Once she had hung up, she headed to the bathroom to take a shower and make herself presentable. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was aghast at what she saw. She looked a thousand years old. Her hair was limp and lifeless, her lips cracked, and her normally clear skin was covered in a rash of some sort that made it feel like sandpaper. Touching her face with her fingers, Ann felt dozens of tiny bumps just under the surface.
“I have to push ahead,” she told herself. Even if the man calling was Hank, from what she could tell thus far, he was not calling to tell her he loved her. He was calling to terrify her; he had come back to take her son away. After all these years Hank Carlisle was still making her life miserable.
Giving her image a last sour look, Ann shed her clothes and stepped into the shower. Scrubbing her body, she vowed that she wouldn’t let Hank’s phone calls, real or not, destroy her relationship with Glen. If she lost Glen, she would never forgive herself. She had finally found a man she respected, a man who transported her with his lust for life, a man who seemed to know how to make her happy.
Already she felt better. She’d drop David off, come home, and get dressed in something nice for a change, and possibly, just possibly, she could manage to have a normal evening.
The restaurant, specializing in Belgian cuisine, was situated in a lovely, quaint Victorian house. Glen was already waiting at a table when Ann walked in. She was wearing a short black dress, a lightweight knit, with only a strand of pearls around her long, graceful neck. Her look was one of simplicity, with her face fully exposed by her short haircut, but she was striking and heads turned as she crossed the floor to Glen’s table. Ann always wore sensible shoes to work, but tonight she was wearing high heels. They made her long legs appear more shapely than they actually were, her walk more seductive, as her hips moved from side to side beneath the clinging fabric.
Glen stood, a hesitant smile on his face. “You look wonderful, Ann,” he said. “I mean it, you look absolutely fabulous.”
Ann kissed him lightly and then took a seat at the table, basking in his praise. “I’ve decided to go on with my life, you know. No matter what’s going on.”
Glen had no sooner taken his seat than he leaned forward over the table, his voice low and tense. “After we talked, Ann, I started thinking about the things you told me about your husband. It isn’t right for me to tell you what to do, what to think. If you believe it’s Hank, then it must be Hank.” He looked away, as if too overcome by emotion to face her. “What if it is him? What happens to us then?”
Ann twisted her napkin in her lap. “Let’s not talk about it,” she said. “Not tonight, Glen.”
“No,” he said adamantly, slapping the table and causing the silverware to jangle. “I need to know now, Ann. How can we go on if you’re just going to throw it all away if he comes back?”
Ann met his gaze and held it. Finally she answered, her voice firm, “I’m not going to throw it away. Glen.”
All the tension left his face. “All right,” he said, smiling as he signaled the waiter. “Let’s eat.”
Ann picked up the menu and studied it, settling on a chicken crepe with a mushroom cream sauce. Her diet had been atrocious lately, and she knew she was losing weight. Tonight she felt as if she could eat everything in sight.
Glen ordered a bottle of wine with dinner, then sighed, leaning back in his seat. “So we have the whole evening to ourselves.”
“Great, isn’t it?” Ann said, diving into her salad the moment the waiter placed her plate on the table. “This is delicious. How’s yours?”
He stretched his fingers across the table. “I’ve missed you, Ann.”
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I want to devour you,” he said, rubbing his leg against hers under the table. “That’s what I’m really hungry for.”
Ann dropped her fork as she felt the contact, her face flushing a bright shade of pink. She could feel it already—the aching between her legs. “You’re a sex maniac,” she said playfully. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m never ashamed,” Glen said, his eyes dancing, his voice low and seductive. “The only thing I would be ashamed of is not being able to please you.”
Responding in kind, Ann slipped her shoe off and scooted her chair closer to the table. Then she found his crotch with her stocking foot. “Oh, really?” she said. “So far I don’t have any complaints.”
