Convicted Page 15

  Her agonized whisper cut him to the core. With one smooth move, Deacon pulled Lisa into his arms and onto his lap. She didn't fight him.

  "No," he said. "You're not crazy. And all this stuff that's been happening to you is not your fault. It's just someone with a sick sense of humor trying to rattle you for some reason."

  She put her head on his shoulder, letting him hold her. "A lot of people seem to think it's you."

  That didn't set well with him at all. "Like who?"

  "Terry," she mumbled. "My parents."

  "They don't like me anyway," he told her. "And Terry's jealous."

  She nodded against his neck. "Don't you think he has the right?"

  "To be jealous--sure," Deacon said. "But not to go around accusing me of stalking you."

  "He hasn't gone around accusing you of stalking me." The soft touch of her breath on his skin was driving him nuts.

  "I have an idea," Deacon told her. "Let's not talk about Terry any more, okay? Or your sister. Or your parents."

  She pulled away to meet his gaze. "You'd rather talk about what kind of koi to put in the pond?"

  "I'd rather," Deacon said, "not talk at all."

  Her mouth was sweet and welcoming, and she returned his kiss eagerly. It had only been a little over a week since the last time he'd had her in his arms, but it felt like an eternity. Suddenly he couldn't have been happier to be working late.

  She sighed when he left her mouth to press kisses along the curve of her jaw and down the sweet slope of her neck. He leaned forward, twirling the chair to allow him to press her back against the top of the desk. She didn't protest, which made him bolder.

  Deacon pushed the pile of papers onto the floor, not caring if they crumpled. There wasn't much room on the desk. Lisa bumped her head on the computer monitor. She let out a muffled groan.

  "What are we doing?" she asked him.

  Even though her eyes a little glazed from passion, he could see she wanted a real answer. "Kissing?"

  She craned her neck to look around the office, then raised her eyebrow at him. "At work? Not very professional."

  He saw her eyes flicker to the shelves, and he remembered. The surveillance camera. He'd grown so used to just hanging his shirt over the lens, he'd forgotten about it. Lisa's wary glance told him she knew about it, though, a thought that suddenly brought back a whole lot of bad feelings he'd thought he'd forgotten, too.

  "You're right," he said.

  The change in his tone and manner must have confused her, but she didn't question him. Instead, Lisa just got off the desk, and straightened her hair and clothing. She bent to pick up the scattered piles of papers, putting them back into order.

  She spoke to him with her back still turned, so he couldn't see her face. "I am sorry about all this, Deacon. I really would like us to start over. Everything is just crazy right now."

  "Sure," he told her like he didn't care. He reached down to pick up his shirt from where it had fallen and hung it back up over the lens.

  When she turned back and saw what he had done, she let her eyes linger on his for one long, silent moment. Then she turned and gathered the rest of her things. Her voice was soft when she spoke.

  "I'm going home now," she said. "Will you call me tomorrow? I...I'd like to go out with you. Do something. If you still want to."

  He felt as though he were being tested. "Sure."

  She nodded, and he wasn't sure if he'd passed or failed. "Talk to you tomorrow then?"

  "I'll just finish up here," he replied.

  She leaned over to brush her lips against his cheek. "Goodnight, Deacon."

  After she was gone, Deacon turned and flipped up his middle finger, right to the camera. Nobody would see the gesture, of course. The shirt would prevent that. But doing it made him feel better, and he gathered up his own things and left.

  * * * *

  Allegra's car was in the driveway when Lisa got home. For one moment Lisa seriously considered turning the car and driving away. It was late and she was tired, and cowardice wouldn't get her anything but more grief.

  It was as though her sister hadn't moved out. Dirty dishes filled the sink, crumbs scattered the counter, and a carton of milk sat on the table next to a half-filled glass. Lisa carefully hung her keys on the hooks by the door and slung her purse over the back of a chair.

  "Allegra?" There was no sense in avoiding the confrontation. Lisa mentally girded her loins as she went to the living room.

