

### TOXIC RAIN

### Book 2 in the George 'MAC' McClain Series

### WILL DECKER

Copyright 2008 by WILL DECKER

Smashwords Edition

WILL DECKER has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

TOXIC RAIN is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any characters to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, media, situations, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

This eBook may not be re-sold or given away except with written permission from the author or as otherwise permitted through special promotions and programs.

A special thank you to everyone that has made this story possible. My beta reader, my proof reader, and to you the readers. I sincerely hope you enjoy this work of fiction.

Will

Discover more exciting books by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review.

Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach,

WILL

Table of Contents:

Beginning

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

Thirty Five

Thirty Six

Thirty Seven

Thirty Eight

Thirty Nine

Part Two

Forty

Forty One

Forty Two

Forty Three

Forty Four

Forty Five

Forty Six

Forty Seven

Forty Eight

Forty Nine

Fifty

Fifty One

Fifty Two

Fifty Three

Fifty Four

Fifty Five

Fifty Six

Fifty Seven

Fifty Eight

Fifty Nine

Sixty

More by Will Decker

### Somewhere on the Central Oregon Coast

Despite never having set foot in the place, Mac struts into the joint as one who belongs. The leather of his riding boots weathered from use despite religious applications of boot-grease, the heels worn down at a jaunty angle, his denim jeans shining in more places than not. Yet, his dress is the least noticeable of his features. Beneath the threadbare, plaid-cotton work shirt can be seen the powerful, rippling muscles and broad shoulders of a man that takes what he wants and is rarely crossed without delivering substantial consequences in return.

Christened George McClain, friends and acquaintances simply know him as Mac. A man's man, he is ruggedly handsome with a strong jaw line now covered with a brash stippling of beard. His eyes are of the sharpest blue that can cause a woman's heart to flutter with just the merest of glances. Yet, his outward appearance is balanced with an unwavering set of morals that he lives by, though most righteous men would call them questionable at best.

Although he appears intimidating to the uninitiated, to those that know him on a more intimate level, his appearance and demeanor are reassuring and comforting. Mac doesn't have a mean bone in his rugged frame and he harbors no remorse for doing to those that need doing to. And he does it so well!

His fees are high and yet he rarely takes on jobs that pay. Most cases that come his way are usually nothing more than helping someone that can't help themselves for whatever reason. If asked, he would argue to the bitter end that it's simply coincidence that the majority of his pro bono cases involve coming to the defense of women, despite knowing that a factual accounting of his history would almost certainly prove that most of his clients are desperate, beautiful women.

But that's not why he's working late this night in a seedier part of town located down on the waterfront adjacent to the docks. A night when the sky and anything further than twenty feet from your face is completely obliterated by dense clouds of sea mist rolling in off the black water. No, tonight Mac is venturing into the longshoremen's hangout in this rougher part of town because he is collecting monies that are owed.

The money isn't owed to him personally. If it were, he would be handling this quite differently. In fact, his fee for this deed was paid in advance by a relatively new client that came highly recommended to him by a questionable source. And right from the get-go, Mac suspected that his prospective new client was almost too trusting, too willing to believe in his abilities and guarantees to bring the transaction to a fruitful conclusion without really knowing how Mac worked. And yet, despite Mac's uneasiness, he took the job and the immediate payment that the man offered in the form of a thick wad of cash tucked nicely into a brown paper bag. It never dawned on him that if the man had this kind of cash, did he really need the money that he'd hired Mac to collect?

But with his whirly bird grounded and in need of repairs after running it hard during the performance of another assignment, he was desperate for the cash money that he needed to get the parts to fix it. This quick and easy assignment had put him back in the black financially which made a few of his other friends and associates equally pleased, not the least of which is his closest friend and business partner, Larry. Until he can repair his own bird, he'd been borrowing Larry's identical helicopter and although they are tight, Mac couldn't help feeling a small amount of resentment growing on Larry's part. Of course, he can't blame Larry for feeling the way he does. After all, Larry doesn't like being grounded any more than he does.

And then, it hasn't helped any that jobs have been slow in coming for a while. Not to mention that their combined tab at the pub where they spend most of their time whiling away the hours with a deck of cards and a bottle of rum was also growing. The pub's new owner mentions the tab with growing frequency and concern. And even though Mac never stiffed anyone on a debt before, his unemployment combined with his increasing alcohol consumption and steadily declining hygiene are reasons for concern and not just with the people to which he is indebted, but also his friends.

