Chapter Two

He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered him. Grayer than she'd expected, but that didn't take away from his gorgeous amber eyes, smooth brown skin, and impressive build. She rushed over to him and squinted at his badge, pretending she was trying to remember who he was, although she didn't need to. "I don't believe it. Drake Henson?"

He sent her a wary look. "Yes."

She remembered that most about him. He was cautious with strangers. "You haven't changed a bit," she continued wishing she could get her racing heart under control. "You still look like you'd rather be somewhere else."

"Bad habit of mine."

"What's your name?" a female voice asked.

Greta paused. She hadn't noticed the woman standing beside Drake, although she should have. She was an attractive, full figured woman, with a kind smile. Greta tugged on her badge a little sheepish for being so single focused. She should have guessed he would have brought someone, she just assumed since he'd been a loner in high school that hadn't changed. "They misspelled my name. I'm Greta Rodgers. It's all right if you don't remember me."

"I remember you," Drake said in a warm voice that washed over her like a fresh spring breeze. He still had the voice she remembered so well, and it still made her skin tingle. "Physics whiz who played the clarinet."

He really remembered her? "Yep, that was me. I'm a physicist now. If the rumors are true, you're a successful restaurateur. Not too bad for our class." Of course she hadn't heard any rumors, she’d looked him up online.

"I didn't do it alone. Cassie's been my rock."

Her heart fell. "Cassie?"

Drake affectionately touched the woman beside him. "Yes, my wife. She helps me with the recipes, design, and a number of other projects and she also has her own job as a speaker. If you’re still single, and need a little confidence booster, you should think about attending one of Cassie’s seminars. They’re amazing. That's how we first met. Actually--" He stopped when his wife nudged him.

"Nice to meet you," Greta said, fighting to keep her voice light, although she felt like falling through the floor.

Cassie smiled with sympathy. "Likewise."

Cassie's sympathy made her feel worse. She didn't want to be pitied. Greta forced a grin. "Figures you'd be married. I'd hoped with all the divorces you'd be one of them." Greta felt heat steal into her cheeks, she didn't mean to sound that brazen. She needed to escape. "It was nice to see you again."

Drake frowned. "You don't have to leave. I could get you two ladies a drink and--"

"No, thanks," Greta said quickly. "I'd better go see who else I can recognize." She quickly turned and made her way over to the punch bowl, wishing it was a large brandy or whisky. Couldn't they even afford any liquor?

He was married. Not just married. Happily married. Greta felt like someone had ripped her heart out and squeezed the life out of it. What was worse was seeing the sympathy and compassion in his wife's eyes. Greta knew his wife could see that she still had feelings for Drake. How pathetic, to carry a crush for so long. Why couldn't he have been less attractive, or at least, less kind? He'd remembered her. It would have been easier if he hadn't. Greta watched Drake seek out Brenda Timmons, she had been their Prom Queen. No surprise. Men always did. No one sought her out. That was how it always had been and likely always would be. Why had she let her grandmother--a romantic--convince her that life could be otherwise?

Greta left the cafeteria and hid in the bathroom, where she'd been for the past ten minutes. She'd been such a fool to come. There was no one there remotely interested in her. A man from her past? What garbage. She'd set herself up. She was usually more practical. Harboring a crush for this long was juvenile. Drake could still make her knees weak and he was still blind to her feelings. She was pathetic. Greta knew she couldn't hide in the bathroom forever. She was about to open the door to the stall when she heard the bathroom door open.

"I know. She looked pathetic," a woman said. "Oh, and did you see Greta?"

Greta took a step forward to listen.

"Who could miss her in that retro dress?" her companion replied.

"She probably dragged it kicking and screaming from the 80's." They laughed uproariously.

"Heard she's a scientist or something."

"She'd have to have brains looking like that."

"And her tongue's still dragging on the floor for Drake."

They saw it too?!

"I know. You'd think she'd know better. He's way out of her league."

"Can't blame her, lots of girls had crushes."

"My god, did you see his wife?"

The other woman laughed. "A real porker."

"At least she's pretty and I hear he owns a restaurant or something. He'd need a woman who likes to eat."

"That’s probably the only way he can feed her."

Both women laughed.

Greta gripped her hands. It was high school all over again. No, it was worse. In high school, at least she had her dreams to sustain her. Now, she would soon reach forty without having achieved half of the things she had thought she would. Like winning a Nobel Peace Prize or curing a major disease. Instead, she'd spent most of her life supporting her mother, sister and niece. They were right, she wasn't a great dresser, but who cares? She didn't mind them making fun of her, she was used to it, but making fun of Drake's wife, Cassie, bothered her.

Greta walked out of the stall and the two women abruptly stopped laughing. She tried not to stare. She recognized them. The only reason she knew their names was because they had been the popular kids, and also among her tormentors. Chantal Gilmore, a former member of the dance team was a gaunt looking woman, wearing long false eye lashes, pink lipstick and a blonde wig or weave, Greta couldn't tell which. Her companion, Lanesha Charles, was on the chubby side. She was wearing a pair of enormous gold earrings and sported three party rings on each hand, and evidently thought that wearing a tight, black, lycra dress would make her appear slimmer. Unfortunately, the dress only emphasized her rolls. Greta knew they felt sorry for her, but she felt sorry for them. They were still stuck in the role of looking down on others in order to feel important. As she had done in the past Greta decided to ignore their remarks and be as pleasant as possible.

"Hi Lanesha," Greta said in a bright voice. "How many kids do you have?" she asked, knowing it was a safe topic of conversation.

"Three. You?"

