by Zuri Day
“Damnit!” Alex looked in the rearview mirror to be sure he wasn’t mistaken. He wasn’t. He’d seen the bright lights from the camera but hadn’t seen the police. Now bright red lights, accompanied by a short siren, told him that once again he’d be delayed.
Jansen couldn’t believe his luck. Or his timing. The jet-black luxury auto pulled to the side. But Hawthorne was busy. Over the outside intercom, he directed the driver to turn onto a side street. The driver complied. Jansen smiled. As soon as they’d turned and gone down a short distance, the Mercedes pulled over once again.
Alex jumped out of his car. “What’s going on?”
“Get back into the vehicle,” Jansen commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. Alex stopped short, turned on his heel, and stomped back to the car. Jansen waited until Alex had gotten back in his car. He pulled out his weapon, checked the bullets and safety, and then got out of the car.
He strolled up to the driver’s-side window, which Alex had already opened.
“Here’s what you need—license, registration, and insurance, right?” Alex handed the items out the window. He just wanted the jerk cop to write up the ticket so he could be on his way. When the officer didn’t take the paperwork, Alex looked out the window. It was just before dark, yet the officer wore sunglasses. He couldn’t make out his face, but something about him . . .
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Now he knew. It was the same voice that had ordered an arm away from around a certain woman. Alex’s blood boiled, but he figured now was not the time for confrontation. He had been speeding, Jansen was a cop, and he didn’t want to go to jail. “Look, buddy, you tell me to get in, and now you’re telling me to get back out. Just write the ticket.”
Jansen leaned down to Alex’s eye level. “Look, doc. We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. Now step out of the vehicle.” Alex begrudgingly complied. “Now get into the backseat.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I’ll do no such thing!”
“Would you prefer the trunk?” Alex’s green eyes turned almost black with indignation. Jansen smiled. “Look around you, doctor. This street is pretty isolated. It’s Saturday night. People are out living it up.” The smile disappeared. “Now, into the backseat. I won’t tell you again.”
Alex rose up to his full six feet. “You don’t scare me, asshole. You’ll pay for this.”
“Yeah, well, not tonight.” Once Alex was in the backseat, Jansen chained his legs and cuffed him to the door handle.
“What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re making for yourself? Do you know who I am?”
“I know who you think you are.” Once Jansen had taken his cell phone and checked the car for anything that could help Alex escape, he straightened. “Just try to relax. I’ll be back shortly.” With that, he was gone.
Eden enjoyed the sounds of the water hitting the shore. Alex was right. Here, away from the city lights, the stars seemed brighter, closer. She’d arrived earlier than she thought, almost half an hour before their scheduled nine PM meet-up. The place seemed a bit isolated, but Eden wasn’t afraid. This was a city filled with homes for the upper middle class, most of those residences hugging the shoreline. She looked over at the other lone car. Another star-gazing couple, she noted, a blond-haired man in the driver’s seat, his companion’s hair long and dark.
Eden eased down her windows a bit more, reclined in her seat, and closed her eyes. She’d intended to take a nap after returning from her time with Alex, but between overdue phone chats with her mother, Bridgett, Michael, and Delphia, along with wading through the e-mails she’d avoided all week, there just hadn’t been time. I’ll just rest my eyes for a minute.
And a minute was all the time she got. The next thing Eden knew, there was a knife to her throat.
Eden froze instinctively as she felt cold metal pressing against her skin. “What do you want?” she stammered. “I don’t have any money on me.” She looked up and noticed that the man who held the knife to her throat was the one she’d eyed in the other lone car in the small parking lot moments before. The person she’d thought was a woman was actually a long-haired man who demanded she unlock the doors and even now rummaged through her purse, scattering her items in every direction.
“She ain’t got shit!” the long-haired man shouted. “Let’s get out of here, man.”
“Oh, no,” Blondie drawled. “She may not have money, but I think we might be able to negotiate another form of payment.” He slid the blade of the knife from her throat to her cheek, and across her lips. “You’re a pretty thing, you know that?”
“Please,” Eden whispered, hardly recognizing her own voice. “You don’t want to do this. I’m expecting my friend any minute. Your friend is right. You need to leave.” Please hurry, Alex. Please!
Long-Hair was becoming more nervous. “Come on, man. I signed on to rob a few folk, put some change in my pocket. But not . . . what you’re thinking. I’m not down with this.”
“Then move your ass!” Blondie shouted. “And if you breathe a word to anybody, I’ll kill you.”
Eden and Long-Hair’s eyes met. She guessed him to be no more than nineteen years old, the man holding the knife a few years older. It looked as if the kid wanted to help her but didn’t know how. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said and took off.
“Well, now, little lady. It’s just you and me. And I’m ready to party!”
Eden knew it might prove futile, but she tried reason. “You seem like a nice young man,” she began.
“Shut up!” Blondie shouted, opening the door. Eden had already guessed him to be around five-foot-nine or -ten. But his was a stocky build, lots of upper muscle strength. Still, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She leaned back and began kicking, belatedly remembering the pepper spray on the key chain, and wishing she’d taken Jansen up on his offer to teach her self-defense moves.
