After Hours (10 page)

D
ina lay on a cushioned rattan chair, her bare feet resting on a matching footstool on the terrace of Lance's three-bedroom West New York, New Jersey, apartment, staring out at the towering buildings across the Hudson River. He'd urged her to relax and enjoy the view while he cleaned up the remains of the dinner he'd ordered from an Italian restaurant in nearby Union City. The sun was setting, taking with it the day's heat as a cool breeze blew in off the river.

When Lance told her that he lived in an apartment, she couldn't have imagined the luxury high-rise with twenty-four-hour concierge, pool, fitness and business center and controlled-access parking. The property was steps from the ferry to New York City and minutes from the Holland Tunnel.

His apartment featured a washer/dryer, dishwasher, frost-free refrigerator, microwave and an intrusion alarm. It had all the convenience of a home without the ongoing landscape and pool maintenance. Recessed lights, marble and rosewood floors and impeccably chosen furnishings turned the expansive apartment into a showplace worthy of a magazine layout.

He'd turned the bedroom off the living room into an office/library. Books in every genre lined built-in floor-to-ceiling shelves. A ladder suspended from a rod provided easy mobility and access to the upper shelves. The only place where Dina had seen that many books was in the local public library.

She'd stayed in opulent suites at hotels and casinos, but after a while she'd thought of the glittery show as nothing more than conspicuous consumption for the few hours she'd spent there. Lance's apartment was different because it was a home—a place where one could escape the stress of an oftentimes hostile world.

The bedroom where she would spend the night was a quiet retreat. An adjoining full bath and sitting room with a table and two cushioned pull-up chairs positioned near a window invited her to while away the hours. It was furnished with a large mahogany four-poster bed covered with heirloom linens and coverlets. When she'd remarked about the bed dressing, Lance had disclosed that the stemware, china, silver and the other heirloom pieces would've gone to his sister—if she'd lived.

Dina had changed from her dress and heels and into an extra-large tee and shorts and had taken her hair down from the elaborate twist to fashion it into a ponytail. Suddenly she felt very sleepy but loath to close her eyes; she didn't want to miss the sight of the rays of the setting sun throwing feathery orange streaks across the darkening sky.

“Awesome, isn't it?”

A sensual smile touched her full mouth when her lips parted. Lance stepped onto the terrace and took a chair opposite her. He'd replaced his suit with a pair of khakis and a short-sleeved black shirt. He wasn't wearing shoes and she noticed that he had very nice feet. They were a little pale but still nice.

She nodded. “It's definitely humbling.”

Lance tried not to stare at the woman seated across from him but failed miserably. Barefoot and dressed in the shorts and tee, she appeared so delicate, fragile. What, he mused, was there about Dina Gordon that pulled at his heart? From the first time he saw her standing by herself at the raceway she'd appeared so lost. Then, when he'd returned with her soft drink and registered her expression of fear, he'd known he had to rescue her.

“I called the car service, and a driver will pick you up at four. He's been instructed to wait until you complete your interview, then drive you back to Irvington. Don't give him a tip because I've taken care of his gratuity.”

Dina regarded Lance Haynes with a speculative look. He'd fed her, would put her up for the night and had arranged transportation for her to go to West Orange for her interview with Sybil Cumberland.

“Thank you, Lance.”

He smiled. “You're welcome. What are you thinking about, Dina?” he asked when a kind of a veil dropped over her eyes.

Her eyebrows lifted. “What makes you believe I'm thinking of something?”

“You have a habit of biting down on your lower lip when you're concentrating on something.”

“You're very perceptive.”

Lance shook his head. “I'm not as perceptive as I am observant.”

“Do you like watching me?”

“Just say it's hard
not
watching you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Come now, Dina,” he crooned as if she were a small child. “You have to know what you look like. You're drop-dead gorgeous.”

“Maybe to you, but my looks may not be every man's ideal.”

He chuckled softly. “Perhaps not every man, yet I'd be willing to wager a year's salary that
most
men would agree with me.”

A slight frown appeared between her eyes. “I told you that I don't like gambling.”

She hated casinos, with their bright lights, sounds of shuffling cards, the click-clack of the roulette wheel, the dinging of slot machines and the shouts and groans from winners and losers. Even when given money to bet on the turn of a card or a number, she'd refused to gamble. Most times the money went into her purse.

“I'm sorry, Dina. I'll be more careful next time.”

A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Will there be a next time with us, Lance?” His expression brightened, reminding Dina of a little boy. Although in his late forties, there was something undeniably boyish about Lance Haynes.

“I'd hope there will be.”

“There will be,” she confirmed, smiling. She sobered, her mood changing like quicksilver. “I don't know how I'm going to repay you for all you've done for me.”

“Have I asked you for anything?”

“No. But that's what bothers me, Lance. I keep thinking that you're going to want something from me.”

He sat up straighter, sandwiching his hands between his knees. “Where does your distrust come from?”

“The man you saw me with on Sunday is the husband of a woman he used as his personal punching bag. One day she'd had enough and she just bounced.”

“Bounced?” Lance asked, frowning slightly.

“It means she left suddenly,” Dina explained.

Lance's frown deepened. “I know what it means. I just didn't expect you to use that word.”

“Why?”

“Because it's so…so not like you.”

