“Well, shall we go get us some decent clothes?” Felicity asked. Her smile stretched wide enough to almost hurt her face. She had money again and to her, money was power.
“No. First we need to find us a hotel room.”
“I beg your pardon?” Felicity glared at him. Had he told her no?
“You need a bath before you do anything else,” Morgan said. “I spotted a Hyatt while I was circling for a parking space. Should suit a civilized gal like you. And you better give me that wad of money.”
“Excuse me?” she responded icily through clenched teeth, her usually soft brogue coming out. “You’ll not be telling me what to do. You’re not in charge here. Why on earth should I be handing my bankroll over to you, a total stranger, when I’m a billion miles from anywhere?”
“Because I have pockets! If you stuff that wad in your bra you’ll look like Dolly Parton.”
Nonetheless, when the gas-belching, backfiring pickup pulled to a stop in the hotel parking lot, she still clutched her money in her sweaty little palm. The seventeen-story Hyatt Regency Merida was not hard to spot in Merida’s skyline. The building was in no way Mexican or even Latin. In fact, the glass and silver structure was totally devoid of any local imprint. It could have been a Hyatt Regency anyplace on the planet, which gave Felicity some comfort. It would represent a total return to civilization. There was even a shopping mall across the street. As soon as Morgan parked and shut the engine off, Felicity stepped down to the ground. She had taken three steps before she realized that he hadn’t moved.
“Are you coming? If I need to bathe so badly, you need to register us in a room.”
Morgan slowly stood up and out of the jeep. “Not me. I’m broke. You don’t trust me with your money, so I guess you’ll have to do it.”
Felicity’s lips clenched together, but instead of an explosion of words she gave him only a fierce stare before turning and entering the lobby.
Stepping into a wall of cool air reminded her that her body was soaked with perspiration. Padding across the neutral colored carpet made her aware that she was barefoot. She glanced over her shoulder at Morgan and saw only a dangerous looking mercenary. Their appearance and lack of luggage nearly made her balk, but her arrogance overcame her pride and she walked up to the desk like a princess.
“We need two rooms for tonight,” she told the desk clerk. He was dark for a Mexican, with long hair plastered down onto his head with too much pomade. His eyes moved from her gnarled hair down her tattered gown as far as he could see and slowly drifted back up to her eyes. His face said she was an undesirable guest.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we have no vacancies today,” he said slowly, the way he might speak to a person who was a little slow, or potentially dangerous.
“That can’t be,” she said. “This isn’t even the high season. And I need a room now.” To make her point more persuasive, she pulled her American Express card from her bra and slapped it onto the counter. The clerk stared down at it skeptically.
“Where did you get that?” he said in clear English. His eyes flashed to the bundle of cash in her hand. Did he think she had stolen the money, and the card? “As I said, I’m afraid we are fully occupied.”
Felicity glanced around the room in frustration. To her right, three men sat around a table playing dominoes. They were unshaven and wore work clothes. That marked them clearly, not as guests or tourists, but local men enjoying the air conditioning. They watched her with undisguised lust, but she wondered if they were leering at her body or the money in her hand. She faced the clerk again, offering a tentative smile.
“Look, you can’t turn me away,” she said in softer tones.
He shrugged. “What can I do?” Then his expression shifted, from arrogant superiority to something like tentative fear. Morgan’s elbows had settled gently onto the counter beside her, his arms crossed loosely. She hadn’t noticed that his pistol was no longer in its holster. Probably in the sack he had placed on the floor beside his foot, but the empty holster probably still made a statement.
“I think you’re confused,” Morgan said, in a soft yet still menacing voice. “I’m confident that if you look again you’ll find vacancies you overlooked before.” Locking eyes with the clerk, Morgan showed his teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. “You don’t want to disappoint this lady.”
Felicity could feel whatever Morgan was projecting that made the clerk’s demeanor change from cool to flustered. He punched buttons on a computer console while he licked his dry lips.
