Wrong Way Renee
By Wynter Daniels
Copyright 2012 Wynter Daniels
Published by Wynter Daniels
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
It all happened in slow motion. A big, burly hand landed on Renee Wright's arm as she stood in line, waiting for the next available teller. She followed the hand to the arm, shoulder and body of a tall, muscular god. Her eyes drank in his form up to his face.
Wait, where was his face? There was something over it—a sheer fabric distorted his features. What the hell? His face was covered with pantyhose.
Uh oh—this was bad. His arm slid over her, sending chills of fear and excitement tumbling through her as it tightened around her neck, forcing her against his barrel chest.
“Everybody down on the ground,” the man yelled.
His stale breath heated her neck. Goose bumps popped up everywhere. Her feet barely grazed the ground. The line dwellers dropped to the floor. Something hard push into her back. Did this excite him? Oh, it was his gun.
Oh, God, there's a gun at my back.
What if his hand slipped? What if he were startled?
Stay calm. Just do what he says.
Why hadn’t she opted for the drive-through to deposit her checks like everyone else in the free world?
He shoved her forward to the counter. “Get up and fill this bag.” Yanking a plastic grocery bag from his pocket, he threw it across the counter at a middle-age teller.
The woman trembled as she loaded stacks of bills into the sack.
“Get it,” he snarled at Renee.
She reached out and relieved the shaking teller of the bag, giving her a nod to assure her everything would be all right. Or maybe she was trying to convince herself.
“You're gonna escort me out, got it?” He turned them toward the exit and they moved in unison, like some weird dance partners.
Why her? Why couldn't he have picked someone else to use as his hostage? “Whatever you say.” She tried not to stumble as she went.
“Shut up.” He locked his powerful forearm around her neck so hard she could barely breathe.
“You asked me if I got it, didn't you?” Her voice came out in gasps. She'd be damned before a man would get the best of her, again. She contemplated stomping on his foot to get away, but thought better of it. He had a gun, after all.
“Shut up,” he roared again, pushing her through the glass doors. A car screeched to a halt in front of them.
I am not getting into that car.
Didn't the newspaper articles always warn never to get into a vehicle with a bad guy? Her only chance was to fight. Gathering all her courage, she used her very expensive and soon-to-be-ruined heels as brakes against the sidewalk, digging in so the robber would have to drag all hundred-forty pounds of her as dead weight.
“Stupid bitch.” He shoved her aside as he jumped into the car. She lost her balance and landed with a thud on a small patch of grass. Shouldn't have worn the khakis today. They'd be stained for sure. But that was nothing next to the cost of the shoes.
The car sped away, crossing three lanes of busy traffic as brakes squealed and horns honked. Realizing she'd been set free, she blew out the breath she'd been holding for who knew how long and wiped sweat from her forehead.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Pulling herself up off the ground, she brushed away dirt and grass. One police car zoomed past the bank heading after the robbers while another skidded to a stop right in front of her. The cavalry had arrived.
She shielded the late afternoon sun from her eyes and watched tall, white and kind of handsome jump out of the patrol car. She was never so thrilled to see a cop.
“Are you okay, ma'am?” the officer asked.
Ma'am? When had she become a ma'am? Her Mama was a ma'am. She was only twenty-nine, for God's sake. “I'm fine.” Her heart slowed a little. Everything was going to be all right now.
“Will you come inside, please?” Sparkling sable-colored eyes captured her gaze. “I'll need to take your statement. How many were there?”
“Only the one guy came inside. There was another in the getaway car, of course.” She wrestled her stare away, then followed the officer back into the bank. Not bad for a white guy. Nice rear view.
“Did you get a look at the driver?”
“Sorry, no.” She'd been too busy narrowly escaping certain death.
All the patrons huddled near the counter, comparing stories when Renee and the police officer approached. The din of voices and movement was deafening, the shrill of an elderly woman rising above the rest.
“Is everyone okay?” The officer got no answer. “Everybody?” he said louder. Still, no response.
Renee stuck her pinky and index finger between her lips and whistled, something her dad had taught her when her very proper mama hadn’t been paying attention. Everyone hushed and stared at her. “This police officer wants to speak.” She gestured toward the cop.
The crowd faced him. He sighed, rolling his eyes at her. “Thanks. Hi folks. I'm Officer Joe Morton. Is anyone hurt?” He paused, his gaze sweeping the crowd.
No one said anything.
“I'll take it from here, Joe.” The booming voice belonged to a Terrance Howard look-alike and Terrance happened to be the sexiest man alive as far as she was concerned. He strutted through the doors like a rooster entering the chicken coop. “Detective Tyson Thomas.” He held his badge high over his head for everyone to see.
Officer Joe bristled beside her.
