Embrace the Night (4 page)

***

He's got some nerve. Who told him he could just kiss me like that? He's got enough arrogance for him and three other dudes!

"Umm, T, I don't wanna tell you how to do your job but my hair is smoking, girl!"

Tatiana blinked, looked down. Vera, one of her clients, was sitting in her chair. The medium barrel Marcel iron she held was gripping a section at the crown of her head, and it was indeed smoking. Releasing the curl, she blew the rising vapor from the air around them. "Sorry, Vera. Zoned out there for a minute."

Vera scoffed. "Tell me about it. What's on your mind, T?"

It was Friday morning, and Tigress Salon was full of patrons getting their wigs tight and their nails right for the weekend. All eight of her staff, six cosmetologists and two manicurists were on hand. Looking around the bustling shop, she turned her attention back to her client.

She was so unfocused, so stressed, even the surroundings didn't seem to help. She always loved being in her shop. She'd chosen every fixture, from the chrome shampoo bowls and twin waterfall fountains flanking the door, to the soft lavender paint on the walls, and the eggplant styling chairs, to make it a haven, not only for her clients, but her employees. Now that she was in charge of the first all male team she'd ever led, and found herself inexplicably attracted to one of them, she was more mixed up than a record on Spinderella's turntables.

Ah, the Tigress. No one even knows why I chose that name.
"Nothing. Just thinking."

"You're not fooling me for a minute," Vera announced with a wave of her freshly french manicured hands. "But I won't press you."

"I will!" Another voice cut into the conversation, and Tatiana turned to see Ralph, one of her stylists and her best friend, standing next to her. "What's got you so unfocused today? It's not like you at all."

Great. Interrogation is just what I need.
Two days had passed since that night at PHOENIX headquarters, when she'd shot at John and let him kiss her in the same hour. No more thefts had occurred since then so the team was laying low. But she was having a hard time getting John and his kiss out of her mind. "I said nothing, Ralph. Stop being so damn nosy."

He rolled his eyes. "Please, this a beauty shop, a den of gossip, a haven for the nosy." He narrowed his eyes, staring at her.

She did her best to focus on finishing the precise curls she was making in Vera's jet black, pixie cut hair. "No, it's an environment for professionalism and the beautification of our clients."

"Whatever. All them big words are not distracting me from the fact you're hiding something." Ralph paused, then gasped. "It's a man. It's got to be."

"Who says it's a man? Who says it's anything?"

"As defensive as you just got, I know it's a man." Vera didn't even look up from the issue of Sister 2 Sister in her lap. "Finally, some guy has caught your attention."

Tatiana sighed. Ralph had been complaining for months that she hadn't been on a date, and commenting that a good man wasn't going to fall in her lap. He accused her of being too driven, too focused on her career. And maybe that was true, but if she was going to run one of the most thriving beauty salons in the city of Durham, how could she be any other way? “Ralph, get back to your station.” She released a curl and placed the iron in the holder, switching to a smaller one for the section in the back of Vera's head. “Owner's orders.”

He pursed his lips. He was a straight male hairdresser, which some considered a rare sight in Durham. A married father of three, Ralph Moore wasn't short on masculinity in any way. But he'd been around the other ladies at the shop so long he'd taken on some of their mannerisms. “I'm going, but I will be back later to grill you.”

She narrowed her eyes, and Vera quipped, “You better leave her alone while she's got all these hot irons!”

He took a step back. “You're probably right. I'll let it go for now.” Then he made his way across the crowded shop to his station, where a client waited for him.

Vera went back to reading her magazine, and Tatiana concentrated on making the precise rows of tiny curls to complete her hairstyle. Silence lapsed between them, and when she was done, Vera paid her. After she waved and exited, Tatiana plopped down in the empty chair and sighed. Knowing she had two more heads to do before she could go home, she tried to pull herself together. How had this absolutely infuriating man gotten under her skin so quickly?

Ralph sauntered over, occupying the empty chair next to her. "So, you gonna tell me who this guy is, or do I have to take you out and get a few martinis in you?"

She placed her hand to her forehead. "Ralph, I really don't wanna talk about this."

"I know. But I intend to drag it out of you, by any means necessary."

She looked into the brown eyes of her co-worker and confidante of the past five years. If they weren't such good friends, and he wasn't married, they probably would have dated. He was handsome, a tall, well built, mahogany hued man with a shaved head. She'd been hiding her powers, and her PHOENIX career, from him ever since they met. Now, John Groves might be the catalyst that forced her to reveal her secrets. "I can't talk about this in the shop."

He leaned forward in his chair. "Oh, this must be juicy. Tell me when and I'll be there."

"I'm exhausted today, so when I get home tonight, I'm going to bed." She ran a hand through her loose curls, which were limp from the humidity in the shop. "But come over tomorrow afternoon, around one o'clock, and I'll explain everything. I should be up by then."

He clapped his hands. "I'll be there. Will you have Ava this weekend?"

She shook her head. "Nope." Ava, her seven year old niece, stayed with her most weekends. But since her sister Tara had the weekend off, Ava wouldn't be there.

"Good. I love Ava, but with no little ears around, maybe I can get all the details."

If she was going to tell him about John, without lying about how they met, she was going to have to tell him the whole shebang.
He's probably not ready to hear it, but he brought it on himself.
She had no idea how he'd react, but she vowed to stand near the phone when she revealed it all, in case he required emergency medical care.
"What I'm gonna tell you, you can't tell anybody."

