Carmella lifted the glass, sipped it, and coughed when the liquid seared her throat.
Kyle laughed. “You don’t drink much, do you, shortstop?”
She glared at him and downed the glass in one swallow. “Don’t call me that.”
He refilled her glass. “Go easy on the vodka. I need you to be able to walk out on your own two feet.”
In response, she downed another glass and set her glass for a refill. She locked eyes with him, daring him to refuse.
He refilled the drink. “What the hell. You only weigh eighty pounds. I can carry you out if necessary.”
***
After the fifth drink, she thought everything he said was funny. By the sixth drink, she was sound asleep, snuggled softly into his arms, with her head resting sweetly on his chest. He nursed his third drink and wondered if the delivery man was going to show. He also needed to take a piss, but there was no way he would leave Carmella alone in this place.
A man slid into the seat across from him. He stared at Carmella appreciatively. “You always drug your women?”
Kyle glared at him. “You always arrive two hours late?”
The man shrugged and passed the package to him under the table. In return, Kyle passed an envelope of money. Then he untangled himself from Carmella and leaned her sleeping form gently against the wall.
“I gotta piss. Watch her for me.”
“Sure,” the man replied.
Kyle leaned in and towered over him. “Just watch, my friend. If you touch her, I’ll break your hand.” Slipping the package underneath his shirt, he hurried through the crowd and pushed his way into the men’s room. It was filthy and smelled like an outhouse, but Kyle’s bladder didn’t care. After relieving himself, he stepped into a toilet stall and closed the door. He opened the package and removed the guns. After checking them out, he inserted the cartridges in each gun. One he placed into a specially designed pouch in his boot. The other he placed in a shoulder strap hidden by his baggy windbreaker.
A change in the chaos of noise outside alerted him all was not well in the bar. He tried to assure himself that Carmella was safely asleep at the booth and it was only a fight between a couple of drunks, but even as he pushed his way through the crowd, he knew he was wrong. Cursing himself for letting her drink so much and then leaving her in the care of a dirt-bag, he rammed his way through the mass of bodies surrounding their table.
He made his way through just in time for a flying body to knock him to the floor. Pushing the man off, he looked up to see two men grabbing Carmella’s arms. Before he could get to his feet, both men laid unconscious on the ground. He noted several men inching towards her. “That’s enough,” he warned, firing the gun once into the ceiling. “Fun’s over.”
The crowd backed away, enabling him to make his way to Carmella.
When he was within three feet of her, she leapt into the air, aiming a kick directly at his head. He was surprised she could kick so high, but not so surprised that he didn’t forget to block the kick. His block knocked her off her unsteady balance and she hit the ground hard. To his surprise, she popped up swinging again. “Easy, shortstop. It’s only me.”
She paused. “Kyle?” She blinked hard, trying to clear her vision.
“Yep.”
“You left me!” She twisted her body for another kick punch.
Kyle ducked the swing and came in under, wrapping his arms around her. “Calm down now. I’ve got to get you out of here before the local police arrive. I believe you have disturbed the peace, even by Fourgian’s rather loose standards.”
“But I’m pissed off!”
“Well, just hold that thought until we get back to the hotel. I’ll give you another shot at me then.” He lifted her squirming body over his shoulder. After tossing the bartender a hundred-dollar bill, he pushed his way out. The crowd followed him. Their continued attention concerned him. He was just about ready to set his little kick-boxer down and put her back to work when Badruk’s taxi came around the corner, honking its way into the crowd. He opened the taxi door and tossed her in like a sack of potatoes. The moment she was in, Badruk stomped on the gas pedal, giving Kyle only a brief second to join her.
He was about to yell at Badruk for not waiting, but a loud thumb on the hood and a kick from the sack of potatoes in the floor was sufficient to distract him.
“You left me!” Carmella screamed from the floorboard, her arms flailing as she tried to right herself and kick him at the same time.
