First Offense (31 page)

Reed suddenly jumped up and depressed the button on the phone. “Don’t,” he said.

Angie gave him an annoyed look. “But why? This is a good lead, isn’t it? I mean, it’s the gun he had when he was kidnapped. This guy that pawned it could be involved in the kidnapping itself. Surely you know that?”

“Don’t do anything, Angie,” Reed said slowly, turning to look over his shoulder, checking to see if anyone had been listening to their conversation. “I’ll handle it myself, okay?”

“Here, then,” she said, “let me give you the number for the highway patrol.” She scribbled the number on a piece of paper and turned to hand it to Reed, but the detective was already halfway down the hall.

Glen called Ann at four o’clock that afternoon. “Are we still going out tonight?” he asked cheerfully.

Ann didn’t respond at first.

“Ann,” he said, “did you hear me?”

“Some strange things have been happening,” she said, deciding she had to tell him. “I was going to tell you about it the other day, but I didn’t have time.”

“My God, are you all right?”

“Yes,” Ann said slowly. “I’m fine.” Standing in the kitchen talking on the portable phone, she was pacing back and forth, the phone call from Hank still the foremost thing on her mind. “I’ve been getting these phone calls, Glen. I’m not certain, but the voice sounds just like my husband.”

“No,” he said, incredulous. “What are you saying?”

“I know it’s crazy,” Ann said, desperately wanting him to believe her. “But I’m telling you, the voice sounds just like Hank. Not only that, he may have been the man who broke into my house and assaulted me.”

“Why would you think that?”

“When I saw him in the light, I recognized him.”

“As your husband?” he said. “You recognized him as your husband? The man is dead, Ann. How could that be?”

She was getting impatient. “I didn’t recognize him specifically as my husband,” she said, not certain how to explain it. “His eyes…Glen, I recognized the man’s eyes. They were familiar to me. I know I’ve seen those eyes before.”

“So,” he said calmly, “it was just Sawyer. Remember when you were shot, you thought your husband was at the scene. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Of course, but—”

“Well, that explains it. If Sawyer made you think of your husband when you were shot, they must share some common feature.” Glen’s voice became low and condescending. “His eyes, maybe?”

“I don’t think so,” Ann said. “I was delusional the night of the shooting. This isn’t the same.”

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“Fine,” Ann responded, thinking she should have never mentioned it. All she needed was another person telling her how stupid she sounded.

“Anyway, how’s eight o’clock?” Glen said. “Want to meet me at the Bristol?”

“That’s fine,” she answered.

Once she had hung up, she headed to the bathroom to take a shower and make herself presentable. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was aghast at what she saw. She looked a thousand years old. Her hair was limp and lifeless, her lips cracked, and her normally clear skin was covered in a rash of some sort that made it feel like sandpaper. Touching her face with her fingers, Ann felt dozens of tiny bumps just under the surface.

“I have to push ahead,” she told herself. Even if the man calling was Hank, from what she could tell thus far, he was not calling to tell her he loved her. He was calling to terrify her; he had come back to take her son away. After all these years Hank Carlisle was still making her life miserable.

Giving her image a last sour look, Ann shed her clothes and stepped into the shower. Scrubbing her body, she vowed that she wouldn’t let Hank’s phone calls, real or not, destroy her relationship with Glen. If she lost Glen, she would never forgive herself. She had finally found a man she respected, a man who transported her with his lust for life, a man who seemed to know how to make her happy.

Already she felt better. She’d drop David off, come home, and get dressed in something nice for a change, and possibly, just possibly, she could manage to have a normal evening.

The restaurant, specializing in Belgian cuisine, was situated in a lovely, quaint Victorian house. Glen was already waiting at a table when Ann walked in. She was wearing a short black dress, a lightweight knit, with only a strand of pearls around her long, graceful neck. Her look was one of simplicity, with her face fully exposed by her short haircut, but she was striking and heads turned as she crossed the floor to Glen’s table. Ann always wore sensible shoes to work, but tonight she was wearing high heels. They made her long legs appear more shapely than they actually were, her walk more seductive, as her hips moved from side to side beneath the clinging fabric.

