Like No One Else (16 page)

Kathleen smiled sadly at him. “If given the choice between having her heart broken or losing her life, I'm sure we both know which choice Maribel would have made.”

Her words struck close to home, stirring painful memories Paulo had spent the past six years trying to outrun. Memories of the woman who'd once made the mistake of trusting him, loving him, only to be brutally murdered.

“Detective Sanchez?” Kathleen's gaze was troubled. “I'm sorry for saying that. I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty or anything.”

“Don't worry,” Paulo murmured softly. “Me and guilt, we go way back.”

 

Ted Colston was in the conference room with a client when his cell phone rang. He excused himself and hurried down the corridor to his office to return the important call.

“Just thought you should know that the cop just left Kathleen Phillips's apartment,” said the brusque voice on the other end.

Ted felt the blood drain from his head. Detective Sanchez had already interviewed Kathleen the day of Maribel's murder. If he was talking to her again, that could only mean one thing. He thought she knew something.

“Have you made any progress on Sanchez's background check?” Ted demanded.

“Still working on it.”

“Damn it, Nolan. I'm running out of time.”

“I'll call you when I have something. Sit tight.” The line went dead.

Ted swore viciously as he hung up the phone. Damn Hank Nolan! The man behaved as if
he
were the paying client! He'd never made any secret of his dislike for Ted, and the feeling was mutual. If Ted could have found a better private investigator—someone more cooperative, more
pliable
—he would have gotten rid of Nolan a long time ago. But Hank Nolan was the best in the business. If anyone could get the goods on Paulo Sanchez, Nolan could.

Because if the detective had discovered Ted's secret, as he suspected, he would need all the bargaining power he could get.

Tommie hated hospitals.

She'd learned at an early age to associate them with bad things. When she was five years old, her mother had been taken to the hospital after complaining about severe abdominal cramps; later that day she'd miscarried the baby brother Tommie and her sister, Frankie, had looked forward to welcoming into the family.

At eight years old, Tommie had been rushed to the emergency room after she broke her arm attempting a complicated ballet move. It had been months before she was allowed to dance again.

And when she was a senior in high school, her favorite grandmother had passed away after suffering a massive stroke. She'd died while Tommie and her family were en route to the hospital. To this day, Tommie was haunted by the fact that she'd never had a chance to say good-bye.

As far as she was concerned, hospitals represented nothing but fear and pain, sickness and death. She avoided them at any and all costs. But when Zhane called her just as her last class was ending and told her that his teenage nephew had been shot in an altercation, Tommie didn't think twice about jumping into her car and rushing over to Ben Taub General Hospital. Her best friend needed her, and that was all that mattered.

When she arrived at the hospital, she'd found Zhane and his family gathered in the waiting room in the intensive care unit. Some were huddled together on chairs while others talked on cell phones or paced restlessly. In a corner of the room, Zhane was quietly consoling his distraught sister, whose fourteen-year-old son, Kadeem, had been shot by her boyfriend when he'd intervened in the couple's argument that morning. After gunning down the teenager, Chauncey Booker had panicked and fled. Though the police had issued a BOLO—be on the lookout—for his arrest, he still remained at large.

When Tommie appeared in the doorway of the crowded waiting room, Zhane glanced up and gave her a weary smile. Before he could make his way over to greet her, a heated argument erupted between his two younger brothers and another man Tommie didn't recognize. Someone threw a punch, and before Tommie knew it, fists were flying. More angry shouting ensued. A woman screamed. Zhane's mother, a heavyset dark-skinned woman, swayed precariously on her feet. The small child propped on her hip covered her eyes with her tiny fists and began wailing in earnest.

Without thinking Tommie marched across the room, kissed Zhane's startled mother on the cheek, and swept the crying little girl into her arms.

“We're going for a walk,” Tommie informed Vonda Jeffers, who had already turned her attention to the noisy brawl involving her sons. Tommie made it out of the waiting room just as two hospital security guards came running down the hall to investigate the ruckus.

Tommie took Zhane's niece Khadija to the children's playroom on the first floor, where the three-year-old contented herself with stacking multicolored building blocks on top of one another and sliding down the plastic slide with other children. The noise made by the giggling, frolicking preschoolers was an improvement over the screaming and cursing that had peppered the waiting room from which Tommie had just escaped.

