Like Slow Sweet Molasses

  “So he said.”

  “When?”

  “Actually, yesterday. He told me he picked his nephew up after music lessons.”

  He was outdone. “Lessons! At your home?”

  “I teach piano lessons at home.”

  “You’ll have to stop,” he ordered. A tiny frown crinkled her nose. Her eyes narrowed in fury while her pace hastened to land her at home. “It’s for your own good, Angela. Until we solve your stalker problem.”

  “I won’t. And—you can’t make me.”

  Her fiery temper ignited his. As if their location was of no consequence, Chance’s arm linked her to his upper body and he ravaged her mouth right there on her porch in broad daylight. Her fist thumps barely dented his chest as she twisted to be free of his bruising kiss. Both nearly lost the contents of their cups to a fall.

  You can show a person better than you can tell them. That’s what his grandmother always said. It was a lesson better learned from him than some other source.

  “Get your things and leave, Chance.”

  “Did that upset you, Angela?” he mocked with a purpose.

  “I’m appalled.”

  Chance had to block her flight to get her undivided attention as he pleaded his case.

  “Don’t touch me!” She choked back tears.

  “Angela, that was to show you you’re not always in control of situations. I apologize to you.” He was sincere. “I only want you to see the truth in what I’m saying. Darrell’s dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted.”

  “Is that what this is all about? Your friend Darrell?” Her lips tingled in unacknowledged delight.

  “Partly.” Chance’s thumbs raked tears from her cheeks. “I’m aware of your devotion to children in the community. That’s commendable.” His knuckles nipped her chin, the contact holding her in that position. “If you continue to give lessons at your home you’re courting disaster. Rearrange your schedule to have your lessons after classes at school.”

  He paused for her disapproving comments.

  “I can do that.”

  “I know I have no right to impose my beliefs on you, but—” His ears were surely deceiving him. “What did you say?”

  “I can do that. Chance, I believe you have my best interest at heart. I’ll speak to Principal Dauchex tomorrow.” She thrilled him with her next move.

  Chance dared not breathe as Angela stood tippy-toed to treat him to one of her candy-coated kisses. Oh, man.

  “Anything else I need to know about anything? Like why did you two split up?”

  “We had a disagreement regarding his treatment of females.”

  She was smarter than that. “Females or one certain female?”

  “That creek’s been paddled so many times the bed’s now dust dry.”

  “My interpretation is—mind your own business. I can do that, too.”

  Angela let Chance follow her into the house to bundle his tools and instruct her on using the system since he installed the new components. The siren that announced any compromise in her surroundings disturbed the quiet Sunday evening. She charted everything he did to shut the noise down confident in her abilities to recreate his actions. At times, Chance’s virile body brushed hers as he pointed out the multiple functions available on the wall control and the remote forcing her to admit her fondness for the brash policeman.

  “I hate leaving you here so soon after yesterday’s events.” Chance prolonged the inevitable. “You’re welcome to stay at my place for a while.”

  “That would be cowardly.”

  “Sensible is more like it. If not my place, stay with Aunt Belle for a couple of nights,” he recommended. “What could it hurt?”

  “My pride. That’s all,” Angela confessed. “I’m avoiding one enormous issue in my life already and can’t afford another or I’ll never be able to look at myself in the mirror ever again.” She left him at the kitchen counter testing and retesting the various camera angles to seat herself at the table. “You’ve made it safer for me. I won’t be as afraid with all of this technology to help me keep an eye on things.”

  “But, you are fearful?” he concluded, the worried tone reflecting on his features.

  Her eyes skipped around the room and into the living room before coming to rest back on the kitchen door. The chair no longer added the extra precaution to the door remaining closed for Chance replaced that knob and supplied additional security with a new deadbolt lock. Her heart thudded whenever her mind drifted to that scary time and place. Yet, she vowed not to let anyone smother her abilities to make competent choices in her life, steal her confidence or shake her faith in her fellow man.