### ***

Now that you know my recent history and the reason for my being here, let's get on with the story, shall we? I'll try to stick to the facts and not brag, but no promises. Hope you enjoy.

### Prologue

Shifting my eyes from one side to the other, I quickly take in the entire scene within the dreary confines of the smoke-filled space. In my quick glance, I pegged the patrons and categorized the ones to be wary of as well as the ones that will probably run for the door if and when trouble starts. Though I expect this job to be a cakewalk, one should always know from which direction trouble is likely to come.

The floors are rough-hewn pine, the finish worn away from many years of being subject to the salt laden air spilling in through the tattered and ill-fitting double-winged doors. There is also much evidence of neglect from spilled beer, not to mention the occasional spew of vomit mixed with soggy chewing tobacco, spilt blood and rotting peanut shells.

The lighting is dim as it comes from nothing more than the effervescence of neon signs advertising their products along the rear of the bar and in the two windows facing out on the street. This lack of light suits me just fine as it allows me to move less conspicuously toward my quarry whom is sitting at a table alone, his back conspicuously facing toward the door as if he is more interested in watching something or someone at the bar.

As I move toward him, I notice that the man is nursing a bottle of light-yellow beer. Indeed, it's even sporting a slice of fruit which has sunk to the bottom in much the same way as the man's spirit appears to have. His rounded shoulders are slumped forward, his skinny forearms resting on the tabletop as if in defeat. Don't people realize that the hype of drinking a beer with fruit is just that, hype? True escape can only come in the form of drunken bliss and not simply through the act of drinking a so-called 'hip' drink.

Being a self-proclaimed authority on drinking and being drunk, the only way I would stoop to such a sissy drink is if I were dying of thirst in the middle of a desert, and then I'd still take pause. My first choice of drink is rum. But not just any rum. Only the finest that the West Indies knows how to produce is fit enough for this palette. And although I realize my penchant for rum is a weakness, in this shady world of criminals, lowlifes, and other undesirables, it seems like a very insignificant crutch to lean on and it hasn't let me down yet, despite what my friends say.

Sliding onto the seat across from the man, I look into the guy's bloodshot eyes and study them closely as they slowly come to focus on me. Judging from his sluggish reaction to my sudden appearance, it's obvious that he's been here for some time and that the bottle currently in front of him isn't his first by a long shot.

Waiting patiently, I watch while the guy's eyes continue clearing and recognition registers in the depths of his alcohol numbed mind. His words slurring, he asks, "What do you want?"

"You know why I'm here," I say softly, not wanting to draw the attention of the bartender or the single waitress perched on a stool across from the bartender, her shapely backside stretching the seams of a short white skirt and a dense clump of blonde curls tied up tightly on the back of her head.

"I don't have it," he mumbles, his eyes slipping away from mine and sliding back toward the warm beer.

Having lived on both sides of the bottle, I immediately realize that I'm being deceived by the guy and that the drunken act is nothing more than that, an act! His eyes gave him away the minute they focused on something behind me. The bloodshot appearance is nothing more than a self-inflicted irritant.

Moving quickly, I jump to my feet while simultaneously lifting the table and driving it into him with enough force to knock him over backwards, the beer bottle and a glass ashtray crashing to the scarred wooden floor.

Expecting trouble from the barkeep, I spin around to face him and not a moment too soon. Entering the area behind the bar through a small door that appears to be little more than a storage locker are two men in dark suits. The first is a big man, his shoulders every bit as wide as the door frame. The smaller of the two is already reaching beyond his breast pocket for the weapon concealed there in a shoulder harness at the same time that the big man grabs hold of the bar to pull himself over. There is no mistaking their intentions or who their attention is focused on.

This is much more than I was anticipating. The job wasn't supposed to be anything more than the collection of an outstanding gambling debt. No one said anything about gunplay or thugs in three-piece suits!

With my own firearm tucked away securely in the left saddlebag of my '58 Road Rocket, I have no choice but to dive for cover, quickly putting another table between myself and the small man behind the bar who is now waving around a gun that looks huge in his smallish hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the bartender's frantic run for the side door at the end of the bar and feel a moment of relief in knowing that he isn't a part of this. That leaves the mark and two assailants.

