by Amber Cross
“It’s the black in me coming out.”
****
“Can you check on Abby for me?”
It was after midnight when Glen got Jason’s call. He had just settled into his friend’s vacated condo unit, and the last thing he wanted was to go across the hall and check on the judge. Even big, gray-green eyes and a luscious, little body couldn’t compensate for her ugly soul.
He never wanted to see her again after that racist comment at the wedding reception.
“There’s a creeper in town, stalking women who live alone,” Jason explained. “The police have asked us to check on anyone in that category, and I said I’d check on Abby, but she’s not answering her phone. It’s going right to voicemail. Can you knock on her door and make sure she’s okay?”
“You do know what time it is, right? She could be sleeping.”
“Not on a Friday night. It takes her hours to unwind after the workweek.”
“And you know this because?”
“Don’t even go there. We were neighbors for almost two years, nothing else, but I’d like to make sure my former neighbor isn’t under attack from some crazy predator. Now, are you going to do this, or do I have to leave my wife alone and at risk to go check on her myself?”
Exhaling a rough breath to make sure Jason knew it was inconvenient, he gave in. “I’ll do it.” As if there had been any doubt. As if there were any other reply he could make.
Tossing the phone onto the sofa sleeper that would be his bed until he could get some more furniture, he slid his feet into soft leather moccasins and reluctantly pulled a faded T-shirt on to cover his naked torso above loose, flannel pajama pants. Not exactly his usual New York GQ look, but he wasn’t out to impress anyone.
Across the square hall, the door to her unit had an old-fashioned brass pull. When he drew it back and let go, chimes played on the other side of the wooden panel. He recognized “Carol of the Bells,” the Christmas tune, but it was the only sound coming from the apartment.
Minutes passed. Was she actually asleep? Maybe she was getting dressed?
He paced the eight-by-eight-foot area of hardwood floor and tried the doorbell again when enough time had passed that she could have put on clothes and makeup too.
Still no answer. They were on the third floor. No one could get up here without a security code, so what was Jason worried about, anyway? For all he knew the woman might be out of town.
He was just giving up and returning to his own apartment when the elevator door pinged open.
“Put your hands up!”
“What the—?” Shocked, he stared uncomprehendingly at the stocky policewoman advancing out of the elevator with one hand on the butt of a service weapon resting on her hip. “I repeat. Put. Your. Hands. Up. And step away from the door.”
Dumbfounded, Glen did as he was told.
“Now turn and put your hands against the wall.”
Still stunned, he automatically tried to reason with her. “Officer, I think there’s been a mistake.”
“Against the wall!”
Wondering if he was being pranked, he nonetheless turned and placed his hands as directed.
The woman frisked him! Ran her hands down his sides, over his torso, and up the inside of his thighs. What did she think he was hiding in these clothes? “You’re making a mistake,” he told her.
She ignored that as if he hadn’t spoken. “What are you doing in this apartment building?”
“I live here.”
“Wrong answer, pal. There are only two condos up here, and I know both owners. You’re not one of them.”
He turned to explain, but she yelled at him not to move so he spoke to the wall instead. With exaggerated patience, as if he were addressing a small child. “My name is Glen Plankey. Jason sublet his unit to me when he got married. I live in New York and only came up for the weekend.” His first time since the wedding, and it wasn’t turning out very well so far.
“What were you doing trying to break into the judge’s condo?”
“Break in?” Glen was getting irritated now, and it showed in his reply. “Since when is ringing the doorbell a crime?”
“I’m asking the questions. Why were you ringing the doorbell?”
Taking a deep breath, reaching for calm he didn’t feel, he said, “Jason called and asked me to. He said there’s been a sexual predator around town, and everyone is checking on women who live alone to make sure they’re okay. When he couldn’t get an answer from the judge, he asked me to make sure she’s all right.”
“That should be easy enough to verify.”
He started to lower his hands, but to his surprise a cuff circled his wrist followed by a click, then she yanked both of his arms behind his back. Every instinct told him to resist, but what good would that do? Another click and his wrists were secured. She turned him around with a hand at his elbow. “Sit.”
The only thing on the floor was a leafy green plant in the corner by the window. It had been a six-hour drive up from the city, he was tired, and the last thing he wanted was to enter into a guessing game with this police officer. “Where would you suggest?”
Apparently she didn’t get sarcasm because she pursed her lips, looked around, and indicated the windowsill. “There.”
Waiting until he backed against the ledge and rested his hips on it, she pulled a cell phone from her breast pocket and punched in a number. She kept him in her sights while bringing it to her ear.
An answering ring came from inside the judge’s condo unit. “This is B.” Looking at him. “Officer Price.” To you indicated by her raised eyebrows and sour expression. “Can you step out here?”
A deadbolt slid free, the doorknob turned, and then she was there.
Annoyed and exhausted, Glen still couldn’t help but react to the sight of her barefooted and dressed in a long pink nightshirt. Fleece. Soft and kind to her curves, it would be shapeless on anyone else. On her it made his mouth water. Only annoying him further, bringing him to his feet so he could look down on her lesser height. He still had cuffs on his wrists, but it helped him to reclaim some of his power.
