“Ms. Jacobs said she couldn’t really make out any features of the perpetrator, and she was adamant that she wanted to speak with you.” Johnson wraps up his explanation, calling Lesa Ms. Jacobs because she is the victim. Never mind the fact that he’s known her since she was in diapers.
“Chief,” he says as I start to head into the house, “I didn’t see any signs of a prowler outside any of her windows.” He says quietly, “No footprints, no disturbed grass or flowers. Nothing to indicate that someone was standing there watching her.”
“You think she’s lying?” I arch a brow as I ask the question.
“Well, now.” Johnson pushes his hand through his hair. “I don’t want to speculate. I’m just saying that I didn’t see any signs of the prowler Ms. Jacobs claimed she saw. That’s all.”
I nod quickly. “All right. Thanks, Johnson. I’ll take a walk around and then go in and talk to Lesa, and we’ll see if we can’t get to the bottom of this somehow.”
It doesn’t take me long to come to the same conclusion that Johnson had. There is absolutely no sign of anyone walking through her yard, let alone standing outside of her window. Which makes me wonder if she lied, and if so, why?
Lesa is sitting on the loveseat in a dress with a short skirt that skims over the top of her crossed legs. The neckline is pretty low, lower than I’ve ever seen her wear before. She’s piled her hair neatly on top of her head in what I think they called a bun and has a pair of black high heels on. She doesn’t look the least bit fazed by having caught a prowler watching her in the window.
She looks up as I walk in, and I quickly walk across the room and crouch down in front of her. I take another second to study her face. She looks calm and serene. Not an ounce of fear shows on her pretty face. But she made the call, and people deal with situations like this in different ways.
“How are you doing, Lesa?” I ask softly.
I swear I see the faint edge of a smile flitter across her lips before she responds, “I’m doing okay, Owen. I’m so sorry I interrupted your date with Tristan.” Hello, red flag, I think. How had she known I was out on a date with Tristan?
“No worries,” I mutter. “Johnson told me what happened but why don’t you walk it through for me?”
Her brows pull down with her frown. “Oh, I don’t really want to relive it again, Owen. I just feel safer with you being here with me.”
“Now, Lesa, I really need you to walk it through for me.”
Her frown deepens. “Okay, though I don’t know why since I just told Johnson everything. I was getting dressed, and I glanced out the window and saw a man standing there watching me. I screamed, and he ran away.”
I lean back, pushing to my feet. I make a show of looking through the notebook Johnson had handed me outside. “He was standing outside your bedroom window?” I question.
“Yes,” her voice has a bit of a bite to it now. She’s obviously pissed that I’m still questioning her. “I said that already. Twice. He was standing right outside my bedroom window.” She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts higher up in the air. There was a time that I would have appreciated the view, but now all I can think about is the feel of Tristan’s nipple pebbling against the palm of my hand.
“Lesa.” I keep my voice soft and calm. “You have that pretty flowerbed right outside your bedroom, and I know for a fact that you just laid down the fresh soil with fertilizer in it because I drove by the day you were laying it down.”
“So?”
“So, there were no footprints in the dirt, Lesa. Which indicates that there wasn’t anyone standing there.”
Her façade falters, anger now rising up, then giving way to panic, but seconds later she switches back. “Maybe he was standing behind where the soil starts.”
“That’s a possibility.” I agree with her. “But there aren’t any signs that anything has been disturbed, and if someone was going to peek in your window, they’d want to use the bushes and flowers to help cover them as much as possible from people driving by. This is a pretty busy street.”
She’s incredibly quiet now, but I can see the truth in her eyes. She made up the entire story about a prowler, and the only reason I can think of for her to do that is to get me out here. It has to have something to do with the fact that I was on a date with Tristan, but I thought we had gotten past this.
Apparently not, because not even twenty seconds later she’s draped herself around me, her arms looped around my neck as she tries to pull me into her. She’s pressing as tightly against my body as possible, her breast smashed against my chest, practically spilling out of that damn top now.
I reach up and grab her wrists. “What are you doing, Lesa?” I demand. “We talked about this.”
“Oh, Owen, I know if you just give us a chance we can be happy together.” She lifts up on her toes, trying to press her lips against mine. I turn my head at the last second while I gently tug on her wrists to unlock them from around my neck. “Lesa.” I bark out her name, trying to break through as she once again tries to wrap herself around me. “You can’t place fake calls with the police department. That’s against the law.”
“I just wanted to surprise you.”
She did surprise me. How had I missed this side of her? “I’m going to have to write you a ticket, Lesa.”
Her arms drop, and her body stiffens. “What?” She steps away from me, and I can see the panic is starting to slide right into embarrassment, with a little bit of anger thrown in. “You’re going to write me a ticket? After everything we’ve shared?”
“I don’t want to, Lesa, but you broke the law when you made that call. How would you have felt if someone had a real emergency, but my team was too busy worrying about your ‘prowler’ that they couldn’t get to the call in time?”
She’s frowning again, and I can see that she hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t know,” she murmurs, moving across the room to sit back down on the couch. “I would have felt bad, but I didn’t know what else to do, Owen. You won’t return any of my phone calls or texts, and I just don’t understand why you all of a sudden you don’t want me.”
Fuck me. “Lesa, I explained to you that I’m seeing Tristan and that you and I wouldn’t be seeing each other anymore. It’s not like we were really in a relationship; we just called each other when we were lonely, or we needed a plus one. I told you that when we first started.”
“I know.” She wails, and now she’s gone from angry to full-on embarrassed, and tears are streaming down her face, leaving a trail of black mascara in their wake. “But I love you, Owen.”
I move across the living room and sit down next to her, careful not to touch her. God knows I don’t want to give her any sort of encouragement. “Lesa, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you.”
“Oh, God.” She’s crying in earnest now, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to handle this situation. I really just want to hightail it out of here and get back to Tristan to see if we can salvage any part of our evening. “I’m so sorry, Owen.” She hiccups. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not this girl.”