Lillian's Love

by Laura Marie Henion

  "He doesn't? What exactly does the bookstore type look like?"

  "Not him. The kid is built. He's very quiet. He watches you a lot."

  "What are you saying, that book type guys are scrawny? They don't work out?” she challenged.

  Michael shrugged his shoulders.

  "That's very stereotypical of you considering your line of work. Oh, wait. Cop's are known for their suspicious minds, arrogant attitudes, and love of donuts,” she countered.

  Michael laughed. “I'm just saying the kid's got the hots for you."

  "He's a cousin of Aunt Mabel's friend Joyce. He's also a friend of Uncle Phil's."

  Michael smiled at her defensive tone. She always had all the answers. He placed his hand on her knee as he made the turn down the side street. His house, located in a cul-de-sac, was a lovely old colonial home with a large yard and nicely landscaped property. A small cabin cruiser boat sat on a boat trailer in the driveway.

  "Your house is gorgeous, Michael. Is that your boat?"

  "Thank you and yes, it is. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to launch it on the Hudson River yet. Too busy with work."

  They got out of the car, meeting by the front bumper.

  "Well, getting shot, taking on a Uzi, having a major concussion, can screw up recreational plans a little,” Lillian teased as Michael pulled her into his arms.

  "Or meeting an amazing woman who's swept me off my feet, where all I think about all day is making love to her again. That can do a number on a man if you know what I mean?” He kissed her before she could respond.

  * * * *

  The sun had set. It was just beginning to get dark when they approached the front porch. Lillian noted the colonial style American flag.

  The house, decorated with old-fashioned furniture combined with new styles, made it look just as authentic. The fireplace in the living room was breathtaking, covered with stone and taking up the whole main wall in the living room.

  "I can't believe you live here, Michael. This is a hell of a bachelor's pad,” she added as they headed into the kitchen.

  "It used to be my grandparents’ place. They left it to me in their will. I left a lot of it the same, just added a few new pieces. I always loved it here."

  Michael washed his hands thoroughly before preparing the meal.

  "Why don't you go pick out a nice bottle of wine and pour us some while I prepare dinner.” He pointed toward the wine refrigerator as well as the glasses.

  Lillian opened the bottle, poured the wine, placing a full glass next to the stove where Michael prepared the meal. She leaned back against the counter across from him.

  She absorbed her surroundings, noting the feeling of safety, peacefulness. She owed it all to Michael. Tonight, he looked amazing. The fact he still wore his sidearm and badge just added to the scene, the attraction she already had toward him.

  He boiled some water and threw in the shrimp. He mixed different ingredients as he prepared some cocktail sauce, adding some fresh horseradish. He even went as far as filling a server with ice, lining up the cooked shrimp in a circular order around a dish of his homemade cocktail sauce.

  "Presentation is everything.” He winked as he placed it on the table. The sight of his dimples made her blush.

  "Now, what should we do with the filet of sole?” he asked as Lillian washed her hands.

  "Here let me help you.” She insisted as she retrieved a small frying pan, some garlic and shallots from the refrigerator.

  "Where's your olive oil?"

  Michael smiled, then retrieved it for her.

  He brought her the can from under the counter as well as some breadcrumbs. Then he gathered other ingredients she needed.

  Before long, they were working side by side, sautéing some chopped shrimp, butter, shallots, and garlic, then added breadcrumbs in the frying pan with olive oil. Lillian sprinkled some seasoning before they stuffed the filet of sole with the concoction. Lillian held the fish together while Michael added the toothpicks to secure it. With the oven pre-heated, Michael added each piece to the baking dish.

  "One last thing,” Lillian stated as she lowered the flame under the frying pan that contained the drippings from the concoction. She took the bottle of white wine they were drinking, adding a little to the pan. The steam rose to the ceiling as Lillian moved the liquid around until the alcohol burned off. She turned off the gas, covered the stuffed filet of sole with the liquid from the pan before Michael placed it in the oven.

  "What a team!"