The waiter brought their wine to the table, and Ann straightened up in her seat self-consciously, placing both her feet back on the floor. When the waiter had finished pouring, she said, “We could leave if you want….”
“That’s exactly what I want.” His eyes tracked the waiter until he was a good distance away. When he turned back to Ann, his lids were half closed with lust. “Unless you want to get under the table with me right here. We could put on a dinner show. You know,” he said, laughing, “give these nice people a little entertainment.”
No,” Ann said quickly, not certain if he was joking. Let’s get out of here. I’m not hungry anyway.”
He called the waiter over and asked for the check, much to his surprise. “We’ll go to my house, Ann. Then nothing will distract us.”
You’re on,” she said, smiling brilliantly.
From the outside. Glen’s house looked fairly unassuming. It was approximately ten years old, and the front was almost obscured with dense shrubbery and towering trees. But the first time Glen had taken Ann inside, she had been pleasantly surprised. The interior was filled with opulent furnishings she wouldn’t have expected a bachelor to own. He collected antiques, and most of the pieces were massive. In the living room he had an overstuffed sofa covered in a tapestry-type fabric. Every other table bore a sculpture or art object of some kind. Every piece had its place. No glasses stood around without coasters, no dirty dishes in the sink, no unmade beds and towels tossed on the floor.
Glen lit a fire in the fireplace and went to get them a bottle of wine. Ann already felt a little woozy, what with the lack of sleep lately and her meager diet.
“I think I’m going to get drunk,” she said when Glen came back and handed her a long-stemmed crystal glass.
“Maybe that’s just what you need,” he said, smiling and pulling her into his arms.
Ann kissed him and then pulled away to set the glass on the mantel. “You’re what I need.”
“Oh, really?” he said, massaging her buttocks through her clothing. “You feel good, Ann, really good. It’s been too long.”
Gently he pushed the neckline of her dress down until her shoulders were exposed. Then he kissed each of her shoulders and ran his finger along her collarbone. “You’re so delicate,” he whispered. “Your skin, your bone structure, your nose, even your mouth.”
“How can I be delicate?” Ann said. “I’m so tall, I look like a giraffe.”
He continued pushing the knit dress down. Ann hadn’t worn a bra, and she was soon standing nude from the waist up, the fire against her back. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. She was so nervous and excited that she couldn’t get them open and finally dropped her hands to her sides and watched while Glen removed the shirt himself. His upper body was laced with sinewy muscles, and his chest hair was dark and thick. She stared at him in the dim light of the fire and then stepped closer until her chest was pressing against him.
“My breasts are too small,” she said shyly.
“No,” he said, pushing her back to look at them, “they’re perfect. If they were bigger, they would sag like an old woman’s. I hate sagging breasts. My mother’s breasts sag.”
In one easy movement he took Ann’s hand and pulled her down onto the plush carpet. Then he carefully pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. Ann was wearing a garter belt and hose with no underwear. Glen had told her several times how much this excited him. He’d even bought her the very garter belt she was wearing, but until tonight she hadn’t had an occasion to wear it.
Ann lay on her back as his hands r
oamed, her eyes closed, listening to the fire crack and pop only a few feet away, the wine making her feel far removed from what had been happening in her life, loose and uninhibited. A handsome, exciting man was making love to her, and nothing else seemed to matter.
When he spread her legs and bent his head between them, though, Ann tried to sit up and protest. She’d never done this with Hank, and she was embarrassed, but Glen pushed her back down, holding her in place with his arms. After the first, soothing strokes, Ann relaxed, allowing her body to respond. She began tossing her head from side to side and moaning. Not sure she could take it any longer, she tried to pull Glen on top of her, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Just be still,” he whispered. “I want to make you feel like you’ve never felt before. I want to show you what real pleasure is.”
Ann heard his words, but they were disconnected and floating. The pleasure was overwhelming, building somewhere deep inside her body. She felt tears on her cheeks and was powerless to stop them. Feeling this good was both alien and wonderful. “Please, Glen,” she begged, “I want to feel you inside me.”