The waitress is also making a dash for the same door the bartender is ducking through but on the nearer side of the bar to me. She pauses almost imperceptibly and glances in my direction as if concerned for my wellbeing. For just the briefest of moments, our eyes meet and I'm both surprised by her obvious lack of fear and her strikingly beautiful features. Silhouetted against the darker wood of the bar, it doesn't escape my notice that she creates quite a fetching profile.

Like the bartender, she appears only interested in self-preservation and is moving out of the way so as not to become a statistic. But unlike me, she is moving toward the side door while I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to reach the main door and at the same time keep the mark with me until I can collect the debt that I was hired to collect. Above all else, the job comes first!

Jumping up and over the heavy wooden table that I was using for cover, I hit the floor rolling, my right hand locking around the hilt of a 6-inch boot-knife. Landing on the balls of my feet, I adjust the knife in my hand for a quick throw. Unless the mark hiding under the table or the big ape climbing over the bar draws a weapon, my primary threat is the small man in the suit with the big gun.

Rising into a crouched position, my feet planted firmly on the rough pine floor and my arm raised into a throwing position, I recognize the little man's weapon as a Glock 9-MM, a weapon capable of delivering 14 high velocity rounds in a matter of seconds. Drawing back to throw, I'm surprised and caught off guard when the gun suddenly discharges even though it isn't aimed at anything in particular which includes me. The shot lights up the bar like a bolt of lightning on a dark and stormy night followed by a large cloud of blue smoke and the pungent odor of burnt cordite.

It takes me less than a second to realize that in the little man's excitement, he accidently squeezed the trigger while waving the gun around for dramatic effect, the slug ripping through the expensive fabric of his suit coat and lodging in the big man's beefy right arm just as he propels himself off the bar-top.

The burning gunpowder spewed from the barrel sets the small man's suit on fire and he starts beating crazily at his upper chest, the gun flailing about wildly in his right hand while the big man's grip on the bar-top is broken by the impact of the slug, his heavy bulk crashing ungracefully toward the plank flooring like a duck shot in flight.

Momentarily frozen by the comedy of errors, I quickly regain my wits and turn toward the man on the floor beneath the upturned table. Having watched the same scene unfold before him as I have, the man is hurriedly scrambling away on his hands and knees, trying desperately to reach the front doors so he can make his escape before I realize he's on the move or the little guy accidently fires off another errant round in his frantic effort to put out his flaming suit.

Slipping the knife back in my boot, I pick up a wooden chair and smash it against the floor, breaking one of the wooden legs free so that I can use it as a club. In three long strides, I'm between the man on the floor and the front doors. Looking up, he realizes that his escape route has been cut off and fear turns him into a slobbering fool, breaking out in a rambling chorus of begging and whining for mercy.

After tapping him lightly on the forehead with the club to get his attention and to shut him up, I order him to his feet while simultaneously grabbing his shirt and assisting him to keep him from falling back down.

Shaking and unsteady with fear, the man leans precariously against a table for support, his hands splayed on the tabletop. "I already told you, I don't have it," he whines, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"I don't believe you," I firmly reply, slamming the chair leg down on the tabletop and smashing his little pinky. We are quickly running out of time and I'm not in the mood to play games with dirtballs.

Stunned, the man stares down at his mutilated little finger in disbelief, the pain not quite registering through the damaged nerve endings as blood spurts forth with each frantic beat of his heart.

Glancing at the bar, I make a quick mental note of what the two in suits are up to. The little weasel of a man has dropped the gun in the excitement of beating out the flare up on his chest while the big oaf is sitting on the floor in front of the bar with his legs splayed out before him while holding his injured arm against his chest in agony and trying to grasp the fact that his own partner shot him.

With the numbness swiftly dissipating and feeling the onset of pain from his mangled finger, the man cries out in anguish, his voice trembling with hurt and fear as he agrees, "All right, all right, just don't hurt me anymore."

"Where is it?" I coolly demand while lifting the chair leg for another strike. Only this time, I'm threatening his head.

When the man fails to answer fast enough for my satisfaction, I plant the splintered end of the chair leg against his forehead and press it against him, forcing his face upward until our eyes meet below the stick of wood. Speaking slowly and articulating each syllable as if trying to communicate with a slow child, I ask, "Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No, no! Please, don't hurt me anymore. I don't have it on me, but I can take you to it. I swear. Just don't hurt me anymore," he pleads.