“So not like me?” Dina didn't care whether she sounded defensive.
What the hell does he know about me?
she thought. “Is the word too ghetto for you, Lance?”

Pressing a fist to his mouth, Lance shook his head. He truly didn't want to get into it with Dina. He'd called in his dinner order within minutes of leaving Irvington, and when they'd arrived in Union City it was packed and ready for him. They came to his apartment and ate dinner in the dining room with a backdrop of soft music and panoramic views of the river and the New York City skyline. Now Dina wanted to ruin what had become a wonderful evening with a debate on ghettoisims.

“I said nothing about ghetto, Dina. It's just that I've never heard you utter a slang term, so I was surprised. I meant no disrespect.”

Dina closed her eyes for a moment. She had to be careful, very, very careful or she would blow it. She had to remember that she was now Dina Gordon, not Adina Jenkins. If she wanted to reinvent herself, then the street slang and mannerisms would have to be relegated to her past.

And like LaKeisha Robinson, she was able to go from speaking colloquial English to street jargon effortlessly. The teachers at the Lutheran school that she'd attended, thanks to the money her grandmother had earned as a lunch lady in a nearby public school cafeteria before she was forced to go on disability because of a bad hip, insisted she learn to speak properly or she would never get a decent job. What Dora didn't know was that she didn't need to speak properly when interacting with people whose existence depended upon the next hustle. But what confused her was that the men she took up with liked her because she did know how to speak, which in turn raised their status among their peers.

“I know you didn't, Lance.” Her voice and expression were contrite. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone off on you.”

He gave her a quick smile. “Forget it. Please finish with your story.”

“My friend's husband had begun harassing her friends to tell him where she was. I've seen what he's done to her, so seeing him again just dredged up images of her black eyes and bruises.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No. And even if I did, I'd never tell anyone.”

“I'm glad I happened along when I did.” There was a hint of pride in Lance's voice.

“So am I,” Dina said truthfully.

“So we agree on something,” he teased.

“I think we may agree on a lot of things.” Without warning, she became a siren, her lips parting as she stared at Lance through her lashes. “The view from your place is better than my motel room and sharing dinner with you is a lot more pleasant than eating alone.”

Smiling, he said, “I concur, fair lady.” Much to Lance's surprise, she threw back her head and laughed, the husky sound swirling up and around him like a cloaking fog. Moving off his chair, he sat down on the footstool, placing Dina's feet in his lap. The fiery rays of the setting sun created a halo around behind him. His gaze met and fused with hers. “What do you want, Dina?”

Dina blinked once, tiny shivers of gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs as Lance stared at her. She swallowed in an attempt to relieve the increasing constriction in her throat. She couldn't believe she had no response or comeback to his query.

“I don't know.”

Lance leaned closer, his slight grip on her toes tightening. “You don't have dreams or aspirations?”

“I can't afford to think about tomorrows. I'm only concerned with today and right now. I need a job so I can get an apartment.”

“Where were you living before you moved into the motel?”

“I lived with a girlfriend.”

“Why did you move?”

For the tiniest fraction of a moment Dina hesitated. “I had to get away from a man who'd started coming on to me. We worked together,” she added when Lance gave her an incredulous look.

“Why didn't you report him?”

“I couldn't because not only was he my boss but he also owned the business.”

“So you left rather than slap his ass with a sexual-harassment suit?”

“Leaving was easier for me.”

Suddenly she tired of lying and trying to keep her lies straight. She couldn't tell Lance that she was running from a nameless, faceless person who sought to take her life. That she'd managed to escape her phantom, but she still had to deal with Payne Jefferson.

“I didn't mean to imply that you're a coward—”

“I am a coward, Lance!” she shouted, cutting him off. “The man is scary. He's always bragging about whatever he wants he gets. I wasn't going to hang around to let him get me. I am not my mother and I don't want to be anything like her.”

Reaching out, Lance pulled Dina from her chair and settled her on his lap, his arms going around her; he cradled her to his chest as if she were a child. “Don't worry about anything, baby girl. Lancelot Londell Haynes will take care of you.”

Eyes wide, she lifted her chin and stared at him. “Lancelot Londell?” He nodded. “You're really named Lancelot like the knight?”

Lance nodded again. “Most of my friends call me LL.”

Although she was smiling, Dina's eyes were serious. “May I call you LL?”

He wanted to tell her that she could call him anything she wanted if she continued to look at him the way she did. She had the eyes of an innocent child caught up in a world of fear and disappointment. It was as if her soul had remained untouched despite what she'd experienced as a child and now as an adult.

“Of course you may, Dina. After all, we are friends.”

Resting her head on his chest, Dina melted into Lance's strength. Changing her name on a birth certificate had become an easy feat when she compared it to eradicating Adina Jenkins completely. All of her life she'd fought not to become Bernice Jenkins, only to learn that she'd been stamped indelibly by the blood that ran in her veins.

She was the daughter of a woman who sold her body for drugs and a man who'd paid her for sex. What kind of man was he to have unprotected sex with a woman who was obviously an IV drug user?

One arm moved up tentatively and went around Lance's neck. Like the brave knight whose name he claimed, he'd become her knight in shining armor. And because she was now Dina Gordon, she swore an oath that she wouldn't do to Lance what she'd done to the men in her past.

“Right now you're the
only
friend I have in the world.”

Lowering his head, Lance pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair.