Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  He shrugged. “I suppose that’s good news—the incarceration, I mean.”

  LeAnne wanted to touch him, but knew it would be a mistake. Touching Marcus could be likened to an alcoholic at communion. “How are you?”

  “I’ll live. I told you that.”

  “I know, but I hated to send you away last night, the way you were feeling.”

  The grin on his face widened. “It’s not like there was much you could have done about it,” he said, then stepped closer.

  LeAnne held immobile, even when his fingers traced her swollen and purpled jaw. His smile vanished.

  “Maybe I should have stayed,” he whispered. “You did the right thing by leaving.”

  “If I would have stayed…”

  LeAnne stepped from his touch and gave him her back, glancing at the photo above the TV. She wrapped her arms around her to ward off the chill hardening the marrow of her bones.

  “You were in no shape to take on Chad. Besides, it wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve.”

  She hadn’t heard him move, didn’t know his closeness, not until his hand landed on her shoulder and slowly turned her around.

  “No woman deserves what he did.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, one slipped down her cheek. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away.

  “He’s my fiancé.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the president of the good ol’ US of A. No man has that right.”

  She stiffened her spine. “I was standing in the bathroom with a nearly nude man.”

  “I had shorts on.”

  “We were talking about getting laid.”

  “If you recall—it was my invitation. You hadn’t agreed.”

  “But I didn’t say no, either.”

  He opened his mouth as if to say something more, then closed it. His eyes darted back and forth as though waiting for her to deny him now.

  She didn’t.

  Snake grasped her nape and brought his lips down to hers, the kiss light, feathery, knowing that too much pressure would cause her swollen lip pain. His gentleness nearly undid her. She leaned into his solid frame.

  Without a word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs, oblivious to any pain he still might harbor from the attack of the night before, then took them two at a time.

  He kicked open the ajar door at the top of the stairs, then laid her atop the clean white cotton sheets of his unmade bed. His and Jillian’s bed.

  Panic seized LeAnne. Her heart fluttered wildly. What on God’s earth was she doing?

  “I’m sorry, Marcus. I can’t,” she whispered.

  “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Goddam, but he doesn’t deserve you.” LeAnne narrowed her gaze at his misconception. She sat up and took his face between her palms. “It’s not Chad—though it should be,” she added as an afterthought. “Then what is it?”

  “It’s Jillian, Marcus, not Chad. And I’m afraid it always will be.”

  Snake flinched, pulled back from her touch, and then paced to the window. Moments passed as she stared at his broad back. Finally, LeAnne stood, the mattress springs creaking, and quietly walked up behind him. She leaned against his warmth, wrapping her arms around his middle.

  Marcus didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her presence as he stared into the dark, empty horizon.

  “I’m sorry.” He remained silent. “Don’t do this to me, Marcus. Don’t shut me out like this.”

  He slowly turned, his gaze frosty. LeAnne dropped her arms to her sides, suddenly wishing for his caress, his kiss, the warmth she felt moments ago. It was as though he had encased himself with ice. A northern chill radiated from him.

  “I think maybe it would be better if you left.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. “You at least owe me an explanation.”

  Marcus looked back out the window. She wanted to wrap her arms back around him, but knew he wouldn’t welcome it. Not now.

  “You’re right,” he finally stated, his eyes glistening. His arm did a sweep of the room. “This is Jillian’s,” he said, then tapped two fingers against his chest on his heart. “And this—this is Jillian’s.”

  LeAnne knew Marcus had not meant to hurt her, though the thought of him never loving another left a bit of a gaping hole in her chest, but she couldn’t fathom why. Her heart held no room for Marcus Gallego either. They came from opposite worlds, entirely different guidelines.

  “Keep your heart, Marcus,” LeAnne said, raising on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “I’m not asking for it. But I can’t make love to you in a room that belongs to the woman who has your heart, either…nor can I betray Chad.”

  “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  Marcus ran a finger down the line of her jaw, lightly touching the bruised area. “Don’t ever let him hurt you again.”

