Deceiver

  “Where are we?”

  He looks around, confused. “I have no idea. Heaven?”

  I giggle. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think they have eight-foot chain length fences in Heaven.”

  “That makes sense,” he agrees as he buttons and zips his pants. “It was either this or the median.”

  “Maybe we better get out of here before someone calls the cops?”

  “More like the fire department.” He chuckles, leaning forward to kiss me, his tongue gently tracing my lip.

  “Mm,” I moan, parting my lips and pressing them hard against his. Our tongues dance, our hands grope, and we go from hot to steaming again in just under five seconds. I am randy and ready, and I want him. Now!

  “Wait,” he pants, leaning back into his seat and tugging at his crotch again. “We can do this. Let’s just try to get home. We’re almost there.”

  “Okay,” I agree, nodding like a bobblehead as I fall back into my seat and fasten my seatbelt. “Good plan.”

  We drive in silence for a minute, and then Dan begins to laugh.

  “What?”

  He stretches his arm across the back of the seat and massages my shoulder. “Nothing. I’ve just never had to pull over on the side of the road to have sex because I couldn’t make it home.”

  “Well, is that a bad thing?” I cock my brow at him.

  “Um, no. Not hardly,” he says as he strokes my cheek. “I just thought those days were behind me, I guess.”

  Seriously? Have you looked in the mirror lately?

  “Honestly,” he continues. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt quite like this about anyone before. Ever.”

  My heart flips in my chest as I stare at him. I think about the Grinch who stole Christmas, and how his heart grew three sizes, and I can feel mine expanding just like that, right now.

  “Me, too,” I squeak.

  He smiles as his fingers massage my neck, and I stare at him, contemplating.

  Did he just profess his love for me? Or, his lust for me?

  I’m not so sure now. He didn’t actually say it.

  And, for that matter, am I in love? Or, am I just grateful for someone having dusted all the cobwebs off my fine lady parts?

  Well, let’s see. I can’t think of anything or anyone else, my thoughts seem to migrate back to him again and again, I’m a total fucking wreck, I’m apparently obsessed, the thought of him even looking at another woman is enough to send me over a cliff, and for whatever reason, I just can’t seem to get enough of him. Oh, and let’s not forget the little fact that I’m ready to confess to murder, to spend the rest of my life in prison or worse, risk losing him, just to keep him safe.

  Oh, yeah. I’m in love, alright. Blind, all-consuming, caution-to-the-fucking-wind love. Does he need to know it?

  No. Not quite yet.

  “Is my house okay? Or do you think we should go back to your place and get Rufus?”

  “Your house is great,” I reply, snapping out of my trance.

  “Are you sure? I just now got on Josh’s good side. I don’t want to mess that up.”

  “I’m sure. He’d probably be fine if you left Rufus there indefinitely. Like I said, we talked, and he’s okay.”

  “Yeah? What did you talk about?”

  “Well, after he found out just what a shit his father really is, I… I told him…” I blush. You can do it, old girl. “That I like you. A lot.”

  I turn my head to my window.

  “Did you now?” He grins.

  “Yes, I did.” I laugh, slapping his leg playfully.

  “Is that all?”

  My head swivels full stop as I level my eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you just like me?” He returns my gaze. “A lot, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I get your meaning,” I lie, biting my lip and picking at make-believe lint in my lap.

  “Oh, I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean. You just don’t want to say it first.”

  Holy shit! I’m speechless, which doesn’t happen to me very often. He’s right but it’s not fair. There’s just so much he doesn’t know about me. So much that I can’t tell him. So much that he has a right to know. I stare at my lap.

  “Hey. I’m kidding,” he coos as he rubs his thumb against my back. “You know how I like to tease.”

  I smile weakly, knowing that I should tell him about Albus and Derek and Mr. Stratford. I should also tell him that I love him, and I don’t want to live without him.

  “Dan,” I begin, lifting my eyes and admiring his profile again.

