Convicted (11 page)

Writing covered her entire body.

"Al?" Lisa went over to the portable stereo on Allegra's dresser and turned the music off with a snap. "Are you all right?"

Her sister blinked and stopped singing. Her eyes swam into focus. Her hands came up to cover herself briefly, then she was the old Allegra. She laughed. Tossed her hair. Grabbed her robe from the back of the chair and slipped it on.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"What did you do to yourself?" Lisa asked uneasily.

Al shrugged. "I'm deciding if I want a tattoo. I thought I'd see how it would look."

Lisa crossed to her sister and grabbed her arm. Yanking up the sleeve of the robe, she began reading some of the words written on Al's arm. "Garter belt. Lipstick. Gallon of Milk. That's what you want to get tattooed on yourself?"

Al jerked her arm away and slid the robe down to cover herself. "Maybe. Like I said, I'm just trying some things out."

Something was not right. This went way beyond Allegra's normal idiosyncrasies. The first slow pang of fear uncoiled itself in Lisa's gut.

She spoke calmly, watching her sister for any reaction. "Allegra, that is not normal."

Allegra sighed, long suffering. "Lisa, you worry too much. You've been working too hard. By the way, I found your sunglasses."

"You did?" Lisa paused. She'd been looking for them for three days, and had finally bought a new pair. "Where were they?"

Allegra fixed her sister with a look of pity. "In the microwave."

"What were they doing there?"

Allegra just shook her head. "Don't know. But the frozen burrito was on the counter next to your keys."

All at once, Lisa felt like she had to sit down. Allegra clucked sympathetically as Lisa sank onto the perfectly made bed. Lisa repressed a shiver.

"The microwave?" she repeated in a small voice.

"What's been on your mind lately?" Allegra asked.

Was that concern, actual concern, in Allegra's voice? That seemed hard to believe. Lisa watched her sister pull on a pair of jeans, ironed and crisp, from a hanger in the closet. Al slipped on the jeans, then the shirt with movements smooth but so swift Lisa barely got another glimpse of the weird writing all over her body.

"You've been putting in awfully long hours on that children's garden thing," Allegra continued when Lisa didn't answer. "And spending nearly every night out with Terry. Let's face it, Lisa, you haven't been yourself lately."

No, she hadn't. "I guess I'm just tired."

Allegra snorted, smoothing the red material of her shirt over her perfect, flat stomach and turning sideways to look in the mirror. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she sat next to Lisa and put her arm around her. "It's probably a good thing you're not going out tonight."

Terry wouldn't agree, but how did Allegra know Lisa had already called off her date with him? "What makes you think I'm not going out?"

Allegra shrugged. "You're not dressed for it."

Something about the answer rang false, but Lisa wasn't quite sure why. "What are you doing to do?"

"Go to Mom and Dad's," Allegra said. "They rented a bunch of movies. Kevin and Andrea are going out and dropping off the kids. I said I'd help. Besides, me and Troy have to finish our air hockey tournament."

"Sounds like a real party," Lisa said more stiffly than she meant. Nobody had invited her. Even her younger brother Troy was staying home to join in--a rare occasion for the teen who usually had high school sports practices or other activities to keep him occupied.

"It should be," Allegra said lightly. She smoothed the shirt again three times. She paused, then three times more. After another pause, she ran her fingers over the material as if to start another succession of smooths, but stopped herself. Her fingers hooked into claws, but they remained still. She turned to Lisa with a bright smile. "Like my shirt?"

"Is it new?" She'd never seen it before.

"No," Allegra said, suddenly turning away. "I've had it forever."

The lie was so blatant Lisa couldn't even comment. The beginnings of a headache tapped at her temples. "I think I'll just go to bed."

"You do that," Allegra said. "Sweet dreams."

The small, empty bedroom that connected Allegra's room to the front hallway was dark, even when Lisa flicked the light switch.

Another burnt-out bulb?

At least the room was bare and she wouldn't trip on anything. Lisa felt her way to the door on the opposite side and burst out into the light of the hallway. Her room, directly across from the spare room, had never looked so good.

