“Morgan.”
It was Felicity. Had he heard a tremble in her voice? One thing was certain. Now that he listened for it, her brogue was definitely more pronounced when she was tired. Well, what the hell. He marched off to her room, peeling off his windbreaker, shoulder holster and shirt along the way. As he passed the guest room, his room in his mind, he tossed them in.
When he reached Felicity’s door he slowly pushed it open and stepped in. The city lights struck him head on and splashed around the blue room. The room held a slight scent of vanilla. Felicity lay face up, a deep blue handmade patchwork comforter covering her to the waist. Her bare breasts stood proudly alert, even though her head was propped wearily on two large, puffy pillows. Long red tresses lay splayed in all directions.
“Aren’t you going to tuck me in?” she asked meekly. He could feel her loneliness reaching out of those deep green eyes, trying to capture his. He had never seen anyone so defenseless. He hated himself for thinking it, but this was not the way he wanted this woman.
“I know just what you need, Red.” He stepped closer to her. “Turn over.” After Felicity numbly obeyed, he sat down on the bed. Carefully he removed his boots and turned to kneel on the bed. Poised above her, he caught the scent of a perfume that carried more drama than beauty. With strong, sure fingers he began to knead the knotted muscles in Felicity’s neck and shoulders. When he entered he had noted with interest the upsweep of her breasts. Now the firmness of the rest of her body intrigued him.
“Hey, lady, are you a body builder or something?”
“No,” Felicity mumbled. “Do a lot of gymnastics. Of course, I’ve been kind of busy these last couple of days. I usually work out three times a week. And I run. Three or four miles, three times a week. When you’re climbing into tenth floor windows and going hand over hand on a wire from one building to the next you’ve got to be...oooh, that feels good!”
He had worked his way down to her legs. It took all his strength to unknot those long, smooth thigh muscles.
By the time he had worked his way back up to her neck, Felicity’s breathing had fallen into the steady pattern of sleep. He stood beside the bed for a moment, staring down at her perfect naked form. How like a renaissance statue, he thought, with perfect innocence on her face. The lights of the grand city glinted off her alabaster form as he gently pulled the comforter up to her shoulders and padded silently toward the door.
“Please.” It was a child’s voice that called to him. Her green eyes sparkled with moisture in her bed’s field of blue. “You can do what you want, or you don’t have to do anything,” Felicity said. “Just don’t go.” Morgan was not sure why he should care so much for this girl he had known only days, but his affection won out over his common sense.
Feeling just a bit silly, he pulled off his pants and slid into the bed behind her. Her body was cool and soft to the touch. Awkwardly he wrapped his arm around her. The sound she made as she snuggled back into him was difficult to classify. It was clearly a kind of “mmmmmm” sound, made from behind a smile. Perhaps it was the sound a cat would make if it were somehow converted to human form and somebody rubbed its tummy.
Within a minute she dropped into a deep sleep. He figured he could probably use some sleep too. Besides, there was not much else to do, so he closed his eyes and began the process of shutting down his physical and mental systems.
“Good night, Red,” he mumbled.
-17-
Pearson shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes wandering around the brightly lighted room. He stood nervously in the quiet boardroom, surrounded by people whose power was beyond his understanding. The man behind him, Monk, had the bone crushing power of a giant mountain gorilla. Pearson had killed for money, but from the stories he had heard, Monk liked to kill men just for fun. The guy standing beside Pearson was cool and indifferent. Yet he had the power to move men and women like pieces on a chessboard, trading what they wanted for what they were able, and willing to do. Stone was no fighter, but he had a history of toppling governments and creating wars.
Each of them was dangerous in his own way, but only the man behind the desk gave Pearson chills. He was short, with thick stubby fingers and a pockmarked face, yet a pulsing aura of power surrounded him. Here, in Pearson’s eyes, was a prime mover, a basic elemental force. He had the ultimate power, the kind that comes from wealth and position. He could have anyone in the room killed with a snap of his fingers. Pearson saw nothing in his eyes but greed. This was Adrian Seagrave, and his kind of power you just did not fool with.
“So, tell Mister Seagrave what you told me over the phone,” Stone said. “Explain to your benefactor just why it was that you failed him.”
“Well, sir,” Pearson began, pausing to clear his throat. “We were sent on a simple hit, Shaw and me, to take care of a girl thief. Stone told me she was a loner. We set it up real easy, waiting for her in her apartment. Figured to make it a clean hit, look like a burglary, right? Then, all of a sudden, there’s this big black guy comes crashing in, blasting away like a goddam war was going on. He blew Shaw away, just like that. I was lucky to get out alive. This Stark character, he’s crazy. I figured I wasn’t getting paid to deal with that kind of action. So I thought I ought to call in for instructions. Stone told me to get here on the double.”
“And well he did,” Seagrave said. “Very good.” Despite his words of praise, Seagrave’s face remained completely neutral. He leaned back in his desk chair, forming a tent with his fingers. “Please step over to the bar, Mister Pearson. Help yourself to whatever you like.” Pearson nodded, forced a smile, and gratefully slipped over to the other side of the room. He tried to listen in on the conversation behind him. Seagrave seemed relaxed and seemed to have forgotten Pearson existed, his attention now focused on Stone.