  Yes. He’s handsome, alright. Stop-you-in-your-tracks handsome. Those deep blue eyes set beneath that strong, full brow, his high cheekbones and angular jaw, that well-defined chin and sloping, almost aquiline, nose equals damn near perfection.

  I sigh. I can’t tell him.

  “What is it?”

  “I missed you today, is all.”

  “Well, I missed you today, too. Did you say you were off tomorrow?”

  “All day and all night.” I smile. “And, the next day, too!”

  “Really? Two whole days?” He mocks as we pull into his driveway.

  “I know. It used to be a rarity, but now, I’ll have every weekend free.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He grins as he turns off the car and pulls out the key. “I think you’re going to be very busy. Now, do you want to try and make it inside? Or should we just lay the seats back and fog up the windows again?”

  “I think we should at least try to get inside.” I giggle.

  ***

  I lay there tucked neatly into the crook of his arm listening to the sound of his deep breaths as I snuggle against his warm body. I smile thinking about our wild, passionate love-making earlier. Squeezing my legs together, I relish the soreness and the feeling of complete and total satisfaction. We did, at least, manage to make it into the house but we had to stop in the living room, and again in the kitchen, and then knocked several photos off the wall as we stripped and tangoed down the hall.

  Twice during the evening, I tried to tell him about Albus. Twice, I failed, chickening out at the last second. There has to be another way. I’m not even sure if he knows about the women that Derek killed. Maybe there’s a way to show him? Maybe I can convince him that it wasn’t Albus? But how, without telling on myself or the girls?

  I finally fall asleep pondering various ways to misdirect the Hines investigation, to get Dan’s attention focused on someone else besides Albus Gray. I think about Mr. Stratford, the smug rat-bastard, and how we’re going to manage to swap out his pills. I have bizarre and disturbing dreams, dreams of Jesse Stratford holding me down while Derek strips off my clothes, his deranged laughter as he slobbers and squeezes my breasts, and then the blood as he carves strange symbols into my chest.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I sit straight up in the bed, covered in sweat, panting and panicked in the darkness as my hands fly up to my chest. No gashes. No blood. It’s a dream. I drag the air into my lungs, in and out, until finally, the sound of rain falling outside the window begins to calm me.

  It’s okay. I feel around the bed for Dan, my fingers finding him beside me, safe, asleep. Fuck.

  Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dark, and my breathing returns to normal. Quick glance at the clock shows it’s only five-thirty. Good. I lie back down, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

  What is wrong with me? Somehow, some way, I have to make peace with this.

  Dan rolls over on his side, throwing his arm around my stomach and brushing his hips against my leg. Instinctively, he flexes, and a wave of liquid excitement rushes to my dark place. As if he senses it, his sleeping cock begins to wake, twitching and growing. Suddenly, I want him. I need him with fever and urgency. I press my thigh harder against his erection, and he moans softly, still asleep.

  How can I still want him so bad after all the sex we had last night?

  I don’t understand it
, but go with it anyway, virtually powerless to stop it. I need to be close to him. I need to feel the intimacy. I need to feel him inside me. Gently, I rock him onto his back, and then, I mount him, straddling him like a prize stallion.

  Leaning forward, I place my hands on his broad, warm chest and slide my wet sex up and down his massive erection. His lips part, and he sighs as his hips jerk beneath me. He’s so fucking beautiful, I can’t resist a kiss. My mouth brushes tentatively against his, capturing his lip between mine, where I suck gently. He moans and raises his hands to cup my ass, squeezing as he slides me back and forth.

  Then, I reach behind me, grasping him in my hand and guiding him to my entrance. I slide back again, taking him in, disappearing him inside of me until he’s fully sheathed and I ache from the fullness.

  “Ah.” I close my eyes and sit up straight, rolling my hips and grinding against him as he grips my thighs. Then, I ride him with a slow and determined pace, slowly building.

  He’s awake now, staring up at me through sleepy, smoky eyes, his face a reflection of pure bliss and pure agony. He sits up, burying his face in my breasts as he kisses and licks and nips.