  * * * *

  Michael pulled Lillian against him. She laid her head against his chest, thankful for the diversion.

  He held her close, loving the way she felt against his body. She was petite, delicate as her body molded against his.

  He tried to forget the images he saw. He wanted to pretend the pictures weren't of the woman he held in his arms right now. But they were of his Lillian. He wanted to talk to her about it, but his uncle's words surfaced again. Michael knew he would just have to wait until Lillian felt ready.

  Twenty minutes later, they were enjoying dinner together by candlelight.

  * * * *

  After they cleaned up from dinner, Michael gave her a tour of his home. She wasn't the least bit surprised when he brought her to his bedroom.

  The large master bedroom was decorated in all earth tones, the walls beige, the molding a shade darker. His bed, covered with a dark brown comforter that almost looked like suede was inviting with its cherry wood sleigh bed. An assortment of tan, brown, beige, and cream-colored pillows decorated the top. His furniture matched the bed. The master bathroom was to the left, behind a solid cherry wood door.

  On the other side of the room was a sitting area and a corner fireplace, finished in dark cherry wood.

  "This is really nice,” she told Michael as he followed her around the bedroom.

  She paused by the dresser to look at some family pictures on the wall when she heard Michael removing his gun, holster, and badge, placing them in his top dresser drawer.

  "So that's your secret hiding spot?” she teased continuing to look around. She caught site of a photograph of Michael in a Marine uniform standing next to another man in a police uniform. He looked a lot like Michael. The same eyes, the same colored hair.

  "Is this your father?"

  "Yes, that's when I came home on a short leave from the corp. We had a huge party here at the house."

  Michael now stood behind her.

  "You two look a lot alike."

  "He got killed three years ago in the line of duty."

  "I'm sorry, Michael. Carla had told me about him. I'm sure it's difficult to talk about."

  "That's all right. He was a great man. Carla, my mom, and I have a real close relationship, so we help each other out when times get tough."

  Lillian wanted to tell Michael about her parents, but she knew that subject would lead to discussing Martin. She just wasn't ready yet.

  * * * *

  Michael wondered why Lillian didn't mention her parents. He just gave her an opportunity to talk about it, but she clammed up. Every line of questioning that entered his mind would surely make Lillian feel like it was an interrogation. He tried his best not to sound that way, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to know everything about Lillian, not only because he loved her, he wanted to protect her.

  He suddenly sensed the fine line between the personal and the professional. He wanted to learn more about Lillian just as lovers do, though he couldn't help thinking like a cop. The detective side of him wanted to question her knowing that the more he knew about Lillian and her past, the better he could protect her.

  Michael's head began to ache from analyzing everything when all he wanted to do was make love to his woman. Then it hit him. Lillian was already his lover, his girlfriend, before he took on the case. There would be no conflict, no fine line. He was a man, a homicide detective protecting his girlfriend from danger.

  He watched Lillian place the photo ba
ck onto the dresser.

  "How are you feeling?” Michael asked as he began rubbing Lillian's shoulders.

  He felt her hesitate a moment. She seemed to know exactly what he meant. Did she expect him to not ask questions?

  He didn't want to crowd her, but she seemed fearful.

  "I'm fine. It's getting late. We both have work tomorrow.” She began to move away from him, but he wouldn't let her.

  He stopped her next steps by softly taking her wrist into his hand. She glanced back with an expression, of what appeared to be hesitation and need combined. He pulled her to him, kissed her softly on the neck from behind, scattering kisses and nibbles until her head fell back against his chest.

  He felt the depth of his breathing as his chest rose and fell in sync with Lillian's.

  "We make a great team, Lilly. I loved cooking with you in my kitchen,” he whispered, turning her toward him. His lips covered hers, thoroughly devouring them. He didn't want her to leave. She would stay with him tonight.

  His hands caressed the curves of her body. He wanted to feel that ultimate closeness like they had shared the other night for the first time. He longed to be inside her, claiming every inch of her as his own, knowing she was safe and right beside him.

