Whispers in Time

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Ignacio stumbled up, huffing and puffing, red in the face. He leaned heavily on Vic’s arm until he caught his breath.

  “Too hot,” the little fat man gasped. “Too goddam hot, she is!”

  “We don’t have much farther to go. The house is just down there,” Vic said, pointing to an old West Indian-style structure that leaned tiredly over the banquette.

  “Oui! I know the place well,” Ignacio answered, grinning up at his tall friend and giving Vic a poke with his elbow and a sly wink. “It is like a second home to me.”

  “You old cocksman!” Vic laughed. “I thought you well beyond the age for such sport. And what about your bad heart?”

  “Are you telling me, M’sieur Vic, that you plan to retire yours when it reaches a certain age?” Ignacio’s eyes went wide in disbelief and he made a clucking sound of disapproval. “Me? Never! When my heart stops, let it cease beating at the exact moment I have shot my seed into the hot depths of some lovely, panting female.”

  Vic roared with laughter. “You have a good point, my friend. I do apologize for underestimating your swordsmanship. Now, shall we get on with this?”

  The shutters of Ivory’s cottage were closed and no sign of life indicated that they would find anyone at home.

  “Mam’zelle Ivory will likely be sleeping now,” Ignacio informed Vic, as if he knew her routine intimately.

  “Then we’ll wake her,” Black Vic replied, pounding at the painted cypress door.

  Moments later, a sharp-edged female voice yelled out, “Who the hell is it? Go away! You’re disturbing me.

  “See? I told you,” Ignacio said, turning to leave the narrow gallery.

  But Vic only pounded harder. “It’s Victoine Navar,” he called. “Open up, Ivory! I have business to discuss with your friend.”

  Vic heard the bolt sliding, then the door opened a mere crack. A moment later, Ivory stepped out to greet him.

  “M’sieur Navar,” she said. “So, at last you have come to visit Ivory, eh?”

  Vic couldn’t help smiling as he gazed at her. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman in spite of the hard life she’d lived. It was rumored that she had been a clergyman’s daughter, but when her lover got her with child, she was cast out by her family. No money, no friends, nowhere to go. From that time, she had followed the only occupation left to her. What her real name was no one knew. She was called Ivory because of her pale skin and long, silver-blond hair. Now, however, the angelic beauty of her face was marred by an angry purple bruise across one cheek. Her hair, Vic noted, was still as fine and silky as a girl’s. Only her eyes—the color of cold sapphires—betrayed the hurt in her body and soul. They were lifeless, lightless, and totally devoid of emotion as if too much pain lay there to allow any of it to show.

  God, she is a beauty! Vic thought as he viewed her exquisitely voluptuous figure outlined inside the sheer white silk of her negligee. Yes, Ivory, you are quite a woman!

  “M’sieur?” she said in a throaty voice of invitation when Vic kept staring at her dumbly. “Please, won’t you come in?”

  Remembering Ignacio, Vic glanced over his shoulder at his friend. Ivory’s gaze followed Vic’s and she scowled at the little barkeep. “Go away, you!” she hissed.

  Ignacio scurried down the steps as if he were a filthy cockroach she’d just whisked away with her broom.

  “I won’t be long, Ignacio,” Vic called. “Wait for me, won’t you?”

  “But, of course, M’sieur Vic,” Ignacio replied with all the decorum he could muster after Ivory’s harsh rebuff.

  Ivory took Vic’s arm and guided him inside to her front parlor. “Please, have a seat. I’ll tell Tessa to bring us something cool to drink. It is so hot!” To illustrate her words, Ivory fanned herself with one hand while she used the other to adjust her silk wrapper, pulling it lower to expose a vaster expanse of luscious, sweating bosom—and more bruises. Black Vic frowned, wondering who the brute might be who’d left his ugly mark on such tender flesh.

  He took the seat she indicated, a narrow couch of purple and gold brocade. Ivory yelled orders to her maid, then sank down next to Vic, letting her gown fall away from her long, silk-clad legs.

  Vic’s gaze strayed down the length of her shapely limbs. He sensed her object. On some lighter occasion he would have been tempted to play along with the game, but at present he had only one thing on his mind. He cleared his throat and eased slightly away from her.

