Like No One Else

by Maureen Smith

  “Of course,” Tommie said pragmatically. “He doesn’t really have a choice. Who else is going to tease you and yell at you for playing his Nintendo Wii?”

  Khadija grinned, her expression brightening. “Kadeem does do that.”

  “I know. Your uncle Zhane tells me all about it.” Smiling, Tommie ran an appraising eye over the child’s mussed black hair. “Want me to braid your hair?”

  Khadija bobbed her head eagerly.

  Tommie dug inside her Louis Vuitton handbag for a comb and went to work on the little girl’s hair, parting it evenly down the middle of her scalp and braiding it into two smooth, thick plaits. When she’d finished, she removed a compact mirror from her purse and passed it to Khadija.

  “I look like a princess,” the girl breathed, admiring her reflection.

  Tommie smiled softly. “That’s because you are.”

  Khadija beamed with pleasure.

  When Zhane found them fifteen minutes later, Tommie was teaching Khadija how to do a plié while several other children looked on in wide-eyed fascination. Khadija ran to her uncle, who scooped her into his arms and planted a loud kiss on both cheeks, making her giggle. With his free arm he drew Tommie into a hug, whispering in her ear, “Thanks for coming, sugarplum.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Tommie whispered back, smiling.

  “I know how much you hate hospitals, so yeah, I do.”

  She laughed.

  As they left the playroom, Khadija wiggled out of her uncle’s arms and raced ahead of them to press the elevator button.

  “How’s Kadeem doing?” Tommie asked Zhane.

  He grimaced. “Still in critical condition. They were able to remove the bullet, but Kadeem lost a lot of blood. The doctor says it’ll be touch-and-go for a while.”

  “Oh, Zhany, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too,” he said darkly. “I don’t know who to be madder at. My sister for having such lousy taste in men, or my hotheaded nephew for getting in the middle of their stupid argument. I know Kadeem was only trying to stick up for his mama, but if I’ve told that boy once, I’ve told him a thousand times to stay the hell out of grown folks’ business. And don’t even get me started on that no-good son of a bitch Chauncey. What kind of man shoots his girlfriend’s unarmed son, then doesn’t even have the decency to stick around to make sure he didn’t kill the poor kid? Fucking coward. He’d better hope I don’t find his sorry black ass before the police do.”

  “Still no word on his whereabouts?”

  “Not yet. We’ve been calling the detective assigned to the case, but he’s been giving us the runaround all day. You know how it is,” Zhane said, his lips twisting cynically. “The shooting of a young black man in the Third Ward is nothing unusual. The police figure we should be used to this shit by now.”

  Tommie said nothing. She knew he was right, yet she couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of Paulo, who seemed like a genuinely good cop. Not that he deserved her loyalty after what he’d done to her last night.

  Don’t even go there, she told herself. You’ve been doing good all day, keeping yourself too busy to think about Paulo and the way he humiliated you. Don’t get sidetracked!

  “Thanks for getting Kay-Kay out of there,” Zhane said, lowering his voice as they neared the elevator, where the three-year-old was happily pressing both call buttons. “It’s a damn shame when so-called grown-ups can’t control themselves in public. Now you know I’m all for a good knock-down, drag-out, but even I have enough sense to draw the line at fighting in hospital waiting rooms and funeral homes. And before you even ask, yes, my family has gotten into fights at funeral homes.”

  Tommie grinned, thinking of her own sane, boring family and how scandalized they would have been if they’d witnessed the brawl in the waiting room upstairs. “Who was that man your brothers were fighting?”

  Zhane made a sour face. “That was Kadeem’s father, Lavar. He ain’t worth a damn, either, but at least he cared enough to show up after my sister called and told him his son had been shot. Not that he’s been any comfort to Zakia since he arrived. All he’s been doing is badmouthing her and blaming her for what happened to Kadeem. You would think he’d know better than to call her a dumb bitch in front of her brothers, who both have criminal records.” Zhane shook his head in angry disgust. “Zakia’s feeling guilty enough about what happened this morning. The last thing she needs is deadbeat daddy number one making her feel worse.”