Blondie found her fighting humorous. He easily grabbed her legs, using the knife to rip the top of her warm-up open in one quick move. Steel found flesh, and Eden felt a sharp pain near her navel. “Ow!”
Blondie’s grin was lecherous. “You’d better stop struggling unless you want that pretty brown body tattooed with stab wounds.” He grabbed Eden’s arm and tried to pull her out of the car and into the backseat. Once her feet hit the pavement, however, she became a tigress—biting and hitting and screaming, all at once. And then she saw headlights turning into the parking lot. Alex! She tried to turn and run toward the car, but Blondie grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. “You make one move, and you die,” he growled, beginning to slowly turn toward the vehicle that had so inconveniently interrupted his rendezvous.
“Police! Freeze, you asshole.”
Jansen?
Blondie jerked around with Eden squarely in front of him. Jansen could see the glare of the headlights bouncing off the sharp metal at his garden’s throat. He could take this guy out, no problem. Eden was several inches shorter than her captor. It would take one bullet, straight to the head. Jansen’s finger tightened on the trigger; energy surged into his veins. He imagined tossing the gun to the side and taking this guy with his bare hands. Only years of military discipline kept him cool under pressure unlike he’d ever felt. But this situation was getting ready to end. And he was ending it now.
He pulled the trigger. Eden screamed. Blondie dropped to the ground. Eden ran into Jansen’s arms. “Jansen, Jansen,” she sobbed, holding on to him for dear life.
“Shhh, it’s all right, little garden,” he said, hugging her even as he eyed the wounded suspect. “Go sit in the car. I have to take care of this. Come on, baby, let go.”
Eden buried her head in Jansen’s shirt. “I don’t want to see.”
“You don’t have to. It’s only a shoulder wound, it’ll heal. Now go get in the car. Don’t turn around.”
Within minutes, the local police were on the scene. They took the man into cus
tody without incident. The responding officer walked over to Jansen. “She was lucky you were passing through, but . . . what were you doing so far out of your precinct area?”
“Off duty. On my way to see a friend.”
The officer nodded. “I understand. One more question. How’d the suspect’s nose get broken?”
Jansen looked the officer in the eye and spoke without hesitation. “I guess he fell down. This pavement is unforgiving.”
62
One month later, and Eden’s life looked totally different than it had before. She never would have guessed it, but as her mother often said, life was what happened while she was busy making plans.
Following her assault, Eden and Jansen talked about the Chicago shooting. Ariel had been right. There were three sides to every story and Eden was glad she’d finally decided to listen to Jansen’s version of what happened. In her brief account, Renee had left out a couple of major details. Her brother battled a lifetime of mental illness. Steven Newton was assumingly off his meds the day he went on a rampage, killing his ex-girlfriend and her new lover. He arrived at the schoolyard seeking his third target—an eight-year old second grader, his ex-girlfriend’s son. Steven held this little boy responsible for the relationship ending, and planned the ultimate revenge.
As for whose bullet actually killed him, no one could be sure. All of the officers fired from the same type of weapon, so all equally took responsibility for his death. Even now, all these years later, Jansen’s regret was palpable. Not that he and his fellow officers protected a playground full of children, but that it took taking a life to do so. That night, following these revelations, the love-making had been soulful, exquisite, as Eden tried to ease Jansen’s sadness with each touch, each kiss, each pelvic thrust. That night, their love got back on track.
The same could not be said for Eden’s career at the Zen Den. She was no longer at the center. As much as she’d loved the establishment and had seen it in her future for years to come, too much had happened for her to stay there. After learning the details of how Jansen had been in the right place at the right time to affect her rescue, she’d scheduled a meeting with Alex for the first thing that following Monday. They talked for over two hours, during which time Eden phoned Jansen. He apologized to Alex, who after learning of Eden’s near rape, was grateful that it was an armed police officer and not he who’d showed up on the scene. The two men reached an unlikely truce, and for that, Eden was grateful. Alex tried to convince Eden to stay at the center, she was an excellent fit for their establishment, but Eden decided she wanted to work somewhere closer to home. Her new home in Gardena.
It was the one condition on which Jansen would not budge. He wanted to keep his little garden safe. The best way to do that—he’d adamantly explained after she yet again refused target practice at the shooting gallery—was under his roof. So Eden had placed her newly purchased condo back on the market, given a thirty-day notice to the Zen Den and, within that time, secured another job managing a metaphysical store. This five-year old establishment in Redondo Beach had just recently expanded to allow the addition of various spiritual modalities to offer their customers: chakra readings, hypnotherapy, mini-massages, and energy healing. The lower pay was offset by Eden’s joy at finding another opportunity to immerse herself in what she truly loved—her mission and her man.
Eden’s eyes shone with love as Jansen reentered the room. He carried a bottle of bubbly and a tray filled with fruit, veggies, soft brie cheese, and warm French bread. He sat the tray down in the middle of his king-size bed and then popped the cork.
“What are we celebrating?” Eden asked coyly. “Or are you already thinking about the two weeks until Cameron will be here, when I won’t have you all to myself?” She honestly didn’t think anything could top the festivities of the past month, when Jansen had sexed her every single day, sometimes twice—not only taking her to the moon and the stars but to other planets she hadn’t known existed.