  She paused. “I won’t give him reason to.”

  With that, she walked from the room. The last thing she heard was the heavy creaking of the mattress springs as he sat on the bed.

  Chapter 20

  Something bothered Bob—nagged him, really. The last conversation he’d had with Blade D’Angelo left him wondering if Blade did indeed hate Jillian enough to kill her. After all, Blade worked on motorcycles and cars by his own admission. And the red bandanna hanging from his back pocket looked curiously like the one tying Miranda’s wrists to the bedpost.

  He pulled into a drive, just on the outskirts of town. The front porch, in serious need of repair, leaned to one side. The windows sported venetian blinds, worn and drooping from the battering of the hot, summer sun.

  The cruiser door creaked as he exited the car and wiped the sweat from his brow. It had to be near ninety and in this heat, it seemed the poorly fixed air-conditioner did little to keep the sweat at bay.

  Government money some said there was a lot of it, but Bob surely wasn’t on the receiving end of any.

  Bob walked up the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath his girth. It was a good thing he didn’t top the scales, or the steps would have certainly given way. Termites had taken their toll.

  He knocked on the door and waited.

  One slat in the blind slid down as a pair of beady, brown eyes peered out. Mumbling traveled from beyond the thin walls. Finally, the old door opened and a tall, rail-thin man curiously looked at him from the other side.

  “Are you the man they call ‘Balls’?” Bob asked, feeling ridiculous for voicing the term.

  “That’s what they call me,” he affirmed. “Who the hell are you?

  Don’t believe I’ve seen you ’round before.”

  Bob flashed his badge. “Bob Reese. I’m with the sheriff’s office. I’m looking into an ongoing investigation committed here in the county. Jillian Gallego—you know her?”

  He shifted wearily. “I knew Snake,” was his non-committal response.

  Bob pulled out a spiral-bound pad. “Then you knew of his wife. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

  He shrugged his wiry shoulders, the bones sticking up like permanent tits made in a shirt from a wire hanger. He held the door open and Bob stepped through. Bob took a quick glance around. A heavy-set woman sat in a recliner, stuffing her face with what looked like last night’s leftovers. An open bag of chips lay beside the chair with a tub of French onion dip. She licked her beefy fingers as she glanced up, but quickly went back to The Price is Right playing on the thirteen-inch snowy TV screen.

  “We can go on out here to the kitchen if you don’t mind,” Balls said, showing Bob the way. “Don’t want to disturb the wife. She watches Bob Barker every day. Monday through Friday.”

  The kitchen, though small, appeared relatively clean. The stove and refrigerator looked old enough to have come over on the ark, the cupboards scarred and the paint chipped.

  Bob sat on the varnished-worn kitchen chair Balls offered him. “The reason I’m here is to ask you a few questions about Blade D’Angelo.”

&
nbsp; Balls had pulled out a chair opposite; he stopped in mid-descent. “Would you like a coffee or something? We don’t get many guests.”

  “Coffee would be fine,” Bob said, realizing his need for a kick of caffeine. His head pounded from the withdrawal. He had left this morning in a hurry to get to the BG lab, and hadn’t had a chance to sneak his normal five or six cups. “Black.”

  Balls poured them each a cup and set the chipped mug in front of Bob. Some of the liquid spilled over the side in Balls’ obvious nervousness. Steam rose and disappeared into the humid air.

  “What was your name again?” he asked.

  Bob shook the thin hand. “Bob—Bob Reese.”

  “Well, Deputy Reese, what is it I can do for you? You asked me about Jillian Gallego. I knew Snake all right, but his wife, she never did hang out much with him. I suppose she was too busy with that strip joint and all. My wife, Louise,” he made a gesture with his hand, indicating the woman in the recliner, now with her back to them, “she didn’t like Snake’s wife too well. Said she was a whore.”

  Bob drummed a couple of fingers on the table. “Your wife know Jillian well?”

  “No, sir. She didn’t like the idea Jillian was a stripper. Said no good woman would do that for a living.”