  “Dan,” I whisper, closing my eyes and letting my head fall gently against my shoulder. “I need you.”

  For the first time in my life, I cry during sex. Tears stream down my cheeks as I take him inside me again and again.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers. He grips my hips tightly with both hands, flipping me over and driving into me, pounding me as my breasts jounce and jiggle, and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in my ears.

  Oh my God! That’s the spot! He strikes it again and again and again until I feel that warm, sweet sensation taking over, that tingling that starts in my pussy and builds in intensity like an earthquake sending shockwaves throughout my entire body. I bury my face into the pillow, shuddering and spasming as I cry out.

  He slams into me, forcefully with a feral abandon that is raw and primal. His body tenses, and he cries out, groaning in sweet agony.

  Finally, we collapse on the bed, his body partially covering mine, our breaths ragged and heavy, our bodies shaking. He drags himself up, propping his elbow on the bed and resting his chin against his fist as he catches his breath. I still can’t move, having been fucked into total oblivion. He drags his fingers down my arm and then leans forward to kiss my stomach.

  “You okay?” He laughs.

  I moan an affirmation, my eyes screwed shut, my face buried in a pillow, at perfect peace.

  “Did I find it?”

  “Mm.” I chuckle. I can’t see him, but I know that he’s smiling. “You found it, all right.”

  We lay quietly for a minute listening to the rain tap against the windows, thunder rolling in the distance.

  “I love you,” he says calmly, clearly, and without a hint of indecision.

  My eyes pop open, and I forget to breathe. He what? My mind goes blank, my thoughts temporarily disrupted by a disturbance in the force. Then, it resumes all at once, and I’m deluged with panic, with questions, and with an overwhelming desire to confess. Everything.

  I finally remember to breathe and suck in a lungful of air all at once. Then, I roll my head toward him, trying to think of what to say.

  He’s still for a moment, his hand resting on my cheek, and then he rolls over on his back, flinging his arm across his forehead. “Is it really that bad?”

  Oh, fuck! “No! It’s not. Not at all.” I lean forward to kiss his chest, and he flinches.

  “I thought we—” He pauses. “I thought maybe you felt the same way. I know it’s soon but I know how I feel.”

  I sit up, hugging the pillow to me as I stare down at him.

  “It’s not too soon.” Hot tears fill my eyes and threaten to overflow. “I love you, too. I do, even though I’ve tried so damn hard not to.”

  He turns his gaze to me, his eyes anchored on mine, and I feel like he’s trying to read my soul.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not,” I argue as I reach up and wipe away the stray tears that are creeping down my cheeks.

  He smiles softly. “Not much of a detective, then, am I?”

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” I scoff.

  He reaches out to stroke my face. “Why would you try not to love me? You don’t want to love me? To be with me?”

  I shake my head, defeated. “Dan, you don’t know me. You don’t know the bad things I’ve done. Or the horrible things I’m capable of.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” He laughs, pulling away the pillow in my lap and nuzzling his face into my stomach. “I love you. I love the good…” He kisses my stomach. “And I love the bad.” He kisses my neck. “And I can’t imagine you being capable of doing anything horrible,” he says, raising his face to look at me.

  I stroke his cheek and then run my fingers through his tousled hair. “You don’t know how much I wish that was so.”

  He stares at me silently.

  “Dan, you can’t arrest Albus Gray.”

  His happy glow fades into a confused, almost angry look. “What do you mean? Why?”

  “Because he didn’t kill Derek Hines,” I blurt. Oh, God. What am I doing? What will he do? I will not say anything about the ladies. I will take the fall, alone, myself.

  His breath grows heavy, his eyes like chips of ice as his glacial stare pierces me, pierces my heart. I begin to babble.

  “Derek Hines was a horrible man, Dan. He killed three young, innocent women.” The tears stream unbidden down my face. “And those were only the ones I knew about. He raped them, and then he took a knife and carved them up like—”

  “Stop!” Rolling over, he sits up on the edge of the bed, placing his feet on the floor and burying his face in his hands. “Don’t say anything else.”

