What a Fool Believes by Carmen Green Page A

about us.”
    â€œAt two in the morning?” he asked. “Ten months after you walked out? Why would I be crossing your mind?”
    â€œYou were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I blew it. I know I did. But the best part about making a mistake is forgiveness. You told me that once.”
    Her sexy voice lured him but didn’t make him forget. “You left me. I wasn’t ambitious enough, remember? I’m still the same beat cop who only makes enough money to eat out once a week.”
    He drove to the edge of his territory, then headed back in.
    â€œNow who’s holding a grudge? I’m a changed woman. You’ll see. What time do you get off?”
    â€œYou know.” She was an attorney and had connections everywhere. “Just like you knew I was working.”
    Her husky laugh took him back to some of their better days.
    â€œCan I make your breakfast?”
    â€œI don’t—”
    â€œA man has to eat. Bacon, waffles, grits, eggs,” she purred. “Coffee with cream. I haven’t lost my touch. You’ll be completely satisfied.”
    The offer hung out there like a seller hawking tickets. Maybe he was being too close-minded. “All right. Breakfast and that’s it.”
    She laughed again. “See you at eight a.m. at your place. Be safe.”
    As soon as the call disconnected, second thoughts ran through his mind. Lynn Summer, a defense attorney from Chicago, had a plan for her life that included a man who wasn’t Byron. He didn’t make six figures or more, nor did he see himself getting close to that in the foreseeable future.
    Lynn, who loved the finer things in life, was the same woman who’d left with every designer bauble he’d ever bought her.
    Except his broken heart. She hadn’t placed much value on that. He tried to dial her back but didn’t get even her voice mail. She was trouble. Just like Tia Amberson.
    Byron slapped his forehead and stomped on the brakes. He had to register for the anger management class. He dug out the number, dialed, and paid, pissed.
    Women were nothing but trouble.
    He cruised past a parking lot, saw the same action, and stopped.
    He amended his earlier thoughts about women. People were crazy.
    He called in the public sex act and got out of his patrol car. The couple was too engaged to notice him.
    He tapped the kneeling woman on the shoulder with his billy club. “Police. Stop what you’re doing, and get up.”
    The man reacted first. His eyes shot open. He jerked to the right. Unfortunately, he must have met teeth, because he started squealing and running in place.
    The hooker turned around, unfazed. “Cain’t you see we’re busy?”
    â€œBreaking the law. Get up. You’re under arrest.”
    â€œReally?” she said.
    Damn , Byron thought. This wasn’t going to be easy.
    Suddenly, dirt sprayed his face. Temporarily blinded, he grabbed hold of the freakishly strong woman. Luckily, she was still kneeling. They wrestled for a minute, with Byron grinding his teeth when her nails dug into his arm. Ten seconds later, he had her subdued, and within a minute, she was in the back of his patrol car.
    Outside the car, he went through her bag while she cussed and kicked at the window.
    â€œHey,” Byron hollered at her. “You better not mess up my car.”
    He just prayed she didn’t defecate on the backseat. That was the worst.
    Byron radioed the station. “Run a check on Strawberry Jones. Five-foot-ten female, 185 pounds.”
    Several seconds passed. “It’s a hit,” came back the dispatcher. “Wanted in three counties in Georgia, and in Alabama for solicitation. The other charges range from assault with deadly, assault on a police officer, threatening a witness, and jaywalking. She’s a badass.”
    Byron looked at the thrashing hooker and gathered her stuff off the hood. His arms were bleeding, and the