She didn’t know that and he was not about to freak her out and tell her to bring a toothbrush and an extra pair of panties.
Tomorrow morning, he’d leave her in his bed and go get them for her.
“Yes,” he answered her question.
He got silence then, “Pardon?”
“Got ‘im.”
More silence then, “Already?”
“Lenny Lemcock tries to stay on the wagon,” he started in answer. “He also frequently fails. When he fails, he needs to get so drunk he doesn’t remember anything for a month. This requires money. Money, since he doesn’t have a job and lives on Disability, he has to steal. Took one look at the house, knew it was Lenny seein’ as he leaves a mess as his signature. He also leaves prints. Didn’t even have to lift a print though to know it was him. He hangs in seven different establishments. I found him at the fourth, three sheets to the wind. He’s in the tank and unfortunately for Lenny, since this is about strike seven and although the guy is funny, can charm a snake and has proven that repeatedly by charming a variety of judges, the last time he appeared, he got the warning. No more second chances. He’s fucked. He’ll dry out doin’ time and my callouts for burglaries will drop drastically.”
“Do you know everything about everyone in town?” she asked quietly, residual sleep and a hint of sweet wonder in her voice.
“Only the ones who do fucked up shit.”
“And Outlaw Al,” she added.
“Al lives on a diet of canned meat cut by canned beans. His residence is a lean-to in an alley. His best friends are twenty-five feral cats and he can pack all of his belongings in a shopping cart and not one of them is something anyone in their right mind would want. All of that is fucked up shit. Just not the annoying kind.”
He heard her quiet, musical laughter and, like he always did when he heard it, he savored it.
When he lost it, he ordered gently, “Right, baby, time for you to go back to sleep.”
“Okay, honey.”
He closed his eyes as that went through him.
He loved her calling him Chace.
But her calling him honey was something else. Something pure. Something magical. Like the first snow of the season falling at night. You wake up to it, make coffee, wrap up in a jacket and scarf over your pajamas, tug on thick socks and sit outside on your porch, drinking coffee that makes your insides warm but seeing your breath puff out in front of you, the air coming out clean and going in cleaner.
It was a little common miracle but even common, that made it no less miraculous.
The first time she’d done it, it felt like he’d been touched by the hand of an angel and he hadn’t gotten over feeling that every time she’d done it since.
He opened his eyes and asked, “You got the directions to my place?”
“Yeah,” she replied softly and that went through him too. “I think I’ll be there around quarter to seven.”
“All right, honey.”
“You sure I can’t bring anything?”
“Just you.”
“Okay, Chace.”
That went through him too, always.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.”
“Later, baby.”
“’Bye, Chace.”
He disconnected, tossed his cell on his nightstand and rolled to his back, his eyes going to the ceiling.
Misty had slept in the master.
Chace had slept in the guestroom.
A month after she died, he’d gotten shot of his old bed that she slept in and bought a new one. Spent a whack on a mattress that felt like sleeping on a firm cloud. It was spectacular.
Tonight, Faye would be in that bed with him, her hair, her scent, her body, her crystal blue eyes all a pillow away.
A clean bed, unsullied by the garbage that used to be his life.
His bed.
He shoved his hand behind his head at the same time he lifted his knees and wrapped his other hand around his cock.
Then he closed his eyes and went through one of the many scenarios he’d be taking Faye through in the coming months. This one involved a lot of Faye using her mouth. He took his time. He did it stroking lazy at first, firmer and faster later.
And when he was done, he came hard.
*
Three hours later, after jacking off to Faye, making coffee and having breakfast and a run, Chace, showered, in jeans, a dark blue twill shirt, a heavy, wool denim marl sweater and thick wool socks, was sitting on the rocking chair on his front porch. He had a hot mug of coffee in his hand, his feet up on the top of the railing in front of him, his eyes pointed out at the plain.
Chace lived in a four bedroom ranch-style house at the southwestern end of Carnal. He owned fifteen acres and not one of his neighbors owned less than three times that. Therefore, from his front porch, he couldn’t see any of his neighbor’s homes. Just the valley plain they lived on, the trees dotting the plains and shrouding the houses, the hills surrounding the area, the mountains beyond that and, in the distance, the town of Carnal.