“Why, you’re absolutely right, sir,” the clerk said. “Look at that. Two rooms you said?”
Felicity looked again at the three men in the lobby, who still looked at her the way she imagined sharks looked at smaller fish.
“One room,” she said. “One room will do.”
* * *
Their room looked like any standard hotel room in America. Felicity entered first, noting how comfortable the two full size beds looked. A table stood by the window, under the predictable hanging lamp. Green pattern wallpaper, matching carpet and a couple of still life paintings completed the decor. Felicity headed for the easy chair beside the table. When Morgan closed the door behind them she smiled at how well the room shut out the noisy city.
The air-conditioned atmosphere had shocked her system and exhaustion hit her like a heavy fist. As she settled into the chair’s deep cushions, Felicity realized that Morgan was right about one thing. A hot tub to soak in would be just the thing.
“Let me in the bathroom first,” Morgan said, stripping off his shirt. “I’ll only be a minute.” He then peeled off his tee shirt, and Felicity was struck by the powerful muscles, trapezius she thought they were called, running down from his neck into bulging shoulders. Yes, she decided, a weight lifter for sure. He strode into the bathroom and turned on the tap in the sink. He was already washing his face, hair and neck with the tiny complimentary bar of soap when he pushed the door closed with his foot.
While Morgan cleaned up, Felicity opened the closet, surprised to find no safe on the floor. The hotel must have kept a safe downstairs behind the front desk. She never even considered leaving the room to hand her money and credit cards to the presumptuous desk clerk. Instead, she cast a furtive glance about for a safe place to stash her money. Behind a drawer? No, too obvious. Inside a lampshade? No. It was the first place she would look if circumstances were reversed. Why wasn’t she bright enough downstairs to ask for two rooms? No, that was no mistake. With this much money in a strange town, she wanted a man nearby. She might not know him well enough to trust him with her meager funds, but she felt she could count on Morgan to protect her.
Finally she decided to move the nearest bed forward a few inches and claw up the carpet just enough to spread the bills out beneath it. When her money was well hidden she moved the bed back to its exact original position. No telltale lump showed on the floor, no hint of a disturbance. The sound of the toilet flushing spurred her to move away from her hidden treasure. She was standing at the bathroom door when Morgan came out.
“You look like an abandoned orphan, Red,” Morgan said as she brushed past him, “but you’re damned sexy for all that.”
When she first entered the bathroom, she thought Morgan must have left the water running accidentally. Then she looked over and realized the sound was not coming from the sink, but the bathtub, which was almost full. Reaching in, she found it just a bit too hot. She turned off the “H” tap and waited a moment before turning off the “C”. She shed her rags and kicked them into a corner, but decided to check herself over before getting into the water.
From long habit she went over her muscle tone from her neck clear to her toes. Her feet were sore but healthy. She bruised easily, and had picked up a couple of visible welts on her upper arms and legs from walking into branches. Her back, arms and legs all stung from a nasty sunburn, and tiny bumps from insect bites covered her limbs. All in all, she hurt but was not really injured. She credited her g
ymnastics classes with the resilience and toughness she needed in her work, and even in extreme circumstances like the last two days.
Satisfied with her condition, she stepped into the tub and lowered herself gingerly into the hot water, feeling her pulse increase. After a couple of deep breaths she lathered her body as briskly as she could stand, and washed her hair three times, emptying the bottle of overly scented shampoo the hotel supplied. Once she felt clean she leaned back, sinking chin-deep into the water. She felt weightless, with a million tiny pinpricks on her body, and her skin burned everywhere from insect bites and sunburn. Even after the rapid-fire events of the past seventy-two hours, all she needed to put her right was the total relaxation only a tubful of heat could bring.
