As he rubbed her legs and the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, he let his fingers stray, brushing her inner thigh, delicately touching her breasts, grazing her pubis with an extended thumb.
“Umm,” she moaned. “Umm, yes.” Her face was flushed, beaded with the hot steam, and she did not resist when Hawker slid his hands into the shoulders of her body stocking, then stripped the soaking garment down over her chest, stomach, and thighs, then tossed it aside.
He poured the coconut oil over her entire front. His hands slid up and down her body, massaging her as she lifted, arched, moaned, and cried. Her breasts became milk-white projectiles, projectiles so pale that blue veins formed a throbbing network of color beneath the fine skin, and her pink nipples swelled as if to explode. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open, tongue tracing her full lips. Hawker bent and kissed her. She tensed for a moment, then her small hand wound itself in his hair, and she pulled his mouth hard against hers.
“I’ve never felt like this, never ever felt like this,” she moaned. Hawker kissed her again and moved his left hand down her body to the inside of her thigh, stroking the hot clitoral swell beneath her silken pubic hair. She made a low growling shudder, a gurgling zoo sound that fit the primal atmosphere of the steam room. She was breathing so heavily that Hawker feared for a moment that she might be having some kind of attack. It must have been 120 degrees in that steam room! He took his hands from her and attempted to lift her to her feet, but she pressed his hand back to her vagina with a feral quickness. “Don’t stop,” she groaned. “Not now—not ever.…”
Her hands began to search his body, then began to slide up and down his lean stomach and heavily muscled thighs, then slid his underwear down, and the vigilante stepped out of them.
Melissa was on her back, her head craned backward, looking at Hawker, who stood above her. She took him in her two small hands, touching him gently, studying him carefully as if she had never seen a fully developed man before. Then with a hungry, almost feverish lunge, she took him into her mouth. She was like a starving, wild creature, her tongue hot and alive as she cupped his buttocks in her two hands and plunged him deeply into her mouth, again and again.
Finally, Hawker had to pull away. “I’m dizzy as hell with this heat,” he said. “Let’s go outside—”
“No! Here—please, here. I’ve never felt so wonderful, so alive in my life! James, I’m scared if I leave now this feeling will never come again!”
The vigilante made a fluttering noise of resignation with his lips as the woman found him once again with her hungry hands, spread her legs so wide that it seemed she wanted to swallow his entire body, then steered him into her with a sharp hip thrust and a yip of pain, then pleasure.
“This feeling will come again,” muttered Hawker, “but I’m not sure I will.…”
After all the firelights he had been in, all the wars, the shootouts, the knife fights, fistfights, and mortal grudge matches, it crossed James Hawker’s mind how ironic it would be to die of heart failure in a steambath with the lips of a shockingly beautiful twenty-five-year-old virgin gridlocked on his tallywhacker.
“Melissa, I’ve got to get out of here before I faint! I’ll give you another chance. Damn it, let go!”
The vigilante went crashing through the door into the cold, clear wind of the Rocky Mountain night. Below, the lights of Denver glittered and glimmered with all the promise of autumn. Hawker took a quick look at himself in one of the full-length mirrors. “Jesus, I lost so much weight in there I look like Wally Cox,” he panted.
“It still looks perfect to me,” said the woman as she filed exuberantly out behind him. “God, I had no idea anything could feel so good. It feels wonderful! Delicious! You taste delicious!” She took Hawker by the arm, but he pulled away and, with a moment’s hesitation, dropped himself into the icy water of the plunge pool.
Shit!
“Isn’t it the best, most wonderful, greatest thing you’ve ever felt! No wonder that old bastard Bill Nek promised to geld any man who touched me. He knew that if I ever found out how much fun it is with a healthy man, he would never ever get me back!”
Hawker got out of the pool and brushed the water from his close-cropped dark red hair. What the icy water hadn’t done to discourage his libido, the revelation about gelding had. “Yes, Melissa, it feels wonderful and nice and all of those things you said. But don’t you think you ought to prove to yourself that you can enjoy it in places other than a steam room? Christ, I feel like corned beef.”
