Ain't Your Bitch (Interracial Urban Erotica)(166)

"So. Between jobs, huh?"

"For now," she said, mildly. "They come and go. I could have a contract tomorrow, or I could be another few weeks."

"For real?"

"Sure," she said.

"How do you manage to pay for it?"

"My mom left me a little money." It was a lie. After Dad left, she'd  been a wreck. Barely able to keep herself together. Jamelia wondered how  bad Dad had taken it, but then she decided that she didn't need to  worry about that. He probably took it as badly as he took everything. It  would make a great excuse to drink, but not a great excuse to change  anything about himself.

"We should all be so lucky."

"It is what it is."

"I hear that," Craig said, another tug of a smile at the corners of his  lips. "But hey. We all do what we have to in this life, right?"

"Exactly."

Craig didn't know how true that was for her. She would do whatever she  had to do, and if that meant spending time with this bastard until he  slipped up and gave himself away, she'd wait all year if she had to.

He took a french fry between his fingers and moved over to her side of  the booth, wrapped his free hand around her shoulder and pulled her in.

"I think something happened to your sister. You heard from her?"

"No," she said. "Not in years."

"See, that's a shame, darlin'. Family's family."

"I know."

"I watch out for my family, and they watch out for me. We fight, sure.  Who doesn't? But we at least got that much figured out. We're  responsible for each other. Nobody gets off, and nobody walks away."

"What's that supposed to mean? Like-you have brothers?"

"Brothers and brothers. I was the youngest, and my brothers looked out for me. Now I'm older, I look out for them."

"I don't know what that's like. My sister and I split up a long time ago."

"That's how it is, sometimes. But I'm telling you, it's not good. You need to reforge those bonds."

"Well, if I get any word on her … " Jamelia forced herself to swallow the  anger that was threatening to spill out. "Then I'll do just that. You're  right. It's too precious to waste time on petty little fights."

"See what I mean?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

He smiled and stood up. Pulled another fry and put it between his lips.  Like a cigarette or something. Then he went over to an old jukebox, old  enough to still be using C.D.s, and thumbed a couple quarters in. A  minute later it started playing something and he slid back into the  booth opposite her.

"Of course, sometimes you have to take a hard line with them, too, you know?"

"What?"

"With family. I heard a little about your parents' situation. A year,  it's a long time, you get to talking, and that sort of thing comes up.  Bad stuff."

"Well, sometimes you have to deal with bad stuff."

"Oh, no, I ain't doubting that. But what I am saying is, I know your dad  didn't do your mom right. As much as I care about family, as much as  I'd do anything to keep my brothers safe-" he sucked in a breath through  his nose and let it out like a bull about to charge. "-Someone did my  momma like that, and they wouldn't be in no position to do it to nobody  else. Not ever again."





Twenty



It wasn't the first time that she'd thought it. It wasn't going to be  the last time. Dad would have deserved it, if either of his daughters  had decided to take that route. But hearing someone else dropping a  not-so-veiled threat had been jarring, to say the very least.

Jamelia forced herself to focus again for a moment. On the bike, with  him driving, riding was easy. Painless. She could forget about the whole  world, just let him control her weight and let him take her wherever  she was going. But that wasn't the life she wanted, and it wasn't the  life she was going to have for herself.

The minute he slipped up enough for the cops to get involved, she would  get them involved, and she'd be free and clear. He pulled up in front of  her building. To her surprise, he didn't get off or park. He just let  her off at the door. Not that she minded.

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket as she slid off the side. If she  didn't miss her guess, that would be Roy. She had an hour to get back to  him, or the game was over.

The question, now, was whether or not to tell him what had just  happened. He deserved to know. But there was the risk that he would be  over-cautious. He could decide that they were putting her at too much  risk, and with the clear connection now between Craig and the previous  killers, they had what they needed to make a move.

She couldn't allow that. The picture wasn't complete. If they moved in  now, then she would have wasted her time and all for a whole hell of a  lot of nothing. That wasn't acceptable. Not remotely. Jamelia's keys  came out of her pocket easily as she hit her floor. There wasn't any  sign of a break-in. That, at least, she was thankful for. She fit the  key into the lock and turned it.

The door was finicky. It didn't like to come unlocked; there was a  little hitch in the motion that she'd learned to deal with over the  years. It came open easily enough, though. She flicked the light on.  Same as she'd left it. Jamelia didn't know why she had expected any  different, but now that she was there and everything was okay, she let  out a sigh of relief.

The laptop was still closed on her desk. The place looked exactly the  way she'd expected it to. Her wallet, still sitting out on the counter.  Still closed.

Something about the way that he'd come on such short notice, the way  that Craig had told her to leave everything. It had driven her to think  that someone was going to come around after. If someone had, then they  had done a very good job hiding it. Then again, she was just being  paranoid. Craig was a thug, and he was perfectly capable of getting  inside. He'd already proven that.

The only reason that a guy like that demonstrates anything, though, is  so he doesn't have to use it. She knew that. If he was showing off that  he could get in, it was so that she wouldn't try to hide anything.  Because it wouldn't work.

And besides that, as much as she suspected that he would belong to a  gang-suspected even further that whatever she'd just seen was  gang-related payment-that didn't mean he had the clout with them to send  some kind of fixer by her apartment.

Unless he suspected something was up, there was no reason to send anyone  in the first place. The whole idea made no sense, none of it did.  Jamelia dropped her jacket over the back of a wooden chair and then  pulled her phone out of her pocket. Roy's number showed a message. She  read it.

Just checking in.

She said that she was alright, she was at home.

The question of whether or not to tell him was still bothering her. She  had to have a free hand. That was the whole purpose of doing it this  way. Of not doing it alongside the police force, of not telling her damn  Captain the whole plan from the beginning.

If she reported every little thing to Roy, then it was only a matter of  time before he decided that she was taking too many risks, that she was  putting herself in 'too much' danger.

There was no such thing as too much danger, though. She knew that  instinctively. Her sister had put herself in too much danger, and she  was dead. Craig was a shock in a lot of ways. She didn't know how to  feel about his sexual appetites. Didn't know how to feel about the way  that he treated her like his little rag doll. Like his property.

But she knew he was right about one thing. It was her job, as the  sister, to protect Becca. She'd failed that job utterly, which meant  that there was only one alternative.

Now that it was done, she had to see it finished.

Jamelia clicked her phone off and slipped it back into her pocket. She  had a long time to think. That much was good, at least. She needed the  time.

The questions were piling up again, and she wasn't finding the answers  she needed fast enough. It was only a matter of time before one of them  slipped. Either Craig slipped up and let on that he knew what happened  to Becca, or she slipped up and let him know that she was on to him.

Once that happened no more nice guy. No more friendly visits. It would be open season on her ass.

Who was the guy he'd made that hand-off to? Who was he really?

She had to assume that the names from the online profiles were all fake.  Craig's too, she knew, but that didn't change that she had nothing else  she could call him.

There was at least one other, unless she was wildly underestimating them.

Given how similar the broad-faced man had looked, though, she wasn't keen on believing that just yet.

Which meant that one more, minimum. There might have been two more,  maybe three. Maybe there were others that they hadn't made the  connection to, yet.

Jamelia took a breath.

What was the significance of the pattern? If it was one person, then  they could profile that guy. Maybe it was worth something, maybe it  wasn't. Roy didn't put much stock in it, and they didn't have any cause  for profilers in the L.A.P.D.

But if they were a group, and all of them did it the same way, then  there was something else to it. Someone, maybe the first killer, maybe  someone else entirely, had told the others that this was going to be how  it was.