She kind of liked that a brother was apparently the white dude’s boss. But…something inside her wished it were the other way around. What the hell?
“You the hostage, ma'am?” Detective Thomas asked Renee.
She reluctantly tore her eyes away from Officer Joe’s. “That's me.” She twirled a long curl around her finger. When you were fifteen pounds overweight, great hair made up for a lot.
“Just the facts, Ma'am.”
Damn. The brother sounded whiter than the white cop.
The detective flashed her a grin. His teeth were beyond perfect, bright white and straight enough to make an orthodontist weep. “Get some statements over there for me, Joe, will you?” He waved his hand toward the other side of the lobby, dismissing the officer.
Officer Joe headed toward the crowd.
The detective was an inch or two shorter than Morton with a muscular build he could have only achieved in a gym.
She smiled her six-hundred-dollar smi
le. Those teeth whitening sessions had totally been worth the money. She leaned on the metal line-holder post so she could strike a pose. Unfortunately, it tipped over, sending her crashing to the floor. She scrambled to her feet. “I do stuff like that all the time.” Heat rushed to her face. She resumed the curl twirling—much safer.
“Let's not get hurt now, after all we've been through already, okay?” Thomas winked at her and patted her shoulder, all snake oil charm.
But he was so good-looking. His polo shirt was tucked into tight fitting jeans with bulges in all the right places. This man was no hood hoodlum, as her mama liked to call some of the men Renee had brought home for her to meet.
“We'll take a look at the security video, but can you give me a description of the perpetrator? Height, weight, hair, eye color, scars, race, that sort of thing.” He took a small notebook from his back pocket and flipped it open, poised to write. “Oh, give me your full name, please, ma'am.”
Again with the ma'am. “Miss Renee Wright. He was dark skinned, I'd say about six-one.” She looked into his eyes and fluffed her curls. “How tall are you?”
He puffed out his chest, stood a little straighter. “Six feet. Well, actually five-eleven and a half.”
And a half?
“The robber was pretty muscular, you know? Very well built. Looked like he works out.” She trailed her gaze over him. “Do you? Work out?”
Officer Joe returned with a trembling woman in tow. “This is Ellen White, Tyson. She's the teller who packed the cash. She put a dye pack in with the money.” He gave the woman a reassuring smile. “She'd like to go home. She's not feeling well. I got her statement already. That okay with you?”
“Actually, I'd like to speak to her when I'm through with this one.” The detective motioned toward Renee with his pen.
“You can talk to her first,” Renee told him. “I'll wait. She looks a little green around the edges. Are you okay?” she asked the teller.
The woman started to shake her head, then suddenly grabbed her stomach and upchucked all over the floor. Officer Joe jumped back, escaping the flood by a split second.
Renee ran to the waiting area, grabbed a box of tissues from the coffee table then hurried back to the woman's side. “Here you go. Want some water or something?”
She took a few tissues from the box, shook her head. “Sorry about that. Nerves, I guess.”
Renee rubbed the lady's back and frowned at the detective. “She said she didn't feel well.”
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Get her number, Joe. I'll speak with her later.” The detective turned his attention back to Renee. “Can we finish this please? We have a lot to do here.”
“We need a mop or something to clean this up,” Renee called to no one in particular. “Can someone get this nice lady a glass of water?”
“I'll take care of her, thanks.” Officer Joe smiled at Renee. He had dimples. Absolutely adorable dimples. Something warm and wonderful flooded through her.
She faced the detective, whom she no longer found hot, Terrance Howard look-alike or not. “Description, right? Okay. His hair was light brown or dark blonde. Hard to tell under the pantyhose. They hide a lot. Sometimes I can get away with not shaving my legs for a few days if I wear dark enough hose.”
“Ma'am?” He looked at her as if she were from Mars. “Joe,” he called over her head. “Can you get a description from this…woman? I don't have an hour to waste here.” He stepped around her like she was yesterday's newspaper and headed toward the crowd of patrons and tellers. She set her hands on her hips. How dare he brush her aside?
Joe left the teller with two other bank employees then made his way back to Renee. Yes, he was definitely way better looking than the rude detective. How could she have gotten that so wrong? But she’d never seriously thought about a white guy in terms of dating material.
Until this moment.
She scrutinized the officer. His uniform was kind of wrinkled, and his hair looked a few weeks past needing a cut, but it did set off his eyes nicely. And those sable eyes, damn. Yeah, he was fine.
“You want to sit down?” He pointed to a desk behind her.
She noticed he wore no ring and another flutter tickled her insides. “Yes, I'd like that.” She smiled and followed him to a desk.
Joe pushed a stack of papers out of the way and took out a pen and notebook. “Can I get your phone number?”
