Justice by Faye Kellerman Page A

stop?”
    I opened my eyes and peered into his—unreadable. “No.” My voice was shaky. “No, it’s okay.”
    “Are you sure?”
    I answered him by slipping off my bra. He stared at my chest for a long time before going back to his easel. “Hunch over like you were doing before.”
    Gladly, I did as I was told, my knees hiding most of my nakedness.
    He began a new drawing. “You’re very, very beautiful.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Don’t ever be ashamed of what God gave you, you hear me?”
    I nodded.
    He drew one sketch, then another, then another. We didn’t talk as he worked his way through one pad, quickly replacing it with a new one. He wiped sweat from his brow.
    “I’m hot,” he said. “I’m going to take off my shirt.”
    I shrugged. He worked bare-chested. His body was hard and developed, but not overdone. Not an anabolics user. Too much chest hair, and he was more sinewy than inflated. I remembered Bull Anderson parading around the halls in his swimming trunks one day after school, his oiled, hairless barrel chest reddened by patches of acne.
    Chris stood back and fingered his crucifix, his eyes on my face. “Your color’s back. You must be feeling better.”
    I nodded.
    “Good.”
    I said, “You used the past tense when you spoke about your uncle’s mistress. What happened to her?”
    “She died.”
    “Did he kill her?”
    Chris jerked his head up. “In a sense, I guess he did.”
    I waited for more, but he didn’t explain. He sketched furiously. “You can take your panties off now.”
    I froze.
    Chris said, “If it’s too hard for you, Teresa, we’ll forget the whole thing. The purpose of this is to make us closer, not to put up walls.”
    He spoke smoothly and soothingly, as if my feelings were his only concern. At that moment, I would probably have drunk poison for him. Instead, I slipped off my panties, keeping my knees up, legs soldered together.
    Chris walked over to me. Looming over my smallness, he must have sensed how insignificant I felt. He knelt down and spoke very softly. “Give me privilege, angel. I swear I won’t ever let you down.”
    I still couldn’t move.
    “Let me help you.”
    He put his hands on my knees and opened my legs, positioning them about two feet apart. His face was so close I could feel warmed air on my inner thighs. His skin was flushed, his eyes had dilated, and his breathing had become audible. He remained in the same position for what seemed like an interminable period.
    Finally, he let out a breathless laugh. “I swear to Jesus, I can’t get up. I can’t move . I’m…too weak.”
    I smiled.
    He closed his eyes, crossed himself, and finally stood up. He threw back his head and burst into unrestrained laughter. “Well, that was a first.” Slowly, he made his way back to his sketch pad. “Just keep that position.”
    He laughed again. It was infectious and I started to relax. After a while, my eyes traveled down his body, landing on the noticeable bulge in his crotch. I felt tingling below, wondered if he noticed. A moment later, he gave me a knowing smile.
    “You dirty girl, keep your eyes up and off my groin.”
    “You can look, why can’t I?”
    “I don’t mind you looking,” he clarified. “But I need to see your beautiful eyes.”
    “You’re not looking at my eyes, Christopher.”
    Again Chris smiled. “You’re nasty , Teresa. Of course I’m looking at your eyes.” He flipped to a new piece of paper. “If you’re that curious, I can take my pants off.”
    “I’ll pass. My heart’s only good for a shock a day and I’m still dealing with your uncle’s death threats.”
    “Terry, nothing’s going to happen to you.” He studied me, then his drawing. “I’d… kill myself before I’d let anything ever happen to you. You may be little in size, but you’ve got a six-four, one-hundred-eighty-pound killing machine at your service. More reliable than a pit bull and I don’t have bad breath. Hold