A Steele Between Two Thorns - Part Thirty-Five
“Bill Peterson?” Laura held out her hand. “Laura Holt. Tony Roselli gave me your address. I’m trying to help him.”
Peterson took her hand, looking her up and down as he did so in a way that sent shivers through Laura’s back. He stood aside for her to enter.
“My apologies for the mess, Miss Holt. I’ve only just moved to Los Angeles.”
“Oh? Where from?” She had already guessed.
“London.”
They sat in the living room.
“How are you liking Los Angeles?” Laura asked pleasantly.
“Very well. Such wonderful weather.”
He spoke with a clipped, precise British accent that conveyed to the listener the image of a haughty, slightly stale gentleman. His eyes, however, told a different story. Laura shifted uncomfortably as they continued to roam her body, and she kept a careful watch on his hands, which were continuously rubbing and wringing each other sensuously. She had no doubt that they had found their man.
“How - how long have you known Mr. Roselli?” she asked.
“Goodness, let me think! I’d say ten years now.” One of his hands began idly fondling his knee. Laura automatically reached down and moved her skirt to cover her own leg.
“He’s a friend?”
Peterson paused. “Yes, he was always a very good friend.”
Laura didn’t miss his use of the past tense. She decided to cut to the chase. “How did you know he was innocent?”
Peterson gazed at her intensely for several long moments before whispering. “Come now, Laura. We both know why you’re here.” He stood and walked away from her, towards the television set. “You and your husband.”
Laura watched as he stopped and stood still. “Why did you do it?” she asked at last.
His hand reached slowly around the television until it found the little black microphone that Steele had installed. In one smooth motion he ripped it off and threw it out the nearest window.
“He doesn’t need to hear.”
Laura stood. “Will you tell me, then? What did Tony do to you?”
Peterson didn’t answer. He turned and approached her, his hands stroking each other excitedly.
“I didn’t think Tony had such exquisite taste,” he said, his voice steady and precise. “You’re beautiful, Laura. Far prettier than she was. More delicate. And without your clothes on -“
“How do you know?” Laura cut in. “You’ve never seen me like that. Maybe I’m not pretty underneath.”
Peterson smiled. “I’ve seen. I watched you last night, with him.”
“You -“ Laura’s mouth hung open in horror. It took her several moments to collect herself enough to say, “He’s close, Mr. Peterson. He won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Oh? Why isn’t he here now then?”
Laura had been thinking the same thing, Hurry, Harry. She backed away from him until her legs hit the sofa.
“You’re scared,” he remarked charmingly. “That’s nice. It’s better if you’re afraid of me.”
Laura straightened proudly. “I’m not afraid.”
Peterson closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of her arms. His grip was too tight, but Laura refused to give him the satisfaction of asking for relief. He stood looking at her intently for a few moments, before, quite suddenly, leaning in to kiss her. She turned her face away just in time.
“Don’t make me do this,” he whispered, bringing a hand to her jaw and forcing it back towards him. “I’d hate to leave marks on your lovely neck.”
Laura slammed her heel down on his toe as hard as she could, stunning him momentarily, but he caught her as she tried to wiggle free and threw her back onto the sofa, pinning her legs underneath his as his hands held her wrists.
For the first time in years Laura found herself without a way out, panicking as he began to rip her clothes with his teeth. Teeth! she thought, but his head was too far down to bite. He was going to rape her and there was nothing she could do.
Peterson took her hand, looking her up and down as he did so in a way that sent shivers through Laura’s back. He stood aside for her to enter.
“My apologies for the mess, Miss Holt. I’ve only just moved to Los Angeles.”
“Oh? Where from?” She had already guessed.
“London.”
They sat in the living room.
“How are you liking Los Angeles?” Laura asked pleasantly.
“Very well. Such wonderful weather.”
He spoke with a clipped, precise British accent that conveyed to the listener the image of a haughty, slightly stale gentleman. His eyes, however, told a different story. Laura shifted uncomfortably as they continued to roam her body, and she kept a careful watch on his hands, which were continuously rubbing and wringing each other sensuously. She had no doubt that they had found their man.
“How - how long have you known Mr. Roselli?” she asked.
“Goodness, let me think! I’d say ten years now.” One of his hands began idly fondling his knee. Laura automatically reached down and moved her skirt to cover her own leg.
“He’s a friend?”
Peterson paused. “Yes, he was always a very good friend.”
Laura didn’t miss his use of the past tense. She decided to cut to the chase. “How did you know he was innocent?”
Peterson gazed at her intensely for several long moments before whispering. “Come now, Laura. We both know why you’re here.” He stood and walked away from her, towards the television set. “You and your husband.”
Laura watched as he stopped and stood still. “Why did you do it?” she asked at last.
His hand reached slowly around the television until it found the little black microphone that Steele had installed. In one smooth motion he ripped it off and threw it out the nearest window.
“He doesn’t need to hear.”
Laura stood. “Will you tell me, then? What did Tony do to you?”
Peterson didn’t answer. He turned and approached her, his hands stroking each other excitedly.
“I didn’t think Tony had such exquisite taste,” he said, his voice steady and precise. “You’re beautiful, Laura. Far prettier than she was. More delicate. And without your clothes on -“
“How do you know?” Laura cut in. “You’ve never seen me like that. Maybe I’m not pretty underneath.”
Peterson smiled. “I’ve seen. I watched you last night, with him.”
“You -“ Laura’s mouth hung open in horror. It took her several moments to collect herself enough to say, “He’s close, Mr. Peterson. He won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Oh? Why isn’t he here now then?”
Laura had been thinking the same thing, Hurry, Harry. She backed away from him until her legs hit the sofa.
“You’re scared,” he remarked charmingly. “That’s nice. It’s better if you’re afraid of me.”
Laura straightened proudly. “I’m not afraid.”
Peterson closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of her arms. His grip was too tight, but Laura refused to give him the satisfaction of asking for relief. He stood looking at her intently for a few moments, before, quite suddenly, leaning in to kiss her. She turned her face away just in time.
“Don’t make me do this,” he whispered, bringing a hand to her jaw and forcing it back towards him. “I’d hate to leave marks on your lovely neck.”
Laura slammed her heel down on his toe as hard as she could, stunning him momentarily, but he caught her as she tried to wiggle free and threw her back onto the sofa, pinning her legs underneath his as his hands held her wrists.
For the first time in years Laura found herself without a way out, panicking as he began to rip her clothes with his teeth. Teeth! she thought, but his head was too far down to bite. He was going to rape her and there was nothing she could do.