Glen stood, a hesitant smile on his face. “You look wonderful, Ann,” he said. “I mean it, you look absolutely fabulous.”

Ann kissed him lightly and then took a seat at the table, basking in his praise. “I’ve decided to go on with my life, you know. No matter what’s going on.”

Glen had no sooner taken his seat than he leaned forward over the table, his voice low and tense. “After we talked, Ann, I started thinking about the things you told me about your husband. It isn’t right for me to tell you what to do, what to think. If you believe it’s Hank, then it must be Hank.” He looked away, as if too overcome by emotion to face her. “What if it is him? What happens to us then?”

Ann twisted her napkin in her lap. “Let’s not talk about it,” she said. “Not tonight, Glen.”

“No,” he said adamantly, slapping the table and causing the silverware to jangle. “I need to know now, Ann. How can we go on if you’re just going to throw it all away if he comes back?”

Ann met his gaze and held it. Finally she answered, her voice firm, “I’m not going to throw it away. Glen.”

All the tension left his face. “All right,” he said, smiling as he signaled the waiter. “Let’s eat.”

Ann picked up the menu and studied it, settling on a chicken crepe with a mushroom cream sauce. Her diet had been atrocious lately, and she knew she was losing weight. Tonight she felt as if she could eat everything in sight.

Glen ordered a bottle of wine with dinner, then sighed, leaning back in his seat. “So we have the whole evening to ourselves.”

“Great, isn’t it?” Ann said, diving into her salad the moment the waiter placed her plate on the table. “This is delicious. How’s yours?”

He stretched his fingers across the table. “I’ve missed you, Ann.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

“I want to devour you,” he said, rubbing his leg against hers under the table. “That’s what I’m really hungry for.”

Ann dropped her fork as she felt the contact, her face flushing a bright shade of pink. She could feel it already—the aching between her legs. “You’re a sex maniac,” she said playfully. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“I’m never ashamed,” Glen said, his eyes dancing, his voice low and seductive. “The only thing I would be ashamed of is not being able to please you.”

Responding in kind, Ann slipped her shoe off and scooted her chair closer to the table. Then she found his crotch with her stocking foot. “Oh, really?” she said. “So far I don’t have any complaints.”

The waiter brought their wine to the table, and Ann straightened up in her seat self-consciously, placing both her feet back on the floor. When the waiter had finished pouring, she said, “We could leave if you want….”

“That’s exactly what I want.” His eyes tracked the waiter until he was a good distance away. When he turned back to Ann, his lids were half closed with lust. “Unless you want to get under the table with me right here. We could put on a dinner show. You know,” he said, laughing, “give these nice people a little entertainment.”

No,” Ann said quickly, not certain if he was joking. Let’s get out of here. I’m not hungry anyway.”

He called the waiter over and asked for the check, much to his surprise. “We’ll go to my house, Ann. Then nothing will distract us.”

You’re on,” she said, smiling brilliantly.

From the outside. Glen’s house looked fairly unassuming. It was approximately ten years old, and the front was almost obscured with dense shrubbery and towering trees. But the first time Glen had taken Ann inside, she had been pleasantly surprised. The interior was filled with opulent furnishings she wouldn’t have expected a bachelor to own. He collected antiques, and most of the pieces were massive. In the living room he had an overstuffed sofa covered in a tapestry-type fabric. Every other table bore a sculpture or art object of some kind. Every piece had its place. No glasses stood around without coasters, no dirty dishes in the sink, no unmade beds and towels tossed on the floor.

Glen lit a fire in the fireplace and went to get them a bottle of wine. Ann already felt a little woozy, what with the lack of sleep lately and her meager diet.

“I think I’m going to get drunk,” she said when Glen came back and handed her a long-stemmed crystal glass.

“Maybe that’s just what you need,” he said, smiling and pulling her into his arms.

Ann kissed him and then pulled away to set the glass on the mantel. “You’re what I need.”

“Oh, really?” he said, massaging her buttocks through her clothing. “You feel good, Ann, really good. It’s been too long.”

