She shifted down into first gear to lose more speed just as her ebony Corvette slid past a building surrounded by vacant lots. At the moment she glanced up at the tenement, she heard the sound of a small explosion come from inside the building. A bomb? No. Too high pitched for a bomb blast, but too loud for a gunshot. It could have been a shotgun blast.
In less time than those thoughts took to form, she had pulled the ‘Vette over to the curb, locked the car, engaged the anti-theft device, kicked off her high heels and started her sprint toward the door. It was Morgan. Somehow she knew he was in there, and the intermittent gunshots she heard could spell his death.
Seconds later she stood in the hall, panting as much from anxiety as breathlessness. She had lunged up the front stairs to the landing before she had time to think. People were upstairs shooting at each other and here she came to save the day with nothing but her teeth and her nails. She cast about quickly for a weapon. In a far corner lay a dirty man, slumped over in a ball. Next to him lay a broken wooden table leg. In desperation, she snatched it up. With a leap she smashed the single naked bulb illuminating the building. Now the entire hall was midnight dark.
As silently as a cat creeping through a graveyard, the girl stepped up the stairs, avoiding the broken ones. She thanked the Lord for blessing her with almost inhuman night vision. It was an invaluable asset for a burglar. Now it was her only equalizer against men whose profession was killing.
Darkness also filled the apartment on the second floor, interrupted only by the intermittent muzzle flashes of pistols and a shotgun. Morgan could smell rather than see the cloud hanging in the air. The smell, gunpowder mixed with sweat, stung his nose. His back against the sofa and gun in hand, Morgan braced to make his move. His crash into the wall had sprained his left shoulder but, aside from that minor injury, he considered himself pretty lucky so far. A half dozen bullets had ripped through the couch but none had hit him. The well-stuffed sofa had also proved solid enough to absorb two follow-up shotgun blasts, mostly because the man firing the shotgun lacked the courage to get any closer to Morgan’s gun.
Morgan weighed his options during a brief lull in the firing. He had a pretty good mental fix on the riot gun user. He planned to slip around the couch on the end toward the door. He would pop up and take out the shotgun man with his automatic. Number two would fire at the bright pistol blast. He would score or he would not. If he failed to kill Morgan, Morgan would surely kill him with one shot. It was a gamble, the only one in town.
He poised on his haunches behind the end of the couch, both hands gripping his pistol. He would make his move now, following three deep breaths. One. Two. What was that? As he stared in frozen disbelief, he thought he saw two green cat’s eyes enter the room, just inches from the floor. He knew those eyes. They disappeared briefly behind the big chair, but reappeared a few seconds later against the middle of the far wall, slowly rising to five and a half feet above the floor. She was standing straight up. What was she doing here?
Silence spread through darkness of the small apartment, and for one brief moment, time froze for Morgan. When things finally moved again, they seemed to do so in slow motion. Turning to face the kitchen, Morgan lifted his pistol over the edge of the arm of the couch. In the kitchen doorway, a riot gun barrel was raised. A single drop of light splashed off Morgan’s automatic.
The man lying under the small table shattered the silence.
“I got you now,” the killer snarled in a strong Spanish accent as he raised his revolver. He was unaware of the woman straddling his upper body but Morgan could see her eyes above him, blazing with hate.
“Paco!” Felicity shouted, bringing her makeshift club down between her ankles, and into his face, with all her strength. Simultaneous with the Mexican’s squeal of pain, Morgan sprang to his feet, firing twice, quickly. One final shotgun blast exploded into the ceiling and the figure in the kitchen fell backward and crashed to the floor.
Paco bolted for the door, holding his face with both hands. Felicity followed, and two quick sets of footsteps clattered down the single flight of stairs. Morgan followed as best he could. There was no point in checking the man in the kitchen. Morgan knew with cold certainly that he was dead.
Out on the stoop, the Mexican was trying to run with a hellcat on his back. One of her hands was clenched in his grease-slicked hair. The other was raking his already bloodied face.