"None, no surprise there, right?" She turned to Chantal. "Did you ever get into modeling?"

"I'm in retail now."

Greta held back a grin, briefly imagining Chantal working at a discount store folding shirts. "Great," Greta said with faint praise. "Well, bye." She dried her hands then left. She heard the two women burst into laughter.

It was best to just leave. There was no reason to stay. Greta grabbed her coat, walked out to the parking lot and got in her car and drove several blocks feeling her pent up energy begin to ebb. She had escaped. It was over and she'd never go back. She was turning down a street when she saw a tall man standing looking at his car's flat tire. He was in a bad place for a flat and he definitely had the wrong car--a shiny gold BMW. In that neighborhood it was like leaving fresh meat in front of a pack of wolves. He'd probably gotten lost, or tried to find a short cut to another part of the city. Hopefully he had a spare.

Greta pulled her car to the side and parked. It wasn't safe for him to be by himself until he got his car back in order. She crossed the street and walked over to him. He appeared bigger the closer she got to him. He may be lost, but a thief would be taking a risk to attack him.

"I'll find a pair of eyes for you while you change the tire," she said.

The man spun around. "A pair of eyes?"

Greta paused. He was younger than she'd expected, probably late thirties to early forties although the darkness didn't let her get a good look at him. "Yes, you need a pair, and fast, or you won't last a minute out here."

"I'll last," he said in a grim tone.

"That's some hot property. Did you get lost or something?"

"Or. Something."

Clearly he wasn't in the mood to be sociable, but that didn't bother her. Greta was used to surly male behavior. "Just give me a minute."

The man went to his trunk. "You could look out for me."

She laughed. "I don't have that kind of power." She glanced around then saw a male figure across the street. He had a body like a slinky--wiry and flexible--with a bouncy walk, as if he was always ready to run. High Flyer. She knew him. She was in luck. "Don't move. I'll be right back." Greta darted across the street.

Rita had made her very aware of the different dealers in the city. High Flyer was a man she'd become acquainted with, through a friend of her mother's. He'd gotten his nickname because he was a drug dealer to the upper crust of DC society. He never had to go to them, they came to him. She knew that many of his associates lived in the area, although few knew where he lived. He had a code, which she respected, and which made him a man with a lot of reach and connections. She walked up to him. "I need a favor."

High Flyer stared at her surprised then shook his head. "Sweetness, you know I don't work this side. I don’t need no trouble."

"I know, but--"

"However, lead the way, Sweetness, I'll make an exception. How high you wanna fly?"

"I don't want that."

"What’s up then?"

"I need eyes on a car. I'll make it worth your while."

"What kind of wheels we talking ‘bout?"

Greta nodded to the BMW.

High Flyer gave a low whistle. "That’s gonna cost you."

"I know." Greta handed him a fifty dollar bill.

"That gets you ten." He pulled out his cell phone and started to dial.

"Ten?"

"It shouldn't take more than ten minutes," he said, looking at the well dressed man lift a spare tire and jack out of the trunk of his car.

"But--"

He turned away and spoke into his phone. "Yea, I got a watch job. Yea, you see it too? I know. But don’t touch and make sure no one else does. Good." He put his cell phone away then turned to Greta. "Done."

"Thanks."

"I've got some info for you. It's ’bout Rita."

Greta felt her gut clench, but kept her voice calm. "What about her?"

"The guy she's seeing is bad news."

"They always are."

"I mean this one’s real bad news. She needs to cut him loose. I'm not one to tell people what to do, but that's how I see it. He's connected to a lot of crap, and he’s in deep. And I'm not talking shovel deep, Sweetness. I'm talking forklift."

Greta nodded, taking his information to heart. A warning, coming from a drug dealer who also had a prostitution ring on the side, meant a lot. "Thanks."

"No problem." He left.

Greta returned to the man who was already changing his tire. "You better work fast."

"Trust me, I'm going as fast as I can." He removed the flat tire and replaced it with the spare.

He moved with a confidence that reminded her of someone, but Greta couldn't imagine who. She shook her head. She was just trying to place everybody because of the reunion, he was a stranger and it was best to leave him alone.

"So where are you headed?" she asked, just in case he needed directions.

"Home."

"If you have a map I can--"

"I can find my way home."

Yes, he clearly wanted to be left alone and she would oblige him. Greta turned.

"Thanks," he grumbled.

"You're welcome." She walked back to her car and was about to pull out her keys when she felt something hard strike the back of her head. She stumbled forward then spun around and whacked her assailant with her purse, stunning him. But when she looked at his eyes she realized she'd made an error. His pupils were dilated. He was high on something and now he was both enraged and fearless. Unlike a regular thief, she knew he wouldn't disappear into the darkness for another prey. He would stay and fight and she was no match for him.

The man grabbed for her throat and she clawed at his hands. Greta thought about her grandmother having to bury her and got the strength to fight back, but she started to see dots as oxygen left her. Then she was slammed to the ground--his hands no longer around her neck. She glanced over to the side and saw two blurry figures fighting on the ground. She scrambled and grabbed for her glasses, which had been knocked off her face. For a moment she couldn't decipher the two figures as they rolled in the darkness. But in an instant, she saw one of them gain dominance. She noticed the cut of his jacket, and knew he was the owner of the BMW. But this was no ordinary businessman. He had the moves of a street fighter-- a raw lethal energy--and the mugger was no match. But even with her glasses on the two figures suddenly became blurry and the world began to spin.

"Sweetness, you gotta get up."

"High Flyer?" she said, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.

"Come on you gotta stay awake."

Greta tried but she couldn't get her mouth to move anymore, then darkness descended.