Gently he pushed the neckline of her dress down until her shoulders were exposed. Then he kissed each of her shoulders and ran his finger along her collarbone. “You’re so delicate,” he whispered. “Your skin, your bone structure, your nose, even your mouth.”

“How can I be delicate?” Ann said. “I’m so tall, I look like a giraffe.”

He continued pushing the knit dress down. Ann hadn’t worn a bra, and she was soon standing nude from the waist up, the fire against her back. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. She was so nervous and excited that she couldn’t get them open and finally dropped her hands to her sides and watched while Glen removed the shirt himself. His upper body was laced with sinewy muscles, and his chest hair was dark and thick. She stared at him in the dim light of the fire and then stepped closer until her chest was pressing against him.

“My breasts are too small,” she said shyly.

“No,” he said, pushing her back to look at them, “they’re perfect. If they were bigger, they would sag like an old woman’s. I hate sagging breasts. My mother’s breasts sag.”

In one easy movement he took Ann’s hand and pulled her down onto the plush carpet. Then he carefully pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. Ann was wearing a garter belt and hose with no underwear. Glen had told her several times how much this excited him. He’d even bought her the very garter belt she was wearing, but until tonight she hadn’t had an occasion to wear it.

Ann lay on her back as his hands roamed, her eyes closed, listening to the fire crack and pop only a few feet away, the wine making her feel far removed from what had been happening in her life, loose and uninhibited. A handsome, exciting man was making love to her, and nothing else seemed to matter.

When he spread her legs and bent his head between them, though, Ann tried to sit up and protest. She’d never done this with Hank, and she was embarrassed, but Glen pushed her back down, holding her in place with his arms. After the first, soothing strokes, Ann relaxed, allowing her body to respond. She began tossing her head from side to side and moaning. Not sure she could take it any longer, she tried to pull Glen on top of her, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Just be still,” he whispered. “I want to make you feel like you’ve never felt before. I want to show you what real pleasure is.”

Ann heard his words, but they were disconnected and floating. The pleasure was overwhelming, building somewhere deep inside her body. She felt tears on her cheeks and was powerless to stop them. Feeling this good was both alien and wonderful. “Please, Glen,” she begged, “I want to feel you inside me.”

She waited, expecting him to get on top of her, but he did not. Stretching out on the floor next to her, he pulled her on top of him instead. “Ride me,” he said, his eyes filled with passion.

Ann pressed her lips to his and felt him plunge inside her. His hands grabbed her buttocks, forcing her to rock with him. Her inner muscles were in spasms, gripping him tightly and then releasing him over and over again. Glen would move her up until they were almost disconnected. Then he would push her back down. Ann sat up and arched her body backward, feeling his soft hands graze her breasts, the tender flesh of her abdomen. Then his fingers were stroking the very place where their bodies met.

“Oh God,” she cried, throwing herself down to his chest and riding him fast, hard, their bodies wet with perspiration. “I love you,” she said.

When she collapsed on his chest, spent, he rolled with her, still connected, until he was on top and she was looking up at him.

He picked up her legs and draped them over his shoulders, plunging inside her again and again, his face contorted, his eyes shut, all power and force now, like a man possessed. “Yes, yes,” he cried, his whole body trembling and jerking as he exploded inside her.

At last he collapsed on top of her, a dead weight. After some five minutes, Ann felt she couldn’t breathe and was certain he had fallen asleep. She finally managed to slip out from under him. “Where are you going?” he said, reaching out a hand. “Come back to me.

Ann laughed, and they faced each other on their sides, only an inch apart. “I’m embarrassed,” she said. “I’ve never been so…you know…carried away.”

Glen smiled at her, pressing a nipple between his thumb and forefinger until Ann yelped. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Don’t you like that?”

“Not if it hurts,” she said, doing it back to him. “See, that hurts. If you do it softly, it feels sexy. If you do it hard, it hurts like a bitch.” She started to tell him that it repulsed her especially now because the man who had attacked her had touched her in that way. Then she thought better of it. Mentioning that night would lead to more talk of Hank. What would that accomplish?

“Oh, now you’re an expert on pleasure,” Glen said, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t you know pain and pleasure are closely related? Without pain, there would be no such thing as pleasure?”