Was he asking her out? That made her ordeal totally worth it. Yeah, she could definitely see herself going with him. “I don't give out my home number. But I'll give you my cell. It's 389-4447. I'm rarely home. No one's ever there but my kitty. And she's a lousy secretary.”
“You a cat person too? I have two of them. Law and Order.”
“Oh, that's cute.” She glanced past the fake potted palm, across the lobby at the detective who was speaking to a pretty white lady with a tiny waist and huge breasts. Screw him.
“They're great company when you live alone, don't you think?”
What would her folks say if she brought this man home? Hell, she wasn’t even sure if her friends would be accepting.
“Miss Wright?”
“What?” She rubbed at her temples, warding off a pounding ache. “Oh, yes, great company. Mine is Apple.”
His crooked smile melted away her residual nervousness. Absolutely adorable. And she was acting like a total fool.
“Description?” he prompted.
She gave her best estimation of the robber’s appearance as she studied the officer. He had a boyish look. She wondered how old he was. Probably close to her age. Not quite as handsome as Dan, her former live-in boyfriend, whom she now called Spawn of the Devil or Damien for short. But the cop certainly seemed a lot nicer.
She smoothed her pants, shifting in her seat. Glancing toward the crowd across the bank, she saw the detective and the white bombshell smiling at each other. She could tell from the body language there was some serious flirting going on. If the brother could hit on the white chick, why couldn’t she go out with the white dude?
“Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital, Miss…”
“Wright. No, no, I'm fine. I hope the teller's okay, though.”
“She called her husband. He'll be here in a few minutes to collect her.”
The radio on the officer's shoulder made crackling noises. He pushed a button on it as he nudged it closer to his ear. “Excuse me for a moment, Miss Wright.” He pushed away from the desk then crossed the lobby to the detective, whom he had to pry away from the woman. The two men conversed with their heads nearly touching. Comparing their rear views, Joe’s won hands down. After giving the detective a nod, he returned and took his seat. “Now, where were we?”
“Everything okay?” She folded her hands in her lap, hoping he'd share any news. She hated to be left out of a good secret.
“Fine, fine. You can rest easy tonight. Orlando's finest just caught up with your bank robbers.”
She set a hand over her heart. “They're not my bank robbers, they're First Orlando Savings and Loan's robbers. I mean, just because a guy manhandles me doesn't make him mine. Although, I guess I'd have to pick him out of a lineup or something, right?” That sounded like fun. And a great opportunity to meet more men in uniform.
“No, ma'am. That won't be necessary.”
She slumped. “Damn. “
“Excuse me?”
“Damn…criminals. They rob you, grope you and you don't even get to see what they look like without pantyhose over their face.” She wrung her hands. Had an idiot taken over her mouth?
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sure you're all right?”
“Yes, I'm fine. Fine.”
I'm a fool, that's all. A silly blabbermouth with a tendency to prattle on about the stupidest stuff in the world.
“Okay. Can you give me a blow by blow, er…a play by play of the events here?”
After she'd recounted the robbery, he told her she was free to go.
>
Wait a second. Didn't he want to ask her out?
Apparently not. Damn. All the other patrons had left by then, except the white lady who Detective Thomas must have decided was some sort of special witness. She got to stay. Bitch.
Renee shuffled to her Jeep. She should have gotten a date out of that. Between the detective and the handsome officer, someone should have asked her out. Why did she always meet the cutest ones at the most inopportune times?
She studied her reflection in the visor mirror, making her most adorable face. Was her smile better with her lips parted, she wondered? As she widened her mouth, showing her very white teeth, she saw it— a big piece of spinach wedged into the top of a front tooth. Could that have been there all this time? She'd had spinach quiche for lunch.
Oh, God, it was true. The whole time… Clutching the steering wheel with both hands, she bumped her head on the wheel, over and over.
Idiot, idiot, idiot. The white bombshell didn't have any food particles in her teeth, she'd bet.
The woman emerged from the bank with the detective hot on her trail. He took her keys to open her car, a silver Mercedes, of course. Thomas hung his arm casually over the car door and shifted from foot to foot. He pulled out his iPhone and started tapping something onto the screen. Probably her phone number.
Renee's hands were sore from how hard she squeezed the steering wheel. She started her car and backed out of the space.
She drove home, collapsed onto the couch and opened her mail. The two overdue notices from credit card companies were too much to handle after all she'd been through, so she tossed them aside and turned on the TV.
“…It all happened so quickly,” the white bombshell said in her perky way. “This man used one of the tellers as a shield and had another fill a bag with money.”
“Teller?” Renee shouted at her television. “I'm not a teller. I'm a nail tech. You didn't even see what happened, you stupid bimbo.”
Wrong Way Renee Page 1