“I told you I’d get you, you son of a bitch,” Felicity screamed, her voice thick with her native Irish brogue. Paco was also screaming, while he fought to escape this mad eyed, red headed she devil by moving across the vacant lot. He stumbled on some broken bricks and she was on him again, clawing and scratching like a maniac. It was an interesting new side of Felicity to the lone observer.
Standing at the top of the stoop, Morgan chuckled at how overdressed the woman was for this. He was not sure what it was the little man had done to deserve this furious attack, but Morgan certainly hoped he never did it himself. The guy was trying to protect a smashed-in nose by hiding his face in his arms. Felicity was pounding on him now with clenched fists. It seemed a comical sight, until Paco reached down and grabbed a broken bottle by its neck. The smile dropped from Morgan’s face.
“O’Brian! Roll clear!” Morgan’s voice carried piercing authority. Felicity sprang away from Paco, his broken glass weapon cleaving empty air. Forty-five meters away, Morgan raised his nine millimeter one handed, at arm’s length, aligned the three dots of the combat sights, and squeezed off a single shot. Paco had turned toward Morgan when the back of his tee shirt flared, and then blackened. He was dead before his scream stopped.
Without a hint of hesitation, Felicity dashed across the lot toward Morgan. As she approached he considered the picture he must have presented. His right side was shredded, as if some wild beast had raked his ribs with giant claws. His left arm hung limp and temporarily useless. He straightened his posture and forced a small smile onto his face. He didn’t want his minor injuries to look worse than they were. Felicity stopped in front of him, with one bare foot on the bottom sandstone step. He saw a brief flash of worry crease her forehead.
“I’m thinking we’d best be going,” she said. “Somebody’s going to want to be asking a lot of questions about that creep. And I assume there’s a dead body upstairs.”
“Well, two actually, but who’s counting?” Morgan replied, wincing his way down the steps. Looking up, he spotted a deep black Corvette with polished aluminum racing wheels.
“That’s just got to be your ride, right? Nice wheels, Red.”
Felicity hustled him across the street without a response, thumbing a fob to unlock the doors before they reached he vehicle. Once inside she reached across to open the door for Morgan. He hurried to slide into the velour seats that, like the carpet, matched her eyes. Once under his seat belt, Morgan could do little but hold on while Felicity got them several blocks from the shootings. When she slowed below thirty he thought something must be wrong.
“Morgan,” she said, keeping her eyes focused ahead. “I got here but I’m not quite sure how to get back to my place. I’m afraid I don’t know The Bronx.”
“Well, lucky for you, I do,” he said, massaging his left shoulder. “Hang a left here, and don’t be in such a hurry, okay? This car will draw enough attention without speeding.”
For half of the drive back Morgan watched her drive in silence, except when he gave occasional directions. He recognized all the signs of a person slowly coming down from an adrenaline rush. He also noticed her complete lack of nervous habits. That is, she did not play with her hair or drum her fingers on the steering wheel or anything like that. She seemed to be just peacefully enjoying that deep calm that comes after a successful mission. When he thought she was completely relaxed, he broke the silence.
“So, you had history with the Spanish guy, huh?”
“You could say that,” Felicity responded. “He was one of the boys who gave me that Safariland tour.”
<
br /> “Well I got to hand it to his boss. Whoever set up that trap was a real pro. Of course, I guess that deal in Mexico gave you a good reason to hate these guys.”
“Damned right,” Felicity said. “And on top of that, the Mexican made improper advances. I told him I’d see him off, too. Of course, I didn’t really expect to watch him die.”
She lapsed into quiet long enough to draw a deep breath and slowly release it in a long sigh. He accepted her pensive silence without feeling a need to rush in and fill it with words. Powering down his window, he leaned his elbow out, inviting the air in. They had reached Manhattan and were on a wide southward street, moving slowly enough to let an occasional car pass them. After a moment Felicity looked over at him and smiled.
“You know, this feels pretty good,” she said. “I mean, I’ve been on some pretty hairy capers in my time, but I never had anyone to share the letdown period with.”