  Her sister wasn't there. Lisa climbed the front stairs. The door to her room was closed, just as she'd left it. The hall bath light was on and the door open, but it was empty. Lisa went through the dark and empty spare room and knocked on Allegra's door.

  "You're going to come in anyway, so why knock?" came the disgruntled reply.

  Lisa pushed open the door. Except for the double bed, dresser and rocking chair, the room was completely bare. Even the open closet held nothing but a few lonely hangers.

  "Wow, Al," was all she could manage to say.

  Allegra fixed her with an arch look. "Don't pretend you're not happy to see this, Lisa."

  Lisa crossed to the rocker and sat down. "We need to talk."

  "I have nothing to say to you," Allegra said. "Go talk to your boyfriend. Oops, I forgot. You dumped Terry, didn't you? So go talk to your convict lover."

  "I was worried about you," Lisa began, but Allegra cut her off.

  "Just shut up!" Her dark hair swung in lank strands over her shoulders. Her hands clenched at her sides and she took a step toward Lisa, her pretty face scowling. "Shut up!"

  Taken aback by her sister's ferocity, Lisa got up from the chair. "Okay. I'll go."

  "I'm really doing it, you know," Allegra whispered so softly Lisa wasn't sure she'd heard her right.

  "What?"

  "Moving out," Allegra said in a normal tone. "Moving out of here. And I know you're happy about it!"

  She was happy, there was no denying it, but Lisa felt too guilty to say so. "It's probably for the best, Al."

  Allegra sneered. "Sure. Then you can have this place all to your self for your little sex parties."

  Every time she almost felt sorry for her sister, Allegra had to go and make sordid accusations that annoyed her. Lisa took a deep breath, not wanting to lose her temper. "Don't even go there."

  "You never wanted me here." Allegra pouted.

  That was true, too. "That's not true." The lie slipped from Lisa's mouth easily enough, but that didn't make it any more convincing.

  Al snorted. "Right. Sure. Whatever. I had to beg you to let me move in with you so I could get away from that house, that other house..." She stopped, her voice drifting into silence. Her dark eyes blinked rapidly, as though she were remembering things. Her tongue flickered out to run along her lips.

  "And you took the best room for yourself," Allegra cried suddenly. She pointed her finger at Lisa. "And you got to pick what kind of furniture we had. And you didn't share your butter!"

  "What? Where the hell did that come from?" Lisa paused in the doorway, stunned.

  "I wanted to use some butter to make a grilled cheese, and you said I'd have to start buying my own!"

  "Why shouldn't you buy your own?" The conversation was beginning to border on ridiculous.

  "Because we're sisters, and we should share!" Incredibly, Allegra was crying. Real tears slid down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

  Lisa didn't know what to say. Her sister was frequently melodramatic, but these tears seemed genuine. "You're moving out because I wouldn't share my butter with you?"

  The look of scorn Allegra shot her was enough to make Lisa wince. "Please. Like I can't buy my own goddamned butter?"

  Lisa shook her head in disgust as she started out the door. "You know what, Al? I'm not going to do this with you. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed."

  "I shared everything with you!" Came Allegra's cry at Lisa's back.

  Lisa turned. Allegra had sunk onto the bed, her tear-streake
d face half-hidden by the fall of her thick, dark hair. She held her right hand in her lap and rapidly touched the fingers with her other hand, like she was counting off a list in double time.

  "I always shared everything with you," she said sullenly.

  Lisa thought back to all the times she'd listened to Allegra's bragging about how many men had asked her out, how many had asked for her phone number, how many she'd kissed or slept with. How she just couldn't find clothes that fit right since her breasts were too large and her waist too tiny. How it was so, so difficult to be pretty because nobody ever took her seriously.

  "You sure shared," Lisa said. "More than I ever wanted to know."

  The words came out sounding petty and strained. Allegra didn't seem to notice. Now she stopped the relentless hand movement and lifted her head to stare at Lisa. Her cheeks gleamed with tears.

  "I just wanted to be close to you, Lisa," she said in the little girl voice that always set Lisa's nerves on edge. "You're my big sister."

