by Lynn LaFleur
“About fucking time.”
“But…”
“But what?”
“Remember, the card is saying you have a chance to start over. That people will reach out to help you. The Tarot can’t make you do anything. It’s up to you to accept what it’s telling you, or not. Synda and I have only known you a week, but even in that short time, we can see you have trouble trusting others. You feel safe as a loner. That’s understandable. The Ten of Swords is telling you that you don’t have to do it alone. Don’t turn away from the offer of friendship…or a chance at love.”
He slammed his open palm against the bar top. She stepped backward, startled by his anger.
“If you and the cards know so much about me, then you know I don’t believe in this shit. ‘Don’t turn away from the offer of friendship or a chance at love’,” he mimicked her light, melodic voice. “You and Synda gonna offer me a chance at love, Leandra? I haven’t had a good fuck in a long time, especially not a threesome.”
A chill crept through her. She was glad he’d turned away and not seen her wince. She almost said something harsh, but then he muttered, “Sorry. I’m not used to bein’ around women. I shouldn’t have said that.”
His words sounded contrite, his expression unreadable.
“No, you shouldn’t have. And I don’t want to hear anything like that again.”
He waited a moment longer than she would have liked but he finally nodded.
After another pause, where only the winds whistling outdoors sounded louder than the crackling oak in the fireplace, Rico asked, “Are those Buddy’s clothes in the cabin?”
“He tore out of here rather quickly. You’re taller than he is.” And one heck of a lot more buff. “But if you need something to tide you—”
“He won’t be back for them?”
Her laugh sounded brittle. “The county has an orange jumpsuit…” Hell’s bells, why did I bring up jail? “Buddy’s probably sunning himself on Rosarita Beach, laughing his butt off at us and the storm.”
He turned and started to walk away. Then he stopped and over his shoulder said, “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Fifteen dollars an hour plus room and board.”
She started to correct him. Synda had offered him twelve dollars.
His lids lowered with an icy determination he must have learned as part of prison negotiation. “Is it a deal?”
She nodded. “Deal.”
Without another word, he turned and headed for the back.
*
M.B. pulled into the five-car garage built next to her house, removed the keys from the ignition and blew out a deep breath. What a day. Nothing had gone as she’d planned, beginning with the smoothie shower. She’d intended to dash in and dash out of Piney Point. That never worked for her. She’d taken one look at the lonely faces of the elderly who had so few visitors, and her heart broke. Three games of rummy and an hour later, she still sat amid a circle of wheelchairs, nibbling on her second piece of Synda’s incredible Chocolate Decadence cake, and warm enough to explode beneath her closed parka.
Then there was the trek home and up the side of the hill on which her A-frame perched. The view was magnificent, the climb treacherous, although the panorama of the valley below usually made her angst worthwhile.
Once she’d left the village limits, her windshield wipers warred with freezing rain, and for the last hundred yards, with snowflakes the size of small pizzas.
Her stomach growled. What a lovely thought. Pepperoni, mushrooms, extra cheese and a winter storm. A perfect combo.
She grabbed her purse and workout tote and raced across the driveway to the covered walkway that led to her back door and kitchen. She’d brought in at least a cord of chopped wood this morning before going to the gym, and two more stood under the shelter of the walkway. She’d even remembered to top off her generator.
Still, her conversation with Leandra and her phone call to the sheriff’s department kept chipping away at her sense of well-being. She’d been in such a rush to deliver the cake to the nursing home, she hadn’t thought to ask Leandra Innocent Man’s name.
Deputy Tom Connors, who should have been a lot more concerned about Leandra’s safety than the impending storm, hadn’t been of much help either. He didn’t know the gals had found a new maintenance man, and when M.B. couldn’t give him a name, he sounded more annoyed than concerned.
“You’ve lived here long enough, M.B., to know what the first real storm of the season brings. Once CalTrans closes I-80 at the summit, we’ll be up to our asses in fender-benders and pissed-off motorists. Lea’s made it very clear she can take care of herself. I’m not her personal bodyguard.”
“The guy served time for rape and attempted murder.”
“The guy was exonerated. The courts gave him a break. Why don’t you?”
“Because obviously I’m a better friend than you are.”
She expected Tom’s hand to snake through her cell and strangle her. If he had, it would have been worth it. He finally muttered, “Okay, I’ll check it out.”
In no time at all, M.B. had her house as warm as she’d complained about the temp at the café. Now it felt great. Mom Cat, six kittens, and M.B.’s favorite, Ruskie, a huge Russian Blue, were safely inside. She’d even gotten ambitious enough to throw together the pizza that sounded so good, and the first batch of chocolate chip cookies was about to come out of the oven.
She’d showered and changed into flannel sweats. With her hair tied back in a ponytail, she snuggled under an afghan a grateful client had knitted for her. She held a generous glass of merlot in one hand and petted Ruskie with the other. A paperback novel lay open beside her, but instead of reading, she closed her eyes and swallowed a sip of wine.
No matter how hard she tried to forget. No matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t her fault, her mind—or maybe her conscience—refused to let it go.
“You were eighteen years old,” she said aloud. “A month out of high school, too young to drink but old enough to destroy a man’s life.”
No, he wasn’t even a man. He was nineteen, a kid just like her. Tall, gangly, all arms and legs. But it was his eyes she’d never forget. The eyes of an innocent young man who turned old in a second. She knew that look. Two years defending the guilty and the innocent had shown her the difference. She’d known it then too, and she’d never forgive herself for looking the other way.
She could still hear the judge as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman replied.
“What say you?”
“On the charge of attempted murder, we find the defendant, Rico Anthony Zanini, guilty.
“On the charge of first degree sexual assault, we find the defendant guilty.”
“So say you all?”
She could feel her fellow jurors tense. She’d stopped breathing.
The foreman had hesitated for only a few seconds, but enough time for Rico’s attorney to request the court poll the jury.
She tried not to look at Rico, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her gaze shot straight to him. He latched onto it and held it.
I’m innocent, Mary Beth, her mind clearly heard him say. I didn’t do it. You know they’re wrong. Tell them. Say it—“Not guilty.”
Instead, she’d turned away. Four days of intense pressure from people older and wiser than she had worn her down.
“Juror Number 9?”
She heard her number called. She’d clasped her hands so tightly her fingers ached.
“Juror Number 9, guilty or not guilty.”
Her heart thundered in her ears. The juror seated next to her clamped her hand on Mary Beth’s wrist and squeezed. The same signal her mother had used to bring a difficult child into submission.
She’d opened her mouth, “Not guilty,” on the tip of her tongue. The pressure on her
wrist intensified. “Guilty, Your Honor,” slipped past her lips.
She felt Rico’s gaze bore into her. Tears stung her eyes, bile rose in her throat. It was as if there was no one in the courtroom but them. His face and expression shown disbelief, the look of a man betrayed by his best friend. And then she saw the most chilling sight of her young life. Disbelief turned to hatred—deep, abiding, unforgiving hatred. From that look, she knew he’d blamed her. You could have saved me, it said. One dissenting vote, reasonable doubt. A hung jury, a chance for a new trial. Time to find the real perpetrator. His look said it all.
Within a few minutes, the judge affirmed the verdict, set a sentencing date and dismissed the jury. Finally it was over, yet even then M.B. knew it had just begun.
*
By five o’clock, snowflakes the size of dessert plates swirled and pummeled Truckee’s streets and sidewalks. The power had gone off inside the café several times, but Leandra and Synda had managed to continue working without starting up the generator. Even more surprising, slices of street lighting still shined through what would soon be white-out conditions.
In anticipation of sheltering stranded travelers, Synda had two large kettles of soup and one of chili warming on the stove, along with an oven full of rising dough, plenty of coffee, tea and hot chocolate, and enough brandy and other spirits to warm the most chilled stragglers.
At six, they gathered at the café’s back door. Rico, who’d been outside tending to the generator, looked like a snowman.
“Anything else?” He placed several snow shovels under the shelter of the back door overhang and looked longingly at his new digs. His sagging shoulders proved he’d worked himself to exhaustion.
“That’s it, Rico,” Leandra said. “Thank you so much.”
Synda stood on tiptoes and brushed the snow from his hair. “You must be starved. We thought this might hit the spot.” Leandra handed him a tray with a large pot of chili, cornbread, and two pieces of apple pie in a covered container. “You’ll find beer in the fridge in your cabin and coffee in the pantry. If you need anything stronger…well, you know where it is.”
“Once I go inside, I’m not comin’ out again.”
“Hopefully, neither are we,” Leandra said. “We won’t call you unless there’s an emergency. We respond to those whether we want to or not.”
He squared his shoulders. Enough to tell them that no matter how tired he was, he’d be there to answer their call.
“Here are the numbers for both of our cell phones.” Synda handed him a little yellow sticky note. “Call us if you need anything.”
Leandra placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you, Rico. We couldn’t have gotten ready before the storm hit without you.”
“Keep warm, and rest,” Synda added. “We’ll have some serious digging out when this is over.”
They stood in the doorway and watched him walk the ten yards from the café to the cabin. He balanced the tray while he stepped sure-footed through the snow.
Synda leaned against the door’s molding. “What do you think, cuz?”
“I think we’ve found a real winner.”
“Me, too.”
*
Inside Buddy’s cabin, Rico slammed and locked the door. He shoved the tray onto the kitchen counter, grabbed a beer from the fridge and plopped down onto one of the two barstools at the counter’s overhang.
Ten years. He had waited ten years for the chance to get his revenge on Mary Beth Hunter. That chance was now so close, he could taste its sweetness.
He unscrewed the top of the bottle and chugged half the beer in one swallow. For the last four hours, whenever he remembered the sight of those glorious, creamy white breasts nestled inside that purple lace, he’d been unable to catch his breath. Worse, the memory sent shock waves below his belt. He knew he couldn’t walk around the café with his cock as hard as a cut of oak. He tried everything to crush the memory, but he couldn’t.
Mary Beth Hunter had stood out among the jurors. She looked young for her age, and way younger than the others on the panel. Her bright red hair was pretty darn hard to miss too, even though she kept it tied back. By the end of the day, hanks had usually come loose from the clips that held it in place. Even then, he fought to concentrate on the questions the DA asked witnesses rather than fantasize what it would be like to loosen those clips, to see a mass of auburn hair spread across one of the bright white pillowcases his mother insisted hang in the sun to dry.
Picturing her naked came way too easy. Bigger tits would be nice, but tits of any shape and size suited him just fine. He always fantasized that her pussy hair would be bright red too. Or maybe she’d even shave it…maybe he’d help her do it.
Rico tossed back the rest of the beer, pulled off his jacket and threw it on the other stool beside him. He looked down in disgust. He was hard again. This time he’d do something about it. Not what he wanted, but something that would relieve the tightness in his gut and the tension that had been building since this morning.
He shucked his clothes and dropped them on the bathroom floor. Once naked, he stepped beneath the shower. The small area soon filled with steam from the hot water. He grabbed the washcloth and bar of soap and worked up a thick lather.
Mary Beth filled his mind again as he spread the lather over his flesh. He couldn’t shake her from his thoughts, nor the plans he made. Soon, very soon, she’d share the pain and humiliation he lived with for ten years. Know what it’s like to be wrongly accused and punished, to see “you’re guilty” in the expression on everyone’s face. To walk through life branded by it.
This time, though, revenge wasn’t on his mind. Instead, he pictured her as he’d seen her this afternoon at the café. She’d been pretty when on his jury. Now she was striking. That curly red hair and ivory complexion, those big blue eyes…the combination was stunning. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen when she’d opened her parka—nothing but her bra and her tits. Lacy, cut low, her breasts ready to tumble out and into his hands. Or his mouth. His cock responded immediately, growing hard in moments and ready to take her.
He’d had women since he got out of prison—one-night stands that did nothing except give him a few minutes of pleasure. Once he left them, he couldn’t remember their names or faces.
He knew he’d never forget Mary Beth.
Rico slid his soapy hand down his stomach to his cock. It grew thicker and harder in his palm as he imagined pushing her up against a wall. He’d twist one hand into that curly red hair while he dove beneath her bra to discover the exact fullness of her breasts. Her nipples would feel like diamonds beneath his thumb. He’d caress one nipple, then the other, while he ravished her mouth with a kiss she’d hungrily return.
This wouldn’t be lovemaking. Rico had never learned how to make love to a woman. This would be sex—hard and fast and dirty.
His strokes quickened at the thought of dropping to his knees before her. He’d tug her jeans and panties down her legs until they pooled at her feet. By then she would be so hot, she’d beg him to take her.
Not yet. Not until he tasted her.
He’d part her feminine lips with his thumbs and drive his tongue inside her. He’d gone without the taste of a woman’s pussy for ten years in prison. He’d savor every second of licking hers, sucking her clit. He’d bring her to the brink of orgasm with his tongue, then bury his rod inside her creamy channel. She’d come once, twice, squeezing his hard flesh with each orgasm until he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer.
“Fuck!”
Rico trembled when the orgasm grabbed his balls. He jerked his cock as cum shot across the shower stall and disappeared down the drain.
Fighting for breath, he leaned on the wall and let the water beat against his skin. It was all part of his plan. One day Mary Beth Hunter would come to him, and when she did, Ms. Lawyer would find out what it was like to be tried, convicted and fucked over by an innocent man.
Chapter Three
The lights flic
kered and died again as the women reached the top of the stairs and the hallway leading to their quarters.
Earlier that afternoon, Rico had delivered a second stack of wood to each of their apartments. In the darkness, Leandra had to feel her way over the stacks to find the lock on her door. “Dang it, why does this door always stick? This would be a lot easier without the wood.”
“Ram the door, like the cops do.” Synda sounded tired and annoyed. “Don’t try to move the wood in the dark.”
“I have to. It’s piled up against the door.” She grunted. “If I give an itty-bitty…damn it!” The door flew open. With a crash, oak scattered across the threshold and into her flat.
Synda stood hugging herself, trying not to laugh. “Told you so, but when did you ever listen to me?”
Leandra had to play hopscotch to keep from falling. “Thanks a lot. I’ll remember that when I’m lying in traction.”
“If we’d hung the flashlights in the hall instead of inside our apartments, you wouldn’t be tripping all over yourself.”
“You were supposed to tell Buddy where to hang them.”
Synda easily flung her door open. “Maybe I was too busy cooking and baking to chase down our maintenance man.”
“Oh please, now you sound like your mother. Got the back of your hand pressed against your forehead?”
“And you sound like yours—nag, nag, nag.”
They both stopped, and then burst into laughter. In unison they said, “When did Buddy ever do anything we asked him to?”
“You know, it was bad enough that we hired him in the first place,” Synda said. “But why were we so upset when he left? He only did what he wanted to, and now we know he would have stolen everything that wasn’t nailed down.”
“Does that tell us, cousin, how naïve we were?”
“Hey, you’re the one who read our cards, not me. You’re the one—”
“All right, all right.” Leandra held up her hands in surrender. “Let’s be grateful the police came after him before he took off with the family silver, and let’s make sure Rico always knows who’s boss.”