“You have a reason for bothering me with this detail?”
“I thought you should hear it first hand, from the source,” Stone said.
“Is this a problem?”
“In my opinion, yes,” Stone answered.
“Why?”
“The woman is determined,” Stone said. “And somehow, she has found herself some very effective assistance.”
“So it would appear. Who is this man?”
“Morgan Stark. It is a name you should remember,” Stone said, daring to lock eyes with his superior. “He led the team on that Belize mission for you. As you will recall, we left him in the jungle, without transportation, surrounded by a hostile army, hundreds of miles from any kind of support.”
Seagrave’s brows knitted over his tiny eyes. “And he survived?”
“Let me tell you about this man Stark.” Stone paused for emphasis, closing his eyes as if he were searched his mental files, composing words in order to say a great deal as briefly as possible. “He’s strong, tough and fast. Tactically sharp and experienced. An agile, quick thinking professional soldier, with great endurance, a high level of skill and seemingly infallible instincts.”
“You are impressed by this man.” Seagrave pulled a cigarette from a gold case.
“I’ve been dealing with mercenaries, professional killers and hired muscle for a long time,” Stone said. “I can verify that Shaw and Pearson were definitely overmatched. This man is the best survivor I’ve ever seen. And he just might be the most dangerous man I know.”
“Second most dangerous,” Monk said, his low, raspy voice coming from behind Stone.
“Perhaps,” Stone said, not turning around.
“And the girl?” Seagrave asked, lighting his cigarette with a large standing lighter from the desk.
“About the girl, little is known,” Stone said. “However, I can tell you that she has amassed a sizable fortune as a jewel and art thief without ever once being arrested. And if Stark respects her, then so do I.”
Seagrave shrugged and blew a thick cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “These people are both for sale. Pay them off.”
“I don’t think so, sir. They
will want full payment for their jobs, plus an additional settlement for the attempt on the girl’s life. Even if you considered that price acceptable, you expose yourself to future extortion from contractors if you submit.”
Seagrave lowered his eyes and nodded. “Recommendation?”
“In my opinion,” Stone said, “these people should be eliminated with all possible dispatch. One dangerous man and one determined woman have been enough to topple empires in the past.”
“Well put, Stone.” Seagrave stood, and paced for a moment behind his desk with his hands locked behind his back. On one circuit he glanced at Pearson, who smiled back and downed his drink quickly. “Surely they’ve left the girl’s apartment by now,” he told Stone in a quiet voice. “Based on your input they must both have secure hiding places. How are we to find them?”
“Based on my knowledge of them, we probably won’t, now that they’ve been alerted. However, they’ll certainly be looking for me. I was the contractor who hired them both. And I’m quite sure that worm at the bar traded our location for his life.”
“Hey, I didn’t tell them anything,” Pearson said, sliding off his bar stool. Seagrave and Stone turned as if they had forgotten he was there. Monk’s hand thumped down on Pearson’s shoulder, locking him in place.
“I could alert the people on the street to look out for anyone who is looking for me,” Stone continued, ignoring Pearson’s outburst. “Perhaps place a bounty on their heads, thereby turning every tout and petty gunsel in town into a walking death trap, a gantlet to be run on the way to me.”
“Excellent, Stone.” Seagrave beamed at his lieutenant. “I’ll offer, what do you think, fifty? All right, fifty thousand dollars to whoever takes care of this little problem for me. Get to it right away. Now call my secretary back in. And finalize the details for our end of the month meeting. And Monk...”
“Yes sir?” Monk grated out.
“Take our guest downstairs and show him the way out,” Seagrave said with a smile.
Monk prompted Pearson with a shove. By the time they reached the door, Seagrave was back at work at his desk. Stone was at the conference table end of the suite, using the telephone. Monk escorted Pearson down the hall and into the elevator.
Two stories below, the elevator stopped. Wordlessly, Monk shoved Pearson out of the elevator car and into the room directly across the hall. Pearson was about to ask what was going on. When Monk entered, locking the door behind him, all doubt was eliminated.
Pearson glanced around the room. It was dimly lit, maybe fifteen by twenty feet. The room had no windows, no other doors and no furniture. The single door had no knob or lever, just a slot in the lock plate to accept an electronic pass card. The silence implied a soundproof room, although Pearson’s footsteps echoed coldly around him in it. The stains on the cinder block walls looked like dried blood, and the air carried the musty smell of the crypt. A horizontal bar on the wall to the far left looked like it could be the handle to open a small chute, like the incinerator door in his first apartment.
A most vicious terror seized his heart. He had expected to be roughed up for his failure, maybe have a bone broken. Now he realized he had outlived his usefulness to Stone. Monk was not here to punish him, but to dispose of him. And he knew it would hardly be a fight. There was no question in his mind that this brute would certainly kill him. But maybe with luck, he could take an eye, or an ear, or something.