  “And Blade D’Angelo—you know him?”

  “Me and Blade, we go back a long ways. He’s the one who gave me my name. Balls, that is. Ain’t my real name.” He chuckled. “But then again, I guess you already knew that.”

  “How did you get the name ‘Balls’?”

  “Never did stand up to nobody. Always had Blade to keep me out of trouble. He used to say, ‘Lenny—you ain’t got no balls.’ Always get me to chuckling. I never did weigh much; wouldn’t survive in any fights or anything like that. He used to tell me I should take karate or something. I told him I didn’t have no use for that Chinese bullshit. Hell, I’d still get my ass kicked. Anyway, Blade got tired of calling me ‘No Balls,’ and just dropped the ‘No.’ Said it was funnier anyway. It just sorta stuck.”

  Bob grinned. “I’m not sure I’d want to go around being known as ‘Balls’—let alone ‘No Balls.’”

  “It ain’t so bad. Hell, Blade used to make up these stories when people asked me how I got my name. He’d tell them I was one mean son-of-a-bitch. Ain’t no one should mess with me. After a while, some of them even started thinking I was crazy as a loon. Pretty soon, no one would mess with me. Thought I might pull a knife on them. According to Blade”—he held his fingers about a foot apart—“that damn thing was this long, too. The funny thing was I never did own a blade. He did.” He glanced briefly at the table. “That’s how he got his name. He’s always carrying one or two.”

  Bob tucked away that bit of information for future reference. “So you and Blade go way back?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s the closest thing I got to a brother. Got me a couple of no-good sisters. But I ain’t got no brothers.”

  “What did Blade think of Snake’s wife?”

  His eyes darted nervously. Bob could see he was about to lose the small man’s cooperation.

  He reworded his question. “Blade and Snake, have they been friends for years?”

  “Nearly as long as me and Blade. Blade, he’s the one who introduced me to Snake. When I first met him, I thought he was one of the meanest sons-of-bitches I ever did come across. He and that tattoo of his. People swore his bite was much worse than any damn viper. That’s how he got his name—from that tattoo, I mean. At least, I’m sure that’s how he got it. He had that name when he came to town…the tattoo, too.”

  “So, how is it Blade introduced you?”

  Balls took a sip from his cup, then set it on the table. “You know, I can’t say as I remember.”

  “Was Snake married?”

  “Hell, no. He’s gotta be somewheres about thirty, thirty-two. He only met Jillian a few years back. I’d say he was about twenty-two, twenty-three when we met. Me and Blade, we went to school here and graduated the same year, but we didn’t start hanging around until about three years outta school. Snake came into town a few years later.”

  “Where was he from?”

  “Cleveland.”

  “Why come here?”

  “He knew Kip Lewis. Kip offered him a job. Back then, though, the Harley shop was out on ol’ State Route 6. Them were the good ol’ days.”

  “Is that how he met Blade?”

  “No. Blade worked on his own bikes. He would go out there and get parts sometimes, though.”

  “How did he meet Snake?”

  Balls cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

  “Look, I’m not out to bust Blade on some trumped-up old charge. I know he used to deal.” Bob used the term loosely, knowing the sheriff’s office still believed Blade involved in drug trafficking. Blade D’Angelo was crafty as a fox. The law had nothing they could pin on him.

  Yet.

  “He used to deal,” Balls affirmed. “Snake heard about Blade through a friend of a friend. He bought from Blade. They became fast friends. Somewhere about that time, Blade introduced us.”

  “So, back to Jillian. When she entered the picture, how much did it change this camaraderie?”

  Balls shrugged. “The same way it changed all of us. When I met Louise, I stopped hanging with the boys so much.”

  “When was that?”

  “About six months before Snake met Jillian.”

  “Was he still buying from Blade?”

  “Occasionally. Shortly thereafter, though, he quit using. Blade said it had something to do with that whore. He said it changed Snake altogether. Said if he had it his way, he’d see to it that bitch was through with Snake.”

  Balls struck a chord. Every fiber of Bob’s being told him he was on to something. “Blade called Jillian a bitch?”

