“Where is she going this time?” Juanita asked, realizing that apparently Chance didn’t want her to know, or he would have told her.
Rainey lit up. She seemed to enjoy talking to her. Juanita liked her too. She reminded her so much of Chance, a sweet child indeed. “She’s going to Arizona for two weeks! She’s going to see her sister, the writer.”
“And you know what they say: while the cat’s away!” Junior yelled out from the den. “Parrrtay!”
“Noooo, none of that,” Chance corrected, heading to his pot to give it a stir. Juanita followed him.
“So just you and the kids for two weeks?” she asked. Chance glared at her.
“I can handle it. Why do you and my wife think I can’t handle it?”
“I didn’t say anything remotely like that ...” Juanita grinned.
“Yes, you did,” he fussed playfully.
“No worries, he’s got me,” Rainey said. “I can handle these boys,” she assured.
“I’m sure you can, baby.” Juanita again noticed how pretty Rainey was. She felt immediately melancholy, imagining Rainey to be her own daughter—but, alas, she was Rashawn’s daughter. She was the glue that held Chance by Rashawn’s side. “You’re more and more like your mama every day,” Juanita said.
Chance looked at her as if unsure of what she would say next. “And that means?”
“Don’t be so defensive. That means she’s turning into a beautiful young lady.” Juanita laughed and then whispered loudly and playfully to Rainey, “Willing to get in over your head, but then,” she turned to Chance, “I’m sure that’s the you in her,” she added, bursting into laugher. Chance clearly couldn’t resist and laughed too. Dipping the spoon in the pot, he tasted the soup.
“Yeah!” he exploded.
“Ohhh, let me taste it,” she requested. It was a knee-jerk request but she was caught up. Warm house, warm laughter... . Yeah, she was caught up. And as soon as Chance raised that spoon to her lips, the door opened and Rashawn walked in. Yeah, she was caught up, or she would have been ready for that one.
“Well. Cozy,” Rashawn said. Her tone cooled the room down by degrees. Surely it matched outside now. Chance quickly set down the spoon and hurried over to her, kissing her tenderly. Juanita felt her own mouth open slightly as if she had received the tenderness of his lips.
The moment was suddenly awkward. “Well,” she began. “Junior. I’m going. If you need more stuff, just have your dad ...” she glanced at Rashawn and Chance standing there, “or just come get it,” she stumbled.
“Yeah,” Junior answered, sounding as if his mouth was full.
Quickly, Juanita grabbed her purse and brushed past Rashawn, pausing only to whisper, “Have a nice trip,” before rushing out the door.
Climbing behind the wheel, she noticed Rashawn’s car parked on the street. She was parked in Rashawn’s normal spot. She looked back toward the house and thought about the perfect family inside. She thought about how that family could have been hers if she hadn’t cheated, schemed, and lied so much. “I’ma get back on my meds tomorrow,” she promised herself.
Chapter 18
He didn’t have time to wait for the local police to figure out that Craven had been murdered by Allen Roman. Somehow, someway, he was going to have to prove it to them. They were stuck in the “natural causes” groove and refused to move, according to Maravel. He’d been working with Lawrence Miller for a couple of days now, but still he’d not reached his sensibilities. He could tell. “Maybe if I were more forthcoming with the real deal ...” he began. “Like that would really get me further,” he admitted, picking the lock and slipping into Craven Michaels’s house unnoticed. Lawrence Miller was a good cop, but even he hadn’t been willing to just open the door and let him inside Craven’s house to look around again. It could have been because British Intelligence hadn’t heard of him. Lawrence had been quick about checking out his references.
“I’m on special assignment,” Ovan had told Lawrence, hoping that would win his assistance, but no, Lawrence simply hung up the phone. “No matter, I don’t hold it against you, big fella. I know what I do and why, and right now all I care about is getting into Craven’s flat,” Ovan reasoned, putting away his tools that had allowed him to break and enter without making a sound or a scratch. He’d been the agency’s second-story man for years, so getting in here had been a piece of cake.
