Dangerously In Love

by Allison Hobbs

  Chapter 42

  There were rumors that the abductor had not only held Chanelle Lawson hostage, but another woman as well, a drug-addicted hooker. News reporters wanted verification—they wanted to get the scoop. The hospital staff carefully shielded Chanelle from the media. “She’s not making any statements, leave her alone!” The head nurse rolled her eyes and slammed down the phone.

  Balloons and flowers filled the hospital room. Cash donations folded into get well cards poured in from well-meaning strangers from throughout the country who had heard the news that Chanelle Lawson had survived living in a torture chamber for three days.

  “You have a visitor; she says she’s a friend,” a nurse said, peeking her head inside Chanelle’s room.

  “Who?” Chanelle asked suspiciously. She didn’t have any real friends.

  “Saleema Sparks. She said you know her as Hershey.”

  Chanelle paused to think about it. “Okay, she can come in.”

  Hershey rushed into the room with a bouquet of flowers, smiling though her eyes could not conceal that she was deeply troubled and concerned. She leaned over and gave Chanelle a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so sorry, Chanelle. Thank God you’re all right. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious…how’d you get out of that mess alive?”

  For a moment, Chanelle was quiet, and then she sighed and said, “I prayed for a miracle and God answered my prayer.”

  “I feel so responsible…”

  Chanelle shifted her position and pushed herself up a little higher. “Why? You didn’t have anything to do with that situation. I’m the one who trusted a man because he seemed nice and had an attractive face…” Chanelle gulped and didn’t finish the sentence. The memory of her encounter with Reed Reynolds would be etched in her mind forever, so why talk about something she’d be trying to forget for the rest of her life?

  “I know,” Hershey said, patting Chanelle’s hand. “I feel bad that I didn’t take you under my wing and school you. Girl, I knew you were green. If I had got inside your head and made sure you realized that in this crazy world there ain’t hardly a soul you can trust, you wouldn’t have never got all caught up in that mess.” Wearing a sad expression, Hershey swallowed and shook her head.

  “I have to take the responsibility for that, Hershey. I don’t know why you’re trippin’.”

  Hershey’s eyes filled with tears. Chanelle was shocked. She thought Hershey had ice water in her veins. She found it hard to believe she was capable of crying.

  With the tables turned, Chanelle rubbed Hershey’s back as she released a floodgate of tears. “Most people think I’m just a hard-core madam, but I’m in the business because I have a lot of responsibilities. I’m raising my best friend’s daughter because she’s all messed up…in a psychiatric hospital. The place she used to be in didn’t really take care of her right, so I moved her to a real nice place out in Horsham, Pennsylvania. It’s costing me an arm and a leg. That’s part of the reason I gotta stay on my hustle.”

  “I know,” Chanelle soothed. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be blessed for what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t understand,” Hershey said, sniffling and wiping away tears. “When I realized you were diggin’ Marc Tarsia hard, I should have been up front and told you the truth. But instead I told you that lie about his bachelor party—”

  “Marc didn’t get married?”

  “No.”

  “Then why’d you tell me that? I was really feelin’ him; I was falling in love.”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted you to think he was getting married. I was trying to protect you because I knew you were falling hard for Marc.”

  Chanelle gave Hershey a blank look.

  “Marc has a pattern of getting involved with working girls,” Hershey explained. “He gets some kind of freakish kick out of making women think he’s going to take them out of the life. He starts out by inviting them to go sailing, but never comes through. It’s nothing but a game to him; he does it just for kicks.”

  Chanelle was quiet while the information sank in.

  “I thought if I told you that he was getting married, you would get mad and toughen up like me. I didn’t think you’d be so hurt—quit the business and run right into the arms of a maniac.”

  “Well, I’m over Marc now,” Chanelle said defensively. “Believe me, after the ordeal I just survived, I’m just gonna do me. I’m not trying to get involved in another dangerous love affair. I probably won’t look at a man in a romantic way until I’m at least twenty-five or damn near thirty,” Chanelle said with a sardonic chuckle.

  “You know, you remind me a lot of my best friend, Terelle. You look a lot like her, too. She wasn’t as lucky as you; she really got messed up.” Hershey let out a long, sad sigh. “When you quit working for me, you said you were gonna go legit and start saving money. Didn’t you say you wanted to get out of Philly and start all over again?”

  “Uh-huh. I haven’t changed my mind; I’m still leaving.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I don’t know. Wanna hear something strange? You’ve been talking about not trusting people and I understand where you’re coming from, but people who don’t even know me have sent me their good wishes and have donated money. Now, I can hire a lawyer and change my name, go to school, and start all over again. And just like I believe in miracles, I believe that most people have good hearts.”

  Hershey was briefly pensive, then she reached into her purse. “Speaking of donations, I brought a little something to let you know I care.”

  “Aw, Hershey…you didn’t have to…”

  Hershey kissed Chanelle on the cheek. “Yes, I did,” she said. “And by the way, can I ask you a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “You say you believe in miracles, so would you pray for a miracle for my best friend Terelle? She could sure use one.”

  Chanelle smiled and nodded. “I’m gonna pray real hard for your friend.”

  “Thanks.” Hershey got up to leave. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I plan to take real good care of myself,” Chanelle said and meant it with all her heart.

  Chapter 43

  Eleven Months Later

  Mother’s Day. Searching for the warmth of Ammon, Dayna stretched out her arm. His side of the bed was empty. “Ammon,” she whispered sleepily. No answer.

  Forcing herself to become alert, she sat up, rubbed her eyes and glanced at the bedside clock. Seven-thirty. “Ammon,” she called out louder, unable to keep the sound of alarm from creeping into her voice.