  “And a lot more. He never did like Snake’s ol’ lady. Said she wasn’t nothing like my Louise. Blade said she had too much going on between her legs for one man to ever satisfy her. She was always ballin’ someone—not just Snake.”

  “Anyone you know?”

  “I just heard rumors. Some say she was sleepin’ with one of the sheriff’s deputies right out at Snake’s own house—in his own goddam bed. Ain’t no woman who does that is worth keepin’. That’s why I thought maybe Snake did do it.” Then he added quickly, “Damn glad he didn’t, though.”

  “He was exonerated. Anything else you might know about Jillian?”

  Balls leaned across the table. He lowered his voice. “Don’t know how much of this is true, but Blade said she was a junkie. Liked her smack, she did. Although, I think toward the end, she quit using so much.”

  “Jillian Gallego did heroin?”

  “You didn’t hear it from me. But I think that’s why Snake quit his drinkin’ and drugs. He had to take care of his ol’ lady. What good she was. She used to hang with a bunch of women when she wasn’t strippin’. They all did drugs on occasion. Some coke, some smack.”

  “Can you name any of these women?”

  “I think I’ve said enough already,” Balls said, then finished the rest of his coffee.

  “It may or may not be important, but I’d hate to think I’d have to subpoena you on something that isn’t.”

  Balls glanced at his wife, who still paid them little attention as Bob

  Barker blared from the speakers of the small TV.

  Again, he lowered his voice and leaned in. “I only know a few names. Most of them were married. Barbara Anders—”

  “Anders’ Gym?”

  “That’s the one. Her husband runs the gym uptown. A Duncan woman—”

  “Samantha Duncan, as in Duncan’s Paving?”

  “Yep. Um—Tabitha something-or-other. I can’t remember her last name, beautiful girl, though. Oh—and ol’ Doc Holliday’s wife.”

  Bob’s eyes widened. “Miranda?”

  Balls chuckled. “Who would think a doc’s wife would be buying street coke? She had a real problem, too. It�
��s a good thing her husband was a doctor. She needed the money to support a habit as big as hers.”

  “She buy her coke from Blade?”

  Balls’ face reddened, affirming Bob’s question. He quickly averted his gaze. “I ain’t got nothing more to say.”

  Holy Cow! Bob thought, having just linked Blade D’Angelo with two dead women, possibly three.

  “Blade know Cora Smith?”

  Balls’ gaze snapped up. “She was another one who hung around that bunch. Blonde—big tits. But that bitch had no use for Blade. I don’t think she did drugs.”

  Bingo. Blade knew all three dead women.

  “If she did, she won’t any more. Cora Smith was found strangled to death two days ago.”

  “No shit? Ain’t that how the Doc’s wife and Jillian went out?”

  “Yep,” Bob said, as he rose from the table. He winked at the small man sitting slack-jawed. “Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”

  “I didn’t get anyone in trouble, did I?”

  “Not yet. Let’s just hope you saved another woman’s life, though.” Balls started to smile, obviously proud of being so much help.

  Then, the smile left his face like the skin of a snake. His eyes widened.

  “Blade didn’t do it. I know him—he couldn’t have.”

  “He better hope not,” was all Bob said, then he nodded at Louise on his way through the living room, and walked out into the sunshine.

  * * *

  “I want to get Blade D’Angelo in here for questioning as soon as possible,” Bob said, swinging one leg as he sat on the edge of LeAnne’s desk.

  Joe Drake paced the small office, rubbing his jaw. “Good God, we have a mess here. So what you’re telling me is Blade used to deal to two of the dead women and knew the third?”

  “Yep.” Bob grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I say we invite him in for some questioning,” LeAnne added. “I just wish we had something more substantial than his hate for Marcus Gallego’s wife and his involvement with two other dead women.”

  “He’s admitted to having mechanical skills,” Bob added.

  “But so do a lot of people in Henry County. You know as well as me, that the bandanna could have easily come from the Gallego household.”