Pagan (MPRD Book 1)

by Andrew Chapman

“You left the poor girl behind?” asked Helen. “Get on the phone and get her over here!”

  “Jack, sometimes I wonder about you,” said Barbara, shaking her head and grinning.

  CHAPTER

  28

  We were lying in bed, warm, comfortable and happy, watching the sun go down through the open curtains. We were trying to maintain our nocturnal body rhythms so we would be ready when I was declared fit to go back into the field. The head shed were keeping us updated and so far the vamps hadn’t done a thing with my records, but we did get a lead on Hans.

  From my description he was one Hans Kohler, a little over two hundred years old and sadistic like you wouldn’t believe. According to the intel we had he liked to film himself cutting people up and then gave little performances for his vampire cronies. I’d been lucky to survive, all things considered. Reports claimed that Hans hadn’t walked away from his encounter with me and the big, black werewolf and the head shed had him filed under ‘missing presumed dead.’

  I wasn’t entirely mollified. My own file had been marked the same way once, back in the day, when I’d needed to go deep undercover to escape an obscenely large price on my head. Apparently certain South American drug barons get antsy when you burn a couple of thousand acres of primo crop and kill several members of their families. I wasn’t going to believe Hans was truly dead until I saw a body.

  It had been two weeks since I’d made it back to Brize and I was healing nicely. I was spending a few hours at the gym, building up the muscle tone I’d lost laying around the place, and spending more time in bed with Marie getting a much more enjoyable workout.

  I think the thing that surprised me the most was that we weren’t living on base anymore. We were renting a house in Carterton under the name of a random Airman and Col. Tilehurst assured me that there was no record anywhere of the address. Still, the place was a fortress with guns in every room and motion-triggered UVC lights on every exterior wall.

  The only thing that hadn’t been straightened out was the doggy sex. Marie was holding out on me with that one. Sure, I could have just told her it was going to happen, but I think that’s the point, isn’t it? Being the dominant partner in a good relationship means always thinking about what the other person wants to do and making sure you never cross the line.

  I stretched, happy that I could do it without pain, and went back to holding my mate in my arms. She sighed contentedly. She was lying with her head on my chest and I could feel her eyelashes brush my skin every time she blinked.

  The sun was barely a slice over the horizon and night would be here soon. We had plans for the night.

  Muffled sounds from the next room announced that at least one of our houseguests was awake. It was probably John; he usually woke up before Anna. Marie sat up and stretched slowly.

  “Will you be joining me in the shower tonight?” she asked softly.

  “Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

  “No, I don’t believe he does,” said Marie, trying not to laugh.

  “Oh,” I said. “Are you sure? So where does he shit then?”

  “I have no idea,” she said, laughing harder. “There’s probably a Papal toilet in the Vatican somewhere with Papal toilet paper and Papal soap on the Papal sink.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t scan, does it? ‘Does the Pope shit in the Papal toilet with the Papal toilet paper and the Papal soap on the Papal sink?’ doesn’t sound right.”

  “You are a silly, sexy man,” she said, leaning over me and giving me a kiss that made my spine tingle.

  “And you are an evil, devil woman who better be in the shower in the next five seconds.”

  She rolled off of the bed and walked to the bathroom, swinging her hips and wiggling her behind. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I followed her. The scar on my side was an ugly purple slash that ran from just above my right hip almost all the way up to the center of my chest. Every time I saw it I was stunned I’d managed to survive. Just another scar to add to my modest collection. Some of the Ministry’s hunters liked to show off their scars. I preferred to be proud of the fact that I had so few. Lots of scars showed you’d been in lots of combat. Few scars showed that you were good at combat. This was my first vampire-related scar. Apart from some chicken-pox scars and an inoculation mark on my left arm my only scar was a gouge on my left shoulder caused by a .50 caliber round. If it had been an inch lower it would have blown through the joint and I would probably have lost the entire arm. Now I had another scar. Big, bad me.

  I was snapped out of the moment of reflection by the sound of the shower coming on and I broke into a grin. Marie was naked, wet and soapy. What the hell was I doing standing here?

