Someone Bad and Something Blue Page 6

  “How did I telling Marlo and Riddick that I was taking them to court hurt you? They hurt me, not you.”

  “Rid and I got biz together. . . .” He paused. “You almost jacked that up for me today.”

  My head began to swim a few seconds after his words traveled through me. “What do you mean you work together?”

  “Come on, Angel. This is Georgia. There are some places I still can’t go unless I bring someone like Riddick in there with me. This is business. Plain and simple.”

  Rage bubbled inside me. I held onto one of the storefront’s white pillars to keep from throwing something. “Did you tell them to do this to me? Is that why you knew what happened?”

  “Angel, do you still have a concussion? Why would you ask me something like that? I’ve had your back when nobody did. I’m the one that dragged you out of that bar without us getting killed, and I’m the one that told you what went down.” His voice grew louder after each sentence. “I’m the one who gave you a job when your own sister shamed you in front of the entire city. I’m the one, some seven years later, who is still scouring these dirty streets looking for the person that killed Bella’s father.”

  “Don’t you go there. Don’t you dare go there! The only reason I went to the Draft House—to have the side of my head sliced, by the way—was because of a phone call you made to ME!”

  “Ang!” He said something under his breath then cleared his throat. “Before you say something more stupid than the last thing you just said, let’s take a break and regroup.”

  “Yes, let’s.” I huffed.

  Mama stepped outside and stood beside me. “What’s going on?”

  I shook my head as if to say “nothing” and waved her to meet me at the car with JJ. She pointed at her watch and mouthed two minutes.

  “Tiger, I think—”

  “You need to go on that vacation I suggested yesterday.”

  I frowned. “Vacation? What are you talking about?”

  “You heard me. I need things to settle down on my end and you’re going to take that break—at my expense, of course. Take Bella to Disney World or something.”

  “The kids are about to begin standardized tests soon. No.”

  “Oh yeah! Do that PI class. This would be good for you. How long is the class?”

  “I don’t know, one hundred hours.”

  “Good, take two weeks. If you need a third week, you’ve earned it. I can give you that.”

  A three-week vacation? I frowned. There had to be more going on that he wasn’t telling me. However, I knew Tiger wasn’t sharing. There was more to this Riddick partnership than met the eye.

  “What if I say no?” I asked.

  “Grace, you do not understand me,” he said, using my middle name, something I hadn’t heard since my dad was alive. Yep, something was definitely up. “If you don’t, then this break will be your contract termination with BT Trusted Bail Bonds. Our contract ends in a few days and I can’t lose Rid over this thing with you.”

  “What?” I screamed. “I haven’t done anything wrong, so why am I being punished?”

  “You’re not . . .” He sighed. “Come on, Angel Soft. You know you’re my girl. I’ll take care of Rid in my own time, in my own way. But we have to be smart. Remember, this is Georgia. We’re not just dealing with convicts, but old demons.”

  “Don’t do this to me, Tiger.”

  “It’s for your own good. I’ve left your money with Ava. I threw in some extra for the baby’s birthday. So you take this break. Get your hair fixed. Become a certified private investigator. I promise I’ll renew your contract at the end of the month.” And then he hung up.

  I stood on the Douceur de France front walk with my mouth gaping open and stared at the phone.

  Someone tapped me on my shoulder. I jumped and turned around. It was Lana.

  “So does this mean you will be able to go with us to the ROTB?”

  She had to be listening to my phone conversation to have made that assumption. She also had to be eating a box of hot rocks, if she thought I was spending my forced vacation playing Wedding Wars.

  “No, I have to go,” I said without hesitation and then scurried to Mom’s car.

  9

  Saturday, 8:30 PM

  Home, Sugar Hill, Georgia

  After a long Saturday morning and even longer sitting under the hood at Halle’s, I took a nap before Justus rang my bell. He hadn’t told me where we would be going, but he had assured me that it would be unforgettable. However, when he stepped inside my house, I didn’t want us to leave the room.