Standing naked, sweating, her entire body flushed by heat and lovemaking, Melissa Nek was a truly beautiful specimen, as wild-looking and tawny as a lioness. “Yes!” she shouted to the night. “In the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, in front of the fire—”
“You’re asking a lot for only three hundred thousand,” Hawker said, climbing from the cold water.
The woman looked at him, then did a double take. “My god, what happened? You’re all shriveled!”
“It’s not shriveled, it’s camouflaged. He’s down there someplace hiding.”
“How about if I yell ‘fire,’ then grab him when he jumps out?” the woman said, only half-kidding. She stroked Hawker’s inner thigh and took him into her hand. “The poor darling. I know just the thing to get him back out. Come with me.”
Being led toward the house by his exhausted member, the vigilante said, “Okay—but only if I can finish my beer first.”
Later that evening, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms naked by the fire. The vigilante stirred, opened one eye, and peeked at his watch.
Ten eighteen P.M.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, you.”
The woman yawned, scratched, smiled. “Hey, yourself,” she purred. “Are you rested up? Do you want to do it again?”
“We don’t want to overdo it,” Hawker said quickly, “what with you being a beginner and all. Besides, I have to be going. When you hijacked me this afternoon, we took my friend’s car. Right now, he’s probably wondering if I’m dead or alive.” Hawker glanced down and added wryly, “Frankly, I’m not sure myself.”
He stood. “Come on, I’m going to have to drop you near your house. I’ll bet Nek’s having fits.”
The woman stretched luxuriously. “I have a Porsche down in the garage. I bought it just in case something like this ever came up. If the old bastard asks me where I’ve been, I’ll tell him I got restless and went out and bought a car.”
“Clever,” said Hawker. “What husband wouldn’t fall for that?”
She wrapped her arms around his waist tenderly. “I’m going to see you again, aren’t I, James? I don’t think I could bear not to see you again. Besides, we have a business deal, don’t we?”
“I’m not an assassin, Melissa. I’m not going to take a contract to murder your husband.”
“But you’ve already fulfilled the other half of the bargain. You made me feel so wonderful tonight, James. I’ve never felt so good in my life.”
Hawker kissed the woman tenderly on the forehead. He was beginning to feel an unexpected affection for this troubled, impulsive, and spoiled woman. “There is something you can do for me, Melissa. I don’t need money, and even if I did I couldn’t take any for this. But there is something you can do.”
She rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Anything, darling. Just name it.”
“Your husband—Bill Nek—is holding two men prisoner someplace in the mountains. They were being held in an abandoned silver mine, but that may have changed. Anyway, I need to find out where they are, Melissa. It’s very important. Is there any chance you could find out the location?”
The woman stepped back, thinking. “He keeps all his private papers locked and guarded. In his office, though, there are a lot of maps of Colorado. Those aren’t locked. If I could sneak in there and get a look, they might tell me something. He’s always scribbling on maps.”
“Just as long as you don’t get caught. I’d feel like hell if y
ou got into trouble trying to help me.”
She kissed him quickly. “I’d do anything for you, darling. Anything in the world. But only if you promise that this won’t be our last time. Promise me?”
Hawker was putting on his clothes. “I have a rule about making promises to women. It’s something I never do—not since I said yes to my ex-wife, anyway.”
“Ah, the bitter divorced man.”
“Not bitter at all. I married a very nice woman. It was a mistake, and we both realized it, and we split. She now lives with a bisexual fashion designer, and they’re both very busy with a political action group demanding a cure for AIDS. I wish them both well. I still send her a card on her birthday.”
“Then why do you sound just a little bitter?”
“Well, maybe just a little. But I’m still not going to make you any promises.”
Hawker found a pad and pencil by the phone, wrote her unlisted number down and put it in his pocket, then wrote the telephone number of his hotel room (but not the number of his hotel room) on another slip of paper and handed it to her. “If you learn anything, give me a call. Is there any way I can reach you at Nek’s house?”