He frowned. "Is it all that serious?"

She nodded, her expression solemn. "Ralph, trust me. This shit is gonna blow your mind."

CHAPTER 4

Pulling up to her mother's house, she got out of her 2010 Acura Legend and, after extricating a bouquet of eighteen yellow roses, closed the door behind her. Mom's split level, ranch style brick home tucked in a quiet Wake Forest neighborhood was hidden from the street by a group of weeping willows and dogwood trees, now bursting with white blooms. Her three younger sisters, Ariel, Juno, and Iris had arrived ahead of her. She could see their various luxury vehicles parked in the long driveway ahead. It was their Friday night ritual, visiting their mother, Juliet.

Making a quick walk to the front door, she found it already open. Peering in through the glass pane of the screen door for a moment, she shifted the crystal vase to one side and let herself in.

“Randy!” Her youngest sister, Iris, called out. “You're late!”

She cringed. She'd always hated the nickname, earned through her tomboyish ways as a little girl. Her mother and sisters insisted on calling her Randy, no matter how much it irritated her. “Hi, Iris. Where's Mom?”

“In the dining room with Ariel and Juno. We're having tea.”

“Not for long,” she insisted. “We've got an assignment from the Merchant.”

Iris perked up, her shoulders arching, eyes glinting with excitement. “Another museum job?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. We'll talk about it later.”

“Awww!” Iris pouted like a girl much younger than her eighteen years. “I wanna hear about it now!”

Placing a finger to her lips, she silenced her. “Baby sister, you will have to wait. Right now, I need to deliver these flowers to our dear, ailing mother, okay?”

Sheepishly, Iris nodded. “Alright. But I want to lead on this job.”

Gliding past her with the crystal vase of flowers in hand, she tossed back, “I'll think about it.”

**

Sam Richardson sat in the museum security room, feet propped on the counter in his usual fashion. The analog clock on the wall above his head showed three a. m., and he dearly wished he was at home in his own bed, holding his wife Martha close to his chest. Ever since last weeks' incident with the kettle, he'd been on edge. Thankfully, no more weirdness had occurred, at least not on his shift.

He stood, stretched, knowing he had four more hours to kill before Lauren came in to relieve him.
And what a relief it will be, getting out of here.

He faced away from the wall of monitors for a second, stooping down. He opened the black mini fridge that sat beneath the cream linoleum counter and pulled out an ice cold can of Cheerwine. Snapping back the metal tab, he heard the air release from the can and raised it to his lips. He took a sip, and the refreshing cherry flavor and deep, spicy notes filled his mouth. Standing again, he turned to face the monitors again.

And nearly dropped the damn soda.

Placing the can on the counter, he leaned in and focused on monitor seven. The camera from which it received its feed was focused on the Sports Hall of Fame section of the museum.

A central glass case, holding the uniforms of some of the great basketball heroes of the state, was being cut. He could see the metal cutter glinting in the exhibits lights, but there was no hand guiding it.

At least not one he could see.

What the dickens?!? It's happening again!

He had no idea what he was dealing with, but it was his job to protect the exhibits. To that end, he ran as fast as he could toward the Sports Hall of Fame. It was a mad dash down one marble corridor, his black soled regulation shoes skidding as he turned right toward his destination.

When he arrived, he hung back near the entrance to the hall. He could see the red, white and blue uniform, once worn by Wilmington raised athlete and Harlem Globetrotters star Meadowlark Lemon, being carefully removed from its place near the center of the display.

Again, the hands and form of the culprit remained unseen.

He looked at his hands and realized he was trembling.

Scared out of his mind or not, he had a job to do.

So, raising his flashlight and baton, he flicked the light on and shone it on the spot where Meadowlark's uniform now hovered. “Museum security!” he shouted. “Identify yourself!”

A high pitched, tinkling female laugh echoed in the space. “Sure, what the hell.”

In the beam cast by his flashlight, he saw the air take on a shimmering effect. Before he could make heads or tails of what he was seeing, a petite female figure appeared. She wore a pair of light denim jeans, white sneakers, and a long sleeved white top. Her skin was the same shade of light brown as his morning cappuccino, and two deep brown eyes stared at him from behind a white, glittery eye mask. Kitten ears. For God's sake, she was wearing a mask with kitten ears!
How old is she, twelve?

“Well, now you've had a look at me, but I've got to go,” she announced, clutching the uniform close to her body.

He wagged his baton with false bravado. “I can't let you do that.”

She laughed again, and the shimmering rose again in the beam of light. “Sorry, rent-a-cop. You do your job, I'll do mine.” As the last words faded, so did she. By the time he blinked again, she was gone.

He listened, heard footsteps moving away from him. He followed them, but they soon stopped. He looked up and found himself staring at an exterior wall near the rear of the museum.

I know this is the way she came...hell, if she's invisible, why can't she pass through a wall.

Shaking his head, he trudged back to his desk, and his Cheerwine, to await Lauren's arrival.

And when she came, he was quitting. He'd had enough strangeness to last him the rest of his life.

**

Yawning, Tatiana paced the floor of her Durham townhouse. It was eleven thirty Saturday morning, and she'd just gotten out of bed and slapped her wild curls into a loose, messy ponytail. Dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a yellow tank, she walked back and forth across the dark green carpet until she thought she might wear a path into it.

I've gotta eat something.
Her stomach was growling in her ear like a hungry hound. So she padded across the room on bare feet, opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. A bowl of cereal would have to do, since she was in no mood for cooking.