After a while Khadija, tired of playing, wandered over to where Tommie sat and climbed into her lap. She was an adorable little girl with skin the color of Hershey's chocolate and a round, cherubic face. It was a face that could bring tears to the eyes of any childless woman past the age of thirty.

Tommie kissed the top of the girl's head and instinctively hugged her closer. “Don't wanna play anymore?” she asked.

Khadija shook her head slowly. “I wanna go home.”

“I know, sweetie. And you will soon. Are you hungry?”

Another listless shake of the head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I already ate.”

“You did? What'd you eat?”

The girl mumbled a response that Tommie managed to decipher as macaroni and cheese and applesauce. “Did you eat here at the hospital?” she asked.

Khadija nodded.

Tommie suppressed a mild shudder. Another thing she hated about hospitals. Cafeteria food.

She glanced down to find a pair of big dark eyes regarding her solemnly.

Tommie smiled. “What's up, Kay-Kay?”

“Do you like my uncle Zhane?”

“Sure do. He's my best friend.”

“Kadeem says Uncle Zhane only likes boys,” Khadija said matter-of-factly.

Tommie made a strangled sound of shocked protest. What on earth was that crazy boy thinking, telling a three-year-old child something like that?

A woman seated nearby, overhearing Khadija's pronouncement, raised a brow at Tommie. Tommie stared the woman down until she looked away, frowning with disapproval.

“Is it true?” Khadija pressed.

Tommie faltered, casting about desperately for a safe, age-appropriate answer. Damn it. This was why she didn't teach children under twelve. They were too inquisitive. Too unpredictable.

Choosing her words carefully, Tommie said, “Your uncle Zhane has a lot of friends who are boys, so yes, technically he does like boys. We both do, actually. Boys are a lot of fun.”

She held her breath, silently praying that Khadija wouldn't ask her to elaborate. For several moments the little girl said nothing, her fine brows furrowed together as she mulled over Tommie's words. After an interminable length of time she nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. Tommie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

In a small, tremulous voice, Khadija asked, “Is Kadeem gonna die?”

Tommie's heart constricted. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispered, her arms tightening protectively around the child's soft, warm body. “The doctors are taking good care of your brother. As soon as they finish patching him up, you'll be able to see him.”

Khadija stared up at her, her small chin quivering. “I don't want him to die. Mommy will be sad.”

“I know, baby. Everyone will be. And your brother knows that. So he's going to do his very best to get better so he can come home again.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course,” Tommie said pragmatically. “He doesn't really have a choice. Who else is going to tease you and yell at you for playing his Nintendo Wii?”

Khadija grinned, her expression brightening. “Kadeem
does
do that.”

“I know. Your uncle Zhane tells me all about it.” Smiling, Tommie ran an appraising eye over the child's mussed black hair. “Want me to braid your hair?”

Khadija bobbed her head eagerly.

Tommie dug inside her Louis Vuitton handbag for a comb and went to work on the little girl's hair, parting it evenly down the middle of her scalp and braiding it into two smooth, thick plaits. When she'd finished, she removed a compact mirror from her purse and passed it to Khadija.

“I look like a princess,” the girl breathed, admiring her reflection.

Tommie smiled softly. “That's because you are.”

Khadija beamed with pleasure.

When Zhane found them fifteen minutes later, Tommie was teaching Khadija how to do a
plié
while several other children looked on in wide-eyed fascination. Khadija ran to her uncle, who scooped her into his arms and planted a loud kiss on both cheeks, making her giggle. With his free arm he drew Tommie into a hug, whispering in her ear, “Thanks for coming, sugarplum.”

“You don't have to thank me,” Tommie whispered back, smiling.

“I know how much you hate hospitals, so yeah, I do.”

She laughed.

As they left the playroom, Khadija wiggled out of her uncle's arms and raced ahead of them to press the elevator button.

“How's Kadeem doing?” Tommie asked Zhane.

He grimaced. “Still in critical condition. They were able to remove the bullet, but Kadeem lost a lot of blood. The doctor says it'll be touch-and-go for a while.”

“Oh, Zhany, I'm so sorry.”