With a speed born of desperation, Pearson spun a powerful right cross into Monk’s face. He was following it up with a claw hand blow before he realized how badly his knuckles were hurt. Monk clamped the incoming left in his own ham-like hand inches before it reached his face.
Shock dragged despair into Pearson’s heart. He had expected Monk to be inhumanly strong, but who would have guessed he was so fast?
That was Pearson’s last coherent thought.
Monk casually twisted Pearson’s wrist until the bone splintered. Pearson battered impotently at him with his good fist until Monk slapped him on the side of his head, sending him sprawling. Pearson lay dazed until Monk reached down, wrapped a hand around Pearson’s right leg just below his knee and lifted him into the air. While Pearson hung helplessly, Monk shifted his grip so he could get both hands wrapped around one thigh. He put his thumbs together, pushing out in the same direction.
Monk was not a sexual creature. He used no drugs, and rarely did he drink. He could barely read and certainly never would unless he had to. He was not perceptive enough to enjoy most television or movies. He did not even like music. There was just one thing he really enjoyed. The crack of bones breaking in a live body, that was his favorite sound.
Pearson’s screams reverberated in the soundproof room, but they could not drown out the snap of his leg breaking. His screams abruptly ended as the pain overwhelmed him and he passed out.
Monk grinned at the breaking noise and shrugged when Pearson went limp. For him, this was a pretty good one. He had no bloody mess to clean up. It was too bad that Pearson fainted after only one bone. Monk would have preferred a longer experience. But, since he stayed in one piece, disposal was easy. Monk simply opened the incinerator hatch and stuffed Pearson down the chute head first.
-18-
Some people go through layers of sleep. They drift slowly down into dark stillness. Then when morning comes, they rise from it, one layer at a time, until they open their eyes, focus through a groggy haze and slowly gain consciousness.
Felicity had never been one of them. Some days, when the nightmares came, she would walk past that same old parked car, watch it explode and see her parents splattered against a wall. She would wonder why not herself. The dream would end abruptly, and she would burst into wakefulness, panting and dripping with sweat.
Other days, like today, she would simply pop awake. Her eyes snapped open and in an instant she was alert and ready for action. First, she sent her senses around the room, confirming her location. This was her New York penthouse. It was nine thirty-seven a.m. and she was alone in her bed.
Seven minutes later she was in the hallway, her hair brushed out and her face glowing, wearing very tight jeans with an oversized white blouse unbuttoned to her breastbone. She needed no bra.
She found Morgan in the kitchen facing the stove, wearing black jeans and those ever-present boots. His black tee shirt said, “nuke ‘em ‘till they glow” across the back. Conspicuous to her by its absence was his shoulder rig and the weapons it carried. The crackling sound told her that he was pouring beaten eggs into a pan, filling the room with the smell of slightly burned butter.
“Well, the man’s an early riser I see.” She stepped up behind him, went up on her tiptoes, and placed a gentle kiss on his neck.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For staying when I needed you,” she said while she pulled china from a cabinet. “And for not, you know, taking advantage.” She waited for a response but when she heard none she looked over at him. He was too dark to blush, but was that embarrassment she saw on his face?
While Morgan worked in the kitchen, Felicity set up a small, low table on the mezzanine at the other end of the room. When the food was ready, the pair took their scrambled eggs and toast to that table in front of the big window. Orange juice, fresh pears and cheese completed their breakfast menu. Chewing absently, Morgan settled back on the big pillow Felicity provided and got lost in the view.
“It doesn’t feel like being in the world’s fastest city at all, now does it?” she asked.
“You’re right,” Morgan said, pushing egg onto his fork with his toast. “It’s kind of like I’m sitting on the edge of a tranquil crystal lake.”
Felicity found her eggs scrambled hard, the way she preferred them, and quite peppery. That made them unexpected good. “Eloquent for a soldier,” she said. “But that’s just the feeling I get here. It’s like that’s New York over there, on the other side, half a mile away, while we sit here on a peaceful fl
oating island. So. What shall we do today?”
“Business,” Morgan answered. “You hired me to do a job, and I’m on the clock.”
His response surprised her. It seemed that after sharing a relaxed moment in fantasy with him she had pulled him back to reality. “Oh yes,” she said. “You said you’d help me find this Stone character.”
“That’s why I was up so early,” Morgan said. “Made some phone calls. Which reminds me. I’m going to need some more spending cash because I’ve got a lunch date. Old contact of mine, another dude who worked for Stone in the past. We haven’t been in touch much, but he might know who Stone is working for now and where to find him.”
“Perhaps I should be doing the same,” Felicity said, her voice cooler. It disturbed her a little for Morgan to be all business. However, she realized she had created that relationship. Not wanting to be the damsel in distress, she had hired him instead of asking him for help. On that basis he probably felt that needed to show results. “You know, I could check with some of my friends in the business,” she continued. “The new owner is sure to want to wear that brooch I stole, to show it off you know, then hide it before the insurance investigators start looking this far away. A bauble that unique suddenly appearing in society will excite imaginations in my circles.”
The Payback Assignment Page 11
