Chapter 20

They went from awkward to mind-blowing to awkward again. Camille and Marc rode in silence and neither broached the subject. She sat on the passenger's side watching the cars pass by, letting the music keep her company.

“Should I apologize for moving too fast?” Marc asked.

Camille turned to appreciate his profile. She knew it would be tacky to say, you rocked my world or you complete me or even what the hell were you waiting for? She laughed at her runaway thoughts. He misunderstood her laughter because his facial expression turned hard.

“No, why should you apologize? You asked and I answered. We're grown and I enjoyed it.” She reached for his hand, which rested on the gearshift. He lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I think it was kind of liberating,” she rambled. “I am not looking for anything permanent and neither are you. We can enjoy each other and when it's done, we'll part friends.”

Marc's stoned expression returned. Camille stopped and focused on the landscape.

“Friends?”

“Yes, friends.” She turned, resting her back on the car door. She gave in to her physical need when she said yes, and she didn't regret it. She would not confuse lust with love, she'd been there, done that. She would call it like she saw it, enjoy their time and move on.

He rode the remainder of the trip in silence. She wanted to talk, but she decided to hold on to their Dallas moment.

Marc made the trip in record time, parked outside her door and turned off the engine. Neither moved. She grabbed her handbag and prepared to get out the car. Camille opened the door, but Marc leaned across her lap and pulled the car door shut. She sat in shock with her mouth hanging open.

“So, let me get this straight. You just planned to have a little fun in Dallas. Nothing more?”

 “Marc, you asked and I said yes. We did not discuss anything other than...” She felt the blood rush to her face, and he groaned. With a raised eyebrow, she could see his eyes flashing with need. Camille felt a level of satisfaction knowing that she was responsible for putting it there, but once was all she could do. She knew if they continued, she would not be able to separate sex from something more meaningful.

“Other than what, sex?” His voice began to sound calmer. Maybe she was getting through to him.

“Yes...sex.” There, she said it.

“Okay. I got it.”

She nodded and was happy with getting that uncomfortable conversation over with. She reached for the door handle, got out and walked to the trunk to get her bag.

“Let me get it for you.”

“No, thanks, I got it. Head on home and I'll call you later tonight once I rest up and review the locket.”

He nodded and watched her walk to her door. She waved him off after inserting her key in the door. She heard the engine roar to life and he drove away.

They had picked up the locket from Manuel and headed back to Houston. She was excited about reviewing the information and only hoped it revealed what she needed to solve her case.

Camille opened the door and immediately felt her heart drop. Her bag hit the floor. She couldn't decide what to do first. She closed the front door dashing to her file closet.

The closet appeared intact. Camille moved to her bedroom, stepping over tossed pillows and empty drawers. Walking into her bedroom, she felt her anger rise as she witnessed her personal belongings thrown about. Her undergarments and clothes were strewn across the room. Tears blurred her vision. Who did this?

Camille walked back to her bags, got her purse and found her cell phone. She called Derek and left a message. She had to call the local authorities and then she took a deep breath before calling Marc.

After one ring, his voice carried through the line triggering her tear ducts. “Someone broke into my place.” She couldn't stop crying.

“Don't move, I'm turning around.” He disconnected the line.

She stood in the middle of the floor, trying to consider her next step. Her living room was a mess, but she couldn't touch anything until the Houston Police Department arrived. She began walking around, trying to take inventory, but she couldn't tell if anything was missing. Walking past the sofa, she noticed a file on the coffee table. She stopped and leaned over the file, reading the tab. It was Ashanta's. Camille knew she didn't leave the file out since she had straightened up her house before they left.

Camille heard a knock on the door and jumped up, stumbling over her things. She used the peephole and saw Marc. Snatching the door open, she fell into his arms. He held her and rocked softly. He gently pulled back her face and placed a tender kiss on her lips.

Marc grabbed her hand and walked in, scanning the living room. He remained silent as he walked through the house with her a few steps behind.

“Did you call the police?”

“Yes.”

“And, Derek?”

“Yes.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front door.

“Let's sit on the porch and wait. I can't stand here without feeling the need to strangle someone.”

She nodded.

Over the next hour, the police came and went. On the tail end of the madness, Camille heard a light knock on the door and Derek walked in. She tried to compose herself and her feelings. She didn't need Derek's yapping about her safety and reassigning the case, but she knew it was coming.

She showed him in and he sat on the couch. They had straightened the house. It irritated her that she couldn't tell whether anything was missing from her files. She knew it had something to do with the case and someone else having access to the file could damage her recent progress.

She told Marc about the file, but toyed with not telling Derek, it would only provide ammunition from removing her from the case. She knew the case could be compromised, but it was not her fault. She walked to the kitchen, leaving Derek on the couch. Marc followed behind and pulled her in his arms. She needed his support.

“I'm here.”

She nodded and they went back to face Derek together.

“Camille, your case is compromised. I am going to defer to your judgment, but let the record show, I don't like this. I believe you should cut your losses.”

“Derek, I know I can do this. I have more evidence as a result of my trip to Dallas.” She went on to fill him in and noticed his change in attitude. She reasoned that it had to do with the growing need to close the case. Reviewing the data on the locket was imminent.

“I've also made a few calls. I expect to hear something back within the next day or so,” Marc volunteered.

Derek left less than an hour later, giving her a week to close the case. She would have agreed to walk on water if it meant successfully accomplish that goal.

Camille sat with Marc. It was late and she knew she had to report to IJDC in the morning. She had a renewed interest in her lunch date with Talib.

They finished cleaning her house. When her parents called, she talked with her father and told them about the break in. Her stepmother was hysterical and their anxiety transferred through the phone bringing back tears. She passed the phone to Marc and he talked with her father. He disconnected the line and walked through the house searching for her.

