What a Fool Believes (17 page)

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Authors: Carmen Green

BOOK: What a Fool Believes
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Kirk paid their check and picked up Tia's jacket. She edged out of her seat. “What are you doing?” she asked as he ushered her from the restaurant.
“We're going to get your friend.”
Tia hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
“Tia,” Sonny said in her ear, “you're her girl, and maybe you can talk some sense into her. Come get her. This is the last time. If it happens again, I'm calling the cops.” Sonny hung up.
“What a jerk,” Kirk said. Tia hurried alongside him as they half jogged through the parking lot to the car. “I take it that was her ex.”
“Yeah, a real winner. He broke up with her, married another woman the next day, and Megan hasn't taken it too well.”
“She didn't look like herself earlier, but I figured she was an artist. They can look rather strange. I still thought she was cute.”
She gave him an odd look. “Yeah, well, she isn't an artist but should be, and this is strange for her. She's been working as a corrections officer for the past four years, until she got put on leave three weeks ago.” Tia fell silent.
“And?” he asked.
“I shouldn't be telling you this. Megan's my girl. I feel like I'm being disloyal.” She gave him directions, but otherwise, they stayed quiet for a while.
“How about this?” he finally said. “I've suffered from bipolar disorder for five years now. It's rare, but I have my bad times, too. You're a good friend, Tia. When I met you I got that feeling.”
They pulled onto Sonny's street and up to the house.
Megan was sitting on the porch, her head resting on her knees. A woman sat beside her, patting her back. Sonny was nowhere to be found.
Tia approached slowly, looking between the pair. “Hey, Meg. How are you, sweetie?”
“Fine. I came by to return something.”
Tia looked around and didn't see a bag of any kind. Megan had probably had a water/paint moment. “Did you give it to ...” Tia looked at the woman next to her friend.
“I'm Vivian. Sonny's wife,” said the woman, mouthing the last two words.
Tia gave her the once-over. She was all right. Not as cute as her friend, but with a quiet confidence and calm air about her, which warred with the situation. “Did you give your package to Vivian?” Tia asked.
Megan rubbed her eyes. “I forgot it. Tia, I did a stupid thing coming over here.”
Tia didn't say anything but extended her hand to her friend. Rain splattered her hand and wrist. “You ready to go home?”
Megan looked at Vivian. “She mentioned a place I might go for a little time off. There's people I can talk to. Maybe help me move on.”
Vivian handed Tia a card, and Tia and Kirk helped Megan up. They walked slowly to his car, and Vivian hugged Megan, who couldn't stop crying. “You're going to be fine. When you're well, we'll talk,” whispered Vivian.
With Megan and Kirk in the backseat of the car, Tia turned to Sonny's wife. “You're so nice to her. Why?”
“She needed compassion. I don't blame her. Please make sure she gets help. I made a call to the Atlanta Psychiatric Center. They're expecting her.”
“How convenient.”
“It's her choice, Tia. I understand your concern, and I know how this looks.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” Vivian said, nodding. “I do.”
All the fight in Tia flew away, and her stomach settled a bit. She stood there a moment, so many questions running through her head, she had to ask at least one. “How long have you known Sonny?”
“All my life. We grew up across the street from one another. It was love from knee-high. Relationships came and went, and I'm just sorry she got caught in the crosshairs of our love drama. Neither Sonny nor I handled this well. Seeing her like this proves we could have done things a lot differently. I'm here if you need me.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ellis.”
She smiled gently. “Just Vivian.”
 
After Tia was in bed at Megan's that night, the events of the day wouldn't stop running through her head. She'd started in one way and ended in another.
The whole thing was just—she searched for the appropriate word—bizarre. Bizarre was the only one that would fit.
First, Megan had painted the walls, then Tia'd sold two purses, received unexpected support from Rhonda/Ronnie, had dinner with Kirk, rescued Megan, and then had a frank conversation with Vivian.
