as Tyrell. “About six feet or so,” she answered calmly, but her hands shook as she brought the cup of tea to her mouth and took a sip.

“Good,” Officer Watkins murmured. “Now we're getting somewhere. What about his weight? How much do you think he weighed?”

“Dunno,” Tameeka shrugged. “He was huge,” she answered weakly, and shuddered at the memory. He reminded her of a grizzly bear. “He had to have been over two hundred pounds.”

“What was the color of the ski mask?”

“It was dark. Black or maybe navy blue,” Tameeka answered. She was getting tired. All she wanted to do was go home and forget about everything. And she told Officer Watkins that.

“I only have a couple more questions,” he quickly reassured her. Experience had taught him to interrogate the victim while the incident was still fresh, otherwise their recollection would be nil. “What about his clothing,” Officer Watkins pressed. “Do you remember anything?”

Tameeka shook her head. “No. Other than it was dark too. But…” she paused, trying to clear her fuzzy mind. “I'ma say they were black and baggy. Kinda thuggish.”

“Do you think he was in a gang?” Officer Watkins asked with a tad too much enthusiasm.

Tameeka shrugged. “I don't know what a gang member looks like,” she said sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Watkins mumbled.

“Do you think he'll come back?” Tameeka asked in a little girl voice. Just the thought that he was still out there and might return at any time terrified her.

Officer Watkins cleared his throat, then said, “Well, it's hard to say. Some robbers do return, others move on to another target.”

“Thanks. I feel a whole lot safer now,” Tameeka said; then returned her gaze to her tea.

“I'm sorry,” Watkins said softly, and Tameeka looked up and saw the kindness in his brown eyes. It hit her that he was an attractive man. Over six feet and a little on the thin side, he had a kind face and a pair of sexy lips. Officer Watkins continued talking, oblivious to Tameeka's scrutiny. “But there are things that you can do to ensure that this doesn't happen again.”

“Like what?” she asked as she pulled her gaze away from his lips and turned them to his eyes.

“Leave at a decent hour, for one. And if you have to leave late, have an escort. Hell, with the type of money you were carrying around, you should've had two escorts,” he said, and Tameeka suddenly thought about Trent's offer.

“You can take a self-defense class. The police department offers them all the time. And lastly, get some pepper spray. That'll stun anybody,” he said and laughed.

“Thank you,” Tameeka said gratefully.

“Anytime,” Officer Watkins said. Then they both turned toward the door. Somebody was knocking hard enough to break the door down. Officer Watkins gave her a questioning look.

“Oh, that must be Tyrell,” Tameeka explained, setting down her tea and hurrying to the door. She had called Stacie, but she wasn't home. She had tried Mo on both his cell and work number but he didn't answer either. Bothering her grandmother was out of the question, so the only other person to call was Tyrell. He had promised to pick her up.

Tameeka snatched open the door and threw herself into Tyrell's arms. “I'm glad you came,” she murmured against his chest.

“I wouldn't be any other place,” Tyrell reassured her, and gave her a bear hug, which made her dissolve in tears. She wasn't sure if the tears were because of the robbery or because she was so happy to be in Tyrell's arms again.

“Er—um—I guess I should go now,” Officer Watkins said as he inched toward the door. “You have my number. Call me if you remember anything,” he said, and walked off leaving Tameeka and Tyrell alone.