  She called his name again. This time there was an agitated lilt to her tone. Still no answer. Where could he be this early on a Sunday morning? It wasn’t that Dayna felt she had to keep tabs on Ammon; she just needed to know he was okay.

  Life with Ammon was a wonderful dream, periodically disrupted by her own fear. That fear now pulled her thoughts back to the day Reed was sentenced to a twenty-year prison term.

  The memory of his chilling last threats caused her to shudder. As Reed was being led away in handcuffs, he looked at Dayna and shouted: “It’s not over, Dayna; you’re still my wife. You must be crazy if you think I’m gonna let you run off into the sunset and cheat on me with that sandal-wearing artist. They haven’t made prison bars strong enough to keep me away from you. Trust me; it’s just a matter of time before I get out of here and reclaim you. Your adulterous boyfriend better watch his back,” he threatened. “They got me on these bullshit charges, so if they take me down again…it’s going to be for murder.” Reed laughed and the sound of his sinister laughter still echoed in Dayna’s mind.

  Dayna had thought Reed to be a sociopath. He was. But he was also diagnosed as a sexual sadist. She was deeply worried and constantly plagued by the inescapable fear that Reed would find a way to break out of prison and kidnap her and murder Ammon.

  To this day, she was still legally married to Reed. He refused to sign the divorce papers
, and unfortunately, she would have to remain married to Reed for at least another year.

  The elegant dream home she’d shared with Reed, now considered the House of Horrors, was still on the market, unsold. It appeared no one, and certainly not she, wanted to live in a house that had been the site of such a heinous crime.

  A note propped against the door of the microwave filled her with instant relief:

  I didn’t forget brunch. I’m hard at work at the studio tryingto finish an important project. I’ll be home around ten. Love, Ammon

  She breathed a sigh of relief and kissed the note. Oh, how she loved that man.

  Ammon, now a successful and financially independent artist, used his former apartment as his studio. Together, he and Dayna lived in a cozy little one-story house that had a hovering weeping willow tree and was encircled by a picket fence.

  With her fear of Reed pushed to the recesses of her mind, feeling cheerful now, Dayna filled the teapot with water. Humming softly, she drifted to the cabinet and reached for a bag of dried herbs and began blending together ingredients to brew her favorite tea.

  “Hey baby; I’m home,” Ammon yelled.

  “I’m in the bedroom,” Dayna caroled, as she gave herself a final look in the mirror. She checked the time. “Ammon, hurry up; you have to get dressed. Our reservation is for eleven o’clock and you know what a stickler my mother is about being on time.”

  Wearing a paint-spattered T-shirt, Ammon came into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed. Specks of paint dotted his hands and fingers. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to shower and change.

  Dayna gave him a sidelong look, which she hoped would encourage him to get moving. He didn’t budge.

  “She found the perfect match in her new boyfriend,” Dayna continued, deciding to ignore Ammon’s resistance to getting dressed. “He’s worse than my mother when it comes to punctuality. They’re probably both standing in her doorway right now—arms folded, tapping their feet,” Dayna said with a chuckle. Ammon smiled, but didn’t seem to find the comment funny. It certainly didn’t encourage him to start getting ready for brunch.

  “Ammon,” Dayna admonished. “Get up. Any second, the phone’s going to ring and I’m letting you explain why we still haven’t left.”

  “Okay. Let me rest a few minutes; I’ve been working since four o’ clock this morning.”

  “Four o’clock! What were you working on at that hour of the morning? I can’t believe I slept so peacefully without you lying next to me. How come you never mentioned having to work on a special project?”

  “Must have slipped my mind,” he said casually.

  Dayna swatted his leg. “Come on, Ammon; start getting dressed.” She used a whiny voice to get him moving along.

  “All right.” He rose lazily. “Oh, I just remembered something,” he said, sounding suddenly enthused.

  “What?”

  “It’s in the living room.” He grasped her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Dayna followed an energetic Ammon. With lumbering movements, however, she could barely keep up his pace.

  In the living room was a covered canvas, which she found odd since Ammon hardly ever brought commissioned work home. She usually visited his studio to see his work. With her curious face tilted and resting on her palm, Dayna waited anxiously for Ammon to show her the finished painting.

  He removed the cover and Dayna gasped, closed her eyes, and placed both hands on her stomach. Finding it difficult to breathe she began to pant. Ammon rushed to her side. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?”

  Speechless, she shook her head and whimpered, “Thank you,” as she pointed to the painting.

  The painting reminded Dayna of Ammon’s mural “Family” but with a different twist. In this painting, the man kissed the woman’s neck; his arms were wrapped around her. The woman’s eyes were downcast as she looked lovingly at her man’s hands, which rested upon her swollen belly.

  Ammon walked behind Dayna and embraced her from behind. Rubbing her pregnant stomach, he whispered in her ear, “Happy Mother’s Day, baby. Do you like your present?”

  “I love it,” she said, weeping. “It’s you and me.”

  “And our unborn child,” Ammon added, rocking her while standing.

  “What’s the title of the painting?”

  Ammon smiled. He gave Dayna a kiss and said, “It’s called ‘Sacred Love.’”

  Never had she known such happiness, never had she felt so honored and respected—never had she felt so complete. Every day with Ammon was a joyous celebration. The experience of their oneness was truly sacred love.

  Author Bio

  Allison Hobbs was raised in suburban Philadelphia. After high school she worked for several years in the music industry as a singer, songwriter, and studio background vocalist. She eventually attended Temple University and earned a Bachelor of Science degree. She is the national bestselling author of Pandora’s Box, Insatiable, Double Dippin’, The Enchantress and the upcoming A Bona Fide Gold Digger. Hobbs currently resides in Philadelphia. Visit her at www.allisonhobbs.com and www.myspace.com/allisonhobbs or email her at pb@allisonhobbs.com