  “Is he still up there?” Tommie asked.

  “Yeah, but he won’t be for very long if he utters one more word about Zakia. Anyway, hospital security warned us that if another fight breaks out, we’re all getting tossed out. You’d be the only one here when Kadeem wakes up from surgery. Which he probably wouldn’t mind,” Zhane added with a wry smile. “You know that boy’s got a big ol’ nasty crush on you.”

  Tommie sighed. “If only he were four years older. Then I could do something about that.”

  Zhane laughed just as the elevator doors slid open to reveal his mother. “There you are!” she exclaimed, stepping forward. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Why? Is it Kadeem?” Zhane asked anxiously.

  “No, no, everything’s fine,” Vonda Jeffers assured him, absently lifting Khadija into her arms. “I just wanted to borrow a few dollars to buy a pack of smokes. I left my purse in the car.”

  Zhane shook his head, muttering under his breath as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to his mother, who smiled sweetly and patted him on the cheek. Her long, lacquered nails were painted a bright shade of red that matched her lipstick, and she wore a tight knit dress with a plunging neckline that barely contained her ample breasts.

  “You take such good care of your mama,” she cooed to Zhane. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “God only knows,” Zhane grumbled, stabbing the elevator button. “Why don’t you take Kay-Kay back upstairs with you? I’m going to grab a cup of coffee with Tommie, and then I’ll be right up.”

  “Okay.” Vonda turned, smiling at Tommie. “You’re looking good, baby girl. Is that a new Louis Vuitton bag?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve had this for a while.”

  “Oh?” A calculating gleam lit the other woman’s dark eyes. “Well, if you ever decide to replace it—”

  “For God’s sake, Ma, she’s not giving you her purse,” Zhane snapped in exasperation.

  “It never hurts to ask,” Vonda said, sounding slightly miffed as she boarded the waiting elevator with her granddaughter balanced on her hip. As Tommie blew a kiss at Khadija, Vonda said to her son, “I’ll see you upstairs.”

  The elevator doors had barely closed on her pouting face before Zhane threw up his hands in disgust and huffed, “With a mother like that, is it any wonder I turned out gay?”

  Tommie couldn’t help laughing. The same thought had occurred to her the very first time she’d met Vonda Jeffers, a greedy, manipulative woman who could drain the life out of anyone faster than a vampire. “Poor Zhany. Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t want any coffee,” he groused. “I just said that to get rid of her.”

  Tommie grinned. “Then let’s just go for a walk,” she suggested, tucking her arm through his and steering him down the tiled corridor bustling with hospital staff and visitors bearing flowers and get-well balloons.

  When Zhane’s temper had cooled, he said, “I’m sorry I had to skip out on you this morning.”

  Tommie waved off the apology. “Don’t be ridiculous. You had a family emergency.”

  “Too bad Richard wasn’t so understanding,” Zhane said sourly. “When I called to tell him I’d have to miss rehearsal tonight, he didn’t sound too pleased. He made a point of reminding me that we have a performance on Friday—as if I needed a reminder—then he got off the phone without so much as a word about my nephew. No expression of sympathy or support. No offer to s
ay a prayer or light a candle. Nothing.”

  Tommie scowled. “Asshole. And to think I was starting to feel guilty for disliking him so much.”

  “You were?” Zhane sounded surprised.

  “Well, he took time out of his busy schedule to attend my lecture. He didn’t have to do that. And he brought me a beautiful bouquet. After I got home and put the flowers in a vase, I thought to myself, maybe he’s not so bad after all.” Tommie frowned. “So much for that.”

  “He’s not that bad,” Zhane countered. “I mean, yeah, he could have shown a little more compassion when I told him about Kadeem, but I know he has a lot on his mind. The company is very important to him, and he’s got a lot riding on his shoulders as our new artistic director.”

  “Stop making excuses for him,” Tommie chided.