  He moved his hand under her blouse, feeling the firmness of her skin, the warmth of her body and the desire to make love to her in his bed.

  Lillian appeared to want the same thing. Simultaneously, they removed one another's clothing.

  Their gazes locked and a feeling of seriousness and possessiveness consumed him.

  "I thought about you all day. Why didn't you return my calls?” he asked her, placing her naked body on the bed, eyeing her with pure lust. She giggled as his forearm brushed against her ribcage.

  Do you know what you do to me? What the sound of your laughter does to my heart?

  He dared not say the words aloud.

  "Busy or not, I promise to return your calls from now on."

  Michael licked his lips as his knee held position between her legs. He placed his hand over her belly, inches from her skin.

  "What are you doing?” she asked. He hoped she was feeling the heat of his hand even though he wasn't touching her.

  "Am I driving you crazy?"

  "Yes!” she answered a bit too quickly. Michael smiled wide with satisfaction.

  He continued to rub his hand above her skin still not touching but brushing lightly against it before pulling away.

  When he was sure she least expected it, he placed his hands over her breasts, nuzzled his face against her neck. Lillian sighed in relief. His teasing methods were definitely driving her wild. In response, she rubbed her hands against his skin, grabbing at him.

  She wiggled her hips against his as she nibbled on his shoulder, pulled his body as close as she could pull it against her body.

  "I've waited all day for this."

  Michael made his way down her body, licking, kissing, claiming every inch of her before finally satisfying their needs as he entered her in one enormous thrust. They made love into the night. He made sure she never thought of anything else, except him.

  * * * *

  It became obvious that Lillian wasn't returning home. He was angry but sought the time as the best opportunity he could ask for. The killer set up the small cameras in every room, especially right above Lillian's bed. Then he placed one above the bathtub. He couldn't hide his excitement. It aroused him just thinking about watching her without her knowing, careful to hide them perfectly, confident that no one would be looking for them or be able to find them until he wanted them to. His plan appeared to be coming together nicely even though the old lady saw him. He couldn't help but wonder if she were able to give a description to the police. She wouldn't be talking anymore once he paid her a visit later tonight.

  The killer worked diligently. He accomplished everything he set out to do before beginning to pack things up. He waited by the window, watched as the patrol car completed its rounds. How stupid were they to come every half hour? He laughed, waiting for the car to leave the street thinking that the security system Lillian installed was a complete joke.

  He immediately thought of Michael. The thought of him touching his Lillian enraged him. Detective Fields may just have to become one of the casualties of this war. Of course, he would punish Lillian for her sins. She did not belong to Fields'. She belonged to him.

  The killer's time alone with Lillian would be coming shortly. Thinking about her, he stood in her bedroom filled with a greater desire to have her in his arms.

  He glanced around, feeling the romantic, spacious room. We have so much in common my love....

  He glided the palm of his hand across the walnut Victorian dresser. His eyes caught sight of the wingback chairs and he imagined his Lillian sitting pretty, reading, while he lay in bed exhausted from their lovemaking.

  He released a breath, felt his body quiver as he braced the dresser for support.

  Opening his eyes, smiling, he absorbed the remainder of the scenery and the original old fireplace.

  Oh yes ... yes, my darling ... we will be together soon.

  Before he left, he opened the dresser drawer, ran his fingers across the silk, satin and cotton undergarments. He could feel his heart racing, his body responding to his needs. I need you, Lillian ... I will have you ... . Glancing around the room one last time, he thought about the next mission of the night.

  He cleared his head. Focused on the objective as he flexed his muscles and felt the power running through his veins.

  Old lady ... you're gonna die tonight.

  * * * *

  The killer arrived at Eleanor Sampson's house an hour later. His adrenaline pumping. he thought about the information the police had, instantly feeling the perspiration cover his brow. He glanced at his watch, the time, 3:00 a.m. The old lady would be sound asleep. He quietly walked through the row of pine trees, entered the backyard, noting there appeared to be a light on in the living room. Peaking through the windowpane, he could see the television set remained on. Assuming she were sound asleep in the chair like most old people wound up doing, he quietly picked the lock on the back door. silently, he entered the room.

