“Six o’clock,” she said, walking away from him and fanning her face with a way-too-big smile.
She opened the door and closed it still laughing. He couldn’t kill the half-smile that was permanently etched on his face.
As he waited for the elevator he had only one question— what the hell had Lowell Johnson gotten him into?
CHAPTER 3
BROOKLYN, NY, CROWN HEIGHTS
ZACH WAITED ON the huge St. Marks Avenue brownstone steps juggling supermarket bags along with his suit bag and waiting for his three godsons to open the front door. He had questions for his buddy Lowell and a short two-hour window to shower at Lowell’s apartment, shave, change into the fresh suit he was gonna wear, before he had to be back on his post at Anita Brown’s apartment by nineteen hundred hours. Now Lowell was sick and possibly couldn’t do the security detail? That cell phone call while he was driving almost made him veer off the road.
This wasn’t like Lowell and this whole thing was spinning off course, he could feel it. The first problem was the tux thing. Now he’d have to get there fifteen minutes early to change into what ever Anita Brown’s stylist had found, which had never been a part of the program— he was just a driver.
Truthfully he’d planned on staying in Manhattan, grabbing something to eat there, and just looping back to pick Anita up. What was this tux thing? Now he was an escort? Although he had to admit that wasn’t a completely bad thing, he didn’t like sudden itinerary changes. And if he was going to add security to his list, then he really needed to sit with Lowell, see the layout of the exits at the Apollo, figure out how to maneuver Anita through the crowd, then there’d be paparazzi to contend with. This was not a simple thing, especially if she was being stalked.
He was just glad he’d had the foresight to bring enough clothes with him and stuff for the kids that he was able to stash in the limo before he’d left for AC to go get Anita, which saved yet another stop to go pick up his gear at some hotel somewhere.
But there was no getting around the fact that he didn’t like how this woman had totally jacked him up— he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop picturing her walking through her apartment in the buff . . . which was like something out of a magazine. Yeah, stop thinking about her body and think about the apartment. That would keep wood at bay.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides, a breath-taking view of the park like he’d never seen. Insane art, flowers all over the place. The joint was spotless, seemed like a hotel, like no one ever really lived there. Baby grand piano, pieces of furniture that looked like one-of-a-kind pieces— this was how she lived? What man could compete with that? It was sobering and definitely a wood killer.
But the sound of children dragged him away from his careening thoughts. He laughed as he heard the commotion of three sets of impatient little feet running down three flights of stairs to greet him.
Sure, Anne Marie had buzzed him in, but there was a ritual to be observed; the kids wanted to jump him and hang all over his body like extra appendages as he trudged up to their apartment. The ten-year-old would be on his back, the five-and seven-year-olds clinging to his already overburdened arms, with their mother standing at the top of the stairs yelling for them to get off their uncle while he made wrestling growls— much to the children’s delight.
Junior, LaVon, and Terrence were a handful. He didn’t know how his buddy, Lowell, and his wife, Anne Marie, handled it all. They made raising a family look so easy— but to his mind, being in Delta Force was a much less scarier prospect. Being there
for kids to provide for their every emotional, physical, and even spiritual need . . . making sure they grew up right in a crazy world, making sure that no one hurt them in the thug-infested streets; that was the war that his buddy and his wife fought every day. And they fought it admirably. It was a helluva challenge, one that took discipline, courage, steadfastness, and honor . . . and earned his ultimate respect.
Bringing some groceries to a friend’s house when he had the flu was the least he could do. He’d already gotten the toys before he’d even thought about getting on a plane yesterday, but he would have come sooner, flown in a few days earlier, if he’d known that Lowell was seriously sick.
Zach stared at the door, the sounds of children flowing into the background of his mind. Lowell had to know he couldn’t cover even his basic clients. There was something in Anne Marie’s voice the day before— she never called him out of the blue the way she did without Lowell being on the other line. That’s what had prompted him to come for a visit, to just follow his gut and get a flight that same day. His plane had landed that same evening, but it was too late to stop by— then this morning his cell phone rang. The only thing that his buddy had said was that all his men were busy with other jobs, he was a little under the weather and was going to try to cover this important client, but then asked if it would be possible for him to get to New York by tomorrow. Zach shook his head. He was already there and Lowell had given him the job. That’s how he knew how bad things really had to be.
It wasn’t until he was back in the limo that the second call had come in from Lowell, who didn’t sound good at all. Lowell hadn’t told him that he’d need him to be more than a driver until late this afternoon— then again, that was just like Lowell to tough it out till he was at the point of no return.
Three small brown faces with wild, woolly hair filled the glass panels of the massive brownstone doors. They reminded him so much of himself and his older brothers that it felt like he was looking into a twenty-year-old Coney Island fun house mirror of the past, rather than the heavy leaded-beveled glass doors of the present.
“Uncle Zach!” the eldest of the boys cried out through the glass, managing the locks and then flinging open the heavy door.
Two smaller versions of Junior dashed out and barreled right into Zach’s midsection, and he rewarded them with a grunt as though they’d knocked the wind out of him.
“Whatcha got?” Junior said expectantly, trying to glimpse in the bags as Zach elbowed his younger brothers off him, making them giggle as they play fought.
“Groceries for your mom,” Zach said laughing. “That’s all. And my suit bag— hey, watch the threads!”
“Aw . . . maaaan.”
“Here,” Zach said, thrusting a plastic grocery bag at Junior and then roughhousing him a little. “You carry the bag; I’ll carry you— c’mon up, but don’t damage the suit.”
He gave the two smaller boys a bag each as he stooped down to allow Junior to scramble up his back and then laughed as their faces grew long.
“Oh, you think I can’t handle you two small fries with the bags, huh? Here, one of y’all hold my bag carefully and I’ll show you what time it is.”
His smile widened as their faces lit up.
“I told you Uncle Zach was stronger than The Rock!” Terrence exclaimed.
“I bet he’s stronger than—”