Convicted
Page 17
Her fingers clutched at the bedspread, crumpling it. She was so close, so close. Every touch of his tongue and hands moved her a fraction closer to the edge. Deacon slipped one finger inside her, and Lisa cried out again overcome with sensation.
"I want you," she told him.
He pressed one last kiss to her and slid up her body to meet her mouth with his. She felt him again on her stomach, and this time there was nothing between them. Nothing to keep the sensation of his hot, silky erection from the softness of her belly.
She slipped her knee between his, pressing their bodies even closer. Without the direct pressure of his mouth on her, the proximity of her orgasm had ebbed enough that she didn't feel so dangerously close. It was her turn to do a little torturing. Swiftly, Lisa pushed Deacon onto his back.
"Hey, I like this," he said.
"Shh," she said. "It gets better."
She didn't waste time teasing him too much. She was too eager to hear him moan and feel him squirm beneath her. She did take the time to cup his weight in her palm before sliding her mouth along his length.
Deacon rewarded her instantly with a groan. The sound of it sent a bolt of fire directly between her thighs. Lisa closed her lips around him again drawing forth a muffled curse this time. She laughed silently, shoulders shaking.
It felt good to laugh even while her body sang with desire. It was good to be so comfortable with him. She'd never felt this way with anyone. Nakedness had always brought shyness. Lovemaking had brought uncertainty. What seemed all right in the dark made meeting her lover's eyes in the light of day awkward.
Tomorrow she would not have trouble looking at Deacon. In fact, the only regret she had was that they'd been unable to wait to get to her house, so she would not wake up in his arms.
"We'll just have to go over there and do this again," she said, finishing her thought out loud.
"What?" Deacon's voice was slurred, but he tilted his head to look at her. "What did you say?"
"I want to wake up in your arms tomorrow," Lisa said, crawling up next to him and nestling into his arms. "I want to finish making love to you and fall asleep with you."
He didn't say anything. Lisa didn't look at him, suddenly nervous that she'd gone too far...said too much. She fought the awkwardness threatening to creep in.
Don't think! Don't think too much!
But her fears were groundless. Deacon pulled her tighter against him and kissed her hair. "Me, too. But we can't do that here. Sorry. Mom would probably keel over."
"So, we'll have to go back to my place and do this all over again," Lisa said.
"Lisa," Deacon said sternly. "What do you think I'm made of? Let's just get through this once okay?"
"I'm sure--" Lisa said as she grasped his erection and squeezed gently. "--that you'll be able to rise to the occasion."
His groan was not of pleasure this time. Lisa poked him. He poked her back, but gently, then pulled her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her.
Slowly, softly, they kissed, their passion ebbing and flowing in a rhythm all its own. They turned to their sides, shifting on the bed and sliding arms and legs around each other. It seemed impossible to get close enough.
"Deacon," Lisa sighed, holding him tightly. "I've never felt like this before."
"I have," he said.
His unexpected answer threw her and she pulled out of his embrace. "What?"
He grinned. "With you. Before. I felt like this all the time."
He took her hand and drew it back to his length. "Just like this. It made riding the bike difficult."
She poked him again, then kissed him. "I'm sure it did."
They kissed some more, rolling on the bed without caring which way they went or why. Pillows went flying and the bedspread crumpled. Deacon konked his head on the headboard, and when Lisa laughed, he began to tickle her mercilessly.
She'd never been tickled naked before and she thought she'd hate it. In her aroused state, though, even this normally annoying touch set her nerves tingling as he stroked her back and forth along the belly. When he bent to blow raspberries against her stomach, though, Lisa had to cry out for him to stop.
"Enough," she cried, wiping away tears of laughter. "Isn't your mom going to be home soon?"
Deacon looked at the clock. "I don't want this to be over."
She became serious. "Neither do I."
