Deacon(27)

This was because I could see Deacon’s big body in my front door window silhouetted by the late morning sun behind him and partially obscured by my filmy curtains.

My heart pulsed hard in my chest and my mind was warring with being annoyed he was dragging this crap out (and I didn’t know him but that didn’t seem very…him) and being overjoyed that I’d see him one last time.

Leave it to Deacon to check out in person the only time I wouldn’t want him to do just that.

I pulled myself together, walked to the door, unlocked it, opened it, and looked up into his impassive but impossibly good-looking face, wishing in that second he’d taken me on the table with the lights on so I could watch him do it.

I did all this opening my mouth to say something.

I again got nothing out.

He moved into me and I was forced to move back.

The thing was, he kept moving. He didn’t stop, grunt something, and hand me my key then exit the premises immediately (this being what I imagined Deacon’s form of good-bye would be).

I turned to watch him move and saw he had a brown paper bag, the top rolled over and clenched in his fist, and he was heading to my kitchen.

Stunned silent by this, I closed the door and followed him.

I stopped two feet into my kitchen to see him at the table, the table where he’d f*cked me.

Seeing him standing there, the sun coming in the windows subdued by the trees around my house, and doing it like he’d done it thousands of times before, I remained stunned silent.

So did he (though without the stunned part) but he didn’t do it immobile. He was unrolling the top of the bag he’d put on my table.

I watched him wondering what was going on.

Did he buy groceries?

His head turned slightly, not fully, so it was really just his eyes that slid to me.

“Cassidy. Here.”

Here?

Was he summoning me?

I was too dazed by what was happening to retort. Instead, my feet moved slowly and I went there. I stopped two feet away. He was reaching into the bag.

He came out with a black can that looked like insect repellant but with a much bigger trigger.

“Pepper spray,” he stated and my eyes shot to his. “Keep it somewhere out of the way but somewhere you can get to it. Shake it to make it live. Aim. Shoot. Do not do that in an enclosed space or against the wind. It will not incapacitate somebody but it will slow them down. Shoot it, get the f*ck away.”

I stared at him but he didn’t stare at me. I heard the can hit the table and he was back to digging in the bag.

My eyes drifted down and I saw him come out with three smaller canisters that were silver with black tops. He lined them up on the table by the big black can.

“Same thing,” he stated and I looked back to him. “Smaller. One for your nightstand. One for your purse. One for somewhere around the house. These expire in a year. When they do, dispose of them carefully and replace them.”

“I…uh…” I stammered. “Okay.”

He dipped his chin sharply to acknowledge my agreement and went back to the bag.

He came out with a box.

“Taser,” he said. “Keep it charged. Keep it in easy reach but also out of the way. Two prongs will release, both will give a jolt but if only one reaches your target, it might take him down but it won’t take him out. You get him, keep your finger on the trigger three seconds then drop the gun and haul ass.”

I said not a word as he tossed the box to the table, went back to the bag, and came out with another box, holding it up like the last one and turning again to me.

“Stun gun. Taser won’t do long range but you got range. A few feet. This is short range. By that I mean, the guy’s close enough to reach. Activate it and touch it to him, again, three seconds. This will take him down. Then you go. You have a situation, you take the spray, the stun gun, the Taser, and your phone. Your phone is most important. When you slow them down or incapacitate them, you haul ass back to the house and you do it calling the police.”

“Right,” I whispered, not entirely clear on what was happening except for the fact Deacon really, really wanted me to be prepared should another situation happen at my cabins.

I didn’t have a chance to share with him that in six years, I’d only had two and only one of them I was involved in (and I would never share with him that that didn’t mean I didn’t have annoying, loud, rude, or dishonest people who attempted a variety of scenarios to bamboozle me).

I didn’t have this chance when he tossed the stun gun box on the table, his hand shot out and wrapped tight around mine.

I also didn’t have the chance to process the feel of his big mitt wrapped around my hand, as in, how marvelous it felt. This was due to the fact I was following him out of the kitchen mostly because he was dragging me.

We went right to the study, right to my computer where he stopped us and let me go. He then shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a scrap piece of paper. He smoothed it out perfunctorily and tossed it on my desk as he rolled my chair out of the way and leaned over my PC.

I watched with some fascination as he pulled up my web browser and started typing.

Not surprisingly, he typed by jabbing just his two beefy forefingers on the keys.

What was surprising was that this wasn’t hunt and peck. He went fast.

He hit enter and straightened.