Street Safe

by W. Lynn Chantale

  “Is that what this is about? Man, seriously. We’re just friends. She listens and...hey!” He jumped back when the cane came toward his knee. “Have you lost your fucking mind? Ever since she walked into this bar, you’ve acted nuts. Everyone knows you have a thing for her. What type of fool would I be to show any interest toward her?”

  He halted, studying the man before him. Derrick was a lot of things, but he’d never actually bothered any female Street was serious about, except maybe to flirt a little, but that was it. Even now beads of sweat popped out on the man’s brow and his eyes flickered between the exit and him.

  “Is that it? You satisfied that I’m not stealing your lady friend?”

  “Did you kill Auggie?”

  Derrick gaped, stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it around. “Sorry. Could you repeat that? I could’ve sworn you just accused me of murder.”

  Anger and hostility filled the strained silence. Finally Derrick huffed and held out his hand palm up.

  “Street, I know you and Auggie didn’t always see eye to eye, but accusing me of something so heinous won’t bring him back.” He moved closer. “He was my friend and I’d like to know who took him away from us far too soon.”

  For a moment, Street stood speechless. He hung his head in shame. He’d just accused one of his best friends of murder and Derrick was offering solace. Some friend he was.

  “Derrick. I...”

  An easy smile creased his lips. “No problem. I’ll just count it toward all the favors I owe you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We cool?”

  “Yeah,” Street said with a chuckle.

  “You sure? ‘Cause I don’t want to have another late night conversation with you and your cane.”

  Street chuckled and trailed him to the door, using the cane for its intended purpose. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll see you at the funeral.” Derrick disappeared into the night whistling some nondescript tune.

  Street closed and locked the door. He flicked off the lights. If Derrick wasn’t involved, which was a relief, then who was?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rue Street Bar & Grille was closed out of respect for Augustus Mark Callan, yet it seemed everyone in town gathered for the family meal. The establishment buzzed with conversation and laughter. There were plenty of Auggie stories to tell.

  Na’arah smiled. She hadn’t known the man very long, but one thing she did know was how much he enjoyed the company of pretty ladies. There were a whole gaggle of females occupying an entire corner of the bar.

  Street set a glass of cranberry juice in front of her before sitting down.

  She eyed the dark red liquid a moment, then pushed it away. The very sight of the juice caused her stomach to rumble in protest.

  He winged a brow.

  “I think I better stick with water.”

  He signaled to one of the servers. The offending glass was whisked away and a water returned in its place. “You know you didn’t have to come to the funeral or this.”

  “I know, but he was a nice guy and didn’t deserve to die the way he did.” She leaned closer in her chair and rested her hand on his leg. “Besides, you seemed like you needed a little moral support.” His tiny gasp seemed to convey that her summation was correct. She gently rubbed his thigh. “You shouldn’t be alone in your grief.”

  Street squeezed her fingers. “You know we were the same age, only because my grandfather remarried a younger woman and they had more kids. Imagine my father’s surprise when he realized he had more siblings.” He flashed a dimpled smile. “I just thought it was nice having an uncle my age. Until he stole all my girlfriends.”

  “If he was able to steal them, then they weren’t yours to begin with.” She gestured toward the group of women. “And collected them.”

  Street followed her gaze. “He did. Wait.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Is that Trecie?”

  “Who?”

  “One of my bartenders.”

  “Oh. The girl you thought was me in the spa that day with Auggie.”

  His eyes widened. “That was her?”

  “Yeah.”

  He picked up her hand, lacing his fingers with hers while he stared into her eyes. “Na’arah, I didn’t...”

  “Well look at that.” She shook off his hand to point to the bar where Zee had her arms around Miles.

  “Look at what, honey?” He sighed, but turned to follow her pointing finger.

  “I knew those two had some major chemistry, but I didn’t know that much.” Na’arah gasped when Miles ringed her sister’s waist, drawing her closer for his kiss. “It’s about time, too.”

  “Arah?”

  She focused on him, tilting her head to the side. He’d never called her that before and to hear his nickname roll from his lips softened her heart. “Yes?”

  “Excuse me. Ms. Simmons?”

  Na’arah smothered a giggle when Street huffed.

  “Interruptions,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “You’ll have me all to yourself soon enough.” She looked up. The middle aged man at her elbow wore a dark navy suit and red power tie. He seemed familiar and finally she placed his face. He was the attorney they used when she and Auggie closed on the shop. “Yes?”

  He glanced at Street, then at her. “Is there some place we may speak in private?”

  “I suppose.” She stood and waited for Street. The scowl on his face was a good indication he wasn’t pleased about this intrusion, but he had to get over it.

  “You can use my office.” His words held a distinct bite.

  She shook her head and linked arms with him. “Every man who speaks to me is not out to seduce me.” She mumbled under her breath. “And I’d appreciate you trusting me just a little bit.”

  He glanced at her sharply.

  “I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I’m going out of town and thought you may have wanted to settle things as soon as possible,” the attorney said once they were in the office with the door closed. He turned to Street and held out his hand. “You must be Auggie’s nephew. He spoke very highly of you. I’m Oscar Church, his attorney.” Oscar hefted the case he carried onto the desk. It met the surface with a dull metallic thud. “His last wishes were very clear. You two were to have this.”