Tia never, ever, thought she and “the other woman” would share a moment of camaraderie, let alone a common goal of Megan's better health, and now as she lay alone in bed, unable to sleep, all she could think about was sharing the events of her day with Byron.
Tia wasn't sure what to think.
She glanced at her cell phone and noted the time. Byron worked until seven in the morning. He was up now, and so was she. Unable to resist, she dialed and couldn't help the sting of disappointment at getting his voice mail.
“I saw you today,” she said, and cringed. That wasn't what she'd wanted to say. She didn't want to sound accusatory. Actually, she was flattered that she'd invited him to watch her ass, and he did. It was ego boosting at a time when her ego had more holes than a political alibi.
A growing part of her wanted to pursue the lustful looks he often tried to conceal.
“Today was strange,” she continued. “I just thought I'd share that with you. Okay. I sold two purses. You don't care about that. Okay. Bye. Don't call me back.” She blinked at the ridiculous statement. “I hope I already said good-bye.”
Tia turned over and hollered into her pillow. “Damn, damn, damn. That was the dumbest phone call ever. He's going to think you're crazy.”
The phone beeped twice.
Tia looked at the receiver in her hand. In her tiny tantrum, she'd just hung up. Crap. He'd heard everything.
She dropped the phone and closed her eyes. If she fell asleep, in her dreams she'd probably get eaten by a dinosaur. Somehow that seemed better than facing Byron tomorrow.
Chapter Nineteen
Byron changed the battery in his cell phone and swore under his breath. The damned thing wasn't working again. Yesterday he'd gotten messages from three days ago and none today. He sat in his squad car, trying to get the back off the cell phone, when his radio beeped.
“Officer Rivers responding, over.”
“A message from your sister. Your cell phone isn't working. Are you okay?”
Byron stared out into the dark night and shook his head in disbelief. “Tell Camilla
again
that she can't use the police department dispatcher to let me know my cell phone isn't working, which I already know. I don't care if she is married to my former chief's son. I'll call her when I get home in the morning.”
The dispatcher laughed. “Copy that. She said thanks for the late Christmas present. Something about the bag being perfect. Major Snell out.”
Byron disconnected the call and put his car in gear. He'd heard the guys in the back laughing, but he didn't care. His baby sister was a princess who'd never struggled a day in her life. She'd met and married the chief's son ten years ago, and they were as happy today as they'd been the day they'd met. And although she was married, Byron had never gotten over spoiling her. Perhaps if he had a woman of his own, he'd be different.
He stopped at the all-night gas station on Fourteenth and went inside.
“Hey, Prakash. Good night tonight?”
“Very well, Atlanta's finest.”
“I need to use your phone please.”
“Sure, Byron. But only if you stop the rain,” the clerk joked, a happy smile splitting his face. The older man had been in Atlanta twenty years but hadn't lost his heavy Indian accent.
“I'll make a call.” Byron winked and folded his hands as if to pray.
Prakash was definitely a praying man. He grinned bigger. “Then I'll buzz you in. Your cell phone not working again?”
Byron groaned. “No and no. I'm not buying one of those rip-off joints you sell. I'll go to the cellular store tomorrow and get a replacement.”
Prakash giggled. “You insult me
and
want to use my phone. I think that will cost extra.”
Byron smiled back at the man as he dialed his cell number and listened to his messages. Tia's message sounded discombobulated, but it was good to hear her wanting to share with him rather than keep secrets. He noted the time and saw that only thirty minutes had passed.
It must have been a long day if she was still awake at this odd hour.
Seeing her earlier with another man had stoked jealous embers he'd thought long gone, but obviously there were not. The jealous feelings had reminded him that he was still a healthy man with unfulfilled needs.
Although Tia sounded tired, she was probably still awake.
He dialed her number, and she answered on the first ring.
“Tia Amberson.”
“Byron. How bad was your day?”
The question sounded intimate, as if they'd been sharing these intimate details for years. He and Tia fought but, in some ways, knew more about each other than most couples.