  “Ivory, I’ve come here on very specific business.”

  With the tip of one finger she traced the scar down Vic’s right cheek. “But, of course, M’sieur. For you, I am always open for business. I had hoped you might come long before now.”

  Black Vic was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. That sword slash on his face was the most sensitive part of his body. It still pained him at times, so he was surprised to realize that Ivory’s light stroke on that tender flesh proved quite an erotic sensation.

  “Ivory,” Vic began, “you don’t understand.” Trying to think how to get out of this gracefully, he finally blurted out, “I haven’t a picayune to my name at present. So, you see, it’s other business that brings me to you.”

  She only smiled and clucked her tongue in sympathy. “You needn’t worry about paying me, darling. A girl must have some pleasure now and then.”

  “No, Ivory!” he said determinedly. “I haven’t come here for that. I’ve come looking for Hector Lazano. Is he here?”

  A flicker passed over Ivory’s face, and for the first time Vic noticed how nervous she seemed. He was about to ask what was wrong. Before he could get the words out, however, he was rudely interrupted.

  “Damn right, I’m here!” snarled a whiskey-rough voice from the hallway.

  Vic looked up to see the vaguely familiar face and shock of greasy gray hair. The man lounging against the door frame wore filthy trousers that he had obviously pulled on in haste. His hairy chest glistened with sweat. He held the stump of a half-smoked cheroot clenched between uneven, yellow teeth.

  “You lookin’ for me, Navar?” he growled.

  Vic turned to face the man directly. “That I am, Lazano.” Navar’s voice was calm but forceful. “I hear you’ve been spreading lies about me throughout the city. I demand that you stop this slander immediately.”

  “Who’s gonna make me? Besides, they ain’t lies. You kilt my little brother, Navar.”

  “Your brother was cheating at cards. Furthermore, he threatened my friend’s life. Now, you can either leave town peacefully of your own accord, or I will assist you. Either way, you shall depart New Orleans immediately.”

  “I ain’t going nowhere till after the big game tonight.”

  They stood staring at each other, a few feet apart.

  Vic’s face was grim, his dark eyes steely. Lazano’s eyes narrowed and a muscle twitched angrily in his unshaven jaw. He made a slight move toward Black Vic.

  Ivory quickly jumped between the two men. “Not in my parlor, you don’t!” she cried. “If you mean to spill blood, you’ll do it outside.”

  This interruption proved just the distraction Lazano needed. Quick as a flash, he pulled a bowie knife and went for Vic. The two men tussled about the parlor, overturning tables, smashing fragile bric-a-brac, creating general chaos in their wake. Ivory, frantic for fear they would destroy everything, tried once again to get between them. She screamed when the tip of Lazano’s knife slashed her shoulder. It was little more than a prick, but blood seemed to be everywhere.

  Lazano fell on Vic then. The two men grappled, fighting for possession of the knife. In the scuffle, Vic gave his opponent a jarring blow to the chin, then shoved him away before the man could find a mark for his deadly blade. Lazano stumbled and tripped over Ivory, who lay crouched in the middle of the floor sobbing and bleeding. In the next instant, the burly man fell on his face with a heavy thud.

  Lazano gasped, made a choking sound, then fell silent after a final twitch of his thick body. When Vic turned him ov
er, Hector Lazano lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the bowie knife through his heart. Sure that he was dead, Vic turned from the corpse to help Ivory to her feet.

  “Oh, God!” she moaned, shielding her face with crossed arms. “Don’t kill me!”

  “It’s all right now,” Vic murmured, trying to soothe her. “Lazano fell on his knife. That one’s palmed his last ace. Now, let’s see to you.”

  Vic picked up the sobbing woman and started down the hallway. Wide-eyed Tessa, the maid, pointed out Ivory’s bedroom.

  “Bring some water and toweling,” Vic ordered, “and some whiskey to clean her wound.”

  By now Ivory was hysterical. She kept shielding her face with her bloody arms, crying, “No! Don’t hit me! Not again… please!”

  Vic shook her gently. “Ivory, snap out of it. I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to help.”

  He eased her back on the pillows and held her close until she stopped fighting him. Finally, she opened her eyes. For a time, she only stared blankly at him. Then the lines of terror eased gradually from her face.

  “You’re not the one!” Ivory cried, tears of relief suddenly streaming down her bruised face. “You’re Victoine Navar!”

  “Of course I am. Now, lie still so I can see to this cut.”

  Ivory glanced at her bloody shoulder, then laughed—a short, sharp sound. “He’s done a damn sight worse to me than that little pinprick.” Then she heaved a great sigh and relaxed. “But it’s over now. He’s dead, isn’t he? He won’t hit me ever again.”

  Vic touched her cheek gently. “You mean, Lazano did this to you?”

  “That and a lot more,” she answered with a shudder, remembering.

  “Then why on earth did you let him stay?”

  “Let him? Like hell I let him!” She leaned up on her elbow, staring hard into Vic’s face. “He blew into town out of nowhere last week, came here like any regular customer. Shit, I didn’t know him from Adam’s housecat. I did him and he paid me. When the last John left at dawn the next morning—same as always—I came back to my bedroom to get my beauty sleep and here he was, stretched out big as you please. And with his filthy boots on my satin spread! I told him to get the hell out or I’d yell for help. The next thing I knew, he was off the bed, giving me a beating like I haven’t had since my old man kicked me out. He said he was staying. He even made Tessa turn the cat in the window.”

  “The cat?” Vic stared at her, puzzled, thinking that her recent beatings must have addled her brain.

  “Oui. It’s a special china cat that a sailor gave me a while back. He said they’re all the rage at sporting houses in England. The thing has two faces, two sets of eyes. If the green eyes are showing, I’m open for business. But if the red eyes are toward the street, then my regulars know not to knock. Classy, huh?”

  “So, Lazano has been virtually holding you and Tessa prisoner?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell. I was sure happy to see you come to the door.”

  “But you told me to go away,” Vic reminded her.

  “Lazano had that knife. He told me he’d cut me if I let anyone in. Then, when you said your name, he told me to open up, but that I wasn’t to let Ignacio in, only you, M’sieur Vic.” She looked away, her tears flowing again. “I’m sorry. I could have gotten you killed.”

  “Don’t fret over that, Ivory. I’m just glad it’s all over for both of us now.”

  Tessa came in with a bowl and pitcher, several towels, and a bottle of rye whiskey on a big tray.

  “Put everything there on the table,” Vic instructed. “I’ll see to your mistress.”

  Still looking fearful, young Tessa did as she was told, then curtsied and left the room.

  Vic eased the sticky silk down from Ivory’s shoulder. The wound was not long, but it was deep. Wetting the end of a towel he cleaned her shoulder and arm. “Looks like you’ll live,” he quipped.

  “Wonderful!” Ivory replied sarcastically.

  When Ivory saw Vic soak the tip of a towel with whiskey, she shied away.

  “This won’t hurt,” he told her.

  “It already hurts like bloody hell! Give me a swig of that before you do anything else.”

  Vic obliged. Ivory took a long gulp from the bottle, then handed it back to him. “You look like you could use some of this, too,” she said.

  Never one to pass up an offered bottle, Vic helped himself. On top of the brandy he’d had earlier and all the activity, he felt an immediate buzz behind his ears. He took another sip, then smiled at Ivory.

  “Are you ready now?” he asked gently.

  She snuggled down into the pillows. Her eyes half-closed, she smiled back at him. “More than ready, M’sieur Vic. You can do whatever you want with me now.”

  The invitation in her voice was as thinly veiled as her voluptuous body. He tried to ignore the appeal, but there was no way he could deny his growing fascination with this woman.

  “All right, then,” he said evenly. “I’m just going to press this to your shoulder. It will sting, but it won’t last long.”

  “Can I squeeze your hand?” She sounded like a frightened little girl.

  “By all means,” Vic answered, twining his fingers through hers. “Squeeze the hell out of it, if that helps.”

  She did! She moaned and writhed and made whimpering sounds. And, oh, how she squeezed! However, the moment Vic took the whiskey-soaked cloth away, her pain turned instantly to something far different, though every bit as fierce. She caught Vic in a headlock and pulled him down to her. Placing her mouth on his neck, she sucked long and hard, sending fire surging through his taut body. Then her lips were on his, her satiny tongue teasing him to open to her. Ivory guided the hand she’d been squeezing to her bare breast. Before Vic ever realized he meant to do it, he was naked, in the bed with Ivory, partaking of her many charms and loying every minute of it.

