Convicted (20 page)

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.

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.

The first bite stung her mouth, but Lisa moaned in pleasure anyway. "Hot! But good."

Deacon dipped his wing in the blue cheese and devoured it, following the bite with a swig of beer. "When's the last time you ate?"

His question made Lisa falter a little. Truthfully, she hadn't been eating much lately. Between the phone calls, the strife in her family, and trying to finish the children's garden, she'd had no appetite. Not to mention the break up with Terry, which still made her feel guilty any time she thought about it.

"I eat every day," she said. "But I haven't had wings in ages."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Lisa's good mood hadn't been spoiled, just tempered. There was no getting away from her problems, not even on the much-anticipated date with Deacon. He seemed to understand, though, keeping his distance and treating her like they really were just starting out.

"Have you filed a report about the helmet and jacket?" she asked after a minute.

He shrugged. "I did. But I doubt it will do anything. Someone lifted them right out of the parking lot at The Garden Shadd. They had to. I usually take them in with me, but I guess I forgot..."

He trailed off, and she didn't push the issue. He could have accused someone on the staff at the nursery of taking his things out of his office, but he didn't. It was a sensitive topic. Still, she felt bad he'd lost his leather jacket and the nice helmet, even though the ones he'd bought to replace them made him look even sexier.

"One more week," he said suddenly.

The out-of-the blue reference confused her, until she realized he meant until the Children's Garden. One more week until it was finished. Lisa nodded around a bite of blue-cheese drenched wing.

"Just in time for school to start," she said to point out the irony.

"The kids'll still have plenty of time to enjoy it before the weather gets too cold," Deacon said.

"It's been great working with you." Lisa wiped her mouth and hands on a napkin and reached across the table to touch his hand. "I mean it, Deacon."

He smiled. "I thought you were going to choke that first day when you walked into the lunch room."

Lisa thought back, deciding now was the time to be honest. "I wasn't surprised to see you, just nervous. I asked Dad to hire you."

She watched him carefully to see his reaction. To her relief, he didn't seem angry, only thoughtful. He took another drink before answering.

"Why?" he asked finally.

"Because I thought you'd be an asset to the company," Lisa told him. "And...because I felt guilty."

He quirked his eyebrow at her. "And now?"

She toyed with her smeared napkin. "I still think you're an asset to The Garden Shadd. And I'll never stop feeling guilty, I guess."

"You spend too much time feeling guilty," he told her.

Her throat felt thick with tears, but she managed to smile. "Curse of the eldest daughter, I guess."

"What's past is past. For a lot of things."

There was one more thing she'd have to tell him if she wanted to come clean. "There's something else."

His brow furrowed, and he looked at her questioningly. Lisa took a deep breath, knowing what she had to say could make or break how they continued from here. Yet she couldn't let it go unsaid.

"There's a surveillance camera in your office," she said, then waited for him to react.

Deacon grinned. "Lisa, I've known about that camera since the day I started work. I've been hanging my shirt over it every day."

"You're not mad?"

He shrugged. "I was at first. But I figured, let my work speak for itself. I knew your dad hired me for a reason, whatever it was, and that it was up to me to prove myself. I'd say I've done that."

Lisa thought about her parents' feeling Deacon might be behind her harassment, but she didn't say anything. "The Children's Garden is the best project I've ever worked on."

The rest of the bar disappeared. The noisy patrons, the loud music, even the smell of beer and smoke drifted away until all that remained was Deacon, staring at her. Lisa's breath caught in her throat and her abdomen turned to liquid fire. His gaze was intense, probing, blazing.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked.

She nodded. Deacon tossed some money on the table and they left the food and beer behind. He slipped her hand into his as they walked out the door in a gesture as natural as breathing.

He'd picked her up at her place on the back of his Harley, but Lisa hesitated as she took the helmet he offered. She assumed they'd go back to her house since she now lived alone. But thinking ahead to the night she imagined they were going to have made her remember the last time they'd been this close. She hadn't been prepared then, and she wasn't prepared now.

"I don't have anything at home," she said in chagrin.