The mood, which had gone from sultry to silly and back again, deepened once more into sensuality. Gently, softly, Deacon pressed Lisa to the bed and covered her body with his. Their mouths joined, opening and closing in perfect time. His hands drifted through her hair, and she let hers run along his back.
"Let's not wait any more," she said. "I want you, Deacon."
He reached for the foil packet on the nightstand, but pushed it too far with his fingers. It fell off the stand and behind the bed. With a defeated groan, Deacon buried his head against her shoulder.
"I'll get it," she said, kissing his ear. "Butter fingers."
He moved aside to let her roll over. Lisa hung her head over the edge of the bed, searching for the glint of silver in the dim light. Deacon's touch, drifting lightly along her buttocks, was a pleasant distraction.
Lisa wiggled further to the edge, hanging her head down more to see beneath the bed. There it was, the oblong packet glimmering seductively among the dust bunnies. She hooked it with her finger, pulling it into her palm just as something else caught her eye.
"Oh, my God," she said, stunned.
"Something wrong?"
Lisa pushed forcefully away from him, sliding down onto the floor. With one hand she reached beneath the bed again, dragging out what had so shocked her. It was her purse.
"No," Deacon said. "Lisa--"
"Don't you talk to me." She took the bag and flung it onto the bed. Tears sparked her eyes. She simply could not believe it.
"Lisa, it's not--" He reached for her hand, tugging it.
"Shut up!" She didn't care if the entire world heard her. She yanked her hand away and slapped his cheek to get free. Through tear-blurred vision, she scrambled for her clothes, pulling on her shirt and panties without bothering to find her bra. "Just shut up!"
She fumbled into her skort and managed to find her sandals. The bag she snatched up from the bed. Lisa felt as though she might just fall.
Deacon did not move except to sit on the edge of the bed. His face had grayed with shock, but Lisa did not want to hear him speak. That she'd been about to let him make love to her suddenly made her nauseous.
"Don't tell me it wasn't you," she said. "Because this time I know you're lying!"
He said nothing, as if he could tell there'd be no convincing her. Lisa fairly ran to the door, pausing only long enough at the top of the stairs to be sure she wasn't going to tumble down them headfirst and break her neck. At the bottom, she flung open the front door and ran out into the night, clutching the stolen purse to her chest like it was a wounded bird.
Chapter 13
* * *
Lisa ran and ran, the stitch in her side like a knife stabbing her. Through the dark streets, past the statue of the Holy Virgin in somebody's yard, her hands raised in eternal supplication. Ahead of her was the police station, a single light burning above the door.
She paused long enough to smooth her hair and straighten her clothes. There'd be no help for her tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes. Lisa scrubbed at them briefly, knowing she still looked a mess.
She climbed the stairs, her sandals clanging on the metal. The building still smelled new, like paint. The scent tickled her nostrils and she wanted to choke.
She pushed open the door on the second floor and faced the empty desk. Behind the glass panel she could see a chair and some filing cabinets. It looked a lot like the ticket window at a movie theater except there was no tantalizing smell of popcorn to tempt her. The sign pasted on the glass informed her that if the desk was empty, she should ring the buzzer.
She did, shifting from one foot to th
e next. Without the running to occupy her, she'd begun to feel stupid. What was she doing here anyway? Terry didn't want to see her. He'd made that perfectly clear. She couldn't automatically turn to him just because she was afraid.
But I could, Lisa reminded herself, hearing the sound of footsteps approaching from down the corridor. He was a police officer. No matter what his feelings toward her were, and no matter what had passed between them, he would do his job.
The uniformed officer who swung open the heavy door was not Terry, but she recognized the woman. "Hi, Karen."
Karen fixed Lisa with a look that was at once both professional and cool. "Can I help you?"
Word got around fast. "I need to talk to Terry."
"Officer Hewitt isn't on duty right now," Karen said. "If it's something personal, you'll have to try him at home."
"It's not personal," Lisa said, though in a way, it was.