With a start she snapped awake. The water surrounding her felt cooler and was covered by an unpleasant soap film. She sprang to her feet, feeling her hair drain water down her spine. Forty-two minutes had passed since she slid into a tub of hot water. She spent that time in a deep sleep, leaving her feeling completely refreshed. A nice feeling, but it had not been her plan. In fact, she realized with mounting anger that, in her weariness, she had not really planned at all. Here she was, standing in a draining bathtub, without a stitch of clothing to put on. She remembered that the hotel supplied terrycloth robes, but they were hanging in the closet.
Surely Mister Stark was thinking of this when he maneuvered her into this damned hotel room. Well, she had plenty to tell him. But she certainly could not put her shredded dress or those nasty underclothes back on after two days in the fetid jungle. Looking around the room for cover, she settled on two large bath towels. First, she dried her body thoroughly. By carefully wrapping the towels around herself, she managed to make herself reasonably modest. Without a brush her thick hair would be impossible but she would cope with that later. She shoved the door wide open, prepared for war.
The scene that greeted her stunned her into silence. It was as peaceful as dawn over the Wicklow Mountains back home. Morgan lay face up on the far bed, barefoot and topless, with his left arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady cadence that indicates a deep, sound sleep. His mouth sagged open slightly and he gave off a sound just short of a snore.
On the other bed, clothes were laid out the way a mother does for her young children, in the shape of a body. Just under the pillows there was a tie-dyed tee shirt with a bra on top of it in the appropriate place. A pair of blue jeans lay just below the shirt, topped by a pair of cotton panties. At the foot of the bed she found a pair of locally made sisal sandals. She knew that Morgan must have gone out to a local shop or across to the mall to pick these things up. How considerate.
Felicity gathered the clothes and returned to the bathroom. Getting dressed provided another surprise. The jeans fit perfectly, although they were a little tight. She preferred them that way, and figured Morgan would too. The shirt was comfortable, and she decided to do without the bra for now, planning to rinse out her custom pocket-bra in the sink later. Finally, she slid her feet into the sandals, finding that even they were the right size. She would not have thought it possible.
Not until she was fully dressed did a more disturbing thought strike her. How had Morgan paid for all this? He couldn’t have bought her a new wardrobe with no money. That morning he had told her he only had twenty dollars, and he spent some of that to pay for their disappointing breakfast.
She left the bathroom again to find Morgan still sleeping. Silently she shifted the bed, reached under the carpet and gathered up her bills. A quick riff through them told her she was missing about four hundred dollars. He had found her cache, but only taken pocket change, much of which he must have spent on her. She could not help but wonder how much he had left.
She stepped silently over to her sleeping roommate. After surveying him closely it appeared the only wrinkle out of place was on his left front trouser pocket. It would be tricky to explore, especially with a mark lying down. But she knew she had the lightest touch in the business. Her hand slid smoothly into his pocket. Her two middle fingers closed on the bills. She began to withdraw them, very gradually. The paper hit the slightest snag of cloth.
Steel fingers closed on her wrist and nine-millimeter death was suddenly staring her in the face. She caught her breath and froze. Her eyes crossed as the Browning Hi-power’s muzzle brushed her nose. There was a terrible moment of peak tension, then Morgan’s fingers relaxed on her arm and he lowered his automatic to the floor next to its shoulder holster.
“Sorry,” Morgan said with an apologetic grin. “Trigger nerves.”
“No kidding.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re out,” Morgan said, standing and stretching as if the incident had never happened. “Are you about ready to get on the road? I think I got everything we need.”
Felicity found his casual demeanor, after sticking a gun in her face, a little disconcerting. She backed away, trying to push her brain into the new conversation.
“I appreciate the gesture, and this stuff is nice, but you don’t really think you can shop for me, do you?”
“Why not?” Morgan answered, pulling dresser drawers open. “Look. Jeans, tee shirt, shoes, two purses, skirt, blouse, sunglasses, a bra and panties, plus what you’re wearing. Let’s see, comb, brush, toothbrushes and a suitcase. My clothes are in the closet.”