She shook her head. “I have a private room, in fact, a private wing of the house. And that includes a great many telephones and three private numbers, but I’m sure that old bastard has them all tapped. He’s a fanatic for security. When I get back, he’ll practically have me interrogated by those Nazis he keeps around the place. He hates it when I sneak out alone.”
“Tell him you bought the Porsche as a surprise for him,” Hawker suggested. “That will explain your secrecy.”
The woman’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t buy that evil, evil creature anything. Ever. He knows that—”
“Then why does he keep you if you hate him so?”
The woman’s face lost its flush of pleasure, and Hawker was immediately sorry that he had asked. “He keeps me because he sees me as his piece of property. That’s why; He makes me do things. Terrible things. What we did tonight, you and me, it was good, it was clean, it was a strong, pure thing we did. But the things Nek makes me do are sick. They’re nauseating. I know that he watches me when I’m there in the nasty house. I know he has ways of seeing me when I’m in the shower or the bath or on the toilet. Two-way mirrors, maybe. Or some kind of video setup. I can almost feel his nasty eyes on me. I can feel him touching me with his eyes—and there’s not a thing in the world I can do about it!” Hawker wrapped his arm around the woman as her voice broke and she began to cry.
“There is something you can do about it, Melissa,” he said softly. “It’s called divorce. This is no longer the Old West. Nek may be the richest man in Denver, but he doesn’t make the laws. Get a lawyer and have the courts protect you. Sell this house and use the money to move to Europe. You have a lot of options.”
“You don’t understand, you don’t understand,” she wailed miserably. “My life is so awful, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Nothing!”
Hawker tried to make her feel better, but she could not be comforted.
Melissa Nek was still sobbing as Hawker stepped out into the Colorado night and drove back down the mountain to Denver.
eleven
The telephone rang at five minutes after two in the morning. Hawker’s hand speared out, slapped the end table a few times, and found the receiver.
“James? God, where have you been? I’ve been calling you all night.”
It was a woman’s voice. A good, husky, firm voice. He was so sleepy, his mind first registered the voice as Melissa’s. But then he realized he was mistaken. “Lomela? What is it? Is something wrong?” Hawker sat up in bed and found the light.
It took him another moment to realize that he was in his Denver hotel room—a suite, really. Deep pile carpet, tasteful wallpaper, kitchenette with a microwave and wet bar, artificial fireplace, mini-health spa in place of a bathroom, his clothes mounted on fiber hangers in the open closet, his weaponry sealed in two coffin-size packing crates, both padlocked.
“I called Tom Dulles this afternoon,” Lomela said. “He said you were in some kind of trouble. He was real upset, and Tom doesn’t upset easily. He was damned worried about you, James, but he wouldn’t tell me much about it. He said he would get back to me as soon as he knew anything. But then the phone went out in this cabin where we’re staying. It snowed up here in our part of the range late this afternoon, and I guess some tree limbs couldn’t take it and they fell and knocked the telephone wires down. God, I’ve been frantic all night. I just got up to make sure the kids were doing okay, and I tried the phone. Wonder of wonders, it worked.”
“How are the kids, Lomela? Are they settling down after what happened to them?”
The woman laughed easily. “James, I wish I had the recovery powers them kids have. Acted like nothing in the world happened to ’em. Kidnappers don’t mean nothing to those two. Some kids have cast-iron stomachs. Mine must have cast-iron nerves.”
“Good.” Hawker smiled. “I was worried about them.”
“And I was worried about you,” Lomela replied. “Can’t you tell me about it, James? Did it have something to do with trying to find those men you’re after?”
“In a way, Lomela. But there’s nothing to worry about now. I’m fine. Promise.”
Her voice became shy. “You think there’s any chance of you maybe sneaking up here tomorrow to sort of say hello? I sure did enjoy our little visit together. I promise you won’t be disappointed if you come see me. In fact, I’ll make sure you get everything you want. Everything and more, James, honey.”
