by Carmen Green
“I’m getting old, gentlemen,” Byron told them.
“What’re you so wound up for?” Joey demanded. “Found out you didn’t pass the detective’s exam? I heard only two people passed, so chill.”
“That so?” Byron hadn’t seen a letter in his mailbox and wondered if he was one of the two or among the many failures. He’d wanted to make detective more than anything. “I’ve got to get to Heather, fellas. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Joey hooked his fingers inside his waistband, missing Byron’s attempted brush-off. “You know that Samaria King passed.” He couldn’t hide his look of longing. “She’s smart as shit.”
Who wouldn’t want to be that? Byron thought. The only thing between Joey and a pass at Samaria was her threat to rearrange his face if he ever spoke to her again.
Samaria sat at her desk, accepting accolades.
“And you know that dork, ‘call me Calvin, not Cal,’ probably passed,” Joey went on, “so, you’re stuck with us.”
Something to look forward to if I go to hell. “Good to know,” Byron said. “See you later.”
McNult started away, but Joey wasn’t done. “We did you a favor, big guy.”
Afraid to ask, Byron weighed his options. The two were so stupid that once they’d distributed atheist newsletters at the Baptist church. They’d confided their sin to him one night while on a stakeout. In their younger days, they’d wanted to make an arrest so badly but hadn’t wanted to be lucky enough to catch a criminal in the act.
Byron sighed. They weren’t going anywhere, so he indulged them. “How did you help me?”
“We arrested a woman who hates you so much, she wants to ‘squeeze your neck until your eyes pop out.’ That’s a direct quote, right, Mc?”
“Right-o.”
Tia.
Byron glanced around at the empty desks and conference rooms. “What’d she do?”
“We nabbed her on a B and E, then added threatening an officer,” Joey supplied.
“Didn’t call her the day after?” McNult asked, with a sneaky grin. “Women want too damned much.”
Byron walked down the corridor, his heart racing. All of the interview rooms were empty. He didn’t hear or see Tia, and that concerned him. “Where is she?”
Joey jogged alongside, McNult behind. “Holding.”
Byron grabbed the keys to his patrol car and picked up the pace. “Was she at a condo on Lenox Road?”
“Yeah. Hey, how’d you know?” Joey couldn’t help looking baffled.
“Did you verify her address?”
“No,” McNult shot back. “We got a call about a B and E, and we found her. We followed procedure. Any questions?”
Byron suppressed the desire to clunk their heads together. “A little investigative work might have turned up a document from Judge Dunn that gave Ms. Amberson permission to reside at the Lenox Road property.”
“Shit.” McNult coughed and turned red.
The mercury was finally rising. “Has she been booked?” Byron asked.
“No. The victim was on his way”—Joey glanced at his watch—“four hours ago. I dunno.” He looked unsure. “Maybe he had to ... do ... something.”
“I must have skipped the part where procedure says we lock up a person and do not press charges.” Byron wouldn’t allow himself to feel sorry for them. They were going to catch hell no matter what. “Go talk to the captain.”
“Where are you going?” Joey asked, even though McNult punched him in the arm.
“To get her.”
“What about the other charge?” Joey wondered aloud.
“Would you shut up?” McNult said and pulled Joey toward the captain’s office.
Byron took the stairs down and couldn’t imagine what he’d find once he got to holding.
Tia had gone from not ever having had a traffic ticket to having been arrested and locked up twice. She was probably a weeping mess by now.
Byron had to agree with something she’d said to Dr. Khan. If there was ever a person who’d gotten caught up in a bizarre set of circumstances, it was her.
Releasing her would take a little time, but he could at least make her more comfortable upstairs.
Byron entered the holding area and approached the guard station. “Hey, Dave. How’s it going?”
“Peachy,” he said sarcastically and looked up from his computer. “We got a singer. Driving everybody nuts.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Can’t wait for that one to fall asleep. Who you here for?”
“Tia Amberson. She’s going to be released in about an hour. Case of mistaken, uh, arrest.”
“I’ll do you one better.” The older black man snatched papers from the printer, assembled them in a folder, and handed it all to Byron. “Been waitin’ to hand this off since she got here. Everything you need is right there. Go on. Get her now.”
Suddenly, Byron wasn’t eager to go in back. “Why?”
“You can’t miss her. She’s the one with all the noise coming out of her mouth. See ya later, good-bye, and good luck.”
Dave buzzed Byron through. After the first door automatically closed, another buzzer and a series of doors led him into the inner sanctum of holding, where he was slapped across the face by the worst kind of off-key singing he’d ever heard.
Surely, that wasn’t Tia.
“Nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows but me-eeee. Nobody knows the trouble I see, nobody knows but me-eeee.
“No justice, no peace. No justice, no peace.”
Not the picket sign chant.
Byron looked at Officer Howard, who had a firm grip on his can of pepper spray. “How long has she been at it?”
“Two hours, twenty-three minutes, and ten seconds. God, she’s awful. Make her shut up, and I’ll give you my tickets to the next Hawks game.”
“That’s nice of you, man, but keep the tickets. Take your wife.”