  I paced around the living room, trying not to feel uncomfortable in a suit and tie. Granted, it was all black, from the suit to the silk shirt and even the silk tie, and I was wearing boots, not dress shoes, not to mention the comforting weight of the SIG tucked into a shoulder holster, but I still felt naked.

  John was responsible for my outfit. When we’d arranged this night Anna had declared that neither Marie nor I had anything suitable to wear and our wardrobe choices had been summarily claimed. John had privately confided to me that Anna had shopped for everything Marie would be wearing, right down to the underwear. At least I was wearing my own boxers. There are some places men just don’t go, even for close friends, and picking out skivvies is one of those places.

  John was lounging on the couch, wearing a blue suit so dark it might as well have been black, a dark red shirt and a tie that matched the suit. He looked suave, comfortable and—it takes a great effort for a guy to say this about another guy—very, very handsome, whereas I felt like a kid wearing his dad’s old suit for a wedding or funeral. John had even remembered to take his jacket off so it wouldn’t crease when he sat down.

  We were going out. Hallowe’en was actually a fairly quiet night, vampire-wise. I guess there are some days that are too tacky even for the leeches.

  “Shit, Jack,” said John. “Stop pacing, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Like I care,” I said, not breaking stride.

  “Why so jittery, boss?” he asked.

  I stopped pacing and stared out of the window at the darkness.

  “First date,” I said. “We never really went out together, what with our jobs and the vamps and everything.”

  “Well I don’t think you need to worry about impressing her, boss. She seems pretty impressed already.”

  “I know, but it’s not just that. I joined the Marines right out of school. Went for Selection five years after that. Then all this shit happened. Dating’s not really been a big feature of my life.”

  “Not even in school?”

  I turned and gave John a long stare.

  “I was a nerd in school, John.”

  “What, you?” John scoffed. “Fuck off. I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “It’s true. Braces on my teeth, a world-beating case of acne, horrible, horrible haircut.”

  Before John could say anything we heard our ladies coming down the stairs. I turned and John stood up.

  Anna looked beautiful. Her raven hair was artfully arranged around her pale face and she was wearing a tight blood-red dress that hugged everything in sight and a pair of strappy black high-heels.

  But if Anna was beautiful, Marie was simply stunning. Her hair was pulled into a complicated French braid and she was wearing, for the first time since I’d known her, eye shadow, mascara and lipstick. A subdued pair of diamond earrings glinted in her lobes. Her dress was deep black, a corset-like bodice that hugged her torso and lifted her breasts sat above a loose skirt that came down to just below her knees. A pair of calf-length boots completed the outfit. She looked strong but somehow vulnerable at the same time. Hell, she looked mouthwatering.

  Both Marie and Anna were carrying tiny, impractical looking purses that matched their outfits. I have no idea why.

  I realized that Marie was looking
at me expectantly and I was standing there with my mouth open. She walked towards me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  “If you look that stunned at the dress,” she whispered as she brushed her lips against mine, “I can’t wait to see how you’ll react when you find out what I’m wearing underneath.”

  “Wow,” I breathed.

  I stood there stupidly for a second, trying to get my mental train back on its tracks. I shook myself and blinked.

  “You okay, my love?” asked Marie. “You look a little flustered.”

  “Um,” I said, the last word in witty repartee. “I got you a gift. Two actually.”

  I managed to pull myself together enough to find the two packages. Now if I could only get rid of the erection I’d be set.

  I handed the larger package to her, an engraved wooden box. She opened it and looked inside with a gasp of delight. Inside was a custom SIG Sauer P229, a slim, cut-down version of the P226. It was nickel plated with gold accents. The black handgrips each bore an engraved etching of a wolf’s head. There was also a finely made black leather shoulder holster.

  She took the pistol out and turned it over in her hands, smiling and shaking her head.

  “It’s beautiful, Jack,” she said.

  “I’m jealous,” said Anna. “John never buys me guns.”

  John shot me a dark look and shook his head slowly.

  I helped Marie with the shoulder holster and gave her the two spare magazines that had been in the box.

  “There’s one more thing,” I said.

  I handed her a jewelry box. Inside was a slim silver chain with a heart-shaped diamond pendant. I took the chain and put it around her neck. The chain was just long enough that the pendant nestled right at the top of her cleavage.

  “Okay, that’s beautiful, too,” she said, beaming at me.

  “Wait, there’s a jacket for her outfit,” said Anna, striding over to the dining room table.

  The jacket was soft black leather, waist length, that was tailored just enough to make it look formal. It concealed the pistol nicely.

  I stood there with Marie in my arms, drinking in the sight and scent of her until Anna cleared her throat.

  “Are we about ready to go?” she asked pointedly.

  “I’m about ready to go back to bed,” I said softly, then raised my voice as Marie giggled. “Yes, Mien Führer. We’re ready.”

  “Then lets go,” said Anna. “It took a lot to get a table at that swanky restaurant.”

  “Rubbish,” I said. “One of Frenchie’s many, many cousins owns the place. We had an open invitation.”

  “That’s what I mean,” she said. “To get this table we had to be friends with Frenchie. That’s a lot in my book.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  The restaurant was fantastic. When I saw the name over the door I laughed so hard I almost reopened the slice in my side. La Petit Mort. I wondered how many of the stuffed shirts who were eating inside knew what it meant. The literal translation is ‘The Little Death’ but the phrase is a French euphemism for orgasm. It took me a few minutes to regain my composure. Now I had to meet Frenchie’s cousin.

  There was another moment of fun—for me at least—when the maître d’ insisted on taking the ladies’ jackets. Anna graciously allowed the cadaverous Frenchman to take her ankle-length red coat and Marie reluctantly parted company with her leather jacket. To his credit, the maître d’ signaled his disapproval of the gun simply by raising one carefully trimmed eyebrow by about an eighth of an inch. The embroidered leather shoulder rig matched her dress and the silver and black gun was showy enough that it almost looked like a fashion statement rather than a weapon, but the eyebrow went up.

  I wondered if Anna was armed. I soon had an answer and the eyebrow crept up again. Anna’s dress was ankle length, but slit almost to the hip over her right leg. Around her thigh was a soft-looking canvas holster that held a Browning Hi Power and a spare magazine. The Browning was brushed steel with polished wood grips. John and I were carrying our service pistols and I, for one, was suffering from gun envy.

  “Keep your eyes where they belong, mister,” said Marie an inch from my ear.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” I said with a grin. “I was admiring the gun.”

  “Well, if you want to look at guns you can look at mine.”

  “Any time,” I breathed, looking down at her breasts.

  “That’s better.”

  “If Mademoiselles and Monsieurs would be kind enough to follow me?” said the Maître d’. “Monsieur Françios wishes me to assure you that you are his honored guests.”

  I thought that was a nice touch. He led us to a small circular table in a quiet corner of the dining room and imperiously clapped his hands together. No less than four waiters appeared from nowhere and went into a frenzy of dignified motion. Water glasses were filled, menus secured, napkins dramatically shaken out, the ‘réservé’ card was whisked away and one waiter held Marie’s chair out for her. At least he tried to, but then he caught the look I was directing at him and bowed as he stepped back. I seated Marie and she looked up at me, smiling.

  “Jealous,” she said coyly.

  “Possessive,” I replied and bent to kiss her lips.

  “Good.”

  We were seated and a waiter materialized with two menus, one for me and one for John. Anna’s eyes narrowed a little.

  “Why don’t we get a menu?” asked Marie in a whisper.

  I smiled and scooted my chair closer to Marie’s.

  “Because this is a French restaurant and we’re obviously two couples, so it’s more romantic if we get close and share menus.”

  Marie’s smile widened as she leaned in against me. I slipped an arm around her shoulders and tried to concentrate on the food.

  “Y’know, Jack?” said Anna. “I’m very upset with you.”

  “You are?” I said without looking up. “Why’s that then?”

  “I’ve got about a mile and a half of leg on display but all you can ogle is my gun.”