  “What is this?” Street stared at the metal suitcase.

  “Something Auggie asked me to keep.” Oscar reached into his jacket pocket and removed an envelope, which he handed to Street. “My condolences in your hour of bereavement. If you should need my services for anything, here’s my card.” He laid it on the table and slipped out the door.

  Na’arah studied the case on the desk. It was no bigger than a carry-on piece of luggage. She fingered the lock. “Is there a key in the envelope?”

  “No, but he did give you the key.” He pinned her with a hard look.

  “I think I would’ve remembered Auggie handing me a key.”

  Silence.

  She huffed. This man’s infernal jealousy was driving her nuts. “What does the letter say?”

  “He apologizes for getting you mixed up in a bad decision and hopes you’ll take the contents of what’s in the case and return it to its rightful owners.”

  “He says that?” She moved closer and tipped the papers so she could read them. Street gave her the letter. “Auggie said if I had any problems to come to you. He also knew you were in love with me.” She lifted her gaze to Street’s. “Is it true?” Her heart pounded as she waited for an answer.

  “How I feel about you doesn’t matter.”

  She sucked in a breath. “It matters to me.”

  Silence.

  Na’arah nodded and blinked away a fine sheen of tears. She was stupid to think he’d feel anything for her other than lust. “Okay. I’m going upstairs. Maybe you can figure out what’s inside.” She didn’t wait for a response, but fled the office, up the stairs and into the apartment. She paused long enough to make sure she’d locked the d
oor, then tossed her keys on the a nearby table.

  Had she really expected a declaration of love from Street? That somehow all the steamy sex and gentle caresses actually meant something to him? Na’arah crossed the room to the bathroom, where she dropped the stopper in the tub and twisted the handle. A long hot bubble bath was what she needed.

  The soft scent of freesia filled the space and she inhaled appreciatively. She stared unseeing at the bubbles forming as she tried to gather the pieces of her broken heart. Blaming someone else for the disaster of her love life would be so easy, but she had no one to blame but herself.

  She’d always been a romantic and this was the first time she’d allowed her sentimental tendencies to lead her so far astray. While the water thundered into the tub, Na’arah walked into the bedroom, quickly shed her clothes, then donned a short bathrobe.

  If she got out now she could sell the shop, take the loss and go about her business. Street didn’t believe he was the father so she could sever all ties with him. Her heart shuddered a protest. She couldn’t, in good conscience, deprive her child of a father.

  She returned to the bathroom, dropped her robe and sank gratefully into the steaming tub. She flicked off the faucet, then settled into the water until it brushed her chin. A contented sigh eased between her lips. Until the scented bath touched her aching muscles, she had no idea how sore her body was.

  Forming bruises dotted her arms. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. With great effort she pushed the horrific events of the past few days from her mind and let the water work its magic. She knew she’d have to face reality, but for a few moments or as long as the water remained hot, she could just relax.

  ****

  Street dreaded going home. He knew he’d hurt Na’arah by his omission, but telling her how he felt just wasn’t going to happen. He stuffed the letter back in its envelope and eyed the trunk with some trepidation. It looked very old and if it had any value he certainly didn’t want to damage it.

  He tugged at the lock. It appeared to belong to the trunk and not one of the modern padlocks. At the knock on the door, he turned.

  “C’min.” He hefted the box off the desk and nearly dropped it. It was heavy. Heavier than he’d anticipated.

  Beau stood on the threshold. “You all right?”

  Street nodded and grasped the box with both hands. “You need something?”

  “Just checking to make sure you didn’t need anything before I left.”

  “Nope.” With a grunt he shoved the case in the safe, closed the door and spun the dial. A tug on the handle assured him it was locked. “I’m headed out myself.” Street straightened and found Beau staring intently at the safe.

  The other man had paled considerably and Street took advantage of the distraction and studied Beau. He was the same height as the man who attacked Na’arah, but then again so was Street. A bandage wound around Beau’s left hand.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Beau snapped his gaze to Street’s. Confusion furrowed his brow. “What?”

  Street pointed to the gauze. “Your hand.”

  “Oh. Right. Got too close to the stove and some of the grease splattered on my hand.” The other man shoved his hands in his jeans.

  “Make sure you fill out an incident report.”

  “It happened at home,” Beau said quickly. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Street nodded and watched the other man leave. He got the impression Beau was lying. Well, he’d just have to keep an eye on the man.

  By the time Street made it into his apartment he was ready to go to bed. The day had been long and trying. He locked the door and leaned against the wood. He had to face Na’arah. With a sigh he pushed off the door and went in search of her.

  He didn’t have to look far. He paused on the threshold of the bathroom. Her eyes were closed as she rested her head on the rolled up towel behind her. When he entered, she didn’t even stir.

  A half smile curved his lips. She’d fallen asleep in the bathtub. He leaned over and gently shook her shoulder. Startled, she bolted upright, sloshing water over the side of the tub. He chuckled.

