“I’d never lie to the FBI,” she said before dropping to a squat and taking his towel with her.
“We’ll have a copy of Michaels’s autopsy report as soon as I can get through all this blinkin’ red tape and archaic encryption. I guess it’s been proven again, you can’t always have a body when you want it,” Maravel remarked smartly, bringing Ovan’s mind back. Her tone was implicative and dripping with sarcasm. He felt his eyebrow rise slowly while giving her the “I can’t believe you just put my business out there like that” look. She winked ever-so-covertly and turned back to the computer monitor where she was trying to build a report for lifted files from secure data bases. It was her forte. “I did, however, finally manage to get a copy of the autopsy on Dr. Lipton—London’s faxing it over.”
“How in the world did you manage that? Finally. God, that took forever. They are always a bugga to deal with. Why is that? You’d think their files would be more accessible.”
“Right, I’m sure they are to someone with authorization to use them.” Maravel chuckled, seemingly ignoring his close presence as he leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look at her data—and get a nose full of her perfume. She’d been right about one thing: her body was one he had never been able to get his hands on. Those were the rules ... well, sort of. He’d broken them only once with their other partner, Julia. But then again, rules are only rules when one of the parties objects—like Maravel.
Chapter 4
Juanita stretched. Her afternoon nap was filled with delicious dreams of Chance Davis, her ex-husband. Even after all these years she had a warm spot in her heart for him. Or maybe it wasn’t her heart, maybe it was just her bed. She would always have a place waiting for him there. Unfortunately, getting him away from that wife of his was a serious quest, a never-ending and, so far, unsuccessful challenge—but even after all these years she still had to regularly try. Getting Chance back had put a damper on everything else she used to find fun, including sex with other people. Maybe she was obsessed—who cared. Rashawn had something that belonged to her and she wanted it back! That wasn’t obsession, that was the difference between right and wrong. And Rashawn was wrong for coming between her and her Chia Pet—Chance.
That Rashawn Ams had been a formidable opponent when she snagged Chance all those years ago, putting her fatherless son in his face, playing on her and that boy’s needs for some emotional stability. Oh sure, Rashawn had been stalked and nearly killed by that psychopath Doc, “Until she shot him all to pieces phhhst.” Juanita blew a raspberry while thinking of the situation that had stayed on the front page for days: College professor claims self-defense after shooting security guard nine times at close range. “Right, I was convinced it was self-defense all right,” Juanita lied. She saw Rashawn as underhanded and sneaky for having played on Chance’s emotions and his soft nature. “Heffa almost got my Chancy Wancy killed over her mess. I’ll never forgive her for that.”
She smacked her cute, heart-shaped lips. “He wasn’t ready for all those drama bags she was carrying. Putting some kid on him whose father she didn’t know. It was not fair the way she trapped him. He was not ready to be a stepfather,” Juanita said with a huff. “He was ready to be a real father. I had his only child and our son needed him. But then ...” Juanita thought about Rainey, the beautiful, fair-skinned child Chance and Rashawn had together. “Okay, fine, so he has her. Damn that Rashawn, she even took that from me,” Juanita grumbled. Junior was dark skinned, tall, and husky, kinda like Reggie, Rashawn’s son. But in Reggie’s case, the dark complexion made sense considering that Rashawn was damn near the color of mahogany wood, even though she had those crazy gold-colored eyes. But he didn’t have her eyes. Maybe it was Reggie’s biological father who had dark eyes, for Reggie’s were just off the color of onyx stone. He was a beautiful specimen of a black man and when he grew up, he’d break many hearts.
Juanita understood Reggie’s dark tones, but then here comes Rainey with her fair skin and light eyes. Chance musta put ugly on that one, because she looked just like him. She was Chance’s pride and joy—looking just like his mother. Rainey was a beautiful child and Juanita could tell he favored her over Chance Jr. “Yeah, well...” Juanita sighed heavily, glancing over at the picture of her son on the nightstand. “Just not right.” Chance Jr. was tall and dark skinned, with a head full of loose curly hair. Even at only fifteen, Juanita could see “basketball star” all over him. He was gonna be athletic, just like Rashawn’s son. “So why is everyone acting like Reggie is all that? He’s not, not with Chance’s own star on the bench just waiting his turn.” Again, Juanita looked at Chance Jr.’s, picture, wishing he looked more like Rainey. But he didn’t.
