Betrayal (21 page)

Twenty minutes later, Tamia swung into the underground parking garage at her apartment building. She'd decided to run home, pack more clothes, and head over to Shanell's house.

It was barely three o'clock, so the garage was practically deserted since most of her neighbors were still at work. Climbing out of her car, she closed the door and pressed the key fob to set the alarm, though she knew no one who lived here would ever want to steal her ride. The tenants of the luxury residence consisted of oil and gas executives, lawyers, doctors, professional athletes, and administrators from the nearby medical center. Compared to the vehicles they drove, her old Accord was a hooptie.

As Tamia started across the garage, she heard footsteps behind her.

Her skin prickled with unease.

She automatically quickened her pace, fingers closing around the compact canister of Mace attached to her keys.

As the footsteps came closer, she realized that there were two people.

A chill ran through her.

She walked faster, nerves tightening as the footsteps behind her accelerated to match her stride.

Heart pounding, she whirled around to see two figures in ski masks advancing on her.

Her blood ran cold.

Before she could raise her arm to get off a shot of pepper spray, one of the masked figures rushed her. She gasped as her keys—and the Mace—were knocked out of her hand, sending a jolt of pain up her arm.

Reacting on instinct, she swung her leg hard, kicking her attacker in the crotch.

A high-pitched scream rang out as the masked figure doubled over.

Tamia stared, stunned to realize that her attacker was a woman.

Before she could process this detail, the other assailant was upon her, viciously snatching a fistful of her hair.

“
You fucking bitch!
” a muffled female voice shouted.

Tamia started swinging, landing punches wherever she could. The woman was bigger and stronger, outweighing her by at least thirty pounds. But Tamia instinctively knew that she was in the fight of her life, so she couldn't afford to be intimidated by her opponent's size.

Keeping her head down to protect her face, she punched and clawed at her attacker, raking her nails across her exposed neck.

Screeching in pain, the woman violently shoved Tamia against the back of an SUV. Grunting from the impact, Tamia reached out and snatched off her assailant's ski mask so she could identify her.

She froze in shock when she found herself staring into the enraged face of the woman who'd screamed threats to her on the day of her acquittal.

So this attack was about avenging Dominic's wife?

Tamia didn't have time to speculate because the other woman had recovered from her kick and was coming toward them. When Tamia saw the glint of a switchblade flicking open in the woman's hand, panic shot through her veins, and she began shoving at the heavy body pinning her to the truck.

“Hey!” a man called out sharply. “What's going on down there?”

As the unmasked woman glanced toward the voice, Tamia took advantage of her distraction and twisted herself free just as the knife-wielding attacker lunged at her. She dodged the slashing blade and staggered backward, fear and adrenaline pumping through her blood. She could hear footsteps pounding across the pavement, rushing toward the commotion.

“Whoring bitch!” the unmasked woman spat, charging toward Tamia just as the parking attendant and two other men reached them.

The two women turned to flee, but the men chased them down, tackling them roughly to the ground as the parking attendant hurried over to Tamia.

“Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

She could only give a jerky nod, lungs burning as she gasped for breath.

Everything was a blur after that.

The police arrived, sirens blasting.

Dominic followed shortly, lunging from the Phantom. When he saw the handcuffed women on the ground, he began yelling at them and they yelled back, the angry Crucian words firing between them like bullets until the cops intervened.

Then Dominic was standing before Tamia, his hands gently cradling her face, his eyes peering worriedly into hers as he asked her questions. She stared at his mouth but couldn't make out his words above the dull roar in her ears.

Shaken by how close she'd come to getting stabbed, she didn't protest when Dominic told the police officers he was taking her home. She allowed herself to be led to his car and helped inside, grateful to get as far away from this crazy place as she could.

 

Later, she lay curled up in Dominic's bed as he spooned her, infusing her sore body with warmth.

“I'm sorry that Isabel's cousins came after you like that,” he murmured, his voice rumbling quietly in the darkness. “If I had known what they were planning to do, I would have stopped them.”

“Would you?”

Tamia felt him tense against her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She was silent, her mind churning with suspicion and doubt. Dominic's dead wife's relatives had just tried to kill her. It wasn't that long ago that
he'd
shown up on her doorstep and assaulted her when she'd refused to tell him who had killed Isabel.

What was she supposed to believe? Who was she supposed to trust?

“Is that why you didn't tell me about the note you received?” Dominic exclaimed in wounded surprise. “Because you thought
I
was the one who sent it?”

Tamia heaved a weary sigh. “I don't know, Dominic. I honestly didn't know
who
could have sent the note.”

“It sure as hell wasn't me,” he asserted. “I know you still find this hard to believe, Tamia, but I didn't come back into your life to hurt you again. I'm
crazy
about you. I'm trying to do right by you. When I came home early and found you gone, I almost lost my damn mind. I couldn't get over to your apartment fast enough. I would have been devastated if something worse had happened to you.”

Tamia said nothing, wishing she could trust him. Wishing she could trust
anyone
. In the wee hours of the night, she'd even found herself wondering if Brandon could have left her the note. He, more than anyone else, could take credit for saving her life, and he might even feel that she owed him her loyalty.

But would Brandon go that far? How thin
was
the line between love and hate?

“Dashay and Jamila were like sisters to Isabel,” Dominic explained, breaking into Tamia's thoughts. “They all grew up together and were practically inseparable. It's because of Isabel that Dashay and Jamila came to America. So they took her death pretty hard.”

“I understand that,” Tamia murmured. “But they know I didn't kill Isabel.”

“But your sister did. And since they can't get to Fiona—”

“—I'm the next best thing.” Tamia shook her head against the pillow. “They've obviously been stalking me, Dominic. They saw me leave your building this afternoon and they followed me back home. They know we're involved again, and they don't like it.”