  “The man didn’t have a soul, Dan, and no one tried to stop him. He was untouchable.”

  He jumps up from the bed. “I mean it! Not another word!”

  He bends over, snatches his pants off the floor, and then heads for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  I jump at the ferocity of the slamming door. Then, I sit there on the bed, sobbing, wrecked. I had no right to tell him that. It wasn’t my secret to tell but I love him, and I can’t let anything happen to him. I can’t let Albus hurt him.

  I crawl off the bed and find my dress lying in a heap on the floor. I step into it, pulling it over my shoulders as I slide my feet into my shoes. I retreat back to the living room where I call for a cab. Then, I gather my things, fishing around in my purse for a pen and a piece of paper. My tears fall onto the paper as I write.

  “I love you, and I’m sorry.”

  I close the door behind me, stepping out into the drizzling rain, walking toward the street in a hazy fog. I’m sleepwalking, wide awake. I stand there for a few minutes waiting for the cab, aware of the biting cold, my eyes stinging, but I don’t care.

  What will he do? Is he going to arrest me?

  I deserve it, I guess. I killed a man. Or, at least, I helped. And I’m about to do it again. Even if he doesn’t arrest me, he’ll never forgive me. It could never be the same.

  Fresh tears roll down my face, and the cold winds stab against my cheeks like red-hot needles.

  ***

  Josh is still asleep when I arrive home. Thank God. I’m in no shape to take the walk of shame in front of my child this morning. I go straight to my room and peel off my wet clothes, tossing them into a pile on the floor as I consider all the possible consequences of this morning’s confession.

  I climb into the shower and stand beneath the hot, soothing spray a lot longer than I intend to, trying to chase away the chill that has settled in my bones. It doesn’t go away. Finally, I get out and go through the motions of getting dressed. I miss Dan already. Fresh tears.

  I walk aimlessly into the living room. Coffee. I need coffee. I focus on small tasks, minute by minute, just functioning. Find the coffee, fill the po
t, replace the filter, scoop the coffee… It’s all I can do right now. I stand there watching through blurry eyes as the liquid drips through. Finally, I pour myself a cup. No need for sugar or creamer. I don’t know if they serve it that way in prison, anyway. So, I may as well get used to it now.

  I raise the cup to my lips as a blood-curdling howl echoes through the quiet kitchen. I scream, pitching the full cup in the air and watching as it crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces that fly to every nook, corner and cranny of the kitchen.

  “What the fuck, Rufus?” I’m tempted to toss him out but I should probably thank him. He did me a favor, I guess, by giving me another pointless task to occupy my thoughts and my hands. Get on my knees, pick up the mug pieces, drop them into my hand, get a paper towel, wipe up the coffee…

  I finish cleaning up and then sit at the kitchen table for most of the morning, staring at the floor. At eleven-thirty, I get up, stuffing my feet into my sneakers as I grab a jacket, and head out the door to Lora’s house.

  ***

  “Oh, good! You’re here!” Lora pulls me into bear hug.

  I step inside, feeling as though I’ve been transported back in time into a Jane Austen novel. Lora is a school teacher, but she’s also a writer, a romance writer. I’ve actually picked up a few of her books, and she’s not that bad. Her house is pink and frilly and feminine, more so than any house I’ve ever been inside before.

  “Yes, I made it.” I try to smile.

  “Well, we’re not used to you being this available on the weekends. You’re usually rushing over on your lunch break.”

  “Not today.” I try to act happy, not even feeling like explaining my promotion or my new hours. Oh, shit. The celebration!

  “I know. Billie told us already. Congratulations!” She beams.

  Great. “Thank you.”

  “Well, get in here and say hi to everyone. I made us some snacks.”

  Lora has really opened up to the group, no longer shy and introverted like she used to be in the beginning. I hug her again, just for the hell of it, and she stands there, confused, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. I don’t explain. I just turn and saunter into the dining room.