âMs. Cain?â
âHello,â I said, sitting up straight when I heard the voice on the other end of my line. It was Tassie Johnsonâs lawyer. My heart filled with hope after the message Iâd left for him. I finally had a way to come up with the cash necessary to buy out Tassieâs estranged husbandâs share of my condo, and hoped that her lawyer was calling to tell me that we had a deal.
I give Tassie Johnson a nice sum of cash. She leaves me the heck alone forever.
âIâve spoken with my client,â Bradley Harris said.
I crossed my fingers. This was it. The moment Iâd been waiting for. My headache with Tassie was about to be over.
âHowever, Tassie asked me to tell you that she is rejecting your offer.â
âWhat?â For a few seconds, I couldnât even think. Couldnât understand. Then I saw red. âHow can she reject my offer? Those were her terms. If I bought her out, I could keep the condo.â
âYes, but sheâs had a change of heart. She feels, having had time to fully consider the matter, that she would like to relocate to South Beach.â
âAnd my apartment,â I remarked sourly. That evil, evilâ
âYour shared property.â
Shared property, my ass. âSo in other words,â I began, anger brewing inside me like hot water in a kettle, âTassie Johnsonâs only interest is in screwing me over. Do me a favorâtell her to stick it where the sun donât shine. Ohâand tell her I want my hat back.â
And then I hung up.
If Tassie Johnson wanted a fight, it was on.
It was while I was gazing at the engagement ring Lewis had given me that I thought of something. Rather, made sense of something.
The day Alaina and I had gone to Atlanta, weâd seen Tassie near Eliâs casket in the funeral home. I remembered that Iâd seen a man beside her, offering comfortâan attractive man.
Tassie had tried to smear me in the media, making me out to be a manipulative slut while sheâd been the doting wife, but it was unlikely that she had been sitting around waiting for Eliâs return for seven years. She was an extremely attractive woman, one who could have her pick of men.
She could have cheated on Eli for all I knew. What if she had some skeletons in her closet that she didnât want exposed?
There was one way to find out.
I searched for the Miami Herald reporterâs card and dialed her number.
âCynthia? This is Vanessa Cain,â I said without preamble when she picked up.
âHello, Vanessa.â
âYou said that youâd help me out if I ever needed anything. Well, I need something.â
When I replaced the receiver five minutes later, I was smiling.
If anyone could help me bring Tassie Johnson down, it was Cynthia.
It was high time I played dirty.
Ten days later
I was locking the door to my condo when I sensed them. Sensed them and knew they meant trouble.
Securing my keys in the palm of my hand, I immediately reached down and scooped up my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Rayna, who was standing to my left. It was an instinctive, protective gestureâbecause I knew this was going to be bad.
Then, fearing the worst, I slowly turned.
My stomach lurched. Standing behind me were two very large men. One African-American, one Caucasian. Both looking like they abused steroids and had just escaped from prison.
âVanessa Cain?â the white man asked, his voice raspy. Harsh.
I swallowed. Stalled for time.
âYou are Vanessa Cain, right?â the man continued. Tattoos covered both of his forearms, which didnât exactly give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about him.
Nerves had me shifting my weight from one foot to the other. âWho wants to know?â
âWeâre here to help you vacate Tassie Johnsonâs condo,â the black man said, his words sounding like a threat.
I chuckled nervously as I met his stern gaze. âExcuse me?â
âItâs time you leave,â he told me. âAnd never come back.â
âThis is my home.â I pressed my face to my daughterâs. âOur home. You wouldnât take a mother and child from their home, would you?â
âIâm sorry, Ms. Cain,â the white man said. âWeâre simply following orders.â
âWhose orders? The courtâsâor Tassieâs?â
âItâs time,â the black man began, âfor you to leave. Tassie will send you your things.â
âOh, isnât that sweet of her?â I retorted sarcastically. âYou want me out of here? You show me a court order. This is America. You canât just kick me out of my own home.â