Mouth To Mouth. Erin McCarthy
she had just come to that conclusion herself, it made her feel like a disobedient child to have him say it. She couldn’t stand it when people patronized her, especially not when she could think of better “p” words Russ could do to her. “I’m in a public shop. Nothing could have happened to me here.”
His eyes rolled back and his lip curled. “Give me a break. There’s one guy working here who probably has more hair than brains. Someone could pull a gun on you, wave it at the clerk, and haul your ass out of here in about thirty seconds, no one to stop him.”
Well. That was a cheery thought.
“And don’t be so trusting, Laurel…you haven’t even asked to see my ID. I might not even be a cop, for all you know.”
Oh, God, he was right. She didn’t know if he was a cop. She didn’t know anything, really. Maybe he was the con artist, but was talking her into believing he was a cop. Confused, she primly held out her hand. “ID please.”
He nodded in approval, extracted his wallet from his pants, and handed it to her. “Never trust anyone.”
Laurel thought that was a sad tableau to live by, but she flipped open his wallet and studied the Cleveland Police Department badge. She glanced at his address, 350 W. 135th, on his driver’s license and noticed that the BMV headshot didn’t do him justice any more than the high school picture had.
Both her mother’s and his warnings resounded in her head. “How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” she asked, running her finger over the raised surface of his badge.
Russ’s mouth dropped open, then he laughed. “I guess you don’t. You could call the police department and ask to speak to me to confirm I’m a detective, or you could ask for my boss. He could vouch for me and the investigation.”
“The only problem is, I wouldn’t be able to hear his answer.”
Now Russ looked stricken. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”
He looked so embarrassed, she rushed to reassure him with a smile. It made her uncomfortable when her deafness made other people uncomfortable. “I wasn’t criticizing you or trying to make you feel bad. I was just being honest.”
But he didn’t smile back. He was studying her, resting back in his chair, large fingers playing with the napkin resting on the table. Laurel stopped smiling, deep regret dousing over her. This man, this very attractive and cautious man, was not who she’d been talking to.
And she had rushed up to him, so excited to see him, eager to meet him, grateful he hadn’t stood her up. How totally mortifying.
Maybe even worse, Russ Evans wasn’t her naughty little secret anymore, her reason to sneak off to her room and check her e-mail, hoping for a message from him. The man she’d been chatting with, he had been sweet and flirtatious, interested in her—or so she had thought. And none of it was real.
That man was a con artist, probably out to steal her money, and the real Russ Evans wasn’t the least bit interested in her.
Oh, God, she wanted to go home and eat a brownie.
“Well, I’m going to leave then,” she blurted. “Thanks for your concern, I hope you catch the guy and everything.” Laurel bent over to pick up her bag, purposely lingering facedown so she couldn’t see Russ’s answer.
It was a trick she had often pulled as a kid, closing her eyes when she was being punished so she couldn’t see the lecture. Eventually her mother had started cracking her on the butt when she did that to force her eyes open. But Russ Evans didn’t know her, or that her avoidance was intentional, and she just wanted to get out of that shop without further reprimands from him.
But when she sat back up and turned to pull her black peacoat off the chair, Russ touched her arm, held it. She looked at him, wary.
“Did Dean give you any clues about who he is or where he lives? What interests him?”
Laurel extracted her arm from his hand and shoved it in her sleeve, not wanting to think about all the things Dean had said, because that meant she had to remember all the gushy, naive, personal things she had written in return. “I don’t know. He said things like he was you. He was a cop, went to Lakewood High School, likes boating.”
“I don’t like boats. I’m more into camping.” Russ sat forward, intense, his expression determined, jaw set, and dark eyes confident. “There could be clues like that littered throughout his e-mails. Did you save any of them? How long have you been talking to him?”
“About two months. But I didn’t save any of them. I do remember he said he lived in Tremont, but he never gave a street.”
“Well, what do you usually talk about?”
“Anything. Everything.” Sex. She was eternally grateful she’d just dumped the trash in her e-mail.
Laurel jammed her other arm through her coat sleeve and fished in her pink purse for her keys. She wanted to leave in the worst way, get away from Russ Evans and his reminder that she was kidding herself, that her life was never meant to be wild and exciting. She was destined to shrivel up like dried fruit, to fossilize into old age never touched by human hands.
Russ Evans just wanted to capture his man, and she felt the need to lock herself in her room and write bad poetry.
“Like what? Can you give me specifics?” Russ seemed oblivious to her discomfort, picking up the wrong coffee cup and idly taking a sip from it, obviously unaware it wasn’t his.
Seeing his mouth on her cup, right where her lips had just been, made her snap. She wanted to shock him, to make him really look at her and see more than just the deaf girl who fell for the sweet-talking con. She wanted him to see her as a woman. Just once, she wanted the gorgeous guy to look at her, really see her.
“Sex. We talked about sex.”
Russ choked on the frothy sweet coffee, feeling it rise into his nose and sting like hell. Somehow he hadn’t expected Laurel to say that. She seemed so sweet, so naive, so elevated, that he wouldn’t have imagined she would want to talk dirty. The image rose in his head of Laurel whispering in his ear what she’d like him to do to her, and with what, and Russ went hard.
That was professional.
He recovered himself. At least the part above the table. “I see. I don’t suppose there are any clues in that, then.”
“Not unless you want to know what his sex fantasies are.”
Oh, God, just shoot him instead. “I’ll pass.”
Now if she wanted to tell him her fantasies, he’d be willing to listen.
They both sat silent for a minute, Russ thinking, his mind a mix of perverted thoughts and puzzlement over what Dean was planning.
“Are you sure he’s a con man?” Laurel asked.
Because she looked wistful, Russ gave her a harsh answer. He did not want her to do something stupid like hook up with Dean after all. “Yes. Four women, that we know of, have had over a hundred thousand dollars stolen from them by Dean, before their beds were even cold. Got any money, Laurel?”
“Sort of. I have a small trust fund and even though I live with my mother, technically the house is mine.”
“Where?”
“Edgewater Drive.”
“Lakefront property.” Nice. Big money. Dean must be trying to step up in the world.
“Yes.” Laurel wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Well, there are other fish in the sea, I guess. Or online.”
His head snapped up. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Hold it. What do you mean?”
But she wasn’t looking at him. She was buttoning her coat. He tapped her arm impatiently. She looked up in surprise.
“Don’t