  "And we're both grownups now, Allegra," Lisa told her, trying to be kind. "It's not like we're kids any more."

  Allegra's eyes seemed to shift focus. "What's that got to do with it? Is that why you tried to tell Mom and Dad I'm a nutcase? Because you hate me?"

  "I don't hate you, Allegra." With a sigh, Lisa went to the bed and sat next to her sister. "But if we're going to share space, we need to respect each other. And you don't respect me--"

  "Respect," Al hissed contemptuously. "What do you know about it? I adore you, Lisa!"

  The vehemence of her statement belied the actual words. Lisa suddenly felt as though ants had begun crawling all over her skin. She got up from the bed slowly like the floor had tilted beneath her feet.

  "I'm going to bed," she said.

  "When you wake up, I'll be gone," Allegra said. "And won't you be sorry then?"

  As she slipped between her cool, fresh sheets, Lisa thought about what Allegra had asked. No, she thought with weary finality, I won't be sorry. Not at all.

  * * * *

  A long, hard ride always put things back into perspective for him. Deacon let the motorcycle slide into the driveway and parked it. It felt like he'd ridden every tiny back road in Elk County, and there were a lot of them. Right now, all he wanted was a hot shower, a cold beer, and maybe some boring television to fall asleep to.

  "Deacon?" Bertha's voice quavered as she stepped out of her darkened bedroom.

  Deacon pulled a cold green bottle of Straub's out of the fridge, then grabbed another. "Just me."

  Bertha pulled her summer robe more tightly around her as she entered the kitchen. "I thought you'd got home hours ago."

  Deacon twisted the caps off both bottles and took a long swallow from one. "Nope. I just got home. I went riding after work."

  Bertha's brow furrowed. "Well, that's strange. I swear I heard you ruffling around up there earlier when I got home from bingo. My dogs were barking so bad I just went straight back to the bedroom to soak 'em and I guess I fell asleep watching Wheel of Fortune."

  Deacon glanced up to the ceiling. "What exactly did you hear, Mom?"

  She gestured vaguely. "Oh, just some thumps and stuff. I thought you must've been unpacking some of those boxes finally."

  Deacon didn't want to alarm his mother, but her story made him nervous. He hadn't been home since leaving for work this morning. So who had she heard upstairs?

  "'Night," he told Bertha and gave her the peck on the cheek she expected.

  "It's cool tonight," Bertha said. "I left your windows open for you."

  "You didn't have to do that, Mom," he said. "You shouldn't be climbing those stairs."

  Bertha chuckled. "Gotta make sure your dirty laundry isn't growing mold up there, don't I?"

  Since she knew as well as he that Deacon took care of such things on his own, he took the comment as she meant it and laughed. "I guess I can get older, but you'll never believe I've grown up."

  "Not while you're still living at home." She wagged her finger.

  "Point taken," Deacon replied with a grin. "I'll start looking for a place of my own."

  Bertha reached out to hug him. "You always have a place here, Deacon. You know that. I just want you to get on with your life, and living here with this old lady can't be much fun."

  "You're not old," he said gallantly, playing along even as the desire to get upstairs and search his room for signs of an intruder itched.

  Deacon took his beers and climbed the narrow stairs. The nightlight Bertha kept burning in the upstairs hall shed a golden but dim glow that barely illuminated the built-in cupboard next to the bathroom door. To his left, the door to the small bedroom remained shut as it always did unless someone was using it. To his right, the door to his room was cracked open. He'd shut it behind him when he left this morning, he was pretty sure of it, but if Bertha had been upstairs to open the window she certainly could have been the one to leave the door open.

  Still, it was with caution he pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the room he'd used since childhood. He'd hit the door with a little too much force, and it flew open hard enough to bang against the wall. In nearly the same motion, he flicked on the light switch.

  The room, as far as he could see, was empty.

  All at once feeling foolishly James Bond-esque, Deacon stepped further in to survey the interior. The closet door directly to his right was half open, the way he'd left it, his few "good" shirts and pants hanging nonchalantly on their hangers. In front of him and to the right was the small space carved out by the room's t-shaped divider, completely filled with boxes of his belongings. Unless the intruder was an elf, nobody could possibly be hiding in there.