She kissed the picture and stroked it lovingly. “Doesn’t matter, baby. Mama loves you.”
Juanita knew that Rashawn hated that she’d named her son after Chance. It was a constant reminder that she had been able to seduce Chance to her bed while the two of them were dating. And still Juanita raised suspicion that they “got it on” once in a while now—as much as she wanted it to be true. She wanted Chance back. Despite all her cheating and crazy acting, she wanted Chance back in her life. Besides, who else would love her?
Juanita was diagnosed a sex addict and borderline bipolar a few years back. It forced her to leave her practice, what with everyone joking that there was more “psycho” in her psychotherapy than should be. “To hell with ’em. Damned haters,” Juanita huffed, thinking about her life and how Chance had always been there for her. Maybe in his own way, he still was. He surely must still love her.
Chance just allowed the games to play. He’s such a pacifist, Juanita thought, smacking her lips at his less-than-passionate lust for drama. Even when Rashawn was screaming paternity suit, Chance just took the whole thing with a yawn and responded with, “I don’t want to take everyone through it, haven’t we been through enough?” Yes, Chance had been through it. He’d nearly been killed and never once had Rashawn really thanked him for his efforts.
Juanita continued to paint the masterpiece in her mind—Rashawn, the heartless, selfish bitch who cared about no one but herself. Juanita sometimes didn’t believe she really even loved her son the way a mother should. “Shouldn’t matter who his daddy is,” she said, lying back on the bed, resting, on her chest, the picture of her son standing with Chance. Then she tossed it aside and reached for the phone. She called Chance’s cell, her mood shifting suddenly. She needed to speak with him today. She needed money—today. Christmas was just around the corner and Junior wanted things. Sure, Chance had paid his support for the month, but how far did he expect twelve hundred dollars to go?
Back when she agreed with the court-ordered support, Juanita had a thriving practice. She didn’t need Chance’s little handouts, but the years had crept by and Junior grew tall and demanding. He ate like a horse. He wanted to wear trendy clothes and hang out with his friends drinking expensive coffee drinks and smoothies every-day—all the things that a working mother could afford, but then, Juanita wasn’t a working mother anymore now, was she? Unlike Rashawn who worked constantly, ambitiously trying to prove something to everyone—bitching about how tired she was all the damned time, especially when Juanita needed some downtime and alone time, and especially when Juanita had requested that Chance Jr. stay over a few days beyond the weekend.
“Actin’ like the kids shouldn’t get close,” Juanita went on, still building on the fantasy that Rashawn was the true bad guy here. “That’s her problem. She’s jealous of me being a stay-at-home mom. Well, too bad! I need more money.”
And yes, Rashawn bitched about that, too.
Juanita sighed heavily at the thought of her rival. True, Rashawn had proven herself to be a worthy adversary. Sometimes Juanita felt ashamed at all the lies she had told to keep drama going, but then other times, like now, when she was so broke, and so lonely, she didn’t give a damn.
“Put your stepfather on the phone,” she said gruffly, speaking to Reggie as if he were
the only stepchild in the joint.
Chapter 5
“Dad, it’s Nita on the phone,” Reggie called on his way out the door. He was headed out to practice. The team sucked as a whole, but he loved playing with his friends and they loved having him on the team. With Reggie on board, at least they got touchdowns during the game. Reggie was the MVP, no questions asked, and he enjoyed being the star. Reggie really had his heart set on playing college football, and not in Moorman U’s colors.
“So does being the MVP of a team that loses all the time really count?” Chance had asked once while signing the permission slip that would allow Reggie to play out of town. Reggie just chuckled.