At least one thing was good about all this freakiness. She'd stopped thinking about Deacon for awhile. Sweet dreams? Lisa thought after she'd showered and slipped between her cool linen sheets. She'd prefer no dreams at all.

"You look tired." Deacon knew the way to win a woman's heart usually meant not telling her she looked tired. But Lisa did. Gray circles shadowed her sexy gray eyes, and her cheeks were pale.

She paused while flipping through the pad of designs they were going over. She sighed, seemed about to speak, then stopped. She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"Lisa?" he asked, really concerned now. For the past week, she'd been subdued. At first, he'd thought it was because she was feeling awkward around him again, but now he saw something had to be bothering her. "What's wrong?"

To his surprise, tears glistened in her eyes. Her fingers trembled as they flipped through the pages on her lap so fast he knew she couldn't possibly be really seeing them. He reached out and put his hand on hers.

"Talk to me," he said softly.

She looked up at him, still biting at her lower lip. Soon she would draw blood. Lisa's mouth opened, then closed. She struggled to speak. Finally, whatever had been holding her back let go, and a torrent of words poured out.

"It started with my watch," she said. "Then my glasses. And they were in the microwave! But the burrito was on the counter. And my stuff went missing from the laundry, but I just thought maybe Allegra had borrowed it. But she says she hasn't, and she has a closet full of new clothes I've never seen, but where's my stuff? And--"

"Slow down," Deacon said. Her rapid-fire, slightly hysterical response alarmed him. He'd never seen her so distraught. "Take a deep breath and start over."

A few deep breaths seemed to calm her. She even managed a weak smile as she looked at him. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

They sat like that in Lisa's tiny office just staring at each other. With anybody else, it might have quickly become uncomfortable, but Deacon didn't mind just looking at her. Lisa flashed a weak smile at him.

"A lot of strange things have been happening, that's all." She sighed. "Terry seems to think I'm working too hard."

Deacon knew Terry's real problem with Lisa's recent work assignment and it wasn't the long hours. "It's too bad he isn't more understanding."

Lisa nodded, and for just one second, Deacon felt a flash of guilt. It wasn't right to take advantage of her mood like this. Then he thought of Terry Hewitt's arms around Lisa and the guilt vanished.

Lisa peered up at him with wet eyes. Then she smiled. "You are a dog."

"What?"

"You," she repeated slowly, "are a dog! Deacon Campbell, are you trying to cause trouble for Terry?"

She'd caught him out.
Damn.
Why did he always forget how smart Lisa was? The best response seemed unrepentant honesty.

"Sure am," he said with a grin.

Lisa laughed. The sound was a welcome relief from her earlier worried tone. She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"He should be more understanding,'" she mocked, putting a lot prissier tone into the statement than he had. "More like you maybe?"

Now his defense was up. "Well, yeah, like me."

"Why?" Lisa asked him. "Why are you trying to cause trouble?"

Deacon, who usually had a ready answer for any question, remained silent. He couldn't tell her it was because he was jealous. He couldn't tell her the truth that he wanted her in his arms again and he wanted a second chance to prove to her he was the kind of man she could fall in love with.

Instead, he shrugged. "I guess I'm just a troublemaker."

"I guess you are," she said, and seemed to be waiting for more.

All at once, the tiny office seemed even tinier. Had their knees been touching this entire time and he only now noticed? Deacon realized he could smell her perfume, a mouth-watering scent like vanilla. He swallowed hard to keep the drool from dripping out of his mouth. Three years ago, he would've kissed her and damn the consequences.

"It's getting late," he said. "We'd better finish up these designs."

Did she look disappointed?
He wouldn't let himself think so. Deacon turned his attention back to the pile of papers they were looking at.

"Yes, we should. I have a date tonight with Terry and I promised him I wouldn't be late this time." Lisa paused and he felt the weight of her gaze burning a hole in the side of his cheek.

Deacon pretended to be engrossed in the designs. She was testing him. The only problem was he didn't know which response would make him pass, and which would make him fail.

"Let me just check my email," she said. "The funds officer from Bank of St. Mary's said she'd send me the details about the draws for payment. Dad's been asking me about the money for all the supplies we've used so far."