Ever since she'd invited him to watch her, he'd become a student of her life. He knew how she took her burgers and that she liked to window-shop the day before payday. She loved Victoria's Secret panties and expensive shoes. She would close her eyes and throw back her head at the taste of rich dark chocolate, which she sampled only when it was offered by the Godiva lady in the mall, and he now knew why she waited to catch the 7:15 bus and got off on Courtland on Wednesdays.
The Sheraton had a happy hour that ended at eight, and she'd befriended the chef, who always had a plate ready for her if she did one thing. She had to kiss the old man on the cheek.
Tia would take the plate, give him a kiss, and catch the 8:10 bus home. The driver would accept her transfer, if she sat in the front seat and showed him a little leg.
She was sexy, humorous, curious, and fearless. And she'd called to share that with him. He felt himself getting hard just thinking about her.
“How bad was your day?” he repeated.
“I thought you were somebody from work,” she said, letting her voice relax.
“I can hang up if you're resting.”
“No, my day was so bad that I can't sleep, so I got up, and I'm having a glass of wine. I take it you got my message.”
“Yes. I won't hold that message against you.” She chuckled. “Thank goodness.”
“Nothing wrong with the house, I hope?”
“No. No new break-ins to report, Officer.”
“I'm relieved,” he said and chuckled. Her silence troubled him. Usually, she'd have something smart to say. “New trouble with Manuel?”
“No.”
“Your roommate?”
“Ding, ding. You hit the jackpot.”
He could hear her sipping her wine in the silence. “Sounds rough,” he added.
“Ended not so great, but it wasn't that awful.” Her voice said otherwise, but he didn't push. “What number is this?” she asked.
“I'm at a store.”
“The grocery store?”
“No. Well, they have groceries. It's a convenience store.”
“Leave it to you to be specific,” she said, with a chuckle. “I would kill for some cheese Pringles.”
“I have lunch coming up in about ten minutes. Care to join me?”
“It's three forty-five in the morning,” she said, sounding just shy of incredulous. “Aren't you on duty?”
“I am, but I have food. I can stop by, unless you've got a better offer or company.”
He was digging, he knew. But he had to know. Had to hear in her voice if the man he'd seen her with earlier was her new man.
The sound of pattering rain filled the short silence. “I'm alone.” Her voice dropped an octave, to a sexy depth of truth and promise.
“Cheese?” he asked, his heart racing.
“That's right.”
“See you in ten minutes.”
“Ten, it is,” she said and hung up.
Byron paid for his selections and was on his way in two minutes. Outside her place by 3:58 a.m., he knocked, his shoulders hunched to keep the rain from running down his neck. When Tia opened the door, he got a good glimpse of her. Long Tweety Bird pajama bottoms and a spaghetti-strap top hardly covered her womanly shape.
“Hey,” he said, soaking in the sight of her, with her hair down and her body relaxed.
“How long do you have for lunch?” she asked.
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Okay,” she said, barely meeting his gaze. “Come in.”
Byron couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips as she walked into the living room. The paintings that had dominated the walls were now gone. No more hatchet in the private area. No more emasculated men. “Hey.” He turned, noting the difference. “The walls—”
“They knocked down the center wall to make this into one big room. Megan wanted more of a studio feel.”
“So where is Megan?”
“Atlanta Psychiatric Center.”
“Wow.” Byron gazed at her. “You can't just say that and leave me hanging. What happened?”
“She went over to Sonny's house.”
“Her ex?”
“Right.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, did everything end okay?”
Byron opened his bag lunch on the kitchen counter, on a paper towel Tia handed him. A film of dust covered the surfaces, except where she'd shown him to unpack his lunch. In the few minutes she'd had before his arrival, she'd tried to tidy up a bit.
Her hair was still sleep tossed, but she'd cleaned off the counter and uncovered a chair for him. The rest were stacked in the corner, draped with heavy clear plastic.
