The Maze
Page 86
"Yes. When I was nineteen, after Belinda was murdered, I just shut down. I've never even been interested in another man since that time with Bobby. Not even remotely. Until you. Do you mind?"
"I don't think so. Never Douglas, then?" "No. Once, just weeks ago, he kissed me, but that's all there was to it. No, it's just you."
"Just me." That sounded incredibly fine. Actually, he thought, as he eased her down on top of him, if he didn't suffer from sensory overload first, he would give her pleasure if it killed him.
When he'd gotten her level of interest up to at least half of his, he was so far gone, he just didn't know if he'd make it. He lifted her to his mouth, felt her surprise, her shock. After not more than a minute or two, he felt every quiver in her legs, the deep clenching of her stomach muscles. And when she cried out, her back arching wildly, her fists pounding on his shoulders, jerking on his hair, he knew that he was the luckiest man on the earth.
He wanted to bring her pleasure again, but he knew he simply couldn't take it any longer. "Sherlock," he said. Looking into her eyes he came into her fast and deep, his powerful arms shaking with his effort to control himself, to keep his weight off her, as he moved deeper and deeper, feeling her flesh easing slowly to accommodate him. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed. And when he touched her again with his fingers, he knew that being in deep shit was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life.
She came again when his fingers touched her, and as he watched her face, heard her whimpers of pleasure, felt her draw him close and closer still, he let himself go.
And it was just fine, all of it.
"Lacey, just close your eyes, that's right, and lean your head back. Let your shoulders drop. Good. No, don't stiffen up. Now, just breathe very deeply. Deeper, let go. Good. Yes, that's just fine."
Dr. Lauren Bowers, a conservative congresswoman from Maryland and one of the best hypnotists Savich knew, raised her head and grinned at him. "People like Ms. Sherlock here," she said in her normal tone of voice, "are usually the easiest to get under. Once you get past her defenses, she's an open book, all the pages ruffling in the wind, that sharp brain of hers just invites you right in. Now, Savich, you've written down your questions."
She took the sheet of paper from him and scanned it. "Did I ever tell you that you are really quite good? Of course you know you are, you've been trained by the best."
Dr. Bowers turned back to the young woman who looked flaccid and pale, as if something had been sapping her from deep inside for far too long a time.
"Lacey? Can you hear me?"
"Of course, Dr. Bowers. I'm not deaf."
Dr. Bowers laughed. "That's very good. Now, I want you to go back, Lacey, back to the last time you saw Belinda. Do you remember when that was?"
"It was April thirteenth, three days before Belinda was killed." Lacey suddenly lurched forward, then flopped back. She was shaking her head frantically, back and forth. "No!"
"Lacey, it's all right. Just breathe in deeply."
"I want Dillon."
Without pause, he was lightly stroking her hand. "I'm here, Sherlock. I won't leave you. Let's go back together, all right? You're going to have to do something for me. You're going to have to paint that day to me in words, so I can see it as you see it. Can you do that?"
Her expression changed, softening, and incredibly, she looked like a girl again, a teenager. She sighed, then smiled. "It was very sunny, crisp and cool, just a low fog swirling in over and through the Golden Gate Bridge. I loved days like that, watching the sailboats on the Bay, seeing the Marin Headlands through open patches in the fog, all bleak and barren, but still green from all the winter rains."
Dr. Bowers nodded to Savich to keep going. He said in his low, deep voice, "What were you doing?"
"I was sitting out on the deck off the living room."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes. My mother was in her room napping. My father was at the courthouse. He was prosecuting a big drug case, and he wanted to make sure the defense was sticking to the sitting judge's gag order. He said if they weren't, he'd skin them alive."
"Where was Belinda?"
Her mouth tightened, her eyebrows drew together. She wasn't smiling anymore. She started to shake her head, back and forth.
"It's okay," Savich said easily. "Where was Douglas?"
"I thought he was at work."
"But he wasn't?"
"I don't think so. Never Douglas, then?" "No. Once, just weeks ago, he kissed me, but that's all there was to it. No, it's just you."
"Just me." That sounded incredibly fine. Actually, he thought, as he eased her down on top of him, if he didn't suffer from sensory overload first, he would give her pleasure if it killed him.
When he'd gotten her level of interest up to at least half of his, he was so far gone, he just didn't know if he'd make it. He lifted her to his mouth, felt her surprise, her shock. After not more than a minute or two, he felt every quiver in her legs, the deep clenching of her stomach muscles. And when she cried out, her back arching wildly, her fists pounding on his shoulders, jerking on his hair, he knew that he was the luckiest man on the earth.
He wanted to bring her pleasure again, but he knew he simply couldn't take it any longer. "Sherlock," he said. Looking into her eyes he came into her fast and deep, his powerful arms shaking with his effort to control himself, to keep his weight off her, as he moved deeper and deeper, feeling her flesh easing slowly to accommodate him. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed. And when he touched her again with his fingers, he knew that being in deep shit was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life.
She came again when his fingers touched her, and as he watched her face, heard her whimpers of pleasure, felt her draw him close and closer still, he let himself go.
And it was just fine, all of it.
"Lacey, just close your eyes, that's right, and lean your head back. Let your shoulders drop. Good. No, don't stiffen up. Now, just breathe very deeply. Deeper, let go. Good. Yes, that's just fine."
Dr. Lauren Bowers, a conservative congresswoman from Maryland and one of the best hypnotists Savich knew, raised her head and grinned at him. "People like Ms. Sherlock here," she said in her normal tone of voice, "are usually the easiest to get under. Once you get past her defenses, she's an open book, all the pages ruffling in the wind, that sharp brain of hers just invites you right in. Now, Savich, you've written down your questions."
She took the sheet of paper from him and scanned it. "Did I ever tell you that you are really quite good? Of course you know you are, you've been trained by the best."
Dr. Bowers turned back to the young woman who looked flaccid and pale, as if something had been sapping her from deep inside for far too long a time.
"Lacey? Can you hear me?"
"Of course, Dr. Bowers. I'm not deaf."
Dr. Bowers laughed. "That's very good. Now, I want you to go back, Lacey, back to the last time you saw Belinda. Do you remember when that was?"
"It was April thirteenth, three days before Belinda was killed." Lacey suddenly lurched forward, then flopped back. She was shaking her head frantically, back and forth. "No!"
"Lacey, it's all right. Just breathe in deeply."
"I want Dillon."
Without pause, he was lightly stroking her hand. "I'm here, Sherlock. I won't leave you. Let's go back together, all right? You're going to have to do something for me. You're going to have to paint that day to me in words, so I can see it as you see it. Can you do that?"
Her expression changed, softening, and incredibly, she looked like a girl again, a teenager. She sighed, then smiled. "It was very sunny, crisp and cool, just a low fog swirling in over and through the Golden Gate Bridge. I loved days like that, watching the sailboats on the Bay, seeing the Marin Headlands through open patches in the fog, all bleak and barren, but still green from all the winter rains."
Dr. Bowers nodded to Savich to keep going. He said in his low, deep voice, "What were you doing?"
"I was sitting out on the deck off the living room."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes. My mother was in her room napping. My father was at the courthouse. He was prosecuting a big drug case, and he wanted to make sure the defense was sticking to the sitting judge's gag order. He said if they weren't, he'd skin them alive."
"Where was Belinda?"
Her mouth tightened, her eyebrows drew together. She wasn't smiling anymore. She started to shake her head, back and forth.
"It's okay," Savich said easily. "Where was Douglas?"
"I thought he was at work."
"But he wasn't?"