“It counts,” he huffed, puffing up slightly, strangely and suddenly resembling a man Chance would forever be working on forgetting. With his chiseled jaw line and broad shoulders, Reggie looked a lot like him sometimes. Although Doc’s skin was that of a white man, he was Allen Roman’s half brother. He was half black, with a heart darker than any skin tone could be. Blain, aka Doc, had a charm that women found irresistible for the most part, and maybe Rashawn had gotten caught up a little bit. Chance would never know for sure how Doc had ended up getting so close to her he had access to her home as easily as his crazy brother Allen Roman did. But none of that mattered now. Chance shook his head, erasing the memories as quickly as they came.
The memory of the big monster of a man breaking him into as many pieces as possible without killing him—death might have been preferable at that moment—brought a chill over him. Chance shuddered slightly as he remembered the moment he saw his life flashing before his eyes. He’d nearly died that day because of his love for Rashawn and Reggie—and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He loved his family and would fight for them to the death if he had to. Minor though it all seemed, in comparison there were things worse than what he’d been through, in Chance’s mind. For instance, Reggie calling him by his first name whenever he could get away with it, pushing the rules to a breaking point—Chance had to put the hammer down on those seemingly small things. Reggie would never understand why life and the rules seemed so out of whack, but it was okay. He didn’t need to understand. Chance just needed to be a good father and he knew he would always be.
Chance took time with Reggie as well as his own daughter, Rainey; helping them with homework and extracurricular activities, and even taking them on camping trips and to amusement parks and such. He even stretched further and included his “other Chance” in many of the activities. All of the children got along; they are keeping me young, he would force himself to think. Of course, Rashawn and Juanita were another story, in Chance’s mind. Their bickering, bitching, and plain old crazy actin’ was surely driving him to an early grave.
Year after year, the two women in his life went at it. Sure, he took good care of his body, keeping himself in shape. He would run for miles sometimes—more for his own peace of mind than anything—but still. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror he would simply shake his head in wonder. “You’d think I was Denzel Washington or somebody ...” Chance would say to the aging reflection.
Chance also enjoyed his work. He was a remedial math teacher at Moorman University. He’d taught there for more than fifteen years now. But since Rashawn’s aggressive climb to dean began, he had dropped to part-time in order to give the children more attention where she was coming up short. It was a choice they both made and it had worked out. Chance was better with the kids anyway, in his opinion. As he picked up the grocery list on his way to the phone, he thought about Rashawn’s domestic skills. She was great housekeeper, planner, wife, and woman. It wasn’t as if Rashawn had ever really planned to be a mother—let alone a mother of two-and-ahalf active teenagers. Being dean of a university offered her a better fit.
Glancing at the grocery list now, it was clear that the kids had added things, intermingled within Rashawn’s balanced nutritional pyramid. Along the way up the list, he notice items with tell tale signs of balance invasion:
Whole wheat rolls. Oreos. Soy Dream. Polish Dog w/cheese. Tofu ... yeah right.
This position as dean was her calling. Of course, this promotion also meant that he was now going to have to increase his duties around the house, like shopping and cooking. That thought and this whacked-out grocery list nearly caused him to forget who was on the phone.
“Helleeerrrooo,” he sang nonchalantly into the receiver.
“Chance ... hi, ummm, I was wondering if Junior could stay over ’til the weekend,” Juanita led, as was her style. Chance was immediately brought back into focus, his mood dropping several degrees.
He answered while looking over the grocery list. “I’ll pick him up on Saturday, Nita. He comes here after school. You pick him up. I get him every other weekend. Why are you always trying to change up stuff?”
“But, Chance ...” she began. He knew this was coming. Juanita never wanted Junior to extend his visit without ulterior motives. She’d made their son an unwitting accomplice to her job, that being to both bug the hell out of Rashawn as well as milk him for funds. As for Junior, he’d be a great corporate man when the time came. The training he was gaining from his mother was priceless. What a piece of work Juanita was.