Morgan nodded. “I think I know what you mean. After a good mission, or even after a shambles like today, it’s nice to get with the guys and tip a couple of brews and just enjoy that relaxation. And refine the stories you’ll tell. Man, I can’t believe I walked into a trap like that. And the poor slob who led me in, he didn’t even know the setup. They blew him away trying to get at me. By the way, you were great in there. Quiet as a pro.”
“Well, I am a cat burglar,” Felicity said.
“Yeah, I guess. Can you really see in the dark?” He stared into her face.
“Better than anyone I know,” Felicity said, smiling. “Born with it.”
“Pretty handy in your line of work. By the way, how did you find me?”
They were in front of Felicity’s building and she let the question pass. The Corvette purred down the ramp into the parking garage.
-23-
Felicity wanted to feel useful but Morgan wasn’t making that easy. He winced when she grabbed him around the waist and bellowed in pain when she tried to support him by gripping his left arm. He politely declined assistance on his way across the parking garage, but by the time they reached the elevator she was squeezing his hand.
Once in the apartment, he headed straight for the bathroom. On the way, he shed his light windbreaker, shoulder holster and shirt in a trail along the floor. Felicity gave one brief huff of exasperation and followed, picking up garments as she went. By the time she reached his shirt, Morgan was washing his side. Felicity’s eyes widened as she watched blood flow into the sink with the soapy water.
“Ow! I didn’t realize,” she said. “That’s a lot worse than it looked with your jacket on. What’s the damage report?”
Morgan grimaced. “Less than I deserve. Some bruised knuckles. Sprained left shoulder. This flesh wound here, where some shotgun pellets scraped me. Don’t seem to have any in the skin. Sure hurts though. You got any gauze and maybe some surgical tape laying around?”
“Wait a minute,” Felicity said. “What I have is a doctor who won’t be asking any questions. Let me get him on the phone.”
Felicity was in the living room and had punched the first four numbers when Morgan said, “No thanks. I’d just as soon handle this myself.” After only a moment’s hesitation, Felicity put the telephone down and joined him in the bathroom. He was rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. Felicity went to the shelves behind sliding doors, which stood to the left of the sink. A quick scan across those shelves revealed everything he needed, and she gathered up the armload of supplies as he pointed them out.
Wrapping his side in a towel, he moved to the living room and settled onto the couch. With Felicity’s help, he applied an antiseptic and covered his wound. Felicity fumbled with the bandages, while he was obviously an expert in first aid.
“Lord, you’re so stoic about this,” she said while taping him up. “Led a rather active, dangerous life, haven’t you? I have to wonder how many times you’ve done this for yourself.”
“Maybe just a couple more times than I care to remember.” When they finished bandaging him, he leaned back on the sofa, almost chuckling at his situation. It was the first moment she accepted that he really was all right.
“You know, I’m not used to seeing you smile,” Felicity said, “but I love it when you do. Drink?”
Morgan closed his eyes for a second to relax his muscles and quiet the niggling voices of angry nerve endings on his side and in his shoulder. He opened them just as Felicity brought his scotch and her Bailey’s to the couch and settled in. He gratefully accepted the glass and they lapsed into silence again. He didn’t expect to, but he found himself looking into her deep emerald eyes and realized that he had something to tell her. As if it was the natural thing to do, he reached out and took her hand.
“By the way, you ought to know I’m off your payroll now.”
“What?” Felicity was startled.
“You saved my life. Cancels all debts. Besides, it’s personal now. I’m doing this for me. And you. I’ll make sure you get what’s owed you, but I won’t take your money, okay? We’ll just work together. And by the way,” he softened his voice, “how did you find me?”
Felicity stared into the plush carpet, her hair flipped down, hiding her face.
“I., well, I don’t know. I just, er, just knew you were heading into danger. Almost like the feeling I get when there’s trouble ahead for me. I just feel it. But this time it was almost like a panic coming over me, like an anxiety attack. You know?” Her head snapped around and she stared into his face, as if she expected to find signs of skepticism, laughter or derision. He felt none of that.
“I know,” he said. “I’ve felt it. Couple of days ago. In Belize. It steered me right to you. And it scared me. I guess I resented feeling that way about somebody else. At least, that’s how I felt at the time.”
“And now?”