She waited, expecting him to get on top of her, but he did not. Stretching out on the floor next to her, he pulled her on top of him instead. “Ride me,” he said, his eyes filled with passion.
Ann pressed her lips to his and felt him plunge inside her. His hands grabbed her buttocks, forcing her to rock with him. Her inner muscles were in spasms, gripping him tightly and then releasing him over and over again. Glen would move her up until they were almost disconnected. Then he would push her back down. Ann sat up and arched her body backward, feeling his soft hands graze her breasts, the tender flesh of her abdomen. Then his fingers were stroking the very place where their bodies met.
“Oh God,” she cried, throwing herself down to his chest and riding him fast, hard, their bodies wet with perspiration. “I love you,” she said.
When she collapsed on his chest, spent, he rolled with her, still connected, until he was on top and she was looking up at him.
He picked up her legs and draped them over his shoulders, plunging inside her again and again, his face contorted, his eyes shut, all power and force now, like a man possessed. “Yes, yes,” he cried, his whole body trembling and jerking as he exploded inside her.
At last he collapsed on top of her, a dead weight. After some five minutes, Ann felt she couldn’t breathe and was certain he had fallen asleep. She finally managed to slip out from under him. “Where are you going?” he said, reaching out a hand. “Come back to me.
Ann laughed, and they faced each other on their sides, only an inch apart. “I’m embarrassed,” she said. “I’ve never been so…you know…carried away.”
Glen smiled at her, pressing a nipple between his thumb and forefinger until Ann yelped. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Don’t you like that?”
“Not if it hurts,” she said, doing it back to him. “See, that hurts. If you do it softly, it feels sexy. If you do it hard, it hurts like a bitch.” She started to tell him that it repulsed her especially now because the man who had attacked her had touched her in that way. Then she thought better of it. Mentioning that night would lead to more talk of Hank. What would that accomplish?
“Oh, now you’re an expert on pleasure,” Glen said, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t you know pain and pleasure are closely related? Without pain, there would be no such thing as pleasure?”
Ann sensed his pride had been wounded, and she chuckled. “Maybe, but I’ll just take the pleasure.”
In a rapid movement Glen leaped on top of her and pinned her hands to the floor. “Now you’re powerless,” he said. “Completely under my control.”
Ann giggled, but she didn’t like it. She tried to wrench her arms free. “Let me go. I don’t…”
“What?” Glen said lightly. “Are you one of those women that has to be in control, Ann?”
“It’s not control…it’s…let go of my arms. I want to get up.” Didn’t he know that she’d just been attacked? Didn’t he know how it had made her feel to be pinned on the floor by a man again? Perhaps it was because of the attack that he felt some need to reassert control.
A black intensity appeared in his eyes, but he released her arms. “There,” he said, standing and reaching up to the mantel for his wineglass. “I didn’t mean anything.”
Ann stood as well and wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing him on the nape of his neck. Then she moved her hands to his shoulders and felt the rigid muscles. He was tense over the situation with Hank, she told herself, fearful that he might lose her. “There’re some things I just don’t like. Glen. But I want to make love to you. You made me feel fantastic tonight.”
When he didn’t respond, Ann pulled away, knowing there was nothing she could say to reassure him. Their relationship was young, and as yet they had not learned to trust each other. Possibly, she thought, he was comparing their lovemaking to what she had shared with Hank. She almost laughed, thinking he had nothing to worry about in that department. Sex with Hank had been fast and rough, and she had seldom been satisfied.
Walking around his living room, Ann began looking at the art objects, the photographs on top of the sleek grand piano. Of course, as a district attorney he made more money than she did, but she knew there was family money. His fancy car, his European clothes, the antiques. She picked up a picture in a silver frame and gazed at it. “Is this your mother? She looks so young. I mean, being a judge, I expected her to be a lot older.”