  “You were asleep, honey,” he explained when she looked at him in bleary-eyed confusion. He glanced around, grabbed her towel and held it out to her. “C’mon. Let’s put you to bed.”

  When she stepped from the tub he folded her in the cotton and held her close. He couldn’t explain.. He just knew that whenever she was near he had to hold her, touch her, know that she was there for him and him alone.

  Street lifted her, cradled her to his chest and carried her into the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He sat on the bed and held her in his lap. The gentle scent of freesia clung to her skin, and he inhaled her sweet perfume.

  “I don’t know how this works, Na’arah. Every time I think I can let my guard down I’m reminded of how broken I am.”

  “That’s not how I see you.”

  Her heartfelt words whispered around his heart and squeezed.

  Na’arah swept her fingertips over the faded scar near his temple, then her lips. He closed his eyes as a tremor ran through his body. His cock lengthened and grew beneath her bare buttocks. At least she could ignite his passion as easily as she’d captured his heart.

  He threaded his fingers through her hair then cradled her cheek, savoring the satiny smoothness of her skin against his palm. If there was nothing else he could do for her, he’d show her how much he cared.

  ****

  Na’arah stared into the fire. The last couple of days seemed to blend and blur into one long nightmare. Sleep eluded her, but Street was different. Her observation could be tempered by her lack of sleep, but he seemed different. Each time he touched her, his caress held an intimacy she longed to hear him voice. If she continued to be patient he’d share his feelings. Then again it could be her idea of romance.

  The key rattled in the lock. She held her breath.

  Street trudged through the door, and when his gaze fell on her, a weary smile split his face and his dimples winked at her.

  “I was hoping I’d find you asleep.”

  She shook her head.

  He limped across the room to stroke her hair. She tilted her head back and he dropped a kiss on her waiting mouth.

  “I may have dozed once or twice.”

  He eased into the chair next to hers, a sigh escaping his lips before a grimace of pain shadowed his face.

  Wordlessly she slipped to her knees and kneaded the taut muscle in his thigh. “You shouldn’t push so hard.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Taking a break to rest your leg isn’t a sign of weakness.” She inched her hand higher, before returning to her task. “Then it wouldn’t be so sore at the end of the night.”

  “You worry too much.” He covered her hands and held her gaze.

  She nodded, then returned to her chair. It was too late to argue with him and if he didn’t want her sympathy, then she’d save it for someone else.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I don’t really feel like talking.” The chair creaked when she stood. He grasped her hand as she passed.

  “Don’t be upset.”

  She shook him off and continued into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  “It’s about the bracelet. And the box.”

  Na’arah stirred the pot of soup on the stove. The warm fragrant scent of rosemary and sage eased the knot of anxiety from her stomach. She spared him a quick glance over her shoulder. She didn’t feel like arguing, which the conversation could turn into if they talked about the box or the bracelet. And she was already edgy and out of sorts. Instead she grabbed a bowl and ladled a hearty helping of chicken soup. She thunked it on the table along with a spoon and a loaf of fresh baked bread.

  Maybe he would feel better after he had something to eat. She prepared another bowl, turned off the burner and sat at the table.

  “I cooked. Eat some soup.” She broke off a chunk of bre
ad.

  He eyed her suspiciously a moment, before limping across the room. “Where did you get the bread?” He sniffed the air. “And the soup?”

  “I just said I cooked. It helps calm me.” She raised the spoon to her lips and blew across the savory liquid.

  “The bracelet, Na’arah.”

  With a sigh, she carefully laid her spoon next to her bowl. Obviously he wasn’t going to let her eat in peace.

  “What about the bracelet?” She tried to keep the wariness from voice, but it seeped through.

  “It opens the box.”

  Stunned, she gaped. “What?”

  He tore off a bit of bread and dipped it in the broth. “I told Miles about the bracelet. He happened to mention a key as one of the charms. We tried it out and it opened the case.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He paused to chew. “You’re not eating.”

  She dug into the soup with renewed gusto. “So what was inside?”

  “Money,” he said between bites.

  “Money?”

  He nodded. “This is really good.”

  Pleasure stole through her at the compliment.

  “That begs the question of where did Auggie get the money?”

  They fell silent, the occasional clink of spoons on the ceramic bowls the only sound. Na’arah puzzled this over. Auggie was a huge history buff. Her sister said something about a box. It clicked into place.

  “Hack House.” She ladled more soup into his bowl.

  “Huh?”

  She resumed her seat. “Auggie had a ton of stuff about Hack House and the Sugar Scandal.” Excitement seeped into her voice. “You don’t think he actually found some leftover cash from the scandal.”

  Street tore off another chunk of bread. “I’d like to know where he found it. All the money raised supposedly went into building and renovating the house. If he did find the cash in the house, that could explain why he was killed.”

  “Who else knew about Auggie’s obsession?” She popped a bit of bread in her mouth.

  “Half the town knew. He was like the town historian and was instrumental in getting a lot of the funding to help restore Hack House.” He finished his second helping of soup and used a piece of bread to sop the bit of broth from the bottom of the bowl. “He stepped down about a year ago.”