And to think I once loved her, Chance thought, his brain drifting to her bed. She was a wild cat, seductive as hell. He was crazy about Rashawn, true, but nobody had it on Juanita—she was a sexual pro. No, it wasn’t love—not in the purest sense—it was lust, greed, and insatiable need that kept them together and kept him going back after they broke up. To be truthful, it was only by pure resistance that he hadn’t gone back since he and Rashawn married, because Juanita hadn’t stopped trying. As a matter of fact, over the last few months it seemed as though she must be in a dry spell, as her attempts had become less than covert. Chance was going to have to up his defense for sure. He didn’t feel guilty about his feelings; he was human. And Juanita was—sex crazed.
“... and he needs ...” Chance heard Juanita say, as he once again tuned into her voice. It didn’t really matter what she was saying. In the end, of course Junior would extend his stay through the weekend, and probably stay over the entire winter break. And Chance would purchase whatever the boy needed ... It’s only right.
Junior was his son.
Well, as much as Reggie is.
Chance wasn’t stupid. He was barely five ten and Juanita was a half a minute taller than five feet even, and already, at barely fifteen years old, Junior was eye to eye with him and nowhere near finished growing. In addition, with Juanita’s eyes being grey in color and his own being brown—albeit on the light side, closer to hazel—Junior’s onyx pools just didn’t fit the DNA profile. Suffice it to say, there was very little about Chance’s namesake that he could claim, as claiming blood relation was something that, in his heart, he was not be able to do.
Paternity test? What was the point at this late date? Chance knew he was the only father Reggie or Junior had, and would ever have. Juanita was a sexually charged woman—who knew who Junior’s father was. Back then, “no” was not part of her vocabulary when it came to sex—his either, for that matter. Chance felt that he was in the running just as easily as any other man.
That was half of the attraction, and that she’d actually agreed to marry him, to settle down with him considering how many men wanted her. Back then it had been flattering. But faithful was something Juanita could never be. Even while she was married to her last husband, Dennis, Chance often revisited his comfort spot between her thighs. Shameful as it was, he’d even slept with Juanita on a regular basis while dating Rashawn. They weren’t committed at the time, so Rashawn forgave him for the indiscretion, but only with the promise that he had truly recovered from his disease—The Juanitas. He’d worked hard to recover, and now believed in his heart that he had. Anytime he felt as if he would slip back into darkness, Junior was there as a bright, reminding light. Just knowing—or worse yet, not knowing—the truth had set Chance free of her spell. But not for Juanita
’s lack of applying the juju. And, truth be told, Juanita was looking kinda good these days, too. Not that I’m really looking all that hard, Chance told himself.
Chance knew who Reggie’s father was, but Chance Jr. didn’t stand a chance of ever being related to anyone beside Juanita. Besides, being a father to both boys hadn’t put a dent in anything he had going on, and his daughter, Rainey, was enjoying actually having two big brothers. It was probably the best thing for her. Chance enjoyed having sons; he’d always wanted sons. So it was working out, at least for him and the kids.
“... and you promised that spring break Junior was gonna stay with you and you didn’t keep your word then, either—that’s all water under the bridge, I know, but this is Christmas. It’s bad enough I have to spend it alone, but don’t do this to Junior. Or maybe it’s Rashawn who’s making you neglect yo’ chile,” Juanita went on.
It was time to stop her now. She was bringing Rashawn needlessly into the mix. There was one thing that would turn him off quicker than anything, and that was Juanita’s jabs at Rashawn. Chance had to admit that Rashawn had all but stopped commenting on Juanita and her little nasty remarks. There were so many other things to be busying her mind with: her job, her responsibilities, and lest he forget, Rashawn’s crazy sisters. She had five of them, and with the holiday season they were coming out the woodwork, and would soon be converging on him full force.
“Nita, that’s enough,” Chance answered. “I’m bringing him home,” he continued, barely getting in a good-bye before hanging up.
He heard her cursing as the receiver headed quickly toward the cradle.
Chapter 6
At the police station, Detective Lawrence Miller watched as the strange guy he’d never seen before stood looking through one of the older files, flipping it over from front to back, as if there were extra notes expected there; more information than the weak report held. Finally he looked up. “So is this all you’ve got?” Ovan asked.
Blood Relations Page 3