Jansen poured them each a glass and handed one to her. “Baby, every moment with you is a celebration, and Cameron will be at the other end of the hall. But I do have some news.”
Eden sat up. “I’m all ears.”
Jansen’s eyes scanned her scantily clad body. “No . . . you’re not. I was approached with an interesting opportunity to maybe get off the streets and pursue a . . . higher calling.”
Eden almost spilled her drink. “You’re going to be a preacher?”
“Ha! Not hardly, baby,” Jansen answered, tweaking her nipple through thin, lacy fabric.
“Oh, my God. I was about to say—”
“No, this is a new program they’re starting with the city of Los Angeles. An outreach situation that would pair law enforcement with some of these hardheads, a mentoring, guidance-type program that goes deeper than the once-a-week or twice-a-month outing but actually guides these young bloods out of the hood, through college, and beyond.”
“Sounds impressive. What’s the program called?”
“PULL—Police United for Lasting Legacies.” Jansen appeared cool, but, inside, his heart sought hard for his woman’s approval.
It came quickly. “I love it,” Eden said. She raised her glass. “To PULL, and to you. Actually, only to you. You’re my hero, Jansen. I love you.”
They toasted and drank.
“Wait a minute,” Eden said, her eyes narrowing. “Does that mean I’m never again going to see you in that sexy blue uniform with that fancy belt filled with gadgets for every occasion?”
“Oh, I’ll still wear the uniform,” Jansen responded. “And I’ll still get to use these.” With movements quicker than that of a panther, Jansen had gripped Eden’s arm and secured it to a wrought-iron art piece above his bed.
“Jansen! What are you doing?”
Jansen’s smile was predatory. “You’ll see.” He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out another set of cuffs.
“No!” Eden tried to sound indignant, but secretly she was getting turned on.
“Yes,” Jansen drawled as he reached for her other hand and licked the fingers before securely fastening it to the other side. “This is my reward for winning the dare. You, handcuffed. Me, free to have my way with you.”
“Okay, wait a minute. Stop. Back up. What are you talking about? You haven’t won a thing!”
“Oh, haven’t I? Have you not been properly seduced—and improperly, too, for that matter? And aren’t you right now in my home, and my bed, where you belong?”
Eden sputtered in an attempt to find words even as she jerked against the cuffs. “Surely, you jest,” she countered, shivering as Jansen brushed his fingers across her stomach before drifting farther down and parting her lips to lightly flick her flower. Eden swallowed a moan before breathlessly responding. “If anything . . . I seduced you!”
“Oh, yeah?” Jansen asked with a chuckle, lightly licking and then kissing her flower. He stood, as he slowly pulled off his tank top and released the knot on his drawstring pants. “We’ll see about that.”
Eden took one look at “Mr. Magic” and knew hers was an uphill battle of which she’d gladly lose. After an hour of foreplay and several orgasms, Eden wrapped her legs around Jansen’s waist, content to let the brothah think he’d won. Who was she to argue, when he had her singing soprano, seeing stars, and loving her to within an inch of her life? This was the man of her dreams and the father of the child that even now grew inside her. Eden felt yet another oncoming climax, held Jansen tighter, and beamed with satisfaction. Losing a bet had never felt so good.
Want more?
Turn the page for Zuri Day’s
What Love Tastes Like
Available now wherever books are sold
Turn the page for an excerpt from
What Love Tastes Like . . .
1
Could anybody possibly be that fine? That’s what Tiffany Matthews asked herself as she fastened her seat belt, took a deep breath, and clutched a teddy bear that
looked as frazzled as she felt. The bear had an excuse—it was twenty-three years old. And so did Tiffany—she was exhausted. Graduating from culinary school and preparing for a month-long overseas internship had taken its toll.
There was yet another draining aspect to consider: Tiffany was terrified of flying. So much so that even after taking the anxiety pill her best friend had given her, she brazenly endured the curious stares of fellow passengers as they watched the naturally attractive, obviously adult woman sit in the airport, enter the jetway, and then board a plane with a raggedy stuffed animal clasped to her chest.
Tiffany didn’t care. During a childhood where her mother worked long hours and her grandmother loved but didn’t entertain, Tuffy, the teddy bear, had been her constant and sometimes only friend. No matter what happened, Tuffy was there to lend a cushy ear, an eternal smile, and wide, button-eyed support. This stuffed animal was also the first present she remembered her father giving her, when she was five years old. Unfortunately, his gift stayed around longer than Daddy did, a fact that after years of not seeing him still brought Tiffany pain. They were estranged, and while Tiffany would never admit it, having her father’s first gift close by always felt like having him near. Tuffy brought comfort—during her childhood of loneliness, her teenaged years of puppy love and superficial heartbreak, her college years of first love and true pain, and now, while pursuing a dream her parents felt was beneath her. As the plane began its ascent into the magnificently blue May sky, and Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, praying the pill would stave off an attack, she knew she’d take any help she could get to make it through this flight, even that of a furry friend.