“Me, too,” he said darkly. “I don't know who to be madder at. My sister for having such lousy taste in men, or my hotheaded nephew for getting in the middle of their stupid argument. I know Kadeem was only trying to stick up for his mama, but if I've told that boy once, I've told him a thousand times to stay the hell out of grown folks' business. And don't even get me started on that no-good son of a bitch Chauncey. What kind of man shoots his girlfriend's unarmed son, then doesn't even have the decency to stick around to make sure he didn't kill the poor kid? Fucking coward. He'd better hope I don't find his sorry black ass before the police do.”

“Still no word on his whereabouts?”

“Not yet. We've been calling the detective assigned to the case, but he's been giving us the runaround all day. You know how it is,” Zhane said, his lips twisting cynically. “The shooting of a young black man in the Third Ward is nothing unusual. The police figure we should be used to this shit by now.”

Tommie said nothing. She knew he was right, yet she couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of Paulo, who seemed like a genuinely good cop. Not that he deserved her loyalty after what he'd done to her last night.

Don't even go there
, she told herself.
You've been doing good all day, keeping yourself too busy to think about Paulo and the way he humiliated you. Don't get sidetracked!

“Thanks for getting Kay-Kay out of there,” Zhane said, lowering his voice as they neared the elevator, where the three-year-old was happily pressing both call buttons. “It's a damn shame when so-called grown-ups can't control themselves in public. Now you know I'm all for a good knock-down, drag-out, but even I have enough sense to draw the line at fighting in hospital waiting rooms and funeral homes. And before you even ask, yes, my family
has
gotten into fights at funeral homes.”

Tommie grinned, thinking of her own sane, boring family and how scandalized they would have been if they'd witnessed the brawl in the waiting room upstairs. “Who was that man your brothers were fighting?”

Zhane made a sour face. “That was Kadeem's father, Lavar. He ain't worth a damn, either, but at least he cared enough to show up after my sister called and told him his son had been shot. Not that he's been any comfort to Zakia since he arrived. All he's been doing is badmouthing her and blaming her for what happened to Kadeem. You would think he'd know better than to call her a dumb bitch in front of her brothers, who both have criminal records.” Zhane shook his head in angry disgust. “Zakia's feeling guilty enough about what happened this morning. The last thing she needs is deadbeat daddy number one making her feel worse.”

“Is he still up there?” Tommie asked.

“Yeah, but he won't be for very long if he utters one more word about Zakia. Anyway, hospital security warned us that if another fight breaks out, we're
all
getting tossed out. You'd be the only one here when Kadeem wakes up from surgery. Which he probably wouldn't mind,” Zhane added with a wry smile. “You know that boy's got a big ol' nasty crush on you.”

Tommie sighed. “If only he were four years older. Then I could do something about that.”

Zhane laughed just as the elevator doors slid open to reveal his mother. “There you are!” she exclaimed, stepping forward. “I've been looking all over for you.”

“Why? Is it Kadeem?” Zhane asked anxiously.

“No, no, everything's fine,” Vonda Jeffers assured him, absently lifting Khadija into her arms. “I just wanted to borrow a few dollars to buy a pack of smokes. I left my purse in the car.”

Zhane shook his head, muttering under his breath as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to his mother, who smiled sweetly and patted him on the cheek. Her long, lacquered nails were painted a bright shade of red that matched her lipstick, and she wore a tight knit dress with a plunging neckline that barely contained her ample breasts.

“You take such good care of your mama,” she cooed to Zhane. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“God only knows,” Zhane grumbled, stabbing the elevator button. “Why don't you take Kay-Kay back upstairs with you? I'm going to grab a cup of coffee with Tommie, and then I'll be right up.”

“Okay.” Vonda turned, smiling at Tommie. “You're looking good, baby girl. Is that a new Louis Vuitton bag?”

“No, ma'am. I've had this for a while.”

“Oh?” A calculating gleam lit the other woman's dark eyes. “Well, if you ever decide to replace it—”

“For God's sake, Ma, she's not giving you her purse,” Zhane snapped in exasperation.

“It never hurts to ask,” Vonda said, sounding slightly miffed as she boarded the waiting elevator with her granddaughter balanced on her hip. As Tommie blew a kiss at Khadija, Vonda said to her son, “I'll see you upstairs.”

The elevator doors had barely closed on her pouting face before Zhane threw up his hands in disgust and huffed, “With a mother like that, is it any wonder I turned out gay?”