“I had to piss. But I left Gar to watch you.”
She sat up on the floorboard and glared at him. “I trusted you. I know that was stupid, but I trusted you.”
Badruk slowed the car as he leaned over and stared at Carmella sitting in the floor board. His voice was quite anxious as he spoke to her. Her reply caused him to stop the car in the middle of the road. He got out and opened her door. After several minutes of conversation, he helped Carmella out of the floorboard and into the front seat.
“I don’t think Badruk likes me,” Kyle complained to Carmella as the driver ran around the front of the car and got back into the driver’s seat.
“Well, that makes two of us.”
When they arrived at the hotel, Carmella would only allow Badruk to help her walk to the elevator. Kyle attempted to give the driver another twenty for his help, but the man refused to take it.
Instead of abandoning Carmella, he followed at a distance as Badruk assisted her into the elevator. When Kyle entered the elevator, he feared she would attempt to land another kick at his head. However, she was so wobbly, that he had no choice but to move in closer. She remained passive until he helped her out onto the third-floor landing. Then, she attempted to kick him, only her foot caught the uneven lip of the elevator door. She would have fallen on her face had he not caught her in his arms.
“I trusted you!” she sobbed as he held her close against him and carried her to their suite.
Without ever releasing her, he opened and secured the door behind them. She continued to sob as he carried her to her bathroom and sat her on the sink counter.
“The best thing to snap out of a crying jag is a cold shower.” Before turning on the shower, he pulled the knit dress over her head. To his shock, she wasn’t wearing any panties. Women! He never could figure them out. Who would have thought the little virgin would go naked underneath? Oddly, she wore a bra.
When he tried to unhook and remove the bra, she slapped his hand away between gasping sobs. “Don’t touch me.”
Kyle sighed and lifted her from the counter. “Fine, shower with it on.” He placed her under the water.
Her scream was probably heard two countries away. Kyle stepped in the shower with her and clamped his hand over her mouth. “Be quiet! You want management up here?”
As the cold water rained upon them both, her sobbing and resistance subsided. Once she had calmed, he carried her to her bed. She had become frighteningly docile. He sat her on the edge of the bed and put a towel in her hands.
“Dry yourself off. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“No. Don’t leave me. Not again,” she whispered.
He caressed her cheek. “I’m just going to get out of these wet clothes…”
Her hand clamped like iron on his wrist. “Don’t leave me!”
“No problem. I’ll just get out of my wet clothes here.” He pried away her grip on his wrist, so he could undress. He watched her with concern the whole time he undressed. What the hell was wrong with her? Not to offend her modesty, he wrapped a towel around his waist and then searched her drawers for her nightgown. He held up a granny gown with distaste. “Well, at least it’ll be warm.”
He took the unused towel from her hands and dried her off. When he attempted to remove her bra, once again she stopped him. “You’ll be a lot warmer if you take that wet thing off before you put this gown on.”
She considered this for several moments before she released his arm.
He expected
to discover a mastectomy. After all, why else would a woman have no compunction about being pantyless yet fight so valiantly over the removal of her bra. He prepared himself for a shock as he slipped the bra off her slender fragile shoulders.
The sight stole his breath. She was so unbelievably beautiful. Her breasts were perfectly round with upturned nipples. He couldn’t remember seeing anything more beautiful. He rubbed the towel across her chest and down her back. He wanted to taste those sweet breasts, to drive himself deep within her body. Instead, he slipped the granny gown over her head and hid her beneath the sheets. As she closed her eyes, he eased out of the room.
He didn’t think he had ever done anything quite as difficult as leaving her untouched. The image of her body tormented him as he lay on his bed, unable to fall asleep. Thus, he was up at her first cry. A few moments later, he burst into her room and turned on the light.
Carmella was sitting up in bed, looking considerably worse for her evening.
“You son of a bitch!” she yelled. “You left me alone and defenseless!”
