Chapter 11 No More Running #3
Assault-related charges connected to the previous domestic incident.
Threats.
Resisting.
The stolen weapon.
Craig remained in custody while attorneys battled over bail and evidence.
Amari testified when required.
The process exhausted her.
Every court appearance forced her to see him again.
Some days Craig looked angry.
Other days he looked broken.
Once he mouthed I'm sorry across the courtroom.
Amari turned away.
She had learned that an apology without accountability could become another form of control.
Her life moved forward slowly.
Therapy every Tuesday.
Church with her mother twice a month.
Sunday brunches with Simone.
Work.
Exercise.
Journaling.
She repainted her bedroom.
Not because the old color was ugly.
Because Craig had chosen it.
The first weekend after the court issued stronger protective orders, Amari bought paint supplies, turned on old-school R&B, opened every window upstairs, and covered the walls in a warm cream that made the entire room feel brighter.
Simone stood in the doorway holding a paint roller.
"You realize we're painting because you have emotional trauma."
Amari laughed.
"Paint faster."
"I'm just saying, therapy would be cheaper."
"I'm already in therapy."
"Then why am I here?"
"Free labor."
"See, this is why people leave relationships."
Amari threw a paint rag at her.
Simone ducked.
"Abuse!"
They laughed until Amari's stomach hurt.
It felt good.
Normal.
When the room was finished, Amari stood in the center and looked around.
Her room.
Her house.
Her choices.
Piece by piece, she was taking herself back.
Months passed.
Then nearly a year.
Craig Turner eventually accepted a plea arrangement after prosecutors made it clear that the firearm evidence, prior domestic violence documentation, recorded threatening call, and violation of the protective order created significant exposure at trial.
The sentence totaled ten years.
When the judge announced it, Amari didn't smile.
She didn't celebrate.
She simply exhaled.
Ten years.
For almost two years, Craig had occupied enormous space in her life.
Now steel doors and state custody would separate them.
After court, Simone hugged her on the steps.
"How do you feel?"
Amari stared toward the city.
"I don't know."
"Happy?"
"Not really."
"Sad?"
"A little."
"Relieved?"
Amari thought.
"Yeah."
That one fit.
Relieved.
Her mother joined them and wrapped an arm around her.
"You ready to go home?"
Amari smiled.
"Yeah."
Home.
The word sounded good again.
Tan learned about Craig's sentence through ordinary department channels.
He didn't call Amari.
Didn't visit.
Didn't find some excuse.
He had thought about her more than once over the year.
He'd wondered whether she was okay.
Whether she'd stayed safe.
Whether the brightness he'd glimpsed beneath the fear had fully returned.
But he respected the distance.
Their paths had crossed because she'd needed police help.
That didn't entitle him to a place in her life afterward.
So Tan kept moving.
His work changed too.
After earning his SWAT assignment, his schedule became more demanding.
Training intensified.
He handled higher-risk operations.
Barricaded suspects.
Search warrants.
Hostage situations.
Terrence worried quietly.
Eva worried loudly.
"Why can't you write parking tickets?"
Tan sat at her kitchen table eating gumbo.
"Because I don't work parking enforcement."
"Transfer."
"Mama."
"People don't normally shoot at meter officers."
Terrence looked over.
"That's not completely true."
Eva pointed her spoon at him.
"You are not helping."
Tan laughed.
Across the table, Ella rolled her eyes.
"Mom still does this to me every time I work an emergency-room clinical."
"Because y'all intentionally choose stressful careers."
Travis, home from law school, looked smug.
"I'm choosing an office."
Terrence laughed.
"You're choosing criminal defense."
"Exactly."
"Clients threaten lawyers."
Travis stopped smiling.
Eva looked pleased.
"Good. Now I'm worried about everybody equally."
Gloria entered through the back door carrying a casserole.
Tan looked toward Terrence.
"You really gotta change those locks."
"I have."
Gloria held up a new key.
"Your mama gave her one."
Eva smiled.
"Family."
Terrence sighed.
"No boundaries."
Tan's career flourished.
Promotions became realistic.
His supervisors praised his judgment under pressure.
Younger officers sought his advice.
Older officers began seeing him as more than Terrence David's son.
He was building his own name.
Officer Tan Lee David.
SWAT.
Respected.
Disciplined.
Trusted.
But beneath the progress, the questions about the Lees remained.
Occasionally Tan looked again at the old corporate filing bearing Jin's name.
He never abused department databases to investigate.
He kept his promise to Terrence.
Instead, he used lawful public records and occasionally worked with a private investigator recommended by Travis.
Nothing concrete.
A dissolved company.
Old properties.
Warehouses.
Changing corporate names.
Jin remained a ghost.
Eventually, Tan stopped searching every week.
Then every month.
Life demanded attention.
