Into the Night Page 8

  “I just came to talk to you, Cece,” the man said. “You should have called me when you got home. I can’t believe I had to hear it on the street.”

  She laughed but didn’t lower her shotgun. “Ricky Olson. Now why in this world would I call you? You never came to court to see how my case was going even once. You never even wrote me a letter all those years I was in prison.”

  “You’re right.” He nodded, grabbed the handrail to steady himself. “I was a total jerk. I should have come to see you before it was too late. I should have written.”

  “What do you want, Ricky? Like I said, the sheriff is on the way.”

  He climbed a couple of steps. “I just want to talk.”

  Deacon braced to move.

  “We have nothing to talk about. You’re drunk, Ricky. You should go home.”

  To her credit, she held her aim steady.

  He climbed the final two steps. “I need to show you how sorry I am.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “I should have taken better care of you. What happened was partly my fault. Your daddy was a piece of garbage and I should have testified on your behalf. It was the least I could do. That lawyer of yours asked me to, but my folks didn’t want me to get involved. We were kids. You know, we did what our folks told us.” He shrugged. “Most of the time, anyway.”

  “Well, I appreciate your apology, Ricky, but that’s all water under the bridge. I’ve moved on. You should, as well.”

  He walked right up to her, allowing the muzzle of her shotgun to bore into his chest. Deacon gritted his teeth. This was going to get ugly.

  “I want to make it up to you, Cece, baby.”

  “Go on, Ricky,” Cece warned.

  The music in the vehicles abruptly went silent. Whatever was about to happen, the guys with this asshole were anticipating a move.

  Deacon had one chance and this was it.

  He bolted out of the clearing at a dead run and was on the porch next to Ricky whatever-the-hell-his-name-was before the other guys could react. The barrel of his Glock bored into the man’s temple. “Back off, Ricky.”

  Doors opened and curses swarmed in the air.

  “In the house,” Deacon ordered Cece.

  She hesitated. Her eyes round with fear.

  “Now,” Deacon roared.

  He wrapped his forearm around Ricky’s throat and whirled him around, using him as a shield from the others. He stabbed the muzzle a little harder into his temple. “Tell your friends to back off, Ricky, and we won’t have a problem.”

  Rifles were aimed at Deacon’s head. He split his focus between the three approaching the steps and the idiot backed against his chest.

  “I guess we’ve got a problem,” Deacon threatened as he gouged the barrel a little harder.

  “Hold up.” Ricky held out his hands to his friends. “Let me and this gentleman talk for a minute, boys. We seem to have a little misunderstanding.”

  The three stopped in their tracks.

  “You better hurry up, Ricky,” the tallest of his buddies reminded. “She said she called the sheriff.”

  “Go on now,” Ricky urged. “Get in the truck. Let me handle this.”

  When the three did as he asked, he spoke again. “You put your weapon down and I’ll be on my way. I didn’t come here for trouble. I just came to see her.”

  Deacon lowered his weapon but he didn’t tuck it away. “Don’t come back, Ricky. She doesn’t want to see you.”

  Deacon dropped his arm from the other man’s throat.

  And then the dumbass went stupid.

  Rather than walk away, he twisted and socked Deacon in the jaw.

  Cheers went up from inside the parked vehicles.

  The guy got in another punch before Deacon could get his weapon tucked away, then he leveled old Ricky with one solid cross.

  Two seconds of silence echoed from the vehicles before the doors flew open. The three sidekicks rushed forward, rifles aimed.

  Deacon knew better than to reach for his own. Instead, he raised his hands in surrender.

  The door behind him opened and Cece was suddenly standing in front of him, her shotgun aimed at the threesome.

  “Back in the house, Cece,” he ordered.

  She ignored him. “Get the hell out of here,” she shouted to the three and then she shoved Ricky down the steps with her foot. “And take this piece of trash with you.”

  Blue lights throbbed in the darkness. Two patrol cars skidded to a stop between the trespassers and the porch. Deacon took the weapon from Cece.

  Tanner and his deputies cuffed and loaded up Olson and his friends. Tanner took Deacon’s and Cece’s statements and then assured her that wreckers would arrive shortly and haul the trespassing vehicles away.

  Tanner studied Deacon a moment before he left. There would be questions from the sheriff. He was suspicious of Deacon. Smart man.

  For the first time in all these years, Deacon wondered if he was any better than the scumbags the deputies just hauled away.

  “You need some ice for that jaw.”

  Deacon turned from the window and faced her. “It’s not that bad. A lucky swing.”

  She laughed. A real laugh. The sound startled him. Free and relaxed, sweet.

  “It is that bad,” she countered as she reached up and touched his jaw.

  He flinched and drew away.

  She dropped her hand, obviously confused by his reaction to her touch. “Sorry. Let me get some ice.”

  He watched her walk away. It was only at that moment that he realized she was wearing just the nightshirt. No wonder Tanner had eyed him so speculatively.

