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your aunt?” He smiled, she
believed at her description, the treat lighting up the room like sunshine.
    “Yes,
she is,” he confirmed.
    “What
kind of relative are you? She’s an elderly lady.” Angela belittling him, moved
closer to stand toe to toe with the Goliath, “who needs you to check on her
periodically. You’re a negligent nephew!”
    Her
get-in- his -face style of conversing turned him off. Before he realized
what he did, both of her elbows were entrenched in his huge hands and he bodily
toted her generous frame to his private office off to one side of the squad
room, to the absolute amazement of the entire audience, and kicked the door
shut. “You, lady, are out of control,” he hurled while unceremoniously setting
her on her feet.
    Shivering
in anger, a rosy hue built under her velvety toffee skin, alerting him to her
ill temper.
    “You,
Brock…Chance or whatever you’re called—” she said, jumping him with both
stilettos, gouging at his pride, baited his retaliation before she finished her
sentence.
    “Don’t
let the name fool you, Miss Munso.” His dark head leaned towards her a notch.
“They don’t call me Chance around here for meekness sake,” he said, his words
lathered in derision.
    “…are
borderline psycho!” She completed her thought giving no regard to his nose in
her face. “How dare you…”
    “I
dare because no one speaks to me in that tone, especially not in front of my
peers and subordinates.” Chance demonstrated how well the nickname fit his
explosive personality, scolding mentally his quickness on the draw. He couldn’t
help but notice how she unconsciously massaged the same shoulder he touched
earlier. “ Uh-oh,” he thought , “ A lawsuit in the making.” He took a risk, asking the next question while putting a yardstick’s worth of
space between them. However, it was better to know up front if he had any
worries.  
    “Did
I hurt you?”
    She
was mad and didn’t care if he knew. “Indirectly, I guess you did.” Instead of
pursuing that topic, she changed the subject. “She needs your help,” With a
little blow to ward off the increasing pain, “Your aunt is having trouble with
a man who got physical with her yesterday.”
    “What?”
    “I
said your aunt needs your help!” She repeated in quantum volume with a heavy
dose of sarcasm.
    “Forgive
me if I gave you the impression I’m deaf.” His cynical intonation charged the
air with animosity. “I heard you, loud and clear, Miss Munso. The first time.”
Ruling out any more physical contact between them, because the urge to wring
her lovely neck was too great, his strong fingers gripped the back of the
closest chair, plugging grooves in the upholstery.   “Tell me what happened.”
    “You
should ask Mrs. Thatcher, Lt. Alexander. Please, do it ASAP. She has a shotgun,
you know.” His rude guffaw incensed her. “White people and their guns,” she
muttered under her breath, turning to sashay from the room only to stop short
when snagged by the whirlwind his hand motions generated as he detained her.
His brazen act underscored the perilous territory they were about to explore.
    “Tell
me I didn’t hear you right.”
    It
was completely unfair and absolutely uncalled for, Angela realized, as soon as
the slur slid across her tongue, through her pearly whites and passed her plum
tinted lips. She was angry with her family and the man from yesterday. Not him.
She committed a cardinal sin by degrading an entire race based upon the actions
of a few, the way society, in some cases, applied the rules condemning all
people of color for one person’s infraction. In particular, if that person happened
to be Black.
    Their
eyes clashed and it was her turn to apologize to him.
    “You
did. And I’m sorry for offending you. You…personally, did nothing to me.”
    Her
look begged him for her release.
    He
watched her glide from the small office, all eyes on him as he tailed her,
believing she was sincerely