"One of the other officers can take your statement or help you with your problem, if you need assistance," Karen said formally, as though she and her boyfriend Jake hadn't double-dated with Lisa and Terry dozens of times.
Lisa didn't want to talk to one of the other officers. "No, that's okay."
Now Karen's reserved façade softened. "You don't look good, Lisa. What happened?"
Lisa pulled her purse closer to her body noticing the way Karen's trained gazed flicked over her. Assessing. Noting, Lisa was certain, her mussed hair and lack of bra.
"I just needed to talk to Terry," Lisa mumbled. "I'll try him later."
"He's on duty at eleven," Karen offered, though her face made it clear she didn't want to give the information.
"I'll try later," Lisa repeated, turning to go.
"Lisa, what happened?" Karen asked again. "And I don't mean tonight, though if something did happen, I think you need to tell me. But what happened with you and Terry? I thought you two were so happy together."
Lisa tilted her head to keep tears from bursting from her eyes. "Just...leave a note for Terry, okay? That I was here?"
"Sure," Karen said, the small slip into camaraderie replaced with professionalism again. "Sure, I will."
"Thanks," Lisa whispered as she let herself out the door to the stairwell again. For a moment she paused on the other side of the door, holding the purse to her and fighting back sobs.
She realized she hadn't even checked to see if anything was missing. With trembling fingers she opened the clasp and fumbled with the contents. Lipstick. Gum. Eye drops. She pulled out her wallet and snapped it open.
Nothing was missing. The money--a twenty and two tens--still nestled in the bed of receipts and coupons. Her credit cards were untouched. She touched the plastic accordion folder that held her pictures, looking at the one of her and Terry. Taken last summer, it showed them holding hands and smiling.
"What did happen?" she asked aloud, her voice echoing grotesquely in the empty stairwell.
Then she was running again, pell mell down the stairs and out into the night. Running home. Her feet slapped on the pavement and her breath began to come in labored gasps. Still, Lisa pushed herself, running through the dark to get to her house.
By the time she reached the side door, she was out of breath and her feet were numb from misuse. She leaned against the handrail and tugged off her ruined sandals, then tossed them immediately into the nearby trash pail. The pretty shoes had been made for dancing, not running.
She waited there a moment, her head hanging. Spots flashed in front of her vision, and her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. Lisa wondered if she might actually faint.
A few more minutes of sucking in the cool night air and she felt much better. Now her feet, no longer numb, began to throb. Her entire body ached. She needed a hot bath.
Instead of going inside, Lisa sat on the porch steps. The houses on either side of her were dark, as they often were. Her neighbors were all elderly and went to bed early. It was peaceful to sit in the dark letting her body recover from the abuse she'd just put it through.
It was calming to breathe the sweet night air and rest her face in her palms. Thinking. Why had Deacon taken her purse, but left the contents intact? If not for the money inside, why take it at all?
The small groan she heard was her own. Lisa bit her lip. She'd been about to make love to him. Why hadn't she learned?
Terry was right. Once a thief, always a thief.
Worse than a thief. A liar.
She shook her head, disgust rising in her throat. The man had lied to her and used her, and she'd let him touch her. Kiss her. She'd let him start making love to her...
She stood so fast the stars tilted and she had to grasp the railing again to keep from falling. She would file a report against Deacon first thing tomorrow. She would settle this once and for all, and this time, she would feel no guilt about the matter.
Her key stuck in the door and she jiggled it. The house and all its doors were old and warped. The locks were tight, stairs creaky, drawers sticky and unyielding. Normally none of those things bothered her, but tonight the stubborn lock worked on her nerves worse than a pair of yapping dogs.
She finally burst into the kitchen with a muttered curse and tossed her keys onto the counter. The light flickered when she flicked the switch, but at last came on. The bulb was probably loose.
The rest on the porch had calmed her. Slowed her breathing. Lisa ran the cold water in the sink and splashed her face with it, washing away some of the sweat that coated her skin.