  Deacon moved toward the back of the room to the large space he'd set up as his. As he passed the dormer window he glanced down the short narrow space but saw only the easy chair and reading lamp he'd put there. His bed was not creased. The double window on the far wall was open as Bertha had described, and the sheer curtains fluttered in the night breeze. Directly outside the window he could see the brick of the house next door, but nothing unusual. The tv on its stand next to the built-in drawers was blank and silent, the vcr clock blinking as it always did because he was too lazy to set it.

  In short, nothing out of the ordinary. If the front half of the room was a disorganized jumble of boxes, the part he actually used was clean and tidy. His coat rack, hung with baseball caps and jackets, stood sentry in the corner formed by the divider, and the battered loveseat took up the rest of that space. No place a person could hide, if indeed somebody had been up here earlier today.

  Nothing seemed out of place either. He didn't have much out, not having bothered to unpack most of his things. The narrow desk with the wobbly legs under the window was the only item in the room that could possibly have garnered attention he wouldn't be immediately able to tell, since the desk was always jumbled with mail and magazines he meant to read.

  Deacon tossed his heavy leather jacket onto the bed and put his helmet carefully on top of the divider. As he did, the breeze blowing through the window brought him the scent of a woman's perfume. He froze, lifting his nose in the air to try and find the smell again. It was faint and not one he recognized. Then it was gone.

  Maybe he'd imagined it. His mind, prompted by Bertha's tale, wanted to find something wrong in his room. Yet, Deacon had to admit, that aside from a sense of unease, he could see nothing wrong. No sign anyone had been here. Nothing seemed missing, and nothing, so far as he could see, had been left behind.

  The phone on his night stand blinked red. He had a voice mail message. Since Bertha claimed herself too old to learn how to operate the new system, it had become his responsibility to take down the messages, mostly from her bingo buddies or his siblings. He rarely got any calls himself, but this time he hoped he might hear Lisa's voice.

  Quickly Deacon punched in the access number and his password, and was surprised to hear "seven messages." The messages began playing and every
one of them was a hang up. His suspicions roused after the third one. That was too many to be mere coincidence, especially when their telephone barely even rang seven times a day.

  He didn't have caller ID and couldn't check to see who had made the calls, but he was willing to bet they'd been made by the same person. The one who'd been bothering Lisa? Deacon stripped off his clothes while he thought. It was no secret there were people in town who didn't hold him in high regard. He could count several of them just off the top of his head, Officer Terry Hewitt being one of them.

  Accusing Terry of making the calls would be childish and stupid, too. They were only hang ups, nothing threatening or obscene. Trying to link Terry to Lisa's harasser would only earn Deacon greater suspicion from the police department and maybe even Lisa herself.

  So, who? He was still pondering as he showered and slid into bed with nothing between him and the sheets but the scent of soap. He thought he caught the scent of perfume again, and it vanished as swiftly as before. He thought of Lisa and the way she smelled, and stirred with arousal. Lying in the dark with the cool night breeze caressing his bare skin, he wondered if he'd ever get to sleep. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 12

  * * *

  Lisa let the dart fly from her hands and it struck the board with a thud. She let out a whoop of pleasure and turned to Deacon. "I told you I'd kick your butt!"

  He gulped his beer and set the mug on the table. "We'll see."

  But his next shot bounced harmlessly off the board and hit the floor. Lisa laughed, feeling at ease for the first time in a long while. Deacon scowled and poked her in the stomach while she wriggled and giggled.

  "That tickles," she protested, and he smiled.

  "I let you win."

  "Sheee, yeah," Lisa scoffed. "Right."

  The waitress arrived at their table bearing two platters of steaming hot chicken wings, blue cheese and celery. Deacon picked up all the darts and stuck them in the board, then joined Lisa at the table to dig into the decadent feast. Each had ordered a plate, and though his eyes had shown he was dubious she could finish hers, Lisa planned to show him she could.