  Zhane chuckled. “I’m not making excuses. You’re just hard on Richard because you don’t like him. But I know who you do like,” he said, sending her a look filled with sly insinuation.

  Tommie averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zhane laughed. “Nice try, sugarplum, but I was there, and I saw the way you were with that hot-tamale detective. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush as many times as you did yesterday morning. Look, you’re even doing it now!”

  “I am not blushing,” Tommie grumbled. “Black women don’t blush.”

  “You sure as hell are.” Zhane grinned knowingly. “I don’t blame you one bit, honey. Paulo Sanchez is too damned fine for his own good. If I thought there was the slightest chance in hell of drafting him to play for my team, I’d try to steal him from you.”

  Tommie snorted. “He’d have to belong to me in order to be stolen from me. And he doesn’t.”

  “Doesn’t what?”

  “Belong to me.”

  “That can change.”

  “Who says I want it to?”

  Zhane laughed. “Who’re you trying to fool, sugarplum? You and I both know you want that man. I wasn’t going to mention this, but when Daniela and I were standing in line yesterday, we glanced over and saw you and Paulo gazing into each other’s eyes while your hand rested almost lovingly on his cheek. It was as if you’d both forgotten where you were, like you were the only two people in that restaurant. It was obvious to me and Daniela—and anyone else watching—that you and Paulo were totally into each other.”

  Tommie swallowed, feeling transparent and hating it. “Fine. So we’re attracted to each other. That doesn’t mean anything.”

  Zhane arched a dubious brow. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes.” She heaved an impatient sigh. “Look, Zhany, I know you enjoy playing matchmaker, but don’t waste your time on me and Paulo. We’re completely wrong for each other.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Tommie scowled. “For starters, he’s a total man-whore. He uses and discards women like it’s nothing more than a game to him,” she said bitterly, resentment stirring within her when she remembered the way Paulo had ruthlessly played her last night, kissing and caressing her, teasing and tormenting her until she’d been on fire for him, ready to do whatever he asked of her. She’d come to her senses just in the nick of time, but the damage had already been done, her humiliation complete.

  Zhane drawled humorously, “Sounds like what he needs is the right woman to come along and teach him a lesson.”

  Tommie stopped midstride, staring at her friend.

  And just like that, she knew how she would get her revenge against Paulo.

  Chapter 11

  It was after nine o’clock by the time Paulo decided to call it quits for the day and shut off his computer. As he exited out of the crime-scene files he’d spent the better part of the afternoon reviewing, he knew the gruesome images would remain seared into his brain long after the computer screen had gone black.

  On the drive home he ran through a mental checklist of the day’s developments. Kathleen Phillips’s revelation about an affair between Maribel Cruz and Ted Colston had placed the attorney squarely at the top of the suspect list, which, unfortunately for him, included no other names at the moment. Colston had motive for murdering his secretary. Not only were they sleeping together; he’d gotten her pregnant. Maribel could have made real trouble for him if she’d ever decided to tell his wife or employer about the affair. Maybe she’d even threatened to do so, provoking Colston into killing her.

  After leaving Kathleen Phillips’s apartment, Paulo had driven straight to the law firm to confront Colston. But when he arrived, he was told that the attorney was out of the office for the rest of the day, supposedly tending to an urgent matter involving one of his clients in Austin. Incensed, Paulo had instructed the nervous secretary, a temp, to notify her boss that if he left town again without clearing it with Paulo first, there would be hell to pay.

  On his way to the elevators he’d run into Daniela, who had just emerged from a meeting in the conference room. She’d grabbed his hand and dragged him into her office, closing the door behind them.

  “I know you’re not at liberty to discuss the case, so I won’t even bother asking you for an update,” she said without preamble.

  “Thanks,” Paulo muttered, still simmering with frustration over Colston’s disappearing act.

  “Anyway, that’s not the reason I pulled you in here.” Daniela rested a shapely hip against her large mahogany desk and crossed her arms over the front of her pale silk blouse. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Yes, you have. Ever since we left the Breakfast Klub yesterday morning, you haven’t returned any of my phone calls. And I think I know why.” Her hazel eyes twinkled with mischief. “You don’t want me to ask you about Tommie Purnell.”