Deacon grabbed a pen and his binder and began labeling some updated items they'd been discussing. He wasn't paying attention to Lisa's monitor until her gasp made him look up. Images flashed on the screen--and they weren't from any bank.

"How do I make it stop?" Lisa clicked frantically with her mouse.

It appeared to be some sort of automatic slide show program that opened from an email attachment. No matter what keys she hit or how much she moved the mouse, nothing stopped the pictures from coming. Deacon hadn't seen the first few, but the ones showing up now grew increasingly more lurid and pornographic with each one.

Images of every sort of aberrant sexual practice replaced shots that might have come from a men's adult magazine. Pictures of violence and death began replacing the sex shots, and when a close up photo of a gunshot victim filled the screen, Deacon reached over and simply turned off the monitor.

"What was that?" Lisa cried, shaking. Her cheeks had paled again. "How did that get on my computer?"

"Maybe it was some sort of joke," he said, helpless to explain to her. "A sick joke."

"Who would send something like that to me?" Lisa pushed her chair away from the computer as though it might contaminate her.

Deacon took her hands in his, concerned to find them icy cold. He rubbed them between his own trying to calm her. Truthfully, the pictures had made him sick to his stomach, too. There'd been nothing funny about any of them, and if it was a joke, it had come from someone with the Marquis de Sade's sense of humor.

"Lisa?" Doug Shadd stood in the doorway, holding a file. "What's going on?"

"Dad," Lisa cried. "There was something terrible on my computer!"

Doug eased his way past Deacon's chair and stood beside his daughter. "One of those chain letters? Or a virus?"

Lisa shook her head. "I don't think so."

"It looked like some sort of slide show," Deacon said.

"Dad, the pictures were really horrendous." Lisa seemed a little calmer now, though her cheeks were still pale. "Porn and dead people..." She trailed off shuddering.

"Let's take a look," Doug said, and pushed the monitor's on button. "Ha, ha," he read aloud. "Like what you see?"

Doug clicked the mouse and the message vanished, replaced by the normal Inbox screen of Lisa's email. "It's gone now."

"Which message did it come in?" Deacon asked. "Who sent it to her?"

Doug barely glanced at him and fiddled with the mouse. "How can you tell? I don't know how to work email."

Deacon had spent hours in front of the computer during his sentence. Good behavior had earned him limited internet access and visits to the library where he'd read every computer book he could get his hands on. He'd never be a programmer, but he knew how to work almost any system.

"Let me see." He pushed his chair over and looked at the messages, scanning the headers. "That one."

"Pix 4 U," Lisa read.

"Do you recognize the sender?" Deacon asked. "It's [email protected]."

Lisa shook her head. "Doesn't sound familiar."

"Could it be a mistake?" Doug asked, still rubbing Lisa's shoulder comfortingly. "A what do you call it--a ham?"

"Spam," Deacon corrected, looking at the message. He clicked the mouse a few times to bring up the message's properties. "I don't think so. See? The message was sent here to Lisa's Garden Shadd internal mail address, not the one she usually uses for outside correspondence. And it was directly addressed to her with her full name and the address."

"It was sent from inside our system?" Dismay colored Lisa's voice.

"No," Deacon said, trying to reassure her. "But it did come from someone who knows your internal address. So it's someone who knows you."

"It's not a funny joke," she said vehemently with another shudder.

"I can try to find out more," Deacon said. "But I'll have to open it up again."

Lisa nodded, her mouth thinned in a grim line. "Okay, but I'm not going to look."

With a click of his mouse, the screen filled again with the lewd and increasingly disgusting photos. Deacon tried several commands before finally hitting one that shut down the program before it reached the end. "Ha, ha. Like what you see?" He hit another few keys, hoping to pull up more information. "Sounds like a virus header, but I don't think it's a virus. Or a joke."

Doug came around the other side of Lisa's chair to better watch what Deacon was doing. "You seem to know an awful lot about computers, Deacon."

At first, Deacon took the man's comment as a compliment. "Thanks."

The silence that greeted his reply made him turn to look at Lisa's father. A grimace of suspicion tugged at his mouth. His eyes were hard.