Heading straight for her home office, Ovan noticed that Craven had many books on surgical procedures pulled out on her desk. They were all open to renal issues. “Kidney failure,” Ovan said aloud. “Right on. Nothing else can relieve your pain, so it’s time to deal with it, eh, ol’ boy? So, are we in the market for a new kidney?” Ovan asked while snooping around through her notes. He found the name “Roman” doodled on a notepad. “Seems to me that transplanting a kidney to a dead man would be a waste of a perfectly good kidney ... unless, of course, he’s not dead.” Ovan quickly folded the page from her notes into his jacket. He’d show Lawrence; surely then he would be ready to believe the truth about Allen Roman.
Banking the information away, he continued to snoop—articles on transplants, transfusions. All the information boggled his mind, yet he filed away as much as he could for Maravel. She was better at deciphering riddles. After a little more snooping, he considered himself done for now. He tiptoed past Craven’s bedroom, and for a second he reminisced about the time he’d spent with her there. The memory drew him inside and over to the bed. It was in a tussled state. “Hmm, looks like my girl might have entertained a little before her heart stopped,” he said, noticing under the edge of the bed, nowhere near clear view, the minute edge of a torn condom package. With the edge of a pen that sat on the night stand, he scooped it into the plastic bag he pulled from the pocket of his jacket. “If nothing else, I’ll see who your last partner was and who knows, maybe I’ll trip up on a ‘colleague’—or even better,” he reasoned, thinking about Craven’s sexual habit much the way he looked at his own. Of course she’d sleep with a partner or colleague, I would. Hell, I’d shag in a heartbeat providing I have the time. He wondered why he hadn’t shagged Juanita Duncan yet—oh yeah, I haven’t met her. He chuckled. The thought tickled him for only for a second, because he heard keys jingling in the lock of the front door. He quickly ducked out of sight.
“I mean, she already died for it,” the intruder whispered, seemingly mindless as he stomped into her bedroom, immediately rummaging through her dresser drawer. “Where is the damn money,” he mumbled, leaving her room and heading toward Craven’s office, where her body had been discovered by her maid. Ovan moved quietly from his spot in order to get a better view of the man who, while in the office, slammed around a bit longer before stopping and looking around as if he felt himself being watched.
“Who’s there?” he called out. Ovan ducked into the darkness. The man looked around again and then hurriedly rummaged through the desk, pulling out a small key. “Yeah! That’s what I’m saying. Hello, Benjamins,” he exclaimed, tucking the key into the pocket of his lab coat and starting for the front of the house. Ovan jumped out of his hiding place.
“What’cha got there?” he asked, taking a fighting stance. He didn’t know who he was about to fight or what he was fighting for, but he knew he wanted what that man had in his pocket. It was a clue, a piece of evidence that would take him one step closer to Allen Roman.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
“The question is, my man, who the blazes are you? Perhaps a colleague of the late Dr. Michaels . . . or maybe her murderer!” The last comment hit a chord, Ovan could tell.
“He’s not going to frame me like this,” the man spat, angrily charging at him.
“Who is framing you? What are you and Allen Roman up to?” Ovan asked while tussling with the man, gaining the upper hand. At first speculation he figured the man for more of a scholar, less of a fighter, with his lanky, nerdy appearance. But he was wrong.
“I don’t know Allen Roman,”
the man said before fists came to blows and Ovan had to rely on brute strength to get the man off of him.
“Of course you do. Craven did and you must be the partner she was talking about.”
“And what of it!”
“Then you know Roman is alive too—ah ha! Framing you! Roman is framing you for Craven’s murder!” Ovan hit the man hard, knocking him off his feet. “I just want some answers.” Ovan spat after knocking the man to the floor. “Hand over what you pulled from the desk.”
“What?” the man asked stupidly.
“What’s in your pocket!” Ovan yelped, reaching down toward the pocket of man’s jacket.
“You mean this!” The man then, instead of pulling out a gun, pulled out a syringe and stabbed Ovan in the arm.
“Bloody hell!” Ovan exclaimed. He stumbled backward as the drug took its immediate effect. “Did you just kill me?” he asked, his double vision immediately beginning to cross his eyes.
