Read Online Running from the Law by Lisa Scottoline - Free Book Online

think I’m free.”
    “You, free ? Just look around this room.” He clicked off the TV as Patricia’s attorney, Stan Julicher, came on, crying crocodile tears in front of his firm’s large nameplate. Now that Patricia was dead, the harassment case was over. Julicher would miss his contingency more than he would miss his client.
    “Hey, I wanted to see that,” I said.
    “How about this bed, huh? You think that came cheap?” Paul pointed at our four-poster, whose turned spindles stretched to a delicate arched canopy.
    “This bed didn’t cost anything. You built it.”
    “It still costs, honey. It’s all cherrywood. The labor I threw in for free, because I liked you so much.”
    “What a guy.” The bed was a birthday present Paul had built in his father’s garage. I’d loved it the instant he’d taken me to see it, then I’d brought him wine and wrenches while he disassembled the contraption to get it out the door. He was never as good a planner as his father, which was part of his charm.
    “And how about that armoire, huh?” He jerked his head at the cherry cabinet across the room. “Made to order, all by yours truly. With big drawers for my best girl’s shirts and little drawers for her lovely undies. Just like you asked, right?”
    I didn’t say anything. I remembered him refinishing the armoire, hand-rubbing it with a chamois. I tried not to think about how good his fingertips felt on my leg.
    “Wasn’t it just like you asked? Wasn’t it exactly how you wanted it? With the pull-out drawer for your extra decks of cards?”
    I wanted to smile, but it caught in my throat. “Not for cards, you.”
    “For poker chips then. Poker chips to your heart’s content.”
    “Not for chips, either.”
    “But it’s a pull-out drawer, is it not?”
    “Paul—”
    “Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer the question.” He caressed my leg. “My Honor says you have to answer. Yes or no.” He liked to play lawyer and was good at it, from a lifetime of hanging around judges, lawyers, and courthouses.
    “Yes.”
    “I rest my case. Call your next witness.”
    “Give me a break.”
    The light from the bedside lamp gave his amused expression a soft glow, and he rolled onto his side and played with my knee. “Do you still like this?” he asked softly.
    I tried not to pay attention to the sensation of his touch or to his chest, twisted across the white bedspread toward me. I kept thinking of the doctor’s letter.
    “Huh? Do you like this, Rita? You used to like it when I did this.”
    I knew where he was going. I had a dim memory of it, growing more vivid with each stroke of his hand, like ember to flame. “I used to like a lot of things, Paul.”
    “I know. I remember them all.” His hand traveled up to my thigh. “It wasn’t so long ago, you know.”
    “Yes, it was.”
    “No, it wasn’t.”
    “It was very long ago. When you liked me and I liked you.” I heard bitterness in my voice.
    He drew a line up from my knee with his forefinger. “I never stopped liking you. I like you still. But you stopped liking me, and I’m trying to get you back.” He hoisted himself toward me, and his towel slipped down.
    I averted my eyes as if he were a stranger. “You can’t get me back.”
    He kissed my knee before I could object. “You wanted me on the first date, remember? I made you a salad for dinner and you were smitten, you said, and you wanted to make love. The first date, the very first date . A fast Italian girl, I thought.”
    I laughed, the memory was so unexpected. It dawned bright as daybreak, and as undeniable.
    “Do you remember what I told you when you asked me, flat-out?”
    I closed my eyes and remembered. His kiss traveled to the inside of my knee, slower this time, slightly wet.
    “Miss Morrone, are you going to answer the question or do I have to ask My Honor to put you in jail?” His mouth moved along the inside of my leg, kissing me like he had that night in his apartment.