“Well now it’s different,” Morgan said, glad to see the brief look of worry pass from her face. “It’s kind of good to know it’s mutual. Almost like having someone else inside my head. My instincts have saved my life lots of times. I’m guessing the same is true of you. Now we’ve saved each other’s lives thanks to that same weird, er, whatever it is.” He closed his eyes again for a second and licked his lips, preparing himself to take a big step into open space. “Look, I’m rambling and you’re just listening. What I wanted to say is...well, we share a peculiar closeness. I’d kind of like to get a bit closer.”
Felicity’s eyes laughed at him, all tension drained from them. “Now did you go through all that malarkey just to be saying you want to get laid?” She smothered his startled response with an intense kiss. After a brief hesitation, Morgan put his right arm under her long legs. She locked her arms behind his neck and he lifted her effortlessly.
He couldn’t fail to notice Felicity was partially covered with brick dust from a vacant lot in the Bronx. Nor could she have missed the dirt and perspiration and hint of blood smell on him. Instead, their earthy condition heightened their lust, calling back memories their first meeting.
“My goodness,” Felicity chuckled. “We’ve already spent the night together, and this happens at three-eleven in the afternoon.”
She clung tightly to him until they reached her bedroom, where Morgan gently lowered his lovely bundle onto the down comforter and watched, fascinated, while she squirmed the once expensive dress up over her head. It took only seconds for him to shed his remaining garments.
He stood for a moment, drinking in the richness of her naked form. How like a Greek statue, he thought. Classically beautiful, her skin was that same uniform creamy color everywhere, like marble. She was flawless, without blemish. He wondered how she reacted to his body, swathed in white around the middle, his legs and arms scattered with scar tissue from near misses in past conflicts.
She lay back and her hair became a scarlet whirlwind on the pillow. Here scent was sweet citrus and he could feel her body heat despite the distance between them. Her lips pouted. Her fingers implored. He could stand no more.
Mo
rgan descended on her, and this time the kiss was hard and cruel, his breathing tight, labored. Felicity’s legs rose, locking him hard in a velvet vice.
Morgan’s hands excited her like no one had before, and his hands were everywhere on her, exploring, coaxing, drawing her on, to the very edge of orgasm. It was as if he somehow knew exactly what touch would inflame her most.
At precisely the moment she teetered on the brink, when her every nerve was screaming for release, he entered her. He throbbed within her, huge and swelling, sending shock waves throughout her body with each wonderfully slow movement. Felicity arched her back, screaming her ecstasy. She could fully feel exactly how hot he was. They would pace each other, and reach the finish line together.
And then the universe went haywire. Morgan’s eyes bulged as he experienced being penetrated even as he moved into Felicity. Simultaneously, Felicity could feel herself thrusting, impossibly, with an organ that she did not, could not possess.
Their two bodies snapped apart, like magnets of the same polarity. Morgan found himself on his back, panting, his fingers digging into the bed. He turned to see Felicity in similar condition, a look of pure horror on her face.
“I...you...” Felicity’s mouth moved but she clearly had little control of what came out.
“What the hell?” Morgan asked, staring straight up. “I could feel everything you felt. I...Jesus, is that what it feels like?”
“Lordy, my thoughts exactly,” Felicity said. She focused on the ceiling until the room stopped spinning and her breathing returned to a normal pace. Thoughts ran around the inside of her head too quickly for her to keep them from spilling out.
“Guess we must be mentally closer than we thought,” Felicity babbled. “My God, I’ve never felt so, so violated. Must be our brains are on the same wavelength or...hey.” While she talked, Morgan sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Felicity rose behind him and gripped his shoulders. “Hey. Please. Don’t go away. Not now. Maybe we can’t have it all for some weird reason, but we can still, you know, I mean, stay together. That really shook me. I need holding.” His shoulders felt like two smooth stones in her hands. Thick cords stood out on his neck. Because she was chilled to the bone, she had only seen her own needs. Now she suddenly realized how devastating it had all been for him. In a way, she realized, the experience tapped into every man’s deepest fears.
The Payback Assignment (Stark and O'Brien Thriller Series) Page 14