“No, but you’ll sleep awhile ... at least until I call the police and report your intrusion in my girlfriend’s house. Maybe I’ll tell them you murdered her.”
“Your girlfriend?” Ovan asked, struggling for consciousness.
Hap quickly put the syringe away before pulling a tissue from the box that sat on a small table and wiping the blood from his lip. “Yes. My girlfriend.”
“Who ...” Ovan was struggling to speak. He was going down. “... are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Chapter 19
Rashawn smoothed on the wrinkle cream. It was designed to search and destroy ahead of time, or so it promised. Her older sister had recommended it, along with Yam Cream and Cat’s Claw tea and several other potions, poultices, and elixirs to ensure youth for many years to come.
Just then, from the mirror, she noticed Chance watching her from the bed. He wore a half-smile, an almost sarcastic smirk—if she wanted to go there in her mind.
“Thanks for the dinner, baby,” she purred, avoiding all mention of Juanita getting the first taste. She was leaving tomorrow and the trip was all that was on her mind.
“Anything for you,” Chance responded, climbing from the bed and walking up behind where she sat facing her vanity mirror. He ran his hands over her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, before moving her hair and kissing down the back of her neck.
“You smell like a pie,” he teased. “All these fruity greases and creams,” he joked on, looking at the labels of her miracle mixes.
“Stop, Chance,” Rashawn mumbled, hiding her humiliation. It was nothing Chance had said in particular to embarrass her; she was just feeling. . . that way.
Just then, he slid his hands down the front of her robe and down under the top of her soft satin gown, cupping her full breasts, gently thumbing at the nipples. Rashawn looked at him in the reflection of the mirror. He looked at her. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so she could see his eyes clearly in the reflection. He wanted her. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d made love, and Rashawn had started to wonder if they had reached “that” point in their relationship. Her sister had warned her about letting the love wane: “Don’t let it happen, girl,” Carlotta, her oldest sister, had told her.
Arching upward, she accepted the nonverbal proposal, sighing heavily, giving into the quickly growing passion. Standing back from her, Chance dropped his shorts, exposing his readiness to her. Standing there in his undershirt, with his shorts around his ankles, the invite was surely awkward, but Rashawn wasn’t about to decline it. Since their first time together, their sexual compatibility had improved a hundredfold.
Pulling her to him, he squeezed his engorged member teasingly between her thick thighs, flirting the promise of fulfillment and satisfaction, kissing her earlobes, whispering sweet “nasties” in her ear. Pulling off their remaining sleepwear, they quickly slid between the sheets so he could deliver on his proposal.
Rashawn covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming as Chance worked himself deep inside her pleasure cove. Deeper and deeper the probe went until finally he reached the pinnacle of her pleasure. She came quickly, but once was not going to be enough tonight. Normally there was more foreplay than this, but who had that kind of time? Not me, Rashawn thought, rolling Chance over and climbing on top. I may be old, but this sista here still got this shit. Rashawn growled while working Chance over, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. She bit at his lip playfully until he pulled at her hair and went for her neck. Ohhh, Lawd, a monkey bite. How am I gonna explain this, Rashawn thought, a giggle escaping her lips. Chance rolled her back under him and went at her sex with determination. His face was reddening and he’d even broken a sweat. Rashawn was tickled, opening her legs wide to allow him all she had. Since the day they made love the first time, Chance always showed his fortitude in bed, never giving up until she’d had enough. It was good then, and had since only gotten better. Sometimes Rashawn understood Juanita and her desire to get next to Chance, and to have him back in her life ... like now.
But then again, why did she let him go?
Needing both her hands now to grab hold of the bedding, she gave way to the orgasm that rumbled up from deep within, burning at her thighs, and literally curling her toes. “Shhhitttt!” She opened her eyes and met Chance’s light pools of passion. It had been a while since their session had gone longer than half an hour, like this one had.