Slowly, I relinquish the pressure against his forehead with the chair leg until he slumps forward. For a moment, he staggers unsteadily on his feet before regaining his balance. Cradling his injured hand in the other, he pleads again, "Please, I've had enough. I'll take you to it, just don't hurt me anymore."

Glancing toward the bar, I realize that if I don't get a move on it soon, the two thugs are liable to regain their composure and readdress their assault toward me. For the moment, they are too consumed with their own plight to pay any attention to anything else, but that could change at any moment.

Looking toward the doors and seeing the pathway clear, I order the man to lead the way while holding the chair leg in a threatening manner. He pauses only briefly to glance back at the bar. When he doesn't see any help forthcoming, he stumbles toward the door, the chair leg prodding him to keep moving.

I wasn't prepared for this turn of events and silently curse myself for not having thought it through to this conclusion. I can't very well make the man ride on the rear of the bike and yet, I can't just abandon the bike either. Not because I'm afraid of something happening to it, but more so because it can be traced directly back to me by both the police and any other interested parties.

"Yeah," I think grimly, silently chastising myself. "You, didn't think this one through at all. Maybe my friends are right to be worried about me. Maybe I am hitting the rum a little too hard. I should have done more research on this new client instead of grabbing up the bag of money without asking any questions. Am I really so desperate? Damn it all to Hell."

The arrival of men with guns wearing suits means there's a definite possibility that there are other interested parties involved here besides my client. It would probably be prudent to find out who the other players are before I get himself in any deeper.

But what do I do now? If I instruct the man to drive his own vehicle, there is no way I can keep a short leash on him. Without a doubt the guy has probably figured out that I don't have a gun on me. So what's to stop him from making a run for it? Yeah, I could surprise the guy and shoot out his tires which will draw even more unwanted attention. And even then, I'm still in the same predicament that I am now.

I suppose I could retrieve my gun and brandish it in front of him before I let him drive off, hoping to intimidate him into doing what I ask. But the guy probably isn't thinking too clearly right now and will probably just make a break for it anyway. What then?

So how do I force the man to take me to the money without leaving the bike behind? And although the fact that a prized bottle of West Indies rum lies vulnerable in the saddlebags, the thought of leaving it behind weighing briefly on my mind, I don't let it distract me.

Standing in the thick swirling fog just outside the doors, the deserted street glistening wetly in the dark from the glare of well-spaced street lamps, I'm trying to decide my next move when the waitress from the bar suddenly materializes out of the mist. For a brief moment, I all but forget the situation I'm in and become completely absorbed by the confident grace and swing of her hips as she strides toward me.

Although we'd made fleeting eye contact earlier in the bar, in the dim and hazy light I hadn't realized the extent of either her beauty or her fine, lithesome physique. Her blonde hair, a mass of tight curls made even tighter by the moisture-laden air is tied back with a narrow band of white material. But the headband isn't the part of the ensemble that draws my attention. There is also the tight fitting blouse accentuating her firm, full breasts and the tighter fitting, short white skirt. Her hips are well defined with a shapely ass that moves seductively on the high end of a beautiful pair of muscular thighs and firm calves climbing out of dirty white sneakers that she obviously wears for comfort. Even under the circumstances I currently find myself, I'm aware of a growing discomfort in the front of my jeans.

Leaning unsteadily against the dark sedan that he'd driven to the bar, the man realizes my dilemma and turns a laughing smirk toward me, the pain in his left hand having subsided to a dull throb. "Now whatcha gonna do, hotshot?" he spits, feeling control over his destiny returning and with it an inflated sense of courage.

"He's gonna follow us on his bike, Dipshit," the woman boldly states, not taking her eyes off me.

Using a police move that I immediately recognize, she grabs the man's left arm and twists it up behind his back, the new pain eliciting a sharp protest that she immediately cuts off with even greater pressure.

"Give me your belt and I'll tie him into the back seat," she orders authoritatively, sizing me up with an approving look as though I'm nothing more than a side of beef with potential.

Watching her with growing interest and desire, I quickly do as she requests, pausing only briefly when handing her the item and asking, "Why should I trust you?"

"It appears to me, you don't really have much choice," she says with a wink, accepting the proffered belt and fastening it around the man's wrists behind his back before looping it through the guy's own belt and clasping the buckle to keep it tight.