“My wife sings worse than her. That’s the only thing that stopped me from giving the lady back there a gullet full of pepper spray.”
Byron walked through the holding area, passing women in various stages of distress. The most aggravated of them stood at the front of their cells. “Shut her up!”
“Shoot ’er now!”
“If she starts that song again, I’ll hang myself!”
Officer Howard gestured Byron forward while he worked on quieting the other inmates.
Tia sat on the floor of her empty cell, her back against the bed, her knees drawn up. She didn’t even acknowledge Byron as he entered the steel cage.
“Nobody knows—”
“Tia, your arrest was a misunderstanding. The charges have been dropped.”
“The trouble—”
“Tia, do you hear me?”
“Swing loooow, sweet chariot ...”
A lady in the next cell screamed loud and long and started throwing whatever she could get her hands on.
Byron crouched down. “Tia? You’re acting ridiculous.”
She looked tired, but her eyes, void of liner and shadow, were angry. “Get out of my room.”
He reached for her. “The charges were dropped.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Crashing commenced behind him. An inmate revolt? Oh, hell, no. “Tia, you have to leave.”
“Or what? I’ll be locked up on not leaving jail charges?” Her maniacal laughter concerned him. Obviously, her interaction with Atlanta’s finest had sent her over the edge.
He searched for something positive to say. “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” Shoes hit the steel bars behind him, and screaming moved toward them like a clawed tiger. “And on behalf of the officers, I want to, uh, formally apologize for the department and have you released within the hour.”
Tia crossed her arms. “This is grand, considering I didn’t belong here in the first place.”
“Tia, you vandalized—”
“I owned the tires!”
Byron start
ed to agree for the sake of peace. “That’s an arguable point, but—”
“But Mutt and Jeff wouldn’t listen.”
Joey and McNult stood outside Tia’s cell, the raving women on both sides making them nervous.
“Nobody would listen to me, not even you,” she told Byron. “So if there’s no justice for me, then there’s no peace for you. Swing loooow, sweet chariot ...”
Mattresses flew, and women started beating the crap out of each other.
Byron did the only logical thing. He tossed Tia neatly over his shoulder.
She kicked, her foot landing near his crown jewels, and he gave her a whack on the rear. “Kick one more time, and I’ll feed you to the lions.”
He capitalized on her momentary paralysis and ran for their lives.
Chapter Thirteen
In the parking lot, Tia scrambled out of Byron’s arms and wiped her hands over herself. “How dare you manhandle me? Don’t ever touch me again!”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
He had the nerve to keep himself between her and the station, as if he was in charge of weeding out the real criminals from the fake.
How many people had ever been uninvited to jail?
Tears filled her eyes at yet another bizarre happening in her life. Fate was kicking her ass right about now.
Close to crying, Tia sucked in a cold breath and tried to get her bearings. Second Street? She was at least one and a half miles from work, and she only had a half hour to get to her desk.
She started down the long driveway, heading toward the street. Maybe she could flag a cab or catch a bus that would put her close to the building.
She raised her arm and the taxi driver gestured up. He was off duty. Pulling her arms close to her body to conserve heat, Tia started walking.
“I’ve been ordered to escort you home. If you wait a minute, I’ll get the car and drive you home. We can deal with Manuel right now,” Byron snarled.
“I never want to see you again.”
“Tia—”
“I’d rather stay in jail.” She circled and Byron blocked her and Tia went the other way.
“You made that clear,” he said, as officers ran past them and into the building.
She snatched her purse from him and walked faster.
Byron couldn’t believe her. “Where are you going?” “Anywhere you’re not.”
He thought of letting her go alone, but what if she got hit by a car or died of hypothermia? He’d be blamed for not following orders.
Then he’d be in jail. “You don’t want a ride. Fine with me. I’m still going to do my job.”
She kept walking.
Hurrying back to his squad car, Byron trailed her for a block, flashers on, the stares from passersby almost as ridiculous as her walking in the thirty-degree weather.
They looked as if they were having a lovers’ quarrel. On PD time.
Tia was creating a hazardous situation. He could arrest her, or leave her alone. Now that was a plan.
He radioed his captain.
“What is it, Rivers?” Hanks was angry, but there was a riot in his jail. Ever since their run-in, they’d kept a respectful distance. Byron was aware that everyone knew that Hanks was under investigation because of him, but he didn’t rub it in the man’s face. All Byron wanted was respect for himself and his fellow officers, and to his credit, Hanks had calmed down, a bit. But this call might change everything.
“State your business, Officer.”
“Ms. Amberson refuses a ride. I’ll return to the station now.”
“Oh no, you don’t.”
Tia crossed the street, and Byron stomped on the brakes. Horns blared behind him. He gritted his teeth and U-turned in the middle of the street. “What am I supposed to do? Arrest her?”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hanks snapped. “I was just told her coat is still here. Is that true?”
Thin silk showcased the lines of a sexy black bra and a smooth back. He cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”
“Officer Rivers, if Ms. Amberson so much as catches a head cold and we get sued, you’ll be held personally responsible. Deal with her!”