****
Abby took one look at the man by the windowsill and groaned inside. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be the creeper. She was good at reading people, and there was just no way a man this vital, capable of attracting any woman he wanted, was sneaking through their windows and into their homes. Besides, she doubted if slippers and pajama pants were the best outfit for scaling a three-story building.
Better not to look at those pajama pants. Falling from his lean hips and draping over his thighs, they drew her eyes to places—
“Hi, Judge.” Officer Price’s greeting pulled her attention away from where it had been. “This man says he sublet the other unit from Jason.”
Oh, no. Her eyes darted to his face, and the truth was there as plain as day. No guilty man would look that irritated.
“Do you have Jason’s number? I’ll need him to confirm this.”
Abby’s cell phone was in her hand. Punching in the number for her former neighbor, she only had to wait two rings before he answered.
“Hi Abby.”
“Hey Jason. I’ve got B here with me.” She punched the speakerphone button so the policewoman could join the conversation. They exchanged hellos. “And Glen Plankey.”
“Oh, good. I was worried when you didn’t pick up your phone, so I asked him to make sure you’re all right.”
Abby looked helplessly at the handcuffed man. Could it get any worse? She didn’t like him, not since the wedding reception when he scraped back his chair and deserted their table at the mention of her colored blood, but this situation was no way to thank him for a neighborly act.
“So he is renting your condo?” Officer Price asked.
“Yeah. He didn’t tell you that?”
“Of course I told them.” Closing the gap between the window and Abby’s doorway, Glen spoke directly to his friend, but his blue eyes were fixed on her. “F
or some reason this cop didn’t believe me. I’ve got handcuffs on my wrists, and if my pretty skin has even one mark on it tomorrow, your face is going to have some too.”
Jason’s laugh filled the hall. “Nothing like a little kink on Friday night, eh?”
Abby’s tummy dipped at the lighthearted question. She could no more keep from looking at her new neighbor’s reaction than she could stop breathing. His ex-wife had accused him of deviant behavior, of having a sexual appetite impossible to satisfy. For fifteen years those limited details, supplemented by her overactive imagination and fueled by her own less than memorable intimate encounters, made him the feature of her late-night fantasies.
But he was never a racist in those dreams. Or glaring at her the way he was now. Blue eyes sizzling with anger and a promise of retribution, he snapped, “Just fix this mess so I can go back to minding my own business.”
“Okay. Can you put this poor man out of his misery, B? I’ll vouch for him any time.”
“Sure thing. Thanks for clearing this up. And for checking on our favorite judge.”
“Thanks, Jason,” Abby added.
****
Glen wasn’t about to say thank you. Let his best friend be the hero of the piece. He just wanted to get away from the tempting morsel in pink and the overzealous policewoman.
They disconnected the call. With no apology for detaining him, Officer Price pulled a set of keys from her wide belt and indicated he should turn around so she could release the handcuffs. He didn’t move. Let her circle him. He wasn’t about to turn his back on these two women and make himself any more vulnerable than he already was.
Whether or not he would have won that power play would remain a mystery because just then her phone rang, and the call must have been important. Removing a key from the ring, she dropped it into his palm as she moved to the corner by the window to talk.
As if he could unlock the cuffs himself. It would be hard enough with traditional restraints, but these were the new ones, without a chain, and little give between his wrists. He couldn’t even roll his hands in opposite directions, but he tried several times. When each attempt failed, his mounting frustration needed an outlet.
And there was Abby.
Walking right up to her, he forced her to retreat through the open door into her unit to avoid contact with him. An intoxicating mix of musk and floral scents wafted from her warm body. It filled his lungs and drew him in. He advanced farther. Only when her back hit the wall and a mere sliver of space separated them did he stop.
Gray-green eyes went wide. With fear? Or were her pupils dilating for another reason?
If she were scared, she would call the policewoman. When she remained silent, he moved closer.
A flush stole across her cheeks and her eyelids flickered. She didn’t look frightened at all. Instead, she looked…aroused.
He was experiencing a healthy dose of that himself. In her pink fleece, face free of makeup, she looked as soft and cuddly as any child’s toy, but his interest in her was far from innocent. If she knew where his thoughts were wandering, would she slap his face?
“Release me.”
She inhaled sharply at his guttural command, her breasts expanding until they pressed into his chest. It was all he could do to resist rubbing against them. Instead he closed what little gap remained between them, enjoying the feel of that same breath escaping her.
He was being a jerk, but he wanted to make her uncomfortable, to get his own back for her witnessing his downfall fifteen years ago, for the handcuffs, the suspicion, and for the inconvenience of being in this hall when he wanted to be sleeping.
“Take the key from my hand and release me.”
She swallowed audibly. He watched the smooth golden skin of her throat with fascination. Was it that color all over? It seemed too uniform to be natural. Did she go to a tanning booth? If she were a better person he would want to find out. He could really be enjoying this; a beautiful woman, a pair of handcuffs. It would make great foreplay. But he was beyond the age where a woman’s character was irrelevant as long as she was willing and eager. He didn’t sleep with bimbos, and he certainly didn’t sleep with racists.
