Chapter 11 No More Running
No More Running
A week passed before Tan saw Amari Davenport again.
Seven days should have been enough time for the memory of one domestic violence call to fade beneath the hundreds of other things that moved through his shift.
Traffic stops.
Noise complaints.
A stolen vehicle.
A convenience-store robbery that turned out to be a misunderstanding between an owner and his nephew.
A missing teenager was found sleeping at her best friend's house.
Two car accidents.
Three reports.
Four arguments between people who all insisted they were the only sane person involved.
Normal police work.
Still, every now and then, Amari crossed Tan's mind.
He remembered the swelling beneath her eye.
The way she had tried to make jokes while her hand throbbed.
The stubbornness with which she'd refused to let Craig turn her into someone afraid of her own house.
And, if Tan was being completely truthful with himself, he remembered how beautiful she had been even in the middle of chaos.
That part bothered him.
Not because he thought noticing her was wrong.
Because she had been a victim on one of his calls.
There were lines.
Tan respected them.
So when Miguel brought her up three nights later, Tan barely looked away from the paperwork in front of him.
"How's your girlfriend?"
Tan's pen stopped.
"What girlfriend?"
Miguel leaned back in the passenger seat.
"The pretty woman from the domestic."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"You knew exactly who I meant."
"Because you said domestic."
Miguel laughed.
"No. Because you've been thinking about her."
Tan went back to writing.
"You need hobbies."
"I have hobbies."
"Annoying me isn't a hobby."
"Depends who you ask."
Tan ignored him.
Miguel continued.
"She was pretty."
Tan didn't respond.
"Really pretty."
Still nothing.
"Thick too."
Tan slowly turned his head.
Miguel grinned.
"There it is."
"Don't talk about her like that."
"Oh."
Miguel put both hands up.
"My apologies, Officer Protective."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
Miguel studied him.
"You liked her."
"I met her while arresting her boyfriend."
"Ex-boyfriend."
"Still."
"You're allowed to find someone attractive."
Tan sighed.
"Drop it."
Miguel did.
Mostly.
Thirty seconds later he added, "Her dimples were nice too."
Tan shook his head.
"I'm requesting a new partner."
At Amari's house, the week had felt much longer.
Craig had been released pending court proceedings after his arrest.
Conditions had been imposed.
He was not supposed to return to Amari's home.
He wasn't supposed to contact her.
He wasn't supposed to threaten or intimidate her.
Amari had changed her locks anyway.
Every one of them.
Front door.
Back door.
Garage entrance.
She installed two cameras.
Bought additional window alarms.
She even purchased a wooden security bar for the sliding patio door despite the fact that her father had told her repeatedly to install one months ago.
Then she blocked Craig's number.
His social media.
His email.
She blocked two of his friends after they attempted to "check on her."
She changed the code to the alarm system.
She packed every piece of clothing he'd left behind and arranged for his cousin to collect it.
For the first few nights, that made her feel powerful.
Free.
Then night came.
And every noise became Craig.
A branch scraping against the house.
Craig.
A car slowing near the curb.
Craig.
Someone walking past outside.
Craig.
A neighbor's dog barking.
Craig.
Amari hated it.
She hated the fear almost as much as she'd hated the abuse.
Before Craig, she had loved her home.
She had purchased it at twenty-five after years of saving, working overtime, and putting nearly every bonus into her down-payment fund.
It wasn't enormous.
She didn't need enormous.
Three bedrooms.
Two bathrooms.
A comfortable kitchen.
A backyard large enough for summer cookouts.
A little home office where she could work remotely when necessary.
She had decorated every room herself.
Soft neutral walls.
Gold accents.
Plants everywhere.
Artwork from Black artists she'd discovered at local festivals.
Family photographs lining the hallway.
It had been the first place in her life that was completely hers.
Then Craig had slowly made it feel like his.
His shoes by the door.
His game system beneath her television.
His clothes filling half her closet.
His temper filling every room.
Now he was gone.
But fear still knew the address.
That Tuesday night, Amari sat alone on her couch with every light downstairs turned on.
Her mother had called twice.
Her best friend, Simone, had offered to stay over.
Amari refused.
She had spent too much time allowing another person to determine whether she felt safe in her own life.
She wanted the house back.
She wanted herself back.
That meant spending the night alone.
At least once.
Her phone rested beside her.
A mug of tea cooled untouched on the coffee table.
The television played some romantic comedy she hadn't followed for the last forty minutes.
Her swollen hand was improving.
The bruises across her face were fading.
The one beneath her eye had turned from purple to yellowish brown.
Every morning, she looked a little more like herself.
She should have felt relieved.
Instead, there were moments she stared at her own reflection and wanted to ask how she'd gotten there.