Kyle shrugged. “I had to piss. Besides I didn’t leave you alone, and when I returned, you didn’t seem defenseless.”
“I was unconscious, and you left me in the care of a pervert.”
“I told him I’d break his hand if he touched you.” Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Did he touch you?”
“What do you think? An unconscious woman, ripe for the picking. Are you really that stupid? I woke up with his hand up my dress.”
Kyle knew she’d be out of that bed, kick-boxing his head once he said his next comment, but he intended to say it, so he’d have to counter attack in advance. With no warning, he leapt on the bed, pinning her arms over her head while her feet remained safely tangled under the bedspread.
“Get off me!” she screamed.
“Not until you hear me out. And lower your voice before you get us kicked out of here.” He settled back on her thighs, safely pinning her down. “Now I’ve got something I want to say, and I don’t want to get my head kicked in when I say it.”
“There is nothing you can say. I trusted you and you betrayed me.”
“I did not betray you. Mother nature required I take a piss, but I waited until Gar came, so he could watch over you.”
“Watch over me! The man damn near raped me while I was unconscious!”
Kyle could feel the frustrated power in her arms as she struggled to free herself. He was amazed that someone so tiny could put up such a good fight. “Calm down. First, you wouldn’t have been unconscious if you hadn’t drunk six glasses of vodka. If you’ll remember, I advised you to slow down. Secondly, the next time I say dress down, I still recommend you wear underwear. A naked pussy is bound to give certain men the impression that you’re easy.”
Her struggling intensified with her anger. “I was wearing underwear, you stupid asshole. He ripped them off me for a souvenir!”
Kyle was equally relieved and distressed by this information: relieved that she was as untainted as he had previously thought her, and distressed that her accusation was true. He had betrayed her trust. She had drunk herself unconscious, trusting him to protect her, and he had let her down. He released her hands and did not guard against her fist as she pounded his arms and chest. When she tired of pounding him, he rolled off her and left the room.
She sat up, puzzled by his new behavior. She followed him to his room and watched him dress. “Where are you going?”
“To find the son of a bitch.”
“And do what?”
“Break both his hands.”
“It’s too late. Get some sleep.”
“Sleep! I won’t sleep until I’ve made that bastard regret ever touching you.”
Carmella stopped him as he reached for his gun. She took his hand in hers and studied it. “Do you have any idea how fragile the human hand is? Why even an eighty-pound weakling like me could break these bones.”
“What are you saying Carmella?”
She looked up at him. “What I’m saying is that I don’t need you fighting my battles. I can fight my own.”
“But this was my fault.”
“No. It wasn’t. You were right. I did drink too much. I should have never allowed myself to get in such a vulnerable predicament in the first place. It should have never been your responsibility to watch my back. It won’t happen again.”
“I’m still going to break his hands,” Kyle replied.
“Why?”
“Because I told him if he touched you I’d break his hands. I would hate it be said I’m not a man of my word.”
“He probably thinks your word was kept. I broke three of his right-hand fingers and snapped his left wrist.” Carmella then left his room.
Kyle sat on the bed and stared at the door she had just exited. After a few minutes, he reached for the phone and called Winston. This woman was being wasted with the Feds.
Chapter 17
Jason’s secretary buzzed. “Dr. Taylor is….”
“Tell him I’m in a meeting,” Jason replied, hanging up the phone. After this morning’s strange ordeal with Catina, he really wasn’t up to talking to Dr. Taylor. His secretary buzzed again as the door opened and Dr. Taylor walked in. He picked up the phone.
“I’m sorry, sir. I told him you were in a meeting, but he just ignored me. Do you want me to call security?”
“No, its fine, Angie. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at the angry man that paced his floor. Was it his imagination, or did the man look several years older today? “Can I help you, Dr. Taylor?”
“Where is my panther?”
“I have no idea.” He locked eyes with the man. “Do you have documentation showing you own a panther or that you are even authorized to own a panther?”