  He’d been several months without a woman—his lack of finances being mosdy at fault. Granted, he almost never paid outright for love, but in order to get it the other way, a certain amount of wooing was required and that, too, took cash. In short, Ivory was a godsend.

  Conscious of what she had been through with Lazano and the wound in her shoulder, Vic was especially gentle and tender with her. He took great pains to pleasure her well.

  When at last they were done, Ivory lay next to him purring with satisfaction. “You are even better than I had heard,” she told him frankly.

  Vic stared at her, feeling the color rise in his face. “My God, you mean ladies actually discuss this among themselves?”

  Ivory laughed softly. “Well, perhaps ladies don’t, but my friends and I do pass along interesting tidbits to amuse ourselves.” She paused and stroked his cheek. “You needn’t worry, though, M’sieur Vic. I’ll tell no one about this afternoon. I mean to keep it all to myself, you see.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Vic answered in a surly voice—annoyed only at himself. “You wouldn’t want the word to get around that you take in charity cases.” He looked over at her, his darkly handsome face gone serious. “Ivory, I really didn’t mean to take advantage of…”

  She placed one finger over his lips. “Sh-h-h! Not another word. It is I who should pay you—a reward for saving me from that awful man.”

  Ivory rose from the bed, gliding across the room in all her magnificent nakedness. Opening a filthy carpetbag, she fumbled inside, then drew out a fat leather wallet. “Ah, here it is! Lazano showed me his stake for the poker game tonight. He bragged to me about how he’d cheated some poor fellow out of his life savings and even the ring he had bought for the woman he meant to marry. The bastard stole all this from him. I want you to have it now, M’sieur Vic.”

  With a bow and a smile, Ivory placed the bulging wallet and a delicately wrought gold wedding band on the bed beside Vic.

  “Oh, no,” he replied, shoving the things back toward her. “I can’t take any of this. You keep the money.”

  She shook her h
ead. “The police are certain to search the house once we summon them to remove the body. They would only take everything to the station ‘for safekeeping.’ Then neither you nor I would see any of it ever again.” She handed the wallet to Vic; the ring, with its single ruby glittering in the light, dangled from the tip of her little finger. “I want you to have all this. There are many things I need in life, but money is not one of them.”

  Vic could hardly believe his good fortune. He felt understandably odd, being paid by a prostitute afterward rather than giving her money for her services. But he did need a stake for the poker game.

  “Whatever I win tonight, I’ll split with you,” Vic offered. “And, here.” He slipped the ruby ring on her finger. “You must keep this to remember our time together.”

  “Oui. If you wish,” she whispered, “I will keep the ring, mon cher. But use whatever funds you win tonight to put your own house in order. As for sharing, should you ever care to share yourself with me, you’ll know where I am.” Then she gave him a sad-sweet smile. “I think, though, that our paths will not cross again. I have served my purpose in your life. Fate surely willed it so. You need a woman, Victoine Navar, but you must find one who can be all yours, to keep and to love all your life.”

  “I had a wife,” he answered sharply. “She left me, took our son. Now I have no one. I don’t need anyone.”

  “We all need someone, mon ami. Open your eyes and look about. You will find the right woman, M’sieur Vic. You have only to claim her. Already, she loves you.”

  “You’re a witch!”

  Ivory shook her head and smiled. “No, but I do have dreams. Last night you were there while I slept—you and a lovely, dark-haired woman whose eyes shone with love when she gazed at you.”

  Vic wanted to believe. He ached to believe.

  Ivory gave Victoine Navar far more than money that day. He knew he would remember her for all time.

  A short while later, Vic found himself out on the street again. Once he had dressed, Ivory insisted that he leave immediately. “You have no need to be mixed up in this,” she’d told him. “The authorities will think nothing of finding a drifter’s body in this house. I will show them my bruises, tell them what he did to me. I’ll say that we fought over the knife when he tried to kill me. That will be the end of it. Now, go!” She had refused any and all arguments on the subject.