  Paulo didn’t bother denying it. His cousin knew him too well.

  “My God, Paulo, she’s fucking gorgeous!”

  Amused, he shook his head at her. “Anyone ever tell you that you curse like a sailor?”

  Daniela grinned. “Who do you think I learned it from? Anyway, don’t try to change the subject. Why didn’t you ever tell me about Tommie?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Like hell. There were enough fireworks between you and that woman to burn down the restaurant! And sitting across the table from you two was like being in the path of a wildfire. Every time your shoulders brushed, or your eyes met, or you reached for the saltshaker at the same time, I thought I’d have to hose you both down.” Daniela chuckled, shaking her head in amazement. “No wonder you’ve been having dreams about her.”

  Paulo scowled. “It wasn’t that kind of dream.”

  “Whatever you say.” She grinned impishly. “I told Mom about her.”

  Paulo groaned. “Damn it, Daniela—”

  “She wants to meet her.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not like that.”

  “I beg to differ. I think it’s very much like that. Mom wants you to invite her over to the house for Sunday dinner.”

  “Hell, no.”

  Daniela laughed. “Come on, Paulo. I like Tommie. Oh, she came off a little cool at first, but the more I talked to her over breakfast, the more I warmed up to her. She’s really smart and tough, the kind of chick you don’t mess with if you know what’s good for you. And you might think, based on the way she looks, that she’d be full of herself, but she’s surprisingly down-to-earth. I could see the two of us becoming good friends if you and she—”

  “We’re not,” Paulo interrupted flatly.

  Lips pursed, Daniela gave him a long, measured look. “Sooner or later,” she said quietly, “you’re going to have to stop punishing yourself for what happened between you and Jaci.”

  Paulo’s jaw tightened. Without another word he turned and stalked out of the office. Daniela knew better than to go after him.

  Work had dominated his thoughts over the next several hours, keeping him too busy to dwell
on the unnerving conversation with Daniela. But as he drove home that night, his police band radio crackling softly in the background, his thoughts strayed once again to his cousin’s parting words, bringing a fresh spurt of anger. He knew Daniela loved him and meant well, but he really wished she—as well as her mother and sisters—would butt out of his personal life. He didn’t need them psychoanalyzing his reasons for wanting to remain single. And he sure as hell didn’t need them interfering in his relationship with Tommie.

  Relationship? Is that what you’re calling it now?

  More like an obsession, Paulo mused, his mouth twisting sardonically. He couldn’t think of any other word to describe his preoccupation with Tommie. He thought about her constantly. At odd intervals throughout the day he’d found himself fantasizing about her, wanting her, thinking about wrapping his arms around her and saying to hell with his resolve not to have her. He’d daydreamed about stripping off her clothes, kissing those lush, incredible breasts, tangling his fingers in her long, thick hair as he ran his tongue down her glorious body.

  “Shit!” Paulo muttered, so caught up in the fantasy that he nearly missed the turnoff to his street. He gave himself a hard mental shake, forcing thoughts of Tommie out of his mind as he parked in front of his apartment building.

  The property featured covered parking, a swimming pool, a newly renovated clubhouse, and a host of other amenities that were wasted on Paulo, for all the time he spent at home. When he first moved to Houston and began apartment-hunting, all he’d required was affordable rent and proximity to the police station. He wasn’t looking to buy or put down roots. He still owned a house in San Antonio that he and Jacinta had purchased shortly after getting married, a small starter home with blue shutters and a big backyard that was perfect for the slew of kids they’d planned to have. But the kids never came, and two years later, he and Jacinta went their separate ways. He lamented the absence of children more than the departure of his wife.

  Paulo entered his apartment, tossed his keys onto a side table, and hit the light switch. Walking into the living room, he snagged the remote control and turned on the big-screen television, one of the few items Jacinta had let him keep after the divorce.