Not the bathroom.
The relationship.
How had the woman who negotiated multimillion-dollar government contracts allowed herself to be terrified of a man living inside her home?
That question tried to turn into shame.
She refused to let it.
Not anymore.
Her therapist, whom she'd called two days after the assault, had said something Amari couldn't stop thinking about.
Competence doesn't make someone immune to manipulation.
It helped.
Not completely.
But enough.
Her phone vibrated.
Amari froze.
Unknown number.
She stared.
The vibration stopped.
Then started again.
Unknown number.
Her stomach tightened.
She almost ignored it.
Something made her answer.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
Breathing.
Her chest constricted.
Then—
"You really think this is over?"
Craig.
Amari stood.
"Don't call me."
"You got me arrested."
"You got yourself arrested."
He laughed.
The sound chilled her.
"I lost my job because of you."
"Craig—"
"My brother won't talk to me."
"That's not my problem."
"Everybody thinks I'm some woman beater now."
Amari's jaw tightened.
"You are."
Silence.
Then his voice dropped.
"You got real brave since the police came."
Her grip tightened around the phone.
"Don't contact me again."
"I need to get my stuff."
"Your cousin got it."
"Not everything."
"Then have your lawyer contact mine."
Craig laughed again.
"You got a lawyer now?"
"Goodbye."
"Amari."
She stopped.
His voice was different.
Cold.
"Don't make me come over there."
Every hair on her arms rose.
She hung up.
For several seconds, she simply stood there.
Then she blocked the number.
Her heart pounded.
Call the police.
The thought came immediately.
Another followed.
Maybe he's bluffing.
Then another.
He already violated the order by calling.
Another.
Don't overreact.
Then she heard Terrence's son's voice from the week before.
His feelings don't decide whether you get to be safe.
Amari picked up the phone again.
And called.
Tan was finishing a late dinner at his parents' house when his department phone buzzed.
Technically, he wasn't supposed to be there long.
He had stopped by to return one of Terrence's tools.
That had somehow turned into Gloria appearing through the back door carrying smothered chicken.
Then Eva made rice.
Then Harold arrived.
Then Travis called on video from law school.
Then Ella joined remotely from her dorm.
What was supposed to be a five-minute visit became dinner.
The David family had a habit of doing that.
Tan sat at the kitchen table while Travis's face occupied a tablet propped against the salt shaker.
"I'm telling you," Travis said, "probable cause and proof beyond reasonable doubt are completely different standards."
Tan chewed.
"I know that."
"You say that, but every time we talk about one of your arrests—"
"Mama."
Eva looked up.
"Yes?"
"Can you hang up on your oldest child?"
Travis laughed through the tablet.
"You can't handle being challenged."
"I'm eating."
"That's never stopped you from talking before."
Harold pointed his fork toward the tablet.
"Travis, leave your brother alone."
"Thank you, Grandpa."
Harold continued.
"Everybody knows cops hate lawyers."
Tan laughed.
"Exactly."
Travis looked offended.
"I'm not even a lawyer yet."
"Practice hate."
Gloria frowned.
"Nobody is hating anybody at this table."
"Grandma, I'm not actually at the table."
"Don't get smart with me."
Travis immediately shut up.
Tan grinned.
"Still undefeated."
Then his phone vibrated.
He glanced down.
A department message.
Tan's expression changed.
Terrence noticed immediately.
"What?"
Tan read it.
Possible restraining-order violation. Prior DV location. Suspect making threats, possible return to residence.
The address was familiar before he finished reading.
Amari.
Tan stood.
"I gotta go."
Eva looked worried.
"What happened?"
"Call."
"You're off duty."
"I'm still on standby."
Terrence stood too.
"Need anything?"
"No."
Tan reached for his jacket.
"I'll check in."
He headed toward the door.
Terrence followed him into the hallway.
"Tan."
Tan turned.
"Be careful."
"I will."
"And remember—"
"I know."
Terrence smiled faintly.
"Apparently I've trained you too well."
Tan reached for the door.
"You definitely talk enough."
"Get out."
Tan laughed once.
Then he was gone.
Amari was still speaking with the dispatcher when she heard an engine outside.
She rushed toward the front window.
A dark sedan slowed near the house.
Her stomach dropped.
"He's here."
The dispatcher remained calm.
"Ma'am, stay inside. Officers are en route."
"It's his car."
"Do not approach."
Amari locked the deadbolt even though she'd already checked it twice.
The sedan continued forward.
Stopped.
Backed up.
Then parked two houses down.
Amari's breathing changed.
"He's getting out."
"Where are you in the home?"
"Living room."
"Move to an interior room if you can do so safely."