Chance was not aware of his own prowess, and downright sexiness; of that fact, Rashawn was certain. He was too caring and gentle—caring enough to make sure that she was thoroughly pleased before pleasing himself. Sometimes he would even ask if she had had enough. “You feeling it?” he whispered now. She nodded in response, a response that brought renewed vigor as he now sought his own pleasure, taking the ride to a new height of excitement, giving way to a low volume of verbal appreciation of her body. She shushed him, softly stroking his smooth back, kissing him tenderly on the top of his balding head. He rose up, pulling her knees up to his chest, filling her to the core, swiveling his hips to make sure to hit her pleasure points with a mastered technique that again sent her into a quake of pleasure. It rattled her so that even Chance held her tight to control the convulsing. Together they came, with Chance freely releasing his emissions. Rashawn had long given up her birth control pills and condoms as her doctor had given the final confirmation of her menopause over a year ago.
“I’m not done,” he whispered, inching down her body until he reached her heat. He’d not orally pleased her in ages. Urging him to get to business by pushing him lightly on his head, he took the hint and buried his tongue deep inside her before using it to toy with her clit. She purred and cooed in her joy. “I love you, Shawnie,” he said before gently tonguing her love button that sat swollen and willing to respond once more to attention. Rashawn was excited and feeling refreshed. Sex was fun tonight and she was enjoying herself. All that was on her mind was gone. She almost wished she wasn’t leaving. Finishing, Chance lay beside her folding his arms behind his head, smiling to himself, no doubt proud of his accomplishment. Rashawn noticed his manhood had not yet retired fully, so, still feeling a little frisky, she took it between her lips. In his surprise he gasped. It had been even longer since she’d pleased him this way. He was immediately stiff as she ran her teeth lightly along the shaft and around the head before doing all the things he liked her to do for him with her mouth. “Good golly, you’re the best,” he whispered after coming again. She moved up behind him in the bed like a spoon in a drawer, satisfied and tired.
Clinging to her, spooning with her, Chance showed his softer side awhile longer. He was ready to talk. It was funny, since often Rashawn would be the one to fall asleep on him, leaving him alone in the dark with his end of the conversation.
“So what do think of Reg’s decision to check out U of O?” Chance asked.
Rashawn, barely holding on to consciousness, nodded. Then, realizing what she was agreeing to, she smacked her lips loudly. “I mean, no ... I�
��m not happy.” She giggled, drunk from the love.
“You gonna have to let Reggie go.”
“Says who, Chance, you?”
“No, says Reggie. Says the cosmos. He’s a man now. He can handle his own business.”
Rashawn sat up and turned to him in the dim light from the vanity across the room. “Reggie doesn’t have any business.”
“Shawnie, come on now, he has to be allowed to make his own decisions. I’m talking as a man. I’m talking as his father.”
“As his fa—” Rashawn held her tongue. Chance had never said that before. It touched her. It didn’t change her mind, but it touched her. “Chance, I’m not ready for this. He can’t just be going on ‘trips,’” Rashawn said, making quotations around the word trips, “he’s not even eighteen. By the time the first semester starts he still won’t be eighteen.”
“Rita said—”
Rashawn was sitting straight up now. “You’ve been talkin to Rita?”
“Honey, you’ve been busy and—”
“I’m not that busy. Who else have you been over this with besides me?” Her arms were folded. She was pissed.
“Nobody.” Chance was lying. She could tell.
“So what did Carlotta say?” she asked, knowing he had gone over her head to Carlotta, her oldest sister.
“First let me tell you what Shelby said.”
By now Rashawn was holding the sides of her head. “Oh my God ... Shelby!”
“She said he could stay there if he decided to go with U of O. She said he could stay there with her in Eugene.”
“Oregon! Do you know how many people disappear in Oregon? It’s like the state of the weirdo. Ted Bundy is from there!”
“Not Eugene. He’s not from Eugene.”
“The Unabomber ...”
Chance was sitting up now as well. “Rashawn, your point? Your sister already said that Reggie could stay with her. He wants to play football. He stands a good chance of making the Ducks. He deserves this chance. Stop being so selfish!”
Blood Relations Page 8