There were terrorists to be caught, and what was he doing? Following an ill-tempered woman who’d rather march around with no coat than take a free ride.
“And don’t think just because you passed the detective’s exam, that will stop me from seeing you in the unemployment line.”
Byron’s heart rejoiced. He’d made it. “You won’t have the chance, sir,” he said with pride.
“Then we have an understanding. You have to successfully complete the anger management course and get it signed off by me.”
“I’ll do whatever is necessary to earn my promotion.”
“You’re catching on. You can start by adhering to the judge’s order and making sure Ms. Amberson takes possession of her home.”
Life was nothing but a spring-loaded mousetrap. He swallowed a heavy sigh. “Yes, sir.”
“Rivers?”
“Sir?” Byron said.
“I consider it your personal responsibility to see that Tia Amberson never enters my precinct again.”
Byron didn’t say that he thought it was more likely for him to get a job on the space station.
Tia turned the corner and crossed the street. Now her arms were folded over her middle, with her head dipped toward her chest. She had to be freezing.
“You can count on me, sir,” Byron said and disconnected the call.
The snarl of traffic behind his patrol car grew longer.
With Tia marching along as the lone soldier, Byron knew he’d have to be an officer of his word.
He pulled into the parking lot of a nearby building, yanked on his jacket, and retrieved a blanket from the trunk.
He started off on foot and caught up to Tia. Sure enough, she was shivering, but she didn’t stop walking. That’d be too easy.
He draped her shoulders and prepared for the blanket to hit the pavement. When it didn’t, he fell into step beside her.
“You have two choices,” he told her.
“Is that your standard pickup line?”
Byron couldn’t help but laugh. “Who said anything about picking you up? Who’d want to? You’re a hostile, volatile woman.”
“So I’ve been told by all the men I’ve encountered this past month.”
Tia jaywalked and horns blared.
Byron caught her by the arm. “Are you trying to be roadkill?”
“No, but I was hoping my stalker might.”
“You’re a smart-ass, you know that?”
She kept walking.
His temper tipped the scale. “Now you don’t have anything to say? While you were causing a riot and a traffic jam, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. The judge said for me to escort you. Why didn’t you just call?”
Tia stood in stony silence at the light and began to cross with the other pedestrians.
“Unbelievable!” Byron’s foot crunched against litter, the shine on his shoe marred with every furious step.
He’d arrested fourteen prostitutes and pimps over the past four days, but Tia’s brief yet memorable incarceration would be all he heard about, possibly for the rest of his career. They walked down Peachtree Street, toward the Fox Theatre marquee glittering on their left. At the corner they crossed, and his nose perked up the scent of brewing coffee and scrambled eggs when two women balancing Styrofoam containers and coffee cups stepped outside the diner.
His stomach yelped like an excited puppy. At this hour of the morning he would have had a light dinner and been in his bed. But twelve hours of hard police work wasn’t enough. He had to baby-sit.
She turned then, the depth of her anger etched down the center of her face. “I’m tired of being told what to do. Everybody else lives by their own rules, but I have to ask permission. Last night I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I just wanted to go home. And I didn’t want to ask you to take me there.�
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Pedestrians streamed past, staring openly. “People live within the law, Tia. When they don’t, that’s when Atlanta PD steps in.”
The reprimand fell on deaf ears as the crowd mobilized, herding them across the street. Byron picked up the pace as Tia power-walked around other pedestrians. Several times he dropped back to let people traveling south the opportunity to pass, but the distance between him and Tia grew.
She walked on oblivious of him, like she had been since they’d met. He wasn’t sure he liked that, given that many of his thoughts centered around her. “Step to the left. Left. Left,” he said, directing the comment to three women whose looks said they didn’t give a damn who he was, they weren’t moving.
The shoulder of a blonde woman brushed his, but she didn’t break stride.
“Watch it,” he ordered, to which she responded by flipping him the backward bird.
What happened to respect for the damned law?
Pissed, Byron caught up to Tia and grasped her shoulder just as her foot left the curb to jaywalk. “Enough,” he said, and she stopped.
He tried to ignore that she bumped his hand off her shoulder with a shrug. “Let’s get him out of your house now.”
Misery collapsed her features and she looked like she was going to cry. “I can’t.”
Was this another game? He could hear the sympathy symphony start rehearsals. With every curse word he thought, her face changed to a darker, angrier Tia. How many levels did this woman possess?
“After all you’ve been through, you didn’t just say no. I didn’t hear that.”
He looked into her eyes and saw the truth. “What the hell is it now, Tia?”
“I’m in trouble at work. If I’m late or don’t show up, I’m fired. Here’s your blanket.”
Wind skittered up Peachtree, scattering debris around their ankles. Byron noticed a lone maintenance man wrestling a broken bag of garbage, hunkered down in his blue quilt jacket, losing the battle, terribly.
Byron held the blanket helplessly, not wanting to yield. Wanting to sleep. With her, he realized, with surprising clarity. Not with Lynn, but with the difficult yet beautiful woman an arm’s length away.
He urged Tia to the door of the building. “I’ll explain to your boss you have urgent business to attend to.”