I notice that the little finger is still bleeding, the gelatinous red liquid hiding the mangled and discolored flesh. I'd actually done more damage than I'd intended, but it got the guy's attention and that was after all my main intention.

Rummaging through the man's pockets, she retrieves the keys to the sedan as well as his wallet. "Let's get out of here before those two goons inside realize they can still shoot," she says with a smile, enjoying the fact that she's in control for the moment and holding the upper hand. "Someone has probably called the cops too," she adds.

Smiling back at her, I open the rear door and roughly force the man into the back seat before giving her another thorough going over. She's not the only one that can appraise a fine cut of beef.

With each look I give her, she appears even better looking. With a knowing smile, she slowly turns away from me as if in the middle of making up her mind about something and then suddenly picks up the tempo as if having come to a decision. Moving fast, she hurries around the front of the car to the driver's door and then stops. Staring after her, I feel a tightening in my chest and sexual desire welling up in my loins.

Standing on the street, she hesitates at the door and looks back at me over the hood. Although I sense she is reading my amoral thoughts, she throws me a quizzical smile and asks, "What is it? Are you coming or not?"

Before I can answer, she flings open the door and climbs in behind the wheel. For just the briefest of moments, I would have sworn she winked at me. But then I just as quickly doubt what I'd seen and blame it on the mist blurring my vision.

Hurriedly, I move toward my bike, the sound of the sedan's engine roaring to life even before I reach it. As I kick the old Beazer over, the sedan's rear wheels break loose on the pavement and hum against the mist-slicked surface. I'm releasing the clutch and accelerating at the same time as the tires on the sedan find purchase on the wet surface and rockets forward. Close on her tail, we shoot away down the street in a roar of engines and damp exhaust fumes. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the door just beginning to open and then we are past it and hanging a sharp left at the first cross street, the car in front of me kicking up a dampening spray of mist from the pavement and forcing me to squint my eyes almost shut against it just to keep her tail lights in sight.

We travel at a dangerous rate of speed for several blocks, first shooting up one street and then down another. After several more zigs and zags in which she seems familiar with the streets as she never goes up any blind alleys, the sedan suddenly brakes hard and swerves down a narrow side street. The waterfront area is now well behind us and we are in a district of old warehouses and dilapidated factories that are no longer producing anything but vermin.

Close on the heels of the sedan, I am surprised when it suddenly skids to a halt and the blonde jumps out of the driver's side door and ducks for cover behind an old steel dumpster, long since left and forgotten in this dark and dreary portal of abandonment.

Braking hard, I slide the rear end of the bike to the right and drag my left foot to maintain my balance and stay upright on the wet surface. The inside of the sedan flashes brightly as if someone is taking pictures with a flash. Two bright flashes are quickly followed by a third, highlighting the interior of the vehicle and silhouetting the man in the back seat. He is in an upright position, his hands no longer secured behind him as he turns and brings what appears to be a small handgun to bear on me.

Without thinking, I let the bike drop beneath me and ride it down to the pavement, falling below his line of vision through the side window of the car. Sparks fly from the foot peg and handle grip as they careen along the coarse pavement, their individual rubber protectors immediately chewed away by the rough asphalt surface.

Instinctively, I reach into the saddlebag on the high side of the downed machine and withdraw several items even before she has come to a final resting place. Among the items is my favored 357-magnum handgun. Protected from the gunman in the rear seat of the sedan by the bulk of the trunk, I raise the gun in my right hand and snap off three shots in rapid succession, taking out the rear window of the sedan while never raising my head high enough to see if I'm hitting anything within it or not or even if the guy is even still in it. It isn't my intention to kill the bastard, I just want him to return fire, drawing his attention away from the girl hiding behind the dumpster.

It works! Two more shots ricochet off the hood followed immediately by the click-click-click of a hammer striking spent shell casings.

Almost casually, I rise to my full height of six feet four inches and look into the smoke-filled interior of the sedan through the vacant rear window, my magnum leveled at the outline of the man's head in the murky shadows. When he sees me looking down the snub-nosed barrel of my weapon, he turns toward the door and grasps frantically for the handle in a wild attempt to run for it.

"You set one foot outside that car and I swear to God, you're a dead man," I say with conviction.

In a show of defeat, he slumps back against the rear seat and sits in silence. "You can come out from behind that dumpster," I say softly, moving around the rear of the car and putting myself between it and the dumpster.