  Justus took my breath away. Again he brought more roses, but he was more handsome than them. He had cut his locks. His sugarcane syrup–colored eyes warmed me up more than before. His smile dazzled even brighter, now that the hair was not in the way.

  “A birdie told me that I needed to compliment your gorgeous haircut.”

  “You like it?” I rubbed the back of my neck and blushed.

  “I love it.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek, then my neck, and then my mouth. “Let’s get out of here before I get us into trouble.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t want to leave.

  Saturday, 9:30 PM

  Holeman & Finch Public House, Atlanta, Georgia

  “I’ve been told that we need to get there early if we want to be in the running for the best burger on the planet,” Justus said as we pulled into Holeman & Finch Public House.

  I nodded and tried to be calm, although I unbuckled my seat belt as fast as I could. I popped the door open, but Justus caught it before my feet hit the pavement. I couldn’t get out of Justus’s truck fast enough.

  Holeman only served twenty-four burgers every night. Although the burger wasn’t on the menu, Atlantans piled into Holeman’s with the hopes that they would get the gift of eating one of them. Why? Because these weren’t your ordinary cheeseburgers so it took a great deal of time to prepare. Two beef patties placed on fresh out the oven buns with pickles, homemade mustard, and Holeman-made ketchup, then surrounded by a bed of—you guessed it—Holeman-made mouthwatering fries.

  But the special burger wasn’t the only thing that made Holeman & Finch one of the most beloved spots in the state. The food was stupid good. They made everything taste like it was black-market criminal: fish and chips, braised pork and collard greens, cheese grits, pâté, and bacon caramel popcorn that made you almost lose your religion, and fried apple pie, and that’s just a sample of what they offered.

  It also had a vibe that was part British, part Greek, part soul food . . .

  But what I loved more than anything was the pickled banana peppers. They reminded me of the jarred peppers Aunt Frankie had made every summer when Ava and I were children. I had had to keep myself from drooling through the entire drive into Atlanta. It was a good thing I wore foodie jeans.

  Justus widened the door and smirked. “I’m beginning to wonder whether you agreed to this date because of the burger instead of me.”

  “A woman is strongly attracted to confidence and charm, just like that texted invitation, not a cheeseburger.” I cupped his chiseled jaw with my hands.

  His eyes lit up. “Woman, you’ll say anything to get into this restaurant.”

  The way he looked at me melted me. I couldn’t turn off my feelings for him if I tried, but I wasn’t ready for anything more than that. I didn’t want to be in love again. I was still reaping the misfortune of the last great love of my life.

  “Not anything.” I removed my hands. “Trust and know I’m glad I’m here with you.”

  “Good, because I’ve been waiting for this night since I picked you up from Dekalb Medical.”

  He was referring to the first day we’d officially met. Whitney had asked him to pick me up from the hospital, but apparently I’d picked him up before we got home.

  I blushed. “I knew my tattered peach cocktail dress messed you up.”

  “No, running all over Atlanta with you for the five days afterward me
ssed me up.” He opened the gastro pub’s door for me.

  We laughed and flirted with each other on the way to our table and during appetizers until a chef came from out the kitchen blowing a bullhorn and yelling, “It’s burger time!”

  When the burgers came, all chatting went out the window. It was nothing but the burger and a few crush-worthy glances. I was having the time of my life.

  Our hostess came to our table, but said nothing. I looked up then at Justus. His brow wrinkled.

  He wiped his mouth with his napkin and spoke to the young woman. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t mean to disturb you two, but I wanted to let you know that your bill has been paid.”

  “By whom?” Justus and I asked in unison.

  “The gentleman didn’t want to disturb your dinner, but he did say that he wanted Miss Crawford to know that he was glad she was feeling better,” she said.

  “Did this person leave a name?” I asked.