  Damn.

  When she returned with ice wrapped in a hand towel he hadn’t moved from the spot where he was standing when she left him.

  She offered it to him. “I really am sorry about all this. I shouldn’t have called you.”

  He clenched his fingers in the towel lumpy with ice. “I hope you’re not serious. I think you can likely imagine what would have happened during the twenty minutes or so it took Tanner and his deputies to arrive.”

  He exiled the images from his mind.

  When she said nothing, he added, “Your old friend came here to hurt you.”

  She nodded. “I’m well aware of his intentions and I genuinely appreciate your help.” Her arms went over her chest. “But this is not your problem. It’s mine. You’ve been a really good neighbor. Gone above and beyond the call. But it’s not fair that my tragic life is doing all this...” she gestured to his face “...to you.”

  “Life isn’t fair sometimes.” He jammed the ice against his throbbing jaw.

  She stared at the floor as if she wasn’t sure what to say next. He understood perfectly the juncture where things had gone wrong. Damn it.

  He reached out to her, touched her arm. She stared at his hand.

  “I overreacted when you touched me. I’m sorry for that. I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  She looked up at him. “That you want to take advantage of me somehow because I’m this helpless woman who’s all alone?”

  He hoped she didn’t see the guilt in his eyes. He was the one dropping his hand away. “I—”

  “First, I’m not helpless. Second, do you know how long it’s been since someone who wasn’t wearing a prison uniform touched me?”

  The air in the room suddenly seemed too thick to draw into his lungs. “I’m a little unclear on what you might want me to say to that.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to touch me.” She took a step closer. “I want you to kiss me. I want you to make me feel something besides anger and resentment.”

  He told himself not to touch her—to walk away. He couldn’t do it. He reached out, cupped her cheek in his hand, slid his thumb over h
er bottom lip. His body tightened with need and he hated himself for it.

  “One day you’ll look back and be glad that I chose this moment to say good-night.” He lowered his hand and turned away.

  “Please don’t go.”

  Despite his every effort to keep walking, he stopped. Cursed himself for the weakness.

  “I don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’ve been alone forever.”

  Somehow he found the strength to face her once more without grabbing her and kissing her into silence...and doing all the things that were suddenly rushing into his head. “I’ll stay.” He pointed to the sofa. “Right there and you’ll be in your room.”

  She nodded. “Fair enough.”

  He felt guilty about that, too.

  There was nothing remotely fair about his motives.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday, August 4

  She was going to church.

  It was Sunday, after all. She had as much right as anyone else to do so.

  Cece checked her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. Her skin was way too pale to wear this sundress but she didn’t care. Prison did that to a person. She wanted them to see what they had done to her with their lies.

  Would it matter?

  No. They wouldn’t care.

  She took a breath and turned away from the mirror. Whether it mattered to them or not—whether it made the slightest difference, she wanted all of them to know. She wanted them to hear what she had to say.

  They being her older brother and her sister.

  Maybe she should include Levi. After all, he was one of them now. What could have happened since she saw him last month? In all this time he had never mentioned going to the other side.

  He’d always hated the church and their father’s followers.

  What could Marcus have on Levi that had suddenly caused such a turnaround?

  Evidently enough to keep him away from her beyond that brief drive-by. Maybe Marcus had made some threat that backed Levi off. Her little brother had always yearned for his older brother’s approval, even when it was wrong.

  Eight plus years ago they had all had their say.

  Today she intended to have hers. She opened her bedroom door and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee filled her lungs, reminding her that he was here.

  Deacon Ross. Warmth spread through her despite the cold that lingered with thoughts of the family who had abandoned her. Just as quickly she went cold again. She had practically begged him to kiss her and do anything else he might want to do. She closed her eyes and shook her head. How would she ever look him in the eye again? He no doubt thought she was every bit as pathetic as the rumors suggested.

  She opened her eyes and faced the facts. She was. Pathetic, that was. As embarrassing as it was to confess—even to herself—her one sexual experience had been with the jerk who showed up drunk on her porch last night. In fact, the only boy who had ever kissed her was that same knucklehead. Unless she counted the guard who had forced his mouth over hers and would have raped her if not for the interference of the one inmate in the whole prison who had cared enough to step in.

  Such a sad, miserable life.

  Her grandmother had left her a college fund and some money. She should just leave now and never look back.

  But she couldn’t. She owed it to her grandmother to do this. Besides, if she didn’t, this would haunt her the rest of her life. Her education, any career she attempted, would all be impacted by her record as a convicted murderer—a killer.

  She had told herself a million times that it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what anyone else thought. But that had been a lie. She wanted people to know the truth, especially the people in this town who had been so quick to condemn her. No one had cared enough to save four kids from a fanatical, no doubt insane father when their mother died. Everyone had just looked the other way and allowed him to drag them into his obsession.

  Those same people had jumped at the chance to condemn her after his murder.