He found her sitting on her bed staring aimlessly. “Hey, babe, pack a bag.”

“Why?”

“I promised your folks that I'd take you with me for the night. They want to ensure your place is safe. You can either stay with me at the hotel or my parents' place, your pick.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said stubbornly.

“I know, but let's appease the folks and my nerves. I can't take another surprise.”

He looked exhausted and she was thankful for him. She decided to go along with the plan for the night. She didn't want to admit it, but she too wanted to get out of her place. Camille chose to visit with his parents because she knew staying at his place was not a good idea.

“Okay, I'll get my things ready.”

“I'll go and call my folks back.” He pulled her to her feet and gave her a warm, reassuring peck on the lips.

“Mmmm...thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He gave her bottom a soft pat. “Now chop chop.”

* * *

Where am I?

The room was unfamiliar with its off-white walls and it smelled like bleach and old folks. Ashanta wrinkled her nose and lifted her hand to cover her nose when she noticed several cables. She had an IV attached to her arm and there was a cable running to a machine that periodically beeped. She padded across her body to feel for its location, and found a device taped to her chest. She lifted the ugly white gown with blue flowers to see several round pieces of medical tape.

“What the...” Her dry throat made it hard to speak. She noticed a brown pitcher on the table next to the bed and a plastic cup of water within reach. She grabbed it, taking slow drinks of the room temperature water.  Ahhh, that’s better.

She continued to drink as she noticed a small TV mounted on the wall and a tan bedspread across her body. She grabbed the remote laying next to the water pitcher and pressed the button with a picture of a nurse.

“Ms. Kamwi, stay still. The doctor and nurse are coming to see you.”

“Okay,” she said as she drifted back to sleep.

* * *

“Are you sure I won't be imposing?” Camille asked Marc. They sat outside a two-story white house with English columns. Camille thought the manicured lawn was beautiful. There were several clusters of flower-kissed bushes. The cars in the driveway looked freshly washed and the house would have looked vacant if not for the porch light shining.

Marc ignored her question and exited the car. He opened her door with her bag in his hand. She grabbed his extended hand. Camille didn’t want to impose on his parents, but she also didn't want to stay alone. She knew he would have stayed with her at her place. It was just that after sleeping with him, she knew they needed some space. They walked up the walk approaching the door when Camille stopped. She could go to a hotel, she thought.

“What?” Marc asked exasperated.

“I could stay at a…”

The door opened and a female version of Marc waited for them. It's too late now, she thought. The older woman was beautiful with a short feathery haircut. It was silver, and in the light looked almost white. Very chic. A soft smile braced her face as they approached.

“Hey, Ma,” Marc said behind her.

“Hey, baby.” He leaned across her, holding his mother and placing a noisy set of kisses on her cheek as she giggled. “Stop it, boy.” She swatted at him in fun as her eyes danced with humor.

“Ma, this is Camille.” She could hear the love laced in his tone. His mother focused her gaze on Camille, and gave her the once-over.

“Hello, Mrs. Fulton. Thank you so much for opening your home to me.”

“You’re welcome, baby. Come on in, I'm sure you're hungry. I made some baked chicken, mash potatoes, salad, and for dessert, a sweet potato pie. Do you like sweet potatoes?”

She talked at a rapid speed. Camille merely nodded as Marc laughed at his mother.

“You'll get use to it,” he whispered in her ear.

They followed her into the house as she barked orders to Marc. He took her bag to the guest room and Camille was instructed to go sit in the family room to wait for his mother’s return. The room was large with family portraits lining the walls, arranged in a pattern somewhat like wallpaper. A flat screen television that was mounted on the wall, was tuned to ESPN. Camille saw a picture of young Marc. She moved closer to the picture and realized he had the same dreamy eyes.

“You must be Camille.”

She turned to see a six-foot tall man, obviously Marc's father. Mrs. Fulton walked in with her plate, stopping to give her husband a kiss. They made a striking pair. She noticed the way he cupped her hips, pulling her back for another quick kiss. She giggled, saying something about letting her feed the chile'.

He laughed.

“Camille, don't feel obligated to eat. She's always trying to fatten someone up.” She could see the humor in Mr. Fulton’s eyes. Camille laughed. She would eat the food because she could smell the seasoned chicken and it made her mouth water.

“Pops, when did you get in?” Marc entered the family room and motioned for Camille to sit on the couch. She sat down and Mrs. Fulton placed her plate on the coffee table.

“We have sweet tea, water, juice. What would you like, baby?” Camille looked at her and decided tea would be great.

“Sweet tea, thank you, Mrs. Fulton.”

“Ma or Mom, baby, Mrs. Fulton makes me feel like my momma.” She left with a smile on her face.

Camille wiggled, getting comfortable on the couch. Marc sat beside her, draping his arm behind her as if they'd been doing it for a lifetime. He talked with his father while playing with her hair.

She lifted her fork and tasted a mouth full of Mrs. Fulton's mashed potatoes. Camille could not stop the mmm that escaped due to her appreciation of good food. Marc stopped mid-sentence and their eyes met. She saw the same intent gaze that he had before carrying her off to bed and making love to her. She lifted her shoulder as if it was explanation enough. His mom sure put her foot in this food, she thought. She didn't realize how hungry she really was. After such a long night, all she wanted to do was eat and go to sleep.

“I know, baby, Mama can cook,” Marc told her listening to her escaped sounds of satisfaction. He leaned closer and talked low so only she could hear. “But can you reserve that sound for me?” He winked, and the sparkle in his eyes made blood rush to her face. He laughed. Camille could get use to having him around and she loved the way he made her feel.

“Son, let the woman eat.”