“Wait a minute,” Felicity said. “A bra? You think you can look at me and...”
“Thirty-seven C,” interrupted Morgan calmly. “Waist twenty-five. Hips thirty-eight. Ankles about seven. I never miss when it comes to judging distances. In any form.”
He had stopped her. Felicity stood with her mouth partially open, unsure how she should react. Not only did he hit every measurement exactly, but she could not think of anything else she needed.
-11-
Marlene Seagrave sat in front of her vanity mirror, dressed only in a full-length slip, brushing her shoulder length blonde hair. She wasn’t pleased with what Anton had done with her hair this time, but that was only the leading edge of her unhappiness. Her image in the mirror was certainly not ugly, but it did not please her.
They used to say she had soft brown eyes, like a fawn, but now narrow lines were growing under them. Just thirty-two years old, and she was already considering botox shots. And she had just found her first gray hair. Why that should move her close to tears, she did not really understand.
Her arm movements became more and more forceful, although she knew no amount of brushing would make that gray hair go away. Besides, it was just one indicator of what was happening to her entire body. Six years ago she did calisthenics or aerobics almost every day, swam twice a week, and watched her diet very carefully. Then she married Adrian and all that changed. She went from starving model and Hollywood hopeful to society lady. Because of Adrian’s money she dined at the finest restaurants and drank the best liquor. Life was so much fun when it all began. She was the belle of the ball, and Cinderella never had it better. How she loved him then.
Then?
Now, the best clothes, the best hair stylists, manicurists and makeup could not make her the woman she was before. And with time, her view of the man she loved had only become clearer. Her luxurious apartment seemed cold to her now, as did their king size bed. For this Cinderella, happily ever after was the hard part.
The bedroom door whooshed against the deep burgundy carpet as it opened. She turned, an automatic smile brightening her face.
“Adrian. I didn’t know if I should expect you home tonight. That business meeting...”
“Life isn’t all business, baby,” Seagrave said with a slight slur. He approached her wearing only a silk robe that was too long for his squat form. After six years of marriage, she could tell by his walk how many drinks he had gotten under his belt. Seeing him standing there at the edge of drunkenness, she could not help but compare him to her six-year-old mental picture of him. His complexion was rougher now and his brown hair thinner, but that was all superf
icial. More importantly, his eyes had grown harder. In them she could see that he looked at her less as a lover and more as a thing, a possession.
Still, she stood as he reached out to put an arm around her. She wanted to give him the love he deserved. He was, after all, her husband.
“Take a look at this, baby,” Seagrave said as he pulled a large velvet jewel box from his robe pocket. Her smile became more genuine as she accepted this unexpected gift.
“Oh, Adrian, what is it? What’s this for? I mean, it’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Open it,” he said, giving her a crooked smile. “You’ll know.”
Her eyes widened to saucers as light glanced off her new prize. “It’s magnificent,” she breathed. Her heart pounded with a flush of renewed love. He was trying to make things better, and she would try too. She knew they could make it like it used to be.
Her moment of euphoria passed a moment later as she recognized the brooch. That perfectly facetted diamond with its halo of matched pearls set in its marbled green base was unmistakable. It was the brooch she had casually targeted weeks ago at a party as part of an absurd negotiation. Her eyes dropped to meet his, showing only a hint of suspicion.
“Honey, how did you ever get this? I can’t imagine any woman being willing to part with such a beautiful piece of jewelry once she had it. Besides, it must be worth a fortune.”
“Don’t you worry about how I got it,” Seagrave said. “You just get ready to wear it to that party Saturday night. You’ve earned it. Or you will.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, not really wanting the answer.
“I told you, baby.” There was an edge on his tenderness now. “Whatever you want, you get it. As long as I get what I want.” His stubby fingers slid up her thigh, around the curve of the hips she had begun to think of as too full. His breathing deepened as hers became shallower.
The Payback Assignment (Stark and O'Brien Thriller Series) Page 6