Dr. Taylor glared. “You return my panther and I’ll get you all the damn papers you need. Why are you here? Why aren’t you at the Cat Refuge getting my panther back?”
“I was at the Cat Refuge this morning. I spoke with Ms. Nelson, who says her husband was with her all night.”
“She’s lying. They have this power. They can mesmerize you with the slightest touch or smell.”
Jason frowned, feeling the statement was a bit too close to the truth, except it wasn’t Tiburon who held such power, it was Catina. “She also has ownership papers for a black panther.”
“But not the one they have. That one is mine. Tiburon switched panthers. Her panther died in the hospital fire.”
“Why do you think it wasn’t your panther that died in the fire?”
“Because he is here! He’s a cunning bastard who would do anything to get his sis…my panther. I knew the moment I got the call about the fire that he had stolen her from me.”
Jason wondered what Dr. Taylor had started to say. Sister? While Tiburon was rather wild looking with the pitch-black skin and sharp piercing canines, he still couldn’t have a panther for a sister. Maybe Dr. Taylor was going to say his sister’s panther. Where was Tiburon’s sister? She couldn’t be the mistress Dr. Taylor had brought back from Africa. That would make her too old—unless the sister wasn’t aging either. He looked at his watch. Carmella and Kyle would have arrived by now, but she wouldn’t be giving him a call until tomorrow. He hoped she found some information that would shed a bit of rational light to this nonsensical mess.
“There’s not a lot I can do at this time, Dr. Taylor. I have arranged to search the place for a second panther…”
“There is no second panther on the premises. There is only my panther. Aren’t you listening? Tiburon switched the panthers before he set the fire.”
“I hear you, Dr. Taylor, but there is absolutely no proof your allegations are true. Now if you have any evidence to prove your claim, I will be happy to act upon it. If not, then I’m afraid you are going to have to accept the fact your panther burned in the hospital fire.”
Dr. Taylor seethed with rage. “How dare you,” he hissed as he paced the space in front of Jason’s d
esk. “How dare you trivialize the actions of this demon.” Dr. Taylor stopped and leaned across the desk. “That’s what he is, you know, a demon—a creature not of this earth.” He studied Jason’s response. “Ahhhh, so you are open to that possibility. Excellent. That’s why I selected you to head this. I saw in you a tendency not to prejudge the facts. You have sent your best researcher to Nairobi. When do you expect her first report?”
Jason tilted his head. “And how would you know the location of my staff members?”
“I’m kept well-informed. This case is important, not only to me, but to many in your government. Your agent, Miss Ginkabo, is amazingly thorough.” Dr. Taylor smiled. “She unearthed things about me I thought were securely buried.”
“And what things might that be?”
Dr. Taylor studied the agent. “Timing inconsistencies. A mistress from the Flesh-eater tribe. A woman my wife claimed was a demon—a demon that had me fully in her thrall for years until she finally concluded I could not provide her with an offspring.”
“You put your wife in an asylum, I believe.”
Dr. Taylor slammed his fist on the table. “Damn you. Yes. I imprisoned my wife in a filthy hole where they kept the mentally insane. It was a brutal, terrifying place, unfit for dogs, never the less gentle bred women of noble class. She lasted only two months before she died, apparently strangled by an inmate.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You must have hated her very much.”
Dr. Taylor let a burst of wild laughter escape as he turned from the desk and walked to the window. “On the contrary, sir. I loved Mary with all my heart. At least, I did before Morta got her teeth into me.” He turned and looked at Jason. “While I was in that demon’s thrall I would do anything to protect her, including sending my beloved wife to a fate worse than death.”
“Morta. This is the mistress you brought back from Africa.”
“Yes. Tiburon’s sister.”
Jason’s eyebrows arched at that point of information. “That was a while ago, she must have been considerably older than Tiburon.”
Cat Refuge Page 10