“That's too fucking bad.”

“Really, Dominic? Those crazy bitches jumped me and tried to stab me.”

“And that's why they're in jail,” Dominic growled. “The whole damn thing was caught on the security camera. Add that to the threatening note they sent you, and it's a wrap.”

Tamia frowned, not entirely convinced that she was out of danger. “The note still doesn't make any sense. It said, ‘I saved your life, bitch. You owe me.' How does that apply to Isabel's cousins? How did they save my life?”

Dominic said nothing, contemplating the question.

As a weighted silence stretched between them, Tamia yawned softly, struggling to keep her eyelids open. She was exhausted. But she'd felt that way even before the attack. Dominic must have really worn her out over the weekend.

“I know what you saw earlier,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I know what made you leave. But that woman didn't mean anything to me, Tamia. She was just a one-night stand.”

Tamia was quiet, wondering how many times he'd given the same speech to Isabel.

“Don't leave me again,” he whispered urgently, his face buried in her hair. “You need to stay here for your own protection.”

She sighed tiredly. “Dominic—”

“Promise me you won't go anywhere.”

When she didn't respond, his arm tightened around her. “Promise me.”

Tamia nodded weakly and closed her eyes, surrendering to the peaceful oblivion of sleep....

“Did you forget something today?”

The question greeted Brandon as he stepped through the front door of his condo on Tuesday evening, a basketball tucked under one arm. He wore a black wifebeater, long black athletic shorts, and the newest LeBron James high-top Nikes.

After work, he'd met Dre, Justin, and Cornel for a pickup game at the gym. He'd gotten a good workout, burning off some pent-up tension. But he'd felt his blood pressure spike when he saw Cynthia curled up on the armchair—
his
armchair—watching him expectantly.

He set the basketball down, eyeing her guardedly. “What did I forget?”

“You don't remember?” The words were accusing, but Cynthia's eyes were soft and glowing with a quiet joy he didn't comprehend.

“I'm sorry,” he said, starting toward the living room. “I don't remember what it is that I supposedly forgot. You'll have to help me out here.”

Cynthia sighed. “I had a doctor's appointment today. You promised to go with me.”

Brandon frowned. “That was
today
?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, babe. I could have sworn you told me your appointment was on Thursday. I even put it on my calendar.”

“It was today at three,” Cynthia countered, surprisingly calm. “I left from the courthouse and was expecting you to meet me at the doctor's office.”

“Shit. I am so sorry. I must have gotten the dates mixed up.”

“That's what I figured.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I didn't wanna call and cuss you out in front of Dr. Kapoor.”

Brandon grimaced. Reaching the armchair, he leaned down and kissed Cynthia on the forehead. “I'm really sorry I missed the appointment.”

“So am I. I wanted you to be there for my first sonogram.”

Brandon stilled. “Your first . . . you had a sonogram today?”

“Yup.” She beamed and reached behind her back to retrieve something, which she excitedly handed to him.

It was an ultrasound photo.

“That's our baby!” she squealed.

As Brandon stared down at the black and white image, something like panic seized his chest. He felt his throat closing, felt himself being strangled by the invisible chain his brother had teased him about.

He tried to speak but no sound emerged.

Cynthia eyed him curiously. “Brandon?”

He just shook his head, staggering backward.

All this time he'd been secretly hoping . . . praying for some stroke of divine intervention. But it wasn't meant to be. The photo he held was the proof that had sealed his fate.

As the back of his legs hit the sofa, he sat down heavily.

Cynthia laughed. “Look at you! You're in shock.”

“Uh . . . yeah.” Brandon swallowed convulsively. His voice had gone hoarse. “Wow . . .”

Cynthia grinned. “I know. That was the first word out of my mouth when I saw the baby on the screen.” Bubbling with excitement, she sprang from the armchair and rushed to his side. The ends of her hair tickled his shoulder as she leaned over him to stare at the sonogram photo. “Look at our son, Brandon. Isn't he beautiful?”

Brandon nodded jerkily, though the fetus in the grainy picture was so tiny it could have been anything. “How . . . um, how do you know we're having a boy? It's too soon to tell, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Cynthia said on a dreamy sigh. “But I just have a feeling I'm carrying your son. Call it a maternal instinct.”

Brandon nodded, staring down at the photo until his eyes burned.

“He's gonna look
just
like you,” Cynthia predicted, tenderly rubbing the back of Brandon's head. “Right down to your sexy dimples.”

Dimples . . . did he have dimples? He'd nearly forgotten since it had been so long since he'd really smiled.

Cynthia giggled, giddier than he'd ever seen her. “Dr. Kapoor says when I'm at twenty-five weeks, we can get a 4-D ultrasound. Those are so
amazing
, Brandon. We'll be able to clearly see the baby's features and watch him move around in my stomach. I can't
wait!
”

“Yeah,” Brandon murmured, “neither can I.”

Cynthia kissed the top of his head. “This calls for a celebration. I stopped at Kroger on the way home and bought a bottle of sparkling cider, and I ordered dinner from our favorite delivery service. It should be here in twenty minutes.”

“Sounds good,” Brandon said weakly, pushing to his feet and handing the photo back to her. “Let me just, uh, hop in the shower first. I'm kinda funky.”

Cynthia winked. “After we eat, we can
both
get funky.”

Brandon just smiled before turning and heading to the bedroom. His heart pounded painfully as he kicked off his sneakers and shed his sweat-dampened clothes.

Once inside the bathroom, he ducked into the shower stall and twisted on the faucet, making the temperature as hot as he could take it. Bracing his hands against the tiled wall for support, he bowed his head and let the water run down his face, mingling with the bitter wetness that leaked from his eyes.