  “I’m a teeny bit,” her fingers measured the degree, “frightened. It’ll pass.”

  “Angela, look at me.” When she did, he forged ahead like a man outrunning his fears. “Let me stay here for a couple of days.”

  “Chance, I can’t depend so heavily on you. I won’t be transformed into this…this needy, always a victim…person.”

  He sat across from her clutching one of her hands in his, unconsciously thumbing her palm. “I’ll stay with Aunt Belle.”

  “No, Chance. You aren’t my bodyguard. I won’t feel comfortable knowing you’re neglecting your responsibilities or altering your life on my behalf.” She shook her head adamantly. “No.”

  Chance stood tall, her hand locked in his, lacking her optimism that she no longer needed his help. He lost himself in her expressive tawny eyes, drowning in the pools of softness as if lured to the depths by a cunning siren. It was almost impossible to uncouple from her attraction to scribble his personal numbers on the back of the card he reached to her.

  “Call me anytime—day or night. Understood?”

  She smiled weakly, flipping the card to read his bold strokes. “Remember the last time you asked that question?”

  “Yes, I do. I know you learned from that mistake. Right?”

  “These last weeks have been unlike any I’ve had in quite a while. Very enlightening.”

  “Is that a yes or no, Angela?” he asked with a cocked brow.

  “Believe me, Chance. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” His eyebrow remained quirked prompting her to amend, “I understand. Okay? Day or night.”

  Chance trumped through her house to the front door, exiting without another look at her. If he did so, he was afraid he would overrule her and orchestrate a sit-in right there in her kitchen. The very footsteps carrying him away from Angela put him on another’s trail. He was steaming mad with the stunt Darrell pulled just to agitate him.

  Darrell was up to no good and baited Chance to try to put a halt to his antics. He didn’t think Darrell would actually harm Angela for his purpose was one of control and antagonism. The idea was to get back at Chance for what happened in high school, an adolescent disagreement that landed Darrell in juvie for several months and earned Chance a lifetime supply of grief.

  He didn’t linger overly long at his aunt’s promising to equip her with security surveillance similar to Angela’s. The deserted Sunday streets were his speedway as his booted foot clutched to the floor and he jammed the shift to the next gear, his mouth reminiscent of an upside down quarter moon. Squealing tires slid along the curb crunching his arrival in front of Darrell’s club. Chance’s priorities were clear placing him in the dimly lit maze of the restaurant and at Darrell’s office in no time flat. Unexpectedly, the door flew open.

  “Big Brock.” The sly grin mocked Chance. “What a surprise.”

  Chance’s bent arm caught Darrell under his chin pretty close to crushing his esophagus. The force propelled Darrell backwards all the way across the room, slammed him to his desk top and pinned him there. “Stay away from Angela. Your beef is with me.” Chance if’d with the elbow to the neck. “Handle your business like a man.”

  Chance startled inwardly never letting on to his nemesis.

  “Is this man enough for you, Big Brock?” Darrell bragged, the barrel of his gun pressing
into Chance’s abdomen.

  Past caring, Chance razzed, “Do what you gotta do, D.” He issued a warning, nonetheless. “Angela is not a pawn. If I find evidence that you entered her home there’ll be no place you can hide from me. I’ll take pleasure in arresting you myself.” He pushed off. “Is that man enough for you?”

  Darrell sneered. “Careful, Brock. NOPD is shorthanded and can’t afford to lose another public servant.”

  “Your business might be legal. What about that gun?” Darrell heaved a malicious glare. “Didn’t think so. A minor oversight capable of returning you to BarsRUs—ASAP.”

  Chance sauntered from the office feeling the target Darrell carved on his back. He levied his next malice-laced warning without turning. “Our former friendship aside, the next time you feel brave enough to pull that gun on me…you’d better be prepared to use it, Darrell.”

  Two steps out the door and a man sprang from the semi-darkness of the interior to accost Chance, crushing him like a boa constrictor and levitating him off the ground. Chance unleashed a series of head butts that didn’t put a ding in the man’s cast-iron exterior, but, left him to wonder which would render him unconscious first—head trauma or the lack of oxygen. One more attempt struck the fellow on the upswing drawing a howl at the bone crushing thud. The warm wetness flowed. Free at last, Chance attacked with a powerful down thrust to the temple sending his opponent tumbling, rearranging the tables and chairs on his way to the floor.

  Rain pounded Angela’s bedroom window, whipped and blown by the wind’s furious velocity. One of New Orleans’ quirky thunderstorms. The chimes rang in discord but that hadn’t awakened her from a restless slumber. The roll of thunder claps vibrating the atmosphere sat her up faster than the flashes of lightning, tripped her heart over its own beats and left it floundering in her chest cavity. A hand flew to her breast and a prayer erupted from her lips as she struggled to swallow the lump of fear in her throat.

  About that time, she heard the welcoming rumble of Chance’s Mustang idling in Mrs. Thatcher’s yard. Angela crawled from bed for a peek hoping to calm her frayed nerves. His silhouette rounding the car paused to take in his surroundings and hers—all before the back light came on and he marched up the steps. A comforting sight indeed. One that hinted at sweet dreams when she returned to her empty four-poster bed.

  Chapter Ten

  A creepy-crawly sensation undermined the administrative work Angela attempted to complete, the results of speaking with Principal Dauchex in hopes of gaining her support for the afterschool music lessons. There were proposals to write for submission to the board for their approval before a note sounded in the first session. The jittery feeling refused to disintegrate, curbing her enthusiasm for finishing the task. Her benevolent beliefs fortified her to drudge on despite the uneasiness seeping into her consciousness.

  Angela pushed away from her desk to check the hallway for any signs of life, detecting none. Her heart’s thumpity-thump sounded loud enough in her ears to be the base line for one of her musical arrangements. Another look around and she quietly closed the door to her classroom determined to have the papers ready for tomorrow’s teachers meeting. Head bent over the forms, pen gliding effortlessly from section to section, Angela froze listening to noises right outside of her door. Nervously, she plied through her purse for Chance’s card and her cell phone. She was on her way to pressing the call button after her finger tapped the numbers in when her door opened.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I thought everyone was gone.” The janitor spoke to her with a look of interest in his dark brown eyes. His apology eliminated all reasons she should proceed with the call to Chance. “I’ll come back.”

  “I won’t be much longer.” She watched him retreat, pushing his rolling yellow bucket with the mop protruding over the rim. That scare was all she needed to ignite her burners for a fast getaway. The dusky sky reprimanded her inattentiveness to the time of year for although not yet five-thirty it was relatively dark.

  “Shoot!”

  Quickly, Angela scooped up her belongings to dash from the building with only one major thought, to get to the bus stop in time. That would quell the little voice screaming in her head. Her feet hustled along the pavement as she juggled her load to the bench. Muggy air trapped in the covered area by thick plastic sheeting framing the bench greeted her. Angela dusted at the seat removing invisible particles to align her cases beside her. Like Anxious Agnes, she fidgeted while curtailing another look at her watch. Passing cars failed to attract her attention for she watched specifically for the lumbering public transportation.

  “Need a ride?”

  She whipped in the direction of the male voice. Ice formed around her heart. “No, thanks.” She looked away.

  “Come on, Ms. Munso. I don’t bite.”

  Angela couldn’t believe her luck. It was Darrell Williams, of all people. “No, thanks.” To her dismay, he exited the car, wandered over and dropped to the bench. Angela swiped up her cell phone.

  “Don’t call him, Ms. Munso. He’s not as righteous as you think.”

  “Mr. Williams, I’m not Sheryl. I have no desire for your attention.” Angela held the phone, indecisive because that meant recanting her boast to Chance.

  Darrell Williams’ condescending smile sent chills skittering up her spine. In a flash, she found her predicament changed for the worse. He took her instrument hostage and headed back to his car. “You can’t do that,” she leaped up, yelling at his back.

  “I just did. Coming?”

  The bus was about two blocks away rattling on its route as if gliding on a single rail. All she had to do to save herself was get on the bus and report his harassment to the police. Stupidly, she delayed too long. He closed the door after getting into the driver’s seat obscuring her view into the interior. The engine started. The door on her side flung open.

  “Get in,” he commanded. “Do you care at all for your Lt. Brock Alexander?”

  “Chance can take care of himself.”

  “Not when it comes to you, Angela. He’s getting sloppy.”

  “My bus is here. Give me my instrument,” she demanded, sticking a hand in for the case.

  “Can’t do that, Angela.” His yank nearly dislocated her sore shoulder. The jerk was hard enough to launch her head first into the car and ripped her jacket at the upper sleeve. “I’m not going to hurt you.” His chilling tone insisted otherwise. “I just want to talk.”

  She fought him tooth and nail with all the strength she possessed. Who would trust someone who bodily manhandled them? Not her.

  “I want to tell you about your precious lieutenant. Ask him about the attempted assault.” He felt the blood where her nails tore the skin from his face.

  Those words drained all of the fight out of Angela while miraculously winning her release. She staggered from the car followed by the instrument bouncing to the ground next to her and out of its protective case.

  “See. I told you you don’t know him. Not like I do.” A satisfied smirk substituted for a smile while is fingers mashed into his cheek to stop the bleeding.

  She heard his guttural laughter above all other sounds invading her space. Angela blindly enfolded all of her pieces in her arms to hide her disheveled appearance as the bus stopped to take her on board. What felt like an eternity to her actually only lasted a few minutes. By the time she sat down, the street lights flickered on giving prudence to what should have occurred to her prior to this incidence. She placed herself in double jeopardy with the encounters between herself and Chance and now Darrell Williams.

  Attempted assault?

  The bell rang a half ding. The heels of her shoes clipped the stone pavement in cadence to her labored breathing as she swiftly walked towards home. Life pelted her world spinning it like a top on a needled tee. She had to get home and fast. Or for the life of her, she would scream bloody murder through the streets arousing the entire neighborhood. Angela didn’t know it, but, her pace increased to a run. A power boost s
hot her down the lamp-lit streets, up the steps to her yard, onto the porch oblivious to the world around her.

  Adrenaline made her drop all the items just inside the living room door to disarm the alarm. She collapsed on the sofa battling to keep her sanity intact, rocking back and forth in agitation. Her hands muffled the soft sobs wracking her body. Angela suffered with the knowledge she was her own worst enemy buying into the attentiveness of a stranger. That’s what Chance was, a stranger devoting time to her. Nothing more or nothing less.

  “Angela!” Chance pounded her door when the bell went unanswered. “I know you’re there. I saw you streak by.” The cut glass insert on the door gave her figure a disjointed appearance. “Open up, Angela.”

  The way he attacked the door indicated to her a simple leave me alone wouldn’t do. Angela advanced on the door ready to do battle by the way it flung open. She hadn’t bothered to unlock the outer door and they stood separated by that partition. “I don’t want to see you at or near my home ever again, Lt. Alexander.”

  “Where the hell did that come from?” he questioned, curiosity turning to concern at her disheveled look. If her mussed hair and tear streaked face weren’t enough to sound an alarm, her blood spotted and torn garment was. Then he spied her beloved instrument battered from misuse—the gold placard dangling from one tack. Chance yanked and the locked storm door popped open.

  “My God, you’re hurt!” he exclaimed while bursting across the threshold, reaching to console her.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  His heart sank when she shrank from him like she was afraid he might molest her or something. “What happened to you?”

  “You’re not welcome here anymore, Chance. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Fresh tears coursed down her flushed cheeks. Her distress was so obvious to him markedly seen in the quaking tremors sporadically passing through her body.

  “Who mauled you, Angela? And why are you so scared…of me?”