Instead of a hot bath, maybe she'd take a refreshing cool shower. Lisa bent to splash more water against her skin. Then suddenly, she was weeping.
She bent her head to the sink gripping the counter with both hands. Everything was turning and twisting beneath her, and without something to hold on to, she thought she just might fly away. Her sobs came easily like they had when she was a child and not afraid to cry. Her nose ran and her eyes burned. Her forehead ached from pressing against the sink's cold metal rim, but she didn't move. The water running from the faucet grew colder as the minutes passed, wetting her hair and drowning out even the sound of her crying.
He couldn't have done it. Not Deacon. But if he hadn't stolen it, how had her purse gotten under his bed?
Her thoughts whirled, back and forth. She trusted him. She didn't. She believed in him, and then she didn't. What was going on?
She thought she might have stayed that way for an hour, but when she finally forced her back to straighten, Lisa saw by the wall clock it had only been a few minutes. She peeled her hand from the counter with a grimace. She'd been holding on so tightly her fingers were tingling. She closed the faucet, and the silence that filled the kitchen when the water ceased its sputtering was enormous.
Lisa ran her hand across her face, feeling the puffiness around her eyes. Her skin was hot, and she was sure she looked like a wreck. But she felt better. Not a whole lot better by any means. Only time would do that for her. But better than she had a while ago.
She didn't remember tossing the purse onto the table, but when she turned to face the kitchen that was where it was. A simple leather bag, not expensive. Nothing she could not have lived without. The money inside was minimal and the credit cards easily replaced. She could have lived without finding it again.
But she had found it, and everything had changed.
"Damn it," she said aloud to the kitchen. "Damn him!"
She'd trusted Deacon, the lying bastard. She'd broken off her relationship with Terry for him. She'd gone against her family's advice to trust him!
A chill tickled her spine. Had they all been right about him being a thief?
Had they been right about the other things as well?
Could Deacon have been behind the strange things happening to her lately? The email, the phone calls, the missing laundry.
Her glance flew to the kitchen door, still standing open as no protection against the night. Lisa crossed the kitchen in a few lengthy strides to slam it shut. Then she locked it.
Had they been Deacon all along?
Lisa rubbed her bare arms, uncomfortably aware that the cold water and her own nervousness had urged her nipples into iron-hard bumps. She'd forgotten she wasn't wearing a bra. She looked down and saw her feet were dirty and scratched from her careless flight through the streets of St. Mary's.
She looked once more around the kitchen, taking comfort in the familiar. This was her home. She would not be afraid in it any longer.
Lisa went to the living room to check the front door, too. Locked. The room was dark and silent, and it was difficult to see after the harsh brightness of the kitchen. Menacing shadows lurked in every corner. Lisa rattled the front door again, and without looking back, started to climb the front stairs.
The light coming in from outside had been turned a dull, bloody red from the stained glass in the stairway's circular window. Not very reassuring. She fiddled with the hall switch, grateful but unwilling to admit it when the light came on upstairs. She wasn't in a horror movie, for crying out loud.
The hall bath door was closed. Had she done that? She couldn't remember and pride forced her to stop trying. Lisa ducked into her bedroom, closing the door behind her and laughing when she saw that her hands trembled.
"Fraidy cat," she whispered to herself in the dark room. Unlike the living room or the stairs, the dark in here was comforting. Welcome. Normal. She often kept the shades pulled tight to prevent early morning sun from waking her on the weekends. The dark in here wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
Even so, because she was afraid, she turned on the light. The only one hooked to the switch in here was the lamp on her dresser. It lit the room with a soft amber glow not strong enough to dispel all the shadows, but it would be enough.
"Shower," she said. "Pajamas. Bed. In that order."
She expected to find something when she stepped into her tiny bathroom. She didn't know what, but something bad. The crumpled pile of her bathrobe became a dead body for ten horrifying seconds until her mind allowed her eyes to see it for what it truly was.