“You’ll have to turn around.”
That breathless voice stroked across his senses, challenging his detachment. Affected in spite of himself, he all but growled, “I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Her eyes went even wider, if possible, and she swallowed again. He didn’t budge. She stood on her toes and tried looking around him, probably to get help from the police officer, but his greater height made it impossible for her to see over his shoulder. Even if she could stretch that far, the other woman was still out in the hall. Still on the phone.
“The sooner you release me, the sooner I’ll be out of your way.”
Her eyes met his, then darted away. The color in her cheeks deepened. She tried reaching the cuffs by leaning slightly to one side, avoiding contact with him as much as possible. When that didn’t work, she stretched one arm around him and managed to find the key, but as soon as she tried inserting the key into the lock, it slid away from her and she ended up jabbing his palm. Huffing in frustration, she finally wrapped both arms around his middle.
Sweet heaven. Glen closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wall behind her as sensations overwhelmed him. How soft her body was in contrast to his, which was growing harder by the minute. To reach his hands she had to press her face against him. Into the indentation at the top of his rib cage, and it was a perfect fit. Made for someone her size. Made for her?
The cuffs fell away from his wrists. After shaking his hands and flexing his fingers, he placed both palms flat against the wall on either side of her head and pulled his head back so he could see her.
She held the cuffs in one palm, the key in the other. When he didn’t take them, a pulse beat wildly at the side of her throat.
“Do you want me to move back?” he whispered, the question nothing less than a taunt.
She glared at him, but already he was shoving away from her, a violent action matching the disgust he felt. With her. With himself, because until his breath stirred the ringlets beside her ear, he had almost forgotten what she was.
“Not much fun being trapped by someone else, is it? Boxed in? Cuffs, preconceived notions, expectations; they’re all the same. All a trap.”
****
What was his problem?
“Sorry, Abby,” Officer Price said, returning to her doorway. “I had to take that call.”
Collecting herself with effort, she managed what she hoped looked like a genuine smile. “That’s okay. And thanks for coming, B. I appreciate it.” Not looking at the man still too close for comfort, she returned the handcuffs and key to the policewoman. “I am sorry about this mess up. I took some Benadryl for a cold and was out like a light. I must not have heard the phone when Jason called.”
“No problem.” Poking her head around the doorway and looking at the living room, she said, “Nice place you got here.”
“I like it.” And right now she wanted to retreat into it and lock the door behind her, but that would be rude, especially after calling the woman out on a false alarm.
B motioned to a large photo hanging from the far wall, one that showed a wizened, little woman with kinky, gray curls and chocolate skin standing on a tropical beach. “Who is the old black lady?”
Abby didn’t want to answer. Not in front of him. The less he knew about her the better, but if she didn’t reply she would have to explain her unusual behavior to B. So reluctantly she said, “My grandmother.”
“Your grandmother?”
The astonishment in his tone raised the hackles on the back of her neck and put her on the defensive. “Yes, my grandmother.” She forced the words out, her tone daring him to say something nasty about the woman she loved above all others.
Blue eyes narrowed. “How are you related?”
&nbs
p; From astonishment to suspicion. Jerk. “She’s my father’s mother,” she gritted out between clenched teeth.
“I thought you were a bigot.”
“What?”
“You said your hair frizzes up when it’s warm, and the black in you comes out. I thought you were making a bad joke; a racist one.”
Abby digested that slowly, like she was trying out a new food that started out bitter and then improved, but she wasn’t sure if she liked it enough to swallow.
He wasn’t prejudiced.
“Am I missing something here?” B asked.
“Sorry.” Abby realized they were having a private conversation in front of an audience.
B looked between them and nodded. “Okay, well, if you don’t need me I’ll be off. Got paperwork, you know.” Walking to the elevator doors while talking, she said, “You take care of that cold, Abby. There’s a bad virus going around at the elementary school.” She pushed the call button. “Half the kids in my little boy’s class have been out with it.” The car arrived and she stepped inside. “Watch out for this creep too, and don’t hesitate to call if anything seems suspicious.” She looked directly at Glen now. “Or anyone.”
A wink softened her brusque manner, probably meant to take the sting out of her comment. “You two should exchange numbers. That way if you think someone’s breaking in, you can call him, and if he needs to check on you, he doesn’t have to knock on the door after midnight.”
The elevator doors closed. An awkward silence followed her departure, broken only by the swish of the elevator car as it descended to the first floor.
“I thought you were a racist,” she finally admitted.
“Me?” He was clearly affronted. “Why would you think that?”
“You gave me such a dirty look when I said that about my hair curling, at the wedding. I thought you were prejudiced against black people.”
“Oh.” He seemed to think about their conversation. “I can understand that.”
“The way you reacted, leaving the table and everything.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I just couldn’t see any color in you.”
Both fell silent. She knew her mixed race wasn’t evident to most people.