Glen took the picture out of her hand and placed it back on the piano. “I don’t want to talk about my mother, okay? Any more than I want to talk about your husband. Come with me.”
He led her in the direction of the bedroom. As they were walking down the hall, a shiver of fear raced through her body. The hall was dark, and memories of the night she had been attacked returned. Ann slammed back against the wall, lost in panic.
“What’s wrong?” Glen said, his hand sliding out of hers.
Ann could hear the man’s voice now: “Don’t you like that? Doesn’t that feel good?” After the attack was over, so much of what had happened in that hall had vanished from her mind. Now she remembered everything: the way he smelled, the way he had sat on her back.
“I—I feel sick,” Ann stammered, already sidestepping down the hall toward the living room, knowing she had to get some fresh air. “The food…the wine…I have to go.”
“Wait,” Glen said, following her. “If you don’t feel well, lie down until you feel better. If you want, I can even drive you home, and you can pick up your car tomorrow.”
“No,” Ann said, seizing her clothes off the floor and quickly dressing. “Please, Glen, I want to go home. I don’t feel well. Everything was great, but…”
He tossed his hands in the air in frustration. “Whatever.”
Ann stepped into her shoes and then raced out the door.
Once she was inside the Jeep, Ann put her head down on the steering wheel in despair. She had to take control of her life and stop the madness once and for all, or she was going to lose this man and the happiness he had brought her. Raising her head, she stared back at the house, longing to return but knowing she couldn’t.
Her thoughts turned to the telephone conversation with Glen earlier in the day. He was the only person who had made any sense of the situation. Perhaps there was something about Jimmy Sawyer’s eyes that reminded her of Hank. As Glen had pointed out so logically, on both occasions when she had been in Sawyer’s presence, she had instantly thought of Hank. Was it cruelty she saw in his eyes? Was Sawyer as explosive as Hank? Was that something she would instantly recognize after all the years of abuse? Ann knew it was possible.
How many times had she actually seen Sawyer? The first day in the courtroom, the night of the shooting, the time they met for lunch. On all those occasions she had been either injured or distracted by other concerns. And the day of his arraignment, she had been worried that he was about to slander her
reputation in the courtroom. Appearances had always meant so much to her. It was one of the reasons she had never told anyone about Hank’s abusive behavior.
Sawyer wasn’t merely a drug dealer, not with human fingers in his refrigerator. Yes, she thought, cranking the engine and pulling away from the curb. Glen had to be right.
Chapter 17
Sunday morning brought a new determination. Ann got out all the information she had collected on the Sawyer case, as well as the information relating to her shooting, and stacked it in neat piles on the kitchen table. The only way to reclaim her life, she had decided the moment she woke up, was to find the person or persons responsible for terrorizing her. She couldn’t let her relationship with Glen be destroyed by some clever mutt with a talent for impersonating voices.
Ann got David’s blackboard from his room, lugged it down the hall, and propped it up on the kitchen counter. All morning and into the afternoon she worked, making notes on the blackboard when a detail caught her eye or when she saw a hole in the case that had not been filled. One large gap that emerged was any background information on Peter Chen. Because he had no prior criminal record, other than a few parking citations, they really knew next to nothing about him. So how were they supposed to locate him? He wasn’t living on Henderson anymore, but it was doubtful that he had left the area. He was simply too young to leave his family and contacts in the community behind. He was also Chinese, and Ann knew the importance most of them placed on family.
Rubbing her chin, she flipped back through her notes. Someone had learned that Chen had attended Long Beach State at one time and studied chemistry. But the note in the file indicated that all the information the university had provided them had led nowhere. No wonder, Ann thought, studying the fax from the registrar’s office. The student in question was named Peter Chen, all right, but he was the wrong one. At the time they had checked, they’d only had Chen’s name and not his date of birth. The date of birth on the school records was not the same as Chen’s, and Noah Abrams had failed to contact the school again once he had the correct information.
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