  “Yes, Riddick Avery.”

  “Are you serious? Where is he?” I stood up. “We don’t want it. Take it off, please.”

  “Ma’am, I can’t do that. The bill has been paid,” she said.

  “What’s going on?” Justus asked. “Who’s Riddick Avery?”

  “He’s the reason I got this haircut and am on forced vacation,” I huffed. “And now he’s ruined my night.”

  Justus reached over and took my hand in his. “Evangeline Crawford, would you please give me tonight?”

  I stopped searching Holeman’s and looked at him. His eyes were on me. A hot flash ran through me again.

  I sat down slowly. “I’m yours.”

  “No, you’re not, not like I want you to be.” He grinned.

  I lowered my head. “You have got to stop talking to me like that.”

  “You started it with that haircut.”

  I shook my head. “It’s hard to complete a thought when you’re so close to me.”

  “So what do you do when I offer Communion?”

  I gulped. “I pray harder.”

  He laughed. “That explains so much.”

  “Well, do you have any more questions? Because I’m giving you tonight to ask away, only under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want some hot apple pie and crème brûlée for dessert without a sarcastic smirk.” I shrugged. “Tonight’s my last night of eating whatever before I begin PI training.”

  “Whatever you want, but I need to let you know that I wasn’t going to say anything.” He waved the hostess back to the table. “I just want to make you happy.”

  The hostess returned.

  “I would like to order and pay for dessert before another of my date’s admirers or enemies beats me to it.” Justus pulled out his wallet.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that. We enjoyed the crème brûlée, but decided to take our pie and eat it somewhere else. Justus had another surprise.

  10

  Sunday, midnight

  Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport,

  Atlanta, Georgia

  Justus wanted to take a drive to the airport to watch the planes come in. He took us to the roof of the South Parking Garage Deck of Hartsfield-Jackson airport. He paid a parking fee to the attendant and found a place away from the other plane watchers and photographers. He then opened my door and escorted me to the back of his truck. The air up here was cool, but there was little wind. Novembers were always warmer than mid-March for some odd reason. I didn’t have to wear my gloves, but I needed my jacket and scarf.

  Justus flipped open the back truck door and reached for a large blue plastic bin. I peeked inside. There were two blankets, a thermos, a picnic basket, and a Bible.

  I smiled. “Wow. So you planned this?”

  “I was hoping.” He pulled out one blanket and draped the back floor of the truck. “Did you bring the pie?”

  I raised the Holeman & Finch’s pastry box up in my hand. “Dessert Part Deux.”

  We sat down on the truck bed beside each other. He poured hot chocolate into ceramic mugs out of the picnic basket and draped the other blanket across my legs. I watched him and imagined myself being cared for like this every day. Gabe had been romantic, vibrant, and intelligent, but Justus, he was all that and something I didn’t think I’d wanted until now. He was a family man.

  “Can I ask you some questions that I’ve been wanting to ask you since I first learned that you were a bounty hunter?” he asked.

  “As long as I get to ask you a few questions I’ve been dying to ask later on,” I said.

  “Fair enough.” He nodded.

  “How did you get into bounty hunting?” Justus asked.

  “It’s a weird story. Hard to believe, really . . .”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “I was pregnant and distraught and unemployed.” I sipped some hot chocolate. “If I had known I was pregnant before I let my big ego call the shots, I wouldn’t have resigned from The Sentinel .”

  “Why did you quit in the first place?”

  “I became angry after Gabe died. I blamed them for everything that had gone wrong for me at the time.”

  “You never fully told me how Bella’s father died. What happened?”

  My stomach churned, but as I obser ved Justus, I knew that spilling this out would be okay. I could trust him. The only trouble was my heart was still too bruised.

  I exhaled. “Justus, what happened is too messy to discuss while watching Delta aircrafts land. I don’t want you to think that I am that same person now. Maybe I’ll feel up to talking about that later.”