He hadn't given up.
He'd simply stopped allowing the unanswered past to consume the present.
That decision opened room for something else.
He didn't know it yet.
Six months after Craig was sentenced, Tan stopped at a grocery store on his way home from training.
He was exhausted.
Sweatshirt.
Jogging pants.
Baseball cap.
No uniform.
No badge visible.
No intention of speaking to anyone.
He needed milk, eggs, chicken breasts, rice, cereal, laundry detergent, and the protein bars Eva insisted tasted like cardboard.
He stood in the produce section studying avocados with far more concentration than the decision deserved.
"Too hard."
Tan looked over.
A woman's hand reached past him and picked up another avocado.
"You'll be waiting until Christmas for that one."
Tan recognized the voice before he recognized her face.
He turned.
And forgot about the avocados entirely.
Amari Davenport stood beside him.
For one second, neither spoke.
She looked completely different.
Not like another person.
Like herself.
Healthy.
Happy.
Beautiful.
Her long natural hair fell down her back in soft curls instead of the hurried ponytail he'd remembered.
Her skin glowed. Her dimples appeared before the full smile did.
She wore fitted jeans, white sneakers, and a soft green top that hugged the generous curves of her size-sixteen figure without apology.
There were no bruises.
No split lip.
No fear in her eyes.
Tan had known she was attractive.
He hadn't been prepared for this.
"T?"
Her smile widened.
"Amari."
"You remember me."
He laughed softly.
"Hard person to forget."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Amari's eyebrows rose.
Tan realized how that sounded.
"I mean the calls."
"Mm-hmm."
"That's what I meant."
"Officer David..."
She laughed.
"...are you nervous?"
"No."
"You definitely are."
"I'm selecting avocados."
"Badly."
Tan smiled.
This was different.
No uniform.
No emergency.
No Craig.
Just a grocery store.
Two people.
Amari looked at him for another second.
Then suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Tan froze.
Completely.
Her body pressed warmly against his chest.
He caught the soft scent of vanilla and something floral.
Her cheek rested near his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Tan's hands hovered awkwardly for half a second before settling respectfully against her back.
"For what?"
"For that night."
"Both nights."
She pulled away.
"For believing me."
"For not making me feel stupid."
"For telling me to trust myself."
Tan looked at her.
"You did the hard part."
Amari shook her head.
"Still."
Her eyes softened.
"I needed somebody to say it."
Tan smiled.
"I'm glad you're okay."
"I am."
She seemed almost surprised by how confidently she could say it.
"I really am."
"Craig?"
"Ten years."
"I heard."
"You did?"
"Case made some departmental rounds."
She nodded.
"I've been in therapy."
"Good."
"Got promoted."
"Really?"
"Senior federal program manager."
Tan's eyebrows lifted.
"Okay."
She smiled proudly.
"Two hundred thousand a year."
Tan laughed.
"You just told me your salary in the produce section."
"I earned every dollar."
"I believe you."
"And I bought myself a new car."
"What kind?"
"I'm not telling you yet."
"Why?"
She smiled.
"Maybe you'll see it."
Tan caught the implication.
So did she.
A small silence appeared between them.
Not awkward.
Charged.
For the first time, Tan allowed himself to look at her as a woman he might actually pursue.
No active case.
No crisis.
Enough time had passed.
She was standing in front of him by choice.
Happy.
Whole.
Flirting.
Amari reached for another avocado.
"You still a cop?"
"Yeah."
"SWAT now."
Her eyes widened.
"Why do men always pick the most dangerous version of everything?"
Tan laughed.
"My mother said something similar."
"She's smart."
"Very."
"You still live with your parents?"
"No."
Amari smiled.
"Good."
Tan stared.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm twenty-eight now. I need certain information before considering anything."
"Considering what?"
She placed the avocado in her cart.
"Didn't say."
Tan smiled slowly.
There were those dimples.
Dangerous.
"So you interrogate people now?"
"Learned from the police."
He shook his head.
Then he made a decision.
"Are you seeing anybody?"
Amari's smile softened.
"No."
Tan nodded once.
"Have dinner with me."
Direct.
No games.
No pretending he wanted to discuss her case.
Just the truth.
Amari's heart stumbled.
She'd wondered whether this moment might happen from almost the second she recognized him.
Still, hearing the invitation changed something.
"Like dinner-dinner?"
Tan laughed.
"What other kind is there?"
"Friend dinner."
"No."
"Professional dinner."
"I'm off duty."
She looked at his sweatshirt.
"I noticed."
Tan leaned slightly against the cart.
"I'm asking you on a date, Amari."
Her stomach fluttered.
A sensation she hadn't allowed herself to trust for a long time.
She studied him.
The handsome face.
The calm eyes.
The confidence that didn't need to overpower her.