Tia leaned back against the sink and put her arm under her breasts and her wineglass to her lips.
“Why do you think things didn't end well?” she asked. “Everybody isn't trying to commit a crime, you know. You are not the only law-abiding citizen of this world.”
“I never said that.” Byron offered her half his sandwich.
She refused. “I know—”
He sat down on the chair, bit, chewed, and swallowed. “I see the worst of people, Tia. It's natural for me to think that something might have happened. So straighten me out. Isn't that what you want to do? Tell me something good came from your best friend being locked up in the Atlanta Psychiatric Center.”
She sipped her wine. “She went over to Sonny's house to give him something. I have no idea what, but we both know she was a bit off yesterday. Anyway, I was having dinner with a friend, and I got a call from Sonny that Megan was at his house and to come get her.”
Tia grew quiet, and Byron kept his emotions to himself.
Jealousy tightened his jaw even as he ate his food, but he found solace in the fact that at this hour of the morning, she was sharing a meal with him.
He took another bite of his meat loaf sandwich and chewed.
She poured him a glass of water from the refrigerator, and he drank. Their fingers touched, and he promised himself that if he touched her again, tonight wouldn't end in a platonic manner. “How did she end up at the APC?”
“It turns out Sonny's wife, Vivian, is a psychiatrist. She spent time with Megan, and by the time I got there, she was sitting on the porch, comforting Megan. Vivian suggested Megan go to APC and talk to someone.” Tia shrugged. “Megan agreed.”
“You were okay with that?”
“Yeah.” She said the word as if it were a question, then began to look worried. “That was the right thing to do, right? Megan's going to be fine. I didn't let her sign herself in for life, did I? I shouldn't have trusted Vivian, should I have? She's the other woman. Oh, my goodness! I'm supposed to be looking out for Megan's best interests, and I'm listening the woman who stole her man. Crap!”
“Tia, don't do this.”
Tia dropped her wineglass into the sink and was almost at the front door when Byron snagged her wrist. “Tia, Megan is where she needs to be.”
“What if she changed her mind? What if she thinks I put her there? She's going to be mad as hell. I have to go get her. I don't have many friends.” Her voice broke. “I mean I need her—”
Byron pulled Tia close, her back against the wall, and closed his mouth over hers. She struggled for a second; then her upper body pressed into his bulletproof vest.
As much as the vest was supposed to protect, it was powerless against the effect of Tia's passion. He felt her heat, desire, and wanting. It seeped in between his second and third rib and spread like a virus until his whole body was bent into her like a sunflower to the sun.
His mouth scoured hers, their tongues tangling in the first steps of mating. “She'll be fine,” he kept hearing himself say, until Tia kissed him into urgent, passionate silence.
Lightning and thunder shook the town house, and Byron took that to mean no matter how much he wanted Tia, he had to let her go.
Tia was as tumultuous and bold as thunder, as unpredictable as lightning. She was not a woman he needed to handle on a daily basis. Making love to her now would lead them further down a road that ultimately was a dead end. But it didn't have to be a dead end, his subconscious told him.
Byron leaned his forehead against hers, their breath moving between them.
Don't look at me
, he silently pleaded.
Her eyes could force him to his knees.
She tipped her head sideways, looked up, and licked his lips. Then she bit him.
Byron nearly lost it.
He took her hips in his hands. Damn, he did enjoy the contents of her Tweety Bird pajamas.
His lips trailed down her neck, and she leaned to the side, giving him better access.
He was strong, he told himself. He could leave her alone.
Summoning all his willpower, Byron gave her bottom one final, extended caress. “I'd better get going.”
Tia's fingers began a tuneless song on his neck. She acted as if she didn't hear him. “You just got here. You've got at least thirty-five minutes. Stay at least another fifteen.”
He hardened. “Tia, nothing with me is fifteen minutes short.”
“I'll remember that,” she said honestly, her hands trying futilely to find an entrance point to his skin. When she couldn't get to him, she used another tactic.

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