  One way or another she was going to show them all. She was innocent.

  For the first time since she’d realized that she was going to be released, she knew what she wanted.

  She wanted them to know her grandmother had been right about her. She wanted her life back.

  The one someone in this town had stolen from her.

  With a renewed sense of determination, she went to the kitchen where Deacon leaned against the counter with a mug of steaming coffee in his hand. She stilled, thought of the way that hand had felt against her cheek.

  “Good morning.” He lifted his mug. “Coffee’s hot and strong.”

  A glance at the clock told her she had slept until past eight. She could not remember when she had last done that. Of course, they had been up most of the night. She was glad to see his jaw wasn’t swollen and the bruise was so small it was hardly noticeable.

  “Good morning. Wait.” She stared at the coffeepot on the counter. “I don’t have a coffeepot.”

  “I went next door and got mine.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.” She crossed to the pot and poured herself a cup.

  “I take it you have plans this morning.” He nodded to the dress she wore.

  She braced her hip against the cabinet and sipped the hot coffee, mostly to buy time. When she had savored the bold brew, she said, “I’m going to church.”

  He set his mug aside and leveled his gaze on her. “Unless you’re going to First Baptist or over to the Methodist one, I would think long and hard about taking that step. I don’t think anyone’s going to welcome you with open arms.”

  She downed another swallow, scalding her throat. “It’s a free country. I’m a free woman. I can go wherever I want.”

  He shrugged one broad shoulder. “That’s true. If that’s what you really want to do, I suppose there’s nothing stopping you.”

  “Nothing at all.”

  She focused on the coffee until she had finished it. He did the same. Rather than go for more, she rinsed out her cup and announced that she was ready to go.

  “Would you like to come with me?” She had not actually planned to ask that, but there it was...hanging in the air between them.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Those brown eyes of his watched her steadily, assessing her motives.

  He did a lot of that assessing. She didn’t actually mind. She had lived with deceit for so long she very much preferred straightforward. Other than that one off moment, this man had been more straightforward with her than anyone she knew.

  “I was thinking it might be a good idea in case I run into those guys from last night.” She hadn’t really thought about that at all, but it sounded as good as any other excuse that popped into her mind.

  “I think maybe you’re right.” He rinsed his mug and sat it on the counter next to the sink. “What time does the service start?”

  “Not until nine, but I want to speak to the reverend before the crowd arrives.” Marcus was about as much a reverend as she was...as their father had been.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Thanks.” Relief filled her. She hadn’t been looking forward to facing Marcus alone. But she would have done exactly that if necessary. She wasn’t going to permit fear to paralyze her.

  She locked the door, checked to ensure the lock engaged. Deacon waited for her at the steps. They walked to his truck together. He opened the door for her and she climbed into the passenger seat. He closed the door and walked around the hood. It occurred to her that she really knew very little about this man. He was her neighbor. Relatively new in town. That first day, in the parking lot at Ollie’s, the police officer seemed to know him. Surely that was a good sign.

  Hadn’t she already decided she could trust him?

  When he slid behind the wheel, she asked, “Where did you live before you
bought the Wilburn place?”

  He started the engine, his gaze locked on hers. “A few places. Nashville, Louisville, and a couple of years in Mobile. But most of my time has been spent in Nashville.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  He checked the road in both directions before pulling out of her driveway. “UT.”

  The University of Tennessee. She was impressed. “What was your major?”

  He glanced at her before refocusing his attention on the road. “You nervous or did you suddenly decide you needed to know me better?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Both, I guess. I woke up this morning and realized I don’t really know very much about you. What I do know is good, but...” She shrugged. “You know.”

  “I do. What else would you like me to tell you?”

  “What do you do? Besides rescue needy neighbors, I mean.”

  He flashed her a smile. “I’m an employee of the federal government but I’m currently on leave. I’m considering a career change. Maybe I’ll go into the private sector and stick with private investigations.”

  Federal government could mean any number of things. She supposed he didn’t want to talk about it and she certainly had no right to demand an explanation.

  “I thought maybe you were already a private detective.” He’d said he’d helped Frasier with her case, hadn’t he? She had thought his being a private investigator and working for her attorney explained his dedication to helping her out of all those tight spots she’d found herself in since her release.

  “Only on occasion.”

  Before she could ask anything else, he made the turn onto the road that ended in a graveled parking area surrounding an old-fashioned church. It was only about twenty-five years old but it had been built to look as if it were an original structure from the town’s settlement. Inside was nothing more than a huge room of worship and two bathrooms that were tucked behind the stage-like pulpit. Between the bathroom doors were the stairs to the basement.

  The white building with its plain, handmade wooden cross looked exactly the same as it had when she exited those doors for the last time nearly twelve years ago. She had walked out on one of her father’s sermons when she was sixteen and she had not set foot back inside those doors since. Two entwined S’s stood above the double entrance doors.