The vigilante patted his stomach. He felt the way he once had as a kid when he had eaten too many olives. “I’d love to, Lomela,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “But I think Tom already has something planned for us.”
“I bet it has something to do with my daddy taking a gun and going up into those mountains to look for Jimmy Estes and Mr. Phillips, doesn’t it?”
Hawker sat up straighter. “Your father did what?”
“Well, you only met Daddy that one time, but he’s got a real stubborn streak in him. He got real restless staying up here in this here cabin. He said he was tired of hiding. So this morning he just up and took his Winchester, some supplies, and that nasty old pack mule of his and headed out. He said nobody in the state knows more about abandoned silver mines than he does, so he figured he’d try to flush them out. I made him promise to come back and tell you or Tom, though, once he finds them.”
“Didn’t you try to stop him, Lomela?”
“God knows, I did. But he’s such a jar-headed old fool. Got to stewing over the idea of an Easterner—you—having to come in to help us with a Colorado problem. Made him real mad, it did. I tried everything to talk him into staying, but it was no use. When that old man makes up his mind to do something, he does it. It worries me, him being out in that snowstorm.”
“We need to find him, Lomela. He’s going to get himself into trouble out there. And I can’t help him if I don’t know where he is.”
“I can’t go out looking, James. I’ve got the babies. Besides, I promised Tom I wouldn’t leave the cabin.”
Hawker looked at his watch. “How long would it take me to get up there? An hour, maybe?”
“Don’t even think about coming up now. What could you do in the dark? You don’t know these mountains. My daddy will be fine until morning at least. Remember, he’s spent almost his whole life hiking these Rockies. He knows how to camp, and where, even at his age.”
“Then I’ll talk to Tom, and we’ll come up tomorrow, okay?”
“I’d rather you come up by yourself, James,” Lomela said in a flirtatious voice. “That way, maybe we could slip off for a bit and—”
The vigilante was laughing. “If we’re going to slip off, woman, you’re going to need some sleep. God knows I am.”
“I’ll be waiting, James.”
Hawker switched off the light.
Ne
xt time I come to Colorado, he thought, I’m going to bring some vitamins.
The cold front that had brought snow to the mountains slid down into Denver during the night. Hawker had double rashers of bacon, toast, and four poached eggs in the hotel restaurant. His table was by a window. As pedestrians strolled by, their breath vaporized.
He went back up to his room to get the goose-down vest that seemed to be more a Colorado state uniform than it did a piece of clothing.
Just as he was about to pull the door shut behind him, the telephone rang.
“Hello?”
“Mr. James, I’m so glad I caught you. I decided I would like to have that oil painting framed for my husband. You’re quite right. It would make a very nice Christmas present.”
Even though it was subdued in a cool, business-like tone, the voice of Melissa Nek was immediately recognizable. Hawker played along without hesitation.
“I think you’re making a wise decision, Mrs. Nek. How can I help you?”
“Well, you can either send a boy out to our estate to pick up the painting, or I can drop it off in town this afternoon. I’ll be coming in around one.”
“Perhaps we could meet for lunch,” Hawker suggested. “That would give us more time to discuss exactly what you want.”
“A very good idea,” the woman replied. “Shall we meet at Marseille? I remember you saying you liked French food.”
“Marseille would be fine,” said the vigilante, who detested French food even more than he disliked the French citizenry.
“One P.M.,” said the woman. “And remember, not a word to my husband’s business associates. This is to be a surprise.”
Hawker hung up, feeling as if his luck were about to change. The oil painting Melissa had mentioned would undoubtedly be a map. Could she really have found the right map, the one showing the place where the two kidnapped men were being kept?
Hawker felt a small charge of adrenaline move through him.
This was exactly the break he had been needing. He had been on the defensive ever since he had arrived in Colorado. He had been reacting, not acting.
Denver Strike Page 8