He knew what she meant. She could see he thought the same thing--about the Circle K parking lot and why they'd been there, and what had happened then.
Déjà vu.

"We can swing by my place," he said.

She thought of meeting his mother for the first time under these circumstances. She must have looked stricken because Deacon shook his head.

"It's Mom's bingo night," he said. "She won't be there."

The ride took forever and only a few minutes. When they pulled up in front of the dark house, anxiety fluttered in Lisa's stomach. Three years ago she'd been ready to do this without hesitation, but so much had changed since then. Was she ready?

Deacon's house smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, and a plate of fresh cookies beckoned from the counter. He snagged one and bit into it, sugar dusting his lips. Feeling bold, Lisa stood on her toes to lick it off.

The kiss turned fierce, taking her breath away. When Deacon let her go, Lisa had to lean against the counter because her knees were so weak. "Wow."

He rubbed the back of her neck with his fingers, easing away knots she didn't know she had. "Do you want to come upstairs with me?"

"Yes." The thought of standing in the kitchen alone, having to explain to Deacon's mother who she was and what she was doing there while he rummaged around for condoms did not appeal to her. Besides, she wanted to see where he lived. How he lived. And she didn't want to leave his side.

Lisa followed Deacon through a tidy and cozily furnished front room and up a narrow set of stairs. The size of his room surprised her, but when she saw how cleverly it had been set up, she smiled. "You have a big family."

"All three of us boys slept here," Deacon said. "My sisters shared the room across the hall. Things got pretty wild up here sometimes."

"I'll bet." She looked to her right at the huge pile of boxes.

"C'mon in. Make yourself at home." Deacon gestured and led her to the back of the room.

Lisa took in the sparse furnishings. "You don't plan on staying here much longer."

"No. Just until I'm back on my feet. And with working at The Garden Shadd, that shouldn't take much longer." He paused. "I had a lot of legal bills to pay off."

She wasn't flooded with guilt--not from the way he said it so matter-of-factly. Maybe there was hope for them after all. "I'd never move back home if I could help it. Not like my sister."

Deacon snorted. "You're much different than your sister."

He gave her that look again, the one that made her melt like butter on a hot cob of corn. Her throat dried and she had to lick her lips. She watched Deacon watching the movement of her tongue across her mouth, and knew he was going to kiss her before he did.

He tasted faintly of hot sauce and blue cheese. Tangy and delicious. Even the smell of smoke that clung to his clothes and hair from the bar couldn't put her off. Not when Deacon's hands traced circles on her back and sent stabs of tingling pleasure directly to the center of her being.

Lisa put her hands on his chest, feeling the roll of muscles as he moved. Her hands drifted lower to the hard plane of his stomach, taut even beneath the denim shirt he wore. With their mouths still locked, Lisa slipped her hands around his waist letting her fingers caress his rear.

Deacon breathed against her when she cupped the solid flesh of his behind. She tweaked him a little, wanting to make him laugh. She only got a smile before he was kissing her again.

Somehow they made it to the love seat, sinking down onto the faded cushions in a tangle of arms and legs. Lisa ended up on Deacon's lap, straddling him, her knees wedged against the love seat's back. His belt buckle pressed against her between her legs, but shifting didn't help. That only brought her in full contact with the bulge of his erection.

A whimper escaped her as he rocked his hips pressing his arousal against hers. For a moment, the sound embarrassed her, but when Deacon echoed it with a low moan of his own, Lisa forgot anything else. His tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, his lips nibbling lightly on hers.

Lisa rested her hands on his shoulders, letting her fingers play with the tender flesh under his ears. Deacon slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Instantly her nipples went hard as ice, throbbing against his palms. Deacon rubbed them with his thumbs making Lisa gasp.

"Oh," she managed to say.

"Oh?"

She nodded. "Oh." She bent to kiss him again, feeling his hands on her and wanting them everywhere.

"If we don't stop," Deacon said, breaking the kiss. "We're not going to make it to your place."

The thought sobered her, but only a little. She touched his mouth with her fingertips. "I don't think I could wait."