South Carolina and have worked together on a number of missions. I trust him with my life.”
Trevor took a few steps that brought him closer to her. He stood before her. The gaze that bored into her burned with heated intensity. “But most importantly, Corinthians, I trust him with yours.”
Corinthians shivered with the forcefulness of Trevor’s words. She was caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. It wasn’t what he had said, but rather how he had said it. He had spoken the words as if her life meant everything to him. She took a deep breath, trying to control her thoughts, which were now running wild.
Get a grip, girl. Trevor Grant doesn’t even like you, remember. He’s just a man who possesses an instinct to protect, take charge of and defend. His attitude has nothing to do with you personally. Don’t be stupid and read any more into it than that. You mean nothing to him.
“And you think he’ll come?” she finally asked.
“He’ll come.”
She nodded. “But will he be able to find us out here?”
“He’ll find us. That’s the least of my worries. Now come on, we need to leave this place. It isn’t safe for us to hang around here any longer.” After she stepped out of his way, he reached down and effortlessly picked up his overnight bag.
Corinthians sighed, feeling dispirited. “I wish there was some way we could let our families and friends know that we’re okay. Once news of the terrorist attack hits the airwaves and we’re listed as missing, they’ll think the worst.”
Trevor nodded. He thought about his parents; his sister, Regina; and his close friends the Madaris brothers. “Hopefully, they won’t have to worry for long.”
But even as he said the words, he had a gut feeling it would be longer than he hoped.
Houston, Texas
Maurice Grant entered the barbershop where he had been getting his hair cut for well over forty years. Most of the men who came here had started coming as teenagers. And later as grown men they had eventually brought their sons here. Those sons were now bringing their own sons. It wasn’t uncommon to find three generations of men patronizing Mister P’s Barbershop.
“Good morning, Zack.”
“Same to you, Maurice. Go ahead and take a seat. You’re next in the chair.”
Maurice nodded. It seemed to him that Zack Peterson had worked here forever. He had originally opened the shop back in the early fifties. During that time a mom-and-pop drugstore had operated out of the building next door and had had a reputation of selling the best soda fountain drinks around. Unfortunately, the drugstore hadn’t been able to compete with the super–chain store pharmacy that had opened around the corner, and had been forced to close its doors a few years back. Now the building had been turned into a hair and beauty supply store.
Survivorship hadn’t been a problem for Mister P’s Barbershop. Even during the late sixties and early seventies when the Afro was popular and haircuts had been on the decline, business at Mister P’s hadn’t suffered. No one around town could wear a “‘fro” and not let Zack give it a neat tapering or a smooth trim. He had a way of giving your Afro that special Mister P’s look. Now, although Zack was getting on up in age, he was still a very popular barber around town. Everyone knew that during his lifetime he had cut the hair of such notables who’d passed through Houston as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, Sidney Poitier, Smokey Robinson and most recently, actor Sterling Hamilton and movie producer, Spike Lee. One wall in the shop was plastered with photos of Zack with all those famous people and quite a few others.
Before taking a seat, Maurice went over to a counter and picked up the current issue of Jet. The television set in the shop was turned on to the Jerry Springer Show. The talk-show host was interviewing a couple claiming to have been kidnapped by space aliens last year. Having no desire to
Trevor took a few steps that brought him closer to her. He stood before her. The gaze that bored into her burned with heated intensity. “But most importantly, Corinthians, I trust him with yours.”
Corinthians shivered with the forcefulness of Trevor’s words. She was caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice. It wasn’t what he had said, but rather how he had said it. He had spoken the words as if her life meant everything to him. She took a deep breath, trying to control her thoughts, which were now running wild.
Get a grip, girl. Trevor Grant doesn’t even like you, remember. He’s just a man who possesses an instinct to protect, take charge of and defend. His attitude has nothing to do with you personally. Don’t be stupid and read any more into it than that. You mean nothing to him.
“And you think he’ll come?” she finally asked.
“He’ll come.”
She nodded. “But will he be able to find us out here?”
“He’ll find us. That’s the least of my worries. Now come on, we need to leave this place. It isn’t safe for us to hang around here any longer.” After she stepped out of his way, he reached down and effortlessly picked up his overnight bag.
Corinthians sighed, feeling dispirited. “I wish there was some way we could let our families and friends know that we’re okay. Once news of the terrorist attack hits the airwaves and we’re listed as missing, they’ll think the worst.”
Trevor nodded. He thought about his parents; his sister, Regina; and his close friends the Madaris brothers. “Hopefully, they won’t have to worry for long.”
But even as he said the words, he had a gut feeling it would be longer than he hoped.
Houston, Texas
Maurice Grant entered the barbershop where he had been getting his hair cut for well over forty years. Most of the men who came here had started coming as teenagers. And later as grown men they had eventually brought their sons here. Those sons were now bringing their own sons. It wasn’t uncommon to find three generations of men patronizing Mister P’s Barbershop.
“Good morning, Zack.”
“Same to you, Maurice. Go ahead and take a seat. You’re next in the chair.”
Maurice nodded. It seemed to him that Zack Peterson had worked here forever. He had originally opened the shop back in the early fifties. During that time a mom-and-pop drugstore had operated out of the building next door and had had a reputation of selling the best soda fountain drinks around. Unfortunately, the drugstore hadn’t been able to compete with the super–chain store pharmacy that had opened around the corner, and had been forced to close its doors a few years back. Now the building had been turned into a hair and beauty supply store.
Survivorship hadn’t been a problem for Mister P’s Barbershop. Even during the late sixties and early seventies when the Afro was popular and haircuts had been on the decline, business at Mister P’s hadn’t suffered. No one around town could wear a “‘fro” and not let Zack give it a neat tapering or a smooth trim. He had a way of giving your Afro that special Mister P’s look. Now, although Zack was getting on up in age, he was still a very popular barber around town. Everyone knew that during his lifetime he had cut the hair of such notables who’d passed through Houston as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, Sidney Poitier, Smokey Robinson and most recently, actor Sterling Hamilton and movie producer, Spike Lee. One wall in the shop was plastered with photos of Zack with all those famous people and quite a few others.
Before taking a seat, Maurice went over to a counter and picked up the current issue of Jet. The television set in the shop was turned on to the Jerry Springer Show. The talk-show host was interviewing a couple claiming to have been kidnapped by space aliens last year. Having no desire to
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