TarotCafeSeries_bundle

by Lynn LaFleur

  “You think he’ll stay?”

  The lights flickered back on. Squinting after the darkness, Leandra said, “I hope he does, but…”

  Synda followed Leandra into her studio. “‘But’ what? Did he say something?”

  “It wasn’t Rico, it was M.B. She stopped by for the cake. She warned—” Leandra spun around. “Oh my god, Synda, M.B. was supposed to call us the minute she got home. I told her we’d come looking for her if she didn’t. That was hours ago.”

  The two women almost stumbled over each other in their rush to find their cell phones. Leandra used hers to try M.B.’s land line while Synda tried M.B.’s cell.

  “Oh hell, no signal on the cell.” Disgusted, Synda snapped the cover shut. “What about her—”

  Leandra looked relieved. “Phone’s busy. Maybe she’s trying to call us.”

  “Busy busy, or that fast signal when the line’s down?”

  “What are you talking about? Busy is busy.”

  Synda grabbed the phone. “There’s a distinct difference in the sound. Here, let me try it.” She pressed speed dial then listened a few moments, concern increasing on her face with each bzzit, bzzit.

  “Is our land line working?”

  Lea grabbed the phone. “Dead. The snow must have snapped some lines.”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “I don’t know.” Leandra started pacing. “Search and Rescue probably has their hands full. But if there’s any chance M.B.’s in trouble…”

  “Let’s don’t waste time standing around guessing. We spent half our savings on two snowmobiles. M.B. doesn’t live that far. We can be there in ten minutes. If she’s okay, and I know she is, we can—”

  “We can’t both go,” Leandra interrupted. “Someone has to be here in case they need the café as additional shelter.”

  Without hesitation, Synda said, “Call the cabin. Rico’s about to get his baptism by fire.”

  “Ah, no, I think that would be his baptism by snow.”

  *

  Ten minutes later Rico walked out of the cabin dressed in ski pants three inches too short, a jacket that hung loose at his waist and strained at his shoulders, a ski cap smelling of detergent and softener—nirvana compared to the scent of the detergent used at the prison—and a ski mask that hid his identity as well as covered his face.

  Leandra had prepped the snowmobiles and made him watch while she ran through a quick inspection—full tanks, working headlamps, all the bells and whistles ringing and sounding at her command.

  He’d stopped listening after the first few minutes, squinting instead into the snow that had slowed a little since he’d walked to the cabin.

  Keep your eye on the prize—freedom, the chaplain had urged him once they learned The Innocence Project had accepted his case. Yeah, freedom was the biggie, but so was revenge.

  And so was the memory of Mary Beth’s breasts spilling out of her bra. He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind, or maybe he didn’t want to. He’d jerked off twice since settling in for the evening. That wasn’t enough. He didn’t need another hand job, he needed a warm, wet pussy…her warm, wet pussy.

  By nineteen, he’d had sex with only two girls. Both of them knew more than he thought he’d ever know.

  Rico scowled beneath the mask. Prison changed all that. He’d gone almost eleven years without a woman and seen the worst side of sex. He gritted his teeth against the acid rising from his stomach. His initiation into prison life had been swift and brutal and taught him tricks of survival no one should ever have to learn. Five years later, he’d established himself as a bigger badass than any of them, in spite of the scars he’d carry for life and the countless days spent in the prison infirmary.

  “Rico, are you listening to me?” Leandra’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Unless you can drive this thing, you’re going to stay here and keep an eye on the stove while Syn comes with me.”

  “I can do it.” The sharp tone of his answer lost some of its force through the filter of the ski mask.

  “Good, because if…”

  And so the inspection continued while his thoughts drifted back to Mary Beth. If he whipped off the mask, would she recognize him? He was thirty pounds heavier than when she’d made sure the “justice” system had put him away.

  Had she even thought about him again?

  It takes only one juror, one person with reasonable doubt, his cousin Tony and his attorney had assured him. They’d chosen well during jury selection. Juror No. 9, a perky young redhead, would be the one to set him free.

  Rico had connected with her the second their gazes met across the courtroom. At that moment, and for the first time since his arrest, he’d relaxed and started to believe what his lawyer had said. “Wouldn’t make any difference if you’re guilty or innocent, Rico. That redhead’s hot for you. You’re going to walk on this one. A slam dunk.”

  Slam dunk, my ass.

  He exhaled and unclenched his fists. He didn’t want Leandra to see the fury that churned inside him. To his relief, she still yammered on about the differences between her snowmobiles, too busy to notice the tension in his hands or the tremor in his leg that bespoke his anger.

  Tonight he’d play it cool. Let Mary Beth wonder about the face behind the mask.

  Maybe he’d say something only she’d understand. Drop a hint, or a name. How long before she began to remember?

  She couldn’t do anything to him now. He’d been exonerated, thanks to Tony badgering the attorneys at The Innocence Project. They’d forced the state to reexamine the evidence, to admit in open court that there was no chance in hell the DNA extracted from the semen found inside Pia Marie Sarantella belonged to Rico Zanini. And lastly, forced Pia to recant her previous testimony and admit she never saw the face of her attacker. He could have been one of thousands of men of the same height and weight as Rico.

  And now his time had come. Revenge had kept him alive every fucking hour of the 3,717 days he served. Kept him sane and inside himself when a lesser man might have crumbled.

  Now he’d see how perky Juror No. 9 acted when she came face-to-face with the worst mistake of her life.

  “That’s it, Rico.” Leandra pulled the snow goggles down over her eyes and motioned for him to do the same. “We’re ready to roll.”

  *

  Rico and Leandra bounced along while the light from their headlamps fell on animal tracks in the fresh snow. Some he recognized as deer tracks. He had to guess at the rest, especially the prints the size of his boots and the stride of a jaguar. No way he wanted to meet that one up close and personal.

  They both kept an eye out for anything that resembled a vehicle that might have gone off the road. They didn’t see any, nor prints that would have indicated someone was lost and disoriented. With each mile, he noticed Leandra’s posture, tall and rigid at the start, began to show signs of relaxation in her shoulders and spine. Once his body adjusted to the cold, Rico relaxed too.

  They were twenty, maybe thirty yards away when he first spotted the shadow of a structure. Narrow spears of light seeped through tiny cracks in the wooden shutters protecting the front windows and storm door. Light snow had begun to fall again. The flakes shimmered in the glow of the lights. Smoke billowed from a chimney at the rear of the house and swirled and dissipated on the winds.

  Rico slowed his vehicle in time with Leandra’s and nodded when she pointed. It wasn’t until the light of their headlamps fell on the front of the house that Rico’s breath caught. The place was a fucking alpine mansion.

  Leandra made a sidearm motion before motoring slowly along what Rico guessed was a driveway leading toward the rear of the house. Snow had piled up enough that he would never have recognized it, but would be easy to follow for someone who had visited many times in the past.

  When they crawled to a stop in back, he saw a covered entryway led inside. Several cords of wood, now covered in snow, were stacked outside the entry. Rico wondered who had chopped the wood. The own
er of the house? A live-in lover?

  Leandra pulled within a foot of the entry and stopped. Rico followed suit. When the door opened a crack, she raised her mask and called out, “It’s Leandra, M.B.”

  The door swung open all the way. Light from the entry poured onto the snow.

  “What in the world are you doing here?”

  Rico saw she was dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and running shoes.

  “You didn’t call. We were afraid something had happened.”

  M.B. pushed the door open wider and beckoned, “Get in here, you two, before you freeze to death.”

  How long Rico had waited to hear that invitation. His heart pounded in his ears. In a few moments, he’d read either recognition in her eyes or the polite gaze of a stranger who recalled nothing.

  He was prepared for either reaction.

  Rico didn’t remove his mask. He’d seen her from the shadows earlier. Now he wanted to see her in full light before she had a chance to see him.

  The three stood in the kitchen, a room almost as large as the dining room at The Tarot Café. Heat from a wood-burning stove warmed it. The aroma of baking cookies perfumed the air. An oversized armchair and ottoman stood alongside a low table and lamp. On the cushion, a tiny, fluffy ball of fur was curled up asleep. In seconds, he saw two more, and then what must have been the mom cat, a sleek, short-haired calico—the kind his mom favored, too.

  “Why didn’t you call?” Leandra stood between them.

  “I tried as soon as I got home. No signal on your cell. No one answered your land line.”

  Rico stiffened. He could read a lie from a thousand feet and Mary Beth was definitely not telling the truth.

  If Leandra noticed, Mary Beth didn’t give her the chance to say so. Instead, she shot past Leandra with her hand outstretched. “I’m M.B. Hunter. You must be…”

  Rico still wore his gloves. He accepted her hand without removing them. “Rico, Rico Zanini.”

  And with that, he whipped off his mask.

  The moment Mary Beth looked into Rico’s eyes, she recognized him.

  “Rico?” His name slipped past her lips, part breath, part croak.

  She didn’t know how, but she managed to keep smiling, never mind that her hand had turned cold and damp in his gloved one, and that the room seemed hotter now than it had when she sat beside the wood stove.

  No amount of time would blur the memory of those almond-shaped dark brown eyes. She’d know Rico Zanini anywhere, whether across a crowded courtroom or in her kitchen. A year ago, she’d seen the defiance in the still-young face with ancient eyes staring into a television camera at the media conference the day of his release. There was no mistaking eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate, with long thick lashes any woman would die for.

  Like a whirlpool sucking her in, the years zoomed backward and she was eighteen-year-old Mary Beth Hunter again. A young woman who’d entered the courtroom idealistic and determined to see justice done, but who’d left a crushed and broken child.

  Now her knees weakened under the hammering of her heart against her rib cage. Much like the last time she saw him. Thank the gods Rico still held her hand or she would have ended up a puddle at his feet.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Mary Beth saw Leandra staring at them with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Did Lea think this was some kind of Kodak moment, when two soul mates discovered each other? This was one of the worst moments of her life, one Mary Beth had dreaded for more than ten years.

  Her mind raced. How had he found her? She remembered Leandra saying they had Googled their new handyman before hiring him. How easy for Rico Anthony Zanini to Google her. Or visit her Facebook or MySpace pages.

  Finally, from wherever it had hidden, Mary Beth found her voice again. “You must be the new maintenance man at the café.”

  “That’s right, M.B.” His tone seared her initials.

  Do something, say something. If the tension between them thickened, she might explode.

  “Where are my manners?” She yanked her hand from his and took several steps farther into the room. “Lea, Rico, I’m sorry. Dump your boots in there.” She pointed to a large plastic tub where two pairs of hers were drying. “And come warm up by the fire. I can make a fresh pot of coffee in a minute. The cookies will be coming out of the oven as soon as the timer buzzes.” She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth.

  “M.B., please!” Leandra took her hand. “We’re fine. We came by to make sure you were all right.”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

  “Then breathe, for heaven’s sake. Your face is as red as your sweatshirt.”

  Mary Beth’s gaze flew back to Rico and then down to the floor and up at Leandra. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

  Leandra folded her arms. “This may sound like a dumb question, but do you two know each other?”

  Mary Beth’s and Rico’s voices rose together then clashed.

  “Yes,” Rico said.

  “No,” Mary Beth insisted.

  “Huh?” Leandra looked from Mary Beth to Rico and back again, obviously confused.

  Mary Beth hurried to explain her and Rico’s conflicting answers. “I’ve probably seen Rico around…town.”

  “Yeah, maybe me too.”

  Mary Beth doubted if Leandra bought their story, but she said nothing. She pushed back the cuff of her jacket sleeve and squinted at her watch. “Sorry to say hi and run, but we have to get back in case Synda needs us.”

  “You can’t stay for even one cup of coffee? The snow seems to have let up.”

  “For now.” Leandra zipped her jacket and pulled the ski mask over her face once again. “I wish you’d come with us. I don’t like the idea of you staying out here alone in a storm.”

  “Leandra, we go through this with every storm, every year. I’m fine.” Mary Beth cast a loving glance at the kittens and Ruskie, who had strolled in to join them. “They’ll protect me. They always have.”

  “You’re like that little boy who stayed up all night with his finger in the dike, M.B. Somewhere between hero and nut! Rico, come on, we have to get going.”

  Mary Beth hugged Leandra then turned to Rico. She almost offered her hand again, until she read the message in his gaze—this isn’t over yet. The same message she’d seen the day she filed out of the courtroom so long ago.

  *

  Later, when Mary Beth had time to recover from the shock of seeing Rico and quell the unanswered questions swirling in her mind—how and why he showed up in this tiny hamlet so far removed from New York and his life there—she pulled a nightgown from her dresser drawer. A long hot shower and she’d be ready to curl up in bed with her book and at least two of the kittens.

  Nightgown clutched in her hand, she sat on the end of her bed. She still couldn’t believe Rico Zanini had found her, had stood in her kitchen less than an hour ago…tall, broad shouldered, muscled and so incredibly handsome, even with the scar on his cheek.

  She wanted to believe it was by coincidence, but she knew better. He’d looked for her, found her, and now what? She shivered at the prospect. It certainly wasn’t to thank her for ten years of free room and board.

  She remembered so well how he’d looked sitting at the defense table the day the pool of jurors filed in for jury selection, so scared, so unsure of himself. Their gazes had met and held for several long moments before she forced herself to look away. In that short amount of time, she’d known in her heart that he was innocent.

  Mary Beth lay back on her bed. Every time Rico had come to mind in the past, she’d pushed thoughts of him away. They brought unbearable pain. Now, since she’d seen him again, she couldn’t stop the memories nor his effect on her.

  Every night during the trial, she’d gone home and fantasized about him. She’d imagined him in her bed beside her, lips pressed to lips, bare skin touching bare skin. Still a virgin at eighteen, she could only guess how it would feel to have Rico’s cock insi
de her.

  She tunneled her hands beneath her sweatshirt and cradled her breasts. She remembered caressing her breasts, thumbing her nipples, and imagining it was Rico touching her. She’d slide her hand down her stomach to her pussy, wishing it was Rico’s hand instead of hers.

  Her nipple beaded beneath her thumb. She closed her eyes and pictured Rico lying beside her, caressing her skin. It was his thumb and forefinger urging her nipple to hardness, his hand sliding down her stomach to dive beneath her sweatpants and inside her panties.

  Warm, slick cream covered her fingers. Mary Beth groaned and arched her hips as she drove her fingers into her tight channel. She pumped them in and out, in and out, plucking at her nipples with her other hand until they were hard and sensitive.

  “Rico,” she whispered.

  She spread her cream over her clit. With each swirl of her fingertips, she thought of him watching her pleasure herself. They’d lie naked on her four-poster bed, a fire crackling in the fireplace. He’d drop soft kisses on her lips, but wouldn’t touch her in any other way. He’d whisper gentle encouragements to her, tell her to keep touching herself for him, tell her he wanted to watch her come.

  Mary Beth writhed on the bed and rubbed her clit harder. The orgasm began to build. She stopped moving her fingers, wanting to draw out her pleasure a little longer. She took several breaths to calm her racing heart, then touched her pussy again. It was even wetter now, her clit harder. It wouldn’t take much more for her to reach the summit.

  This time, she didn’t stop. She pinched one nipple and quickly rubbed her clit. The orgasm built even faster this time, rushing through her body and leaving her weak.

  Breathless, Mary Beth rolled to her side and drew her knees to her chest. Her throat tightened with unshed tears. She’d needed the climax, but it left her feeling empty. Instead of her own hand, she wanted Rico to touch her, slide inside her. She wanted to clutch his shoulders and cry out his name at the height of pleasure. She wanted their lovemaking to absolve her of guilt and wipe away the pain of all they’d both suffered.