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He swallowed audibly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good night, Goliad.”
“Good night.”
She slid her hand off his shirtfront and turned away, smiling to herself. Fearing banishment and permanent separation from her, he would never act on his desire. He would rather suffer in agonizing silence and be able to remain near her and in sight of her than do something impulsive that would cause his severance.
He would never touch her, but every once in a while, Delores reminded him of just how much he wanted to.
Chapter 25
11:11 p.m.
Rawlins pulled the SUV to the curb and cut the engine. Neither he nor Wilson moved as they regarded the dwelling. The street was dark and silent; the only sounds were the ticks of the motor as it cooled. No interior lights were on that they could see. There was a porch light, but it wasn’t on, either.
“What do you think?” Wilson asked.
“Won’t know until we check it out.”
“I’m so tired, you may have to goose me to get me out of this seat.”
Rawlins snorted. “I’ll pass.”
He opened the driver’s door and alighted. Wilson groaned as he pushed open his door and got out. Together they went up the walk to the sheltered front door. Rawlins pressed the bell, and they heard it chime.
He rang it twice more before a light came on inside, then the overhead porch light nearly blinded them when it was switched on. Door locks were unfastened, and then the door was pulled open.
Standing barefoot behind the screen door, wearing a white t-shirt and red flannel pajama bottoms with penguins on them, was Wes O’Neal. He said, “I didn’t do it.”
Wilson smiled. “Been a long time, Wes.”
“I’ve lost track. Where’d all your hair go to?”
He asked it with such good humor, Wilson didn’t take umbrage. “How are you getting on these days?”
“Up till two minutes ago, I was sleeping with a clear conscience. Can’t imagine what brought you all the way down here from Howardville. I haven’t been up there in a coon’s age. Whatever’s missing, I didn’t take it. I’ve gone straight.”
“Mind if we come in?”
“Why?”
“If you’ve gone straight, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Wes seemed to debate it, then flipped up the hook lock on the screen door. Its hinges squeaked when he pushed it open. Turning his back to them, he went ahead to switch on a lamp.
The living area was separated from the galley kitchen by a Formica-topped bar with one barstool. The small, round dining table had two mismatched chairs. On the table was a chessboard, a game seemingly in progress. Taking up most of the floor space was a recliner, an ugly maroon leather monstrosity.
“I don’t have much company, so seating is limited,” Wes said, claiming the recliner for himself.
“Nice chair,” Wilson remarked.
“I didn’t steal it.”
“You’ve gone straight.”
“That’s not the reason. I couldn’t carry the damn thing.” Wes rubbed his hands up and down the padded arms. “I got it at a yard sale. Paid cash. I have a job. Working nine to five at the Walmart.”
“Stocking shelves?” Wilson asked.