  “Sure. You can tell me at breakfast,” he said.

  “Breakfast?” I giggled and noted the time. “You act like there won’t be any time for us to see each other again.”

  “Woman, it took you months to finally go out with me. We’ll be married and on our third child before this conversation comes back up.”

  I spat my cocoa across the truck deck. Some sprayed across his shirt. I gasped.

  He looked down at me then.

  “I’m sorry.” I shrugged. “You caught me off guard.”

  “You’re always on guard, Angel, but I’m not.” He wasn’t smiling when he said that. He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a white undershirt. He put the jacket back on, which covered the wife beater. “Tell me what happened. Please . . .”

  I gulped. He wasn’t going to let this go and he was going to use his gorgeous physique to hypnotize the truth out of my behind. I tried to cover my face with my hands, but couldn’t. “Did you have to strip in front of me?”

  “That’s not what I was trying to do.” He touched my arm. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. We don’t have to go any farther if you don’t want to.”

  Justus’s rich honey-colored skin shimmered against the moonlight. I wanted to run my hands along his taut biceps, but he would never know it. I continued as if he had not offended me at all, which he hadn’t.

  “It was fine, I was visiting Mama D—that’s Big Tiger’s mother—actually, I was at her place picking up some fried catfish, cheese grits, and hush puppies that would put Holeman & Finch’s food to shame. You know she sells soul food on the backside of the BT Trusted Office. The pregnancy made me crave comfort food. . . .” I rambled so fast I couldn’t catch myself.

  “I was sitting there stuffing my face when Tiger sat down and offered me a job. He had heard from the East Lake grapevine that I was no longer at The Sentinel. Said he needed a pregnant woman to hang out with in the lobby of an ob/gyn. Apparently, a nurse was dating some dude who missed his court date. Tiger was hired by another bondsman to bring the guy in. He had learned that the guy always comes through Thursdays to take her to lunch. He offered me $500 to sit inside and let me know when he came in. I did. It was my first job.”

  “Interesting.” Justus chuckled. “So how did you become—”

  “The Black Sheep of The Sentinel and, if I’m not c
areful, the Jezebel of Sugar Hill Community Church?”

  He caught one of my arms. “Stop it. You’re fine. Like a local legend. Is what I meant.”

  “Oh that . . .” I sat back. He released my arm. I slid my hands into my lap. “Well, I quickly learned that resigning from a job without having another one isn’t a great move, especially when you’re pregnant and don’t know it. I had money saved, but like I said I had a baby to prepare for. The money needed for her well-being I wasn’t expecting, nor accounted for, and Gabe was dead.”

  “But there were other things you could have done besides bounty hunting.”

  “Of course there were. I could have been a college professor, switched to magazine journalism, public relations, something prettier.” I looked around the deck. It seemed like everyone was hanging onto our every word, so I lowered my voice. “I wanted something different. I wanted to sink myself into something that would allow me to live on my own terms while doing it. I didn’t want a babysitter. I wanted independence.”

  “Which is ironic since you send people back to jail,” Justus reminded me.

  “Let me just preface this by saying I’m not a fan of our criminal justice system. We bond criminals out, then pay me to put them back in. It’s an oxymoron.”

  He nodded. “Appears that way.”

  “But you know what I’ve learned? Everything was one big oxymoron. Take my job at The Sentinel, for instance. As long as I didn’t investigate and uncover dirty things about them or their key advertiser, they lauded me. But when I did my job—even if that meant turning the tables on them—I had to resign.”

  “They made you leave?” he asked.

  “No, I left on my own. My conscience wouldn’t let me stay there.” I smiled, yet felt sad. “I once loved my job. I once thought I was my job, like you think you are.”

  “It’s not the same.” He shook his head.

  “Yes, it is. You’re a minister 24-7. Every decision you make is based on your duty to the church. I did the same thing. Truth and sharing that truth ran through my veins, just like you.”