  I inwardly cursed Anna’s pin-sharp hearing.

  “Hey, you keep your eyes off of my wife’s gun,” said John with a grin. “That gun is for me only.”

  “Well, it is a very sexy gun. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on a gun like that. It’s not a sexy as Marie’s gun. Now, Marie’s gun is smoking hot. I may have to squeeze off a few rounds myself later on.”

  “Do you and the gun need some time alone, darling?” said Marie.

  “We could do that, but I’d rather have a foursome. You, me, your gun, my gun. Whadya say?”

  “I dunno, is your gun sexy?”

  She opened my jacket and took a look.

  “Ooh, sexy. Strong, powerful, dependable. I bet that gun is good in a tight spot. Good, long barrel, big magazine. A girl could shoot that thing all night long.”

  “Are we still talking about guns? Because this is getting me hot,” said Anna, somehow maintaining a straight face.

  The waiter found us all fighting hard not to burst out laughing. Another eyebrow was raised another fraction of an inch.

  “Um, is anyone ready to order?” I asked through the snickering.

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “Ah, bon,” said the waiter. “Shall I send for the wine waiter?”

  “Yes, please,” said John and the waiter melted away, replaced almost instantly by a waiter indistinguishable from the first.

  John didn’t even look at the wine list but ordered a bottle of something that had a lot of French words and ended with ’76. I’m better with beer than I am with wine.

  “You know a lot about wine, John?” asked Marie.

  He shrugged.

  “John’s parents own a tiny little vineyard in the south of France,” said Anna proudly.

  “Really?” said Marie.

  “Yeah, we make a couple of thousand bottles in a good year,” he replied modestly. “It’s a family operation, nothing big.”

  �
��And his name’s not really ‘John’,” said Anna wickedly.

  “It’s not?” asked Marie, her eyes wide.

  “No,” said John with an eye roll. “I was christened ‘Jean-Pierre’ but I prefer John. Just John. Always just John.”

  The wine waiter returned and the bottle was presented to John and then opened with some ceremony. John was offered the cork and he waved it under his nose for a second before setting it aside and nodding. The waiter poured a tiny amount into John’s glass and he went through the whole wine tasting display, sampling the bouquet and swishing a sip around his mouth. Finally he seemed satisfied and nodded again. The waiter poured an inch into our glasses and stood back.

  “To friendship,” said John.

  “To friendship,” we all repeated and drained our glasses.

  The wine waiter reappeared and filled our glasses properly this time, and then he faded away. This stealth waiter business was starting to get creepy.

  When the next waiter materialized from thin air John ordered for himself and Anna in near-flawless French. Marie tapped her finger on the menu and I gave everyone a surprise. My French is, if anything, better than John’s.

  Bread appeared on the table and, after a while, appetizers were beamed down from a ship in orbit over the planet. The empty plates were spirited away by invisible elves and ghosts brought entrées and set them on our table.

  It was all very disconcerting.

  John had a steak that looked like someone had waved it in the direction of a candle before bringing it out, and Anna, to my surprise, was tucking into a giant stuffed mushroom that involved truffles in some hard-to-define way. Marie had asked for filet mignon and I was enjoying the best bœuf bourguignon I’d ever had. I wouldn’t admit it under pain of death but even John’s mother didn’t make it better.

  We ate and chatted, talking about nothing important, grateful for the chance to relax and, by the time butterflies trained in black-ops brought out dessert I was a little buzzed from the wine.

  I had some light pastry thing with strawberries but Marie had ordered a bowl of something that looked like the chef had taken a tiny chocolate cake, filled it with molten chocolate, covered it in chocolate icing, put a blob of chocolate ice cream on top and then drizzled the whole thing in chocolate sauce. There was even grated and powdered chocolate sprinkled on top—I was getting a sugar rush just by being in the same room. The chef must have worn protective clothing or something. Marie sampled a spoonful and I suddenly had a good idea why the restaurant was named for orgasms. I’d seen that look on her face before, but it had always been my doing. Anna took one look and ordered the same thing for herself.