  He tiptoed through the kitchen, could see her sitting there in the worn out, yellow and green plaid recliner. He glanced at an infomercial about a set of specialty knives costing only $19.95, as the numbers trailed across the top of the screen while the spokesperson gave a description.

  He smiled, making a comparison between the knives set on television and the large hunting knife he held in his hand. He stood inches from the chair when suddenly the old lady turned around. She fired a gun. The bullet hit the wall behind him just missing his head. Thankful she missed and that he wore a mask, he attempted to disarm her.

  He lunged for the gun, knocking the old lady in the head, she fired again, missed again. Things appeared to be getting out of hand. Suddenly, her eyes went wide, her mouth dropped. Things couldn't have turned out better. She appeared to be having a heart attack. He watched as she fell to the floor. The killer ran out of the house satisfied the old lady wouldn't be giving any more statements ever again.

  * * * *

  Detective Miller accompanied by Detective Jacks arrived at the hospital after receiving the call about the assault on Eleanor Sampson. They wanted answers.

  "This son of a bitch is worried, that's for sure, Willy,” Detective Miller told his partner. They were waiting to go see Eleanor.

  "You're not kidding. The killer must think she knows more than she let on. This stroke isn't going to help us,” Willy added as he waited for the nurse.

  "This guy is sick. We need more on him. He's in the area, that's not comforting. As soon as we talk to her, check out the house, we'd better notify Detective Fields and Detective Ray. I have a feeling Fields is Lillian's boyfriend."

  "What makes you say that?” Willy asked.

  "She didn't respond to your moves. You know you tried to hit on her?"
r />   "She's a classy lady. I wouldn't have minded playing bodyguard.” Willy winked.

  "It appears she already has a personal detective taking care of her."

  * * * *

  "Detectives, Mrs. Sampson isn't doing well. She's having trouble speaking due to the stroke. Her vitals are weak. She may not make it through the night. It may not be wise to question her now,” the older nurse stated as she eyed the detectives.

  "Well, this involves a murder case and Mrs. Sampson's granddaughter. I'm sure she'd want to help if she could. We'll be brief,” Miller said as they followed the nurse to Eleanor's room.

  It was a heart wrenching sight for Troy. The sight of the nice old lady covered with tubes, hooked up to various kinds of machines, made him sad. Detective Miller took her hand as he sat by the bed.

  "It's Troy, Detective Miller, Mrs. Sampson. Do you remember me?"

  They got no response. Troy exchanged glances with Willy. Willy looked on seemingly knowing his partner liked the old woman.

  "Can you hear me? We want to try to find out who did this to you."

  The nurse looked on as Mrs. Sampson opened her eyes.

  She looked toward Troy but couldn't speak. Instead, she squeezed his hand very lightly.

  They continued to ask a few questions. “Squeeze once for yes, twice for no,” Troy told her. She squeezed his hand once signifying she understood.

  "You're one tough lady, Mrs. Sampson. When you get out of here, I'm taking you to lunch,” Troy said. Mrs. Sampson stared back at him. It was so sad to see the woman in such bad condition.

  "The person who broke into your house, was it Allison's boyfriend?"

  Eleanor squeezed Troy's hand once. He nodded yes.

  "Did he have a gun? Did he try to shoot you?"

  Eleanor squeezed Troy's hand twice.

  "Did you shoot the gun?"

  She squeezed his hand once before coughing hard. The machines made some large, high-pitched beeps.

  "You have to wrap it up, Detective. She needs her rest,” the nurse interrupted and Troy continued.

  "You did a great job, Eleanor. You're going to be just fine. We're going to leave you now, so you can get some rest. We have a patrol officer stationed at the door, so no worries. You've done good, honey,” Troy told her as she closed her eyes.