When there isn't any answer, my heart begins to race as thoughts of the worst possible scenarios suddenly bloom and race through the forefront of my mind, the most obvious being that she has taken a bullet. "Stay put!" I angrily order the man sitting silently in the rear seat. "Or by God, I'll put a bullet through your damned head."

With a racing heart, my breath held tightly in my chest, I lower my weapon and dart around to the side of the dumpster, already convinced that I'm going to find her in a pool of her own blood.

Instead, she is lying on her side and stirring as if coming out of a deep sleep. She turns toward me as I drop down on my knees and gently take her upper body in my hands and raise her head and shoulders up to my lap. There is a small trickle of blood running down the side of her face from a gash on her temple, but no evidence of a bullet wound.

Without thinking, I rip half the sleeve from my left arm and tenderly dab at the source of the blood. She winces involuntarily at my touch and I feel her pain as if it is my own. "Are you alright? Can you hear me?" I asked nervously, afraid that she won't be able to answer me.

Stirring from the sound of my voice, she blinks a few times, trying to focus on my face. "Mac? Is that you?" she stutters, her voice growing stronger with each word.

Taken aback, I tense for a moment before asking the obvious, "How do you know me?"

"It's a long story. I'll explain later after we get that dirtball to tell us where he stashed it." She hesitates for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain in her head and then looks at me and adds with a forced smile, "Name's Edna, but you can just call me Eddy, Eddy Lotto."

"I'm going to hold you to that explanation, Eddy. But you're right, first things first."

Although I desperately need to know what is going on, I'm aware of a rising anger over the growing possibility that I'd been used unwittingly in someone else's scheme, a scheme that almost got me killed. At the very least it got my bike messed up. But just looking at her lying in my arms, her hair disheveled with blood smeared down the side of her face, there's no way I can stay angry. She looks so helpless and in need of succor that my heart automatically goes out to her with empathy and concern, even if she weren't so damned hot looking.

"Can you stand?" I gently inquire, my voice soft with kindness and concern.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she answers gruffly, trying to pull free of my support. "I must have hit my head when I dove for cover behind this trash bin."

Wanting to hold on to her for as long as I can, yet feeling self-conscious for feeling that way toward someone I'd just met. Before letting go of her, I stand up and help her to her feet. When she wobbles and reaches out to steady herself, I grab her firmly beneath the arms and guide her to the front of the car where she reaches out to steady herself before turning around and leaning back against the grill with her arms down and her hands on the hood behind her.

For a long moment, she balances unsteadily on her feet using the car for a crutch and then raises her eyes to mine and with a rasp in her speech says, "You can let go of me now."

Without realizing it, I was still holding her on either side of her chest with my thumbs pressed firmly against the flesh of her breasts. "I'm sorry," I stammer embarrassedly, jerking my hands away and then holding them self-consciously.

Looking away before she can see the rising color in my face, I glance through the windshield and note that the man is still sitting slumped down and silent in the rear seat. All earlier signs of spit and fire having drained from him. "Sit tight," I say softly, walking around to the driver's side of the sedan and pulling the rear door open. "Get out of there!" I brusquely order the man. When he doesn't move fast enough, I reach in and grab him by the collar and ungraciously yank him out onto the ground. When he rises unsteadily to his feet, I grab him by the arm and roughly spin him around and throw him up against the side of the vehicle before planting my shoulder in his solar plexus with enough force to drive the wind out of him.

"Here's his wallet," Eddy suddenly says from where she's standing next to the fender, having fished the man's wallet out of the front pocket of her waitress skirt. Leaning forward, she hands it to me and then quickly turns back to the car for support, her legs quivering with the effort of merely standing.

"Go ahead and get behind the wheel, Eddy," I gently order her as I accept the wallet, concerned that she's suffering from a concussion. "I can handle this."

Defiantly, she protests, "I'll be alright."

"I'm sure you will be, but I need you to drive. We can't stay here all night. And besides," I pause to flip the wallet open and check the ID before continuing, "John here has somewhere to show us. Don't you, John?" I finish, turning back to face the man while studying his driver's license in the opened wallet.

The light is poor and it takes me a minute longer to make out the rest. "John Crane," I continue, straining to see. "It says here that you live on Belmont Street. Isn't that out near the airfield?" When he doesn't respond, I continue, "Maybe we should take a ride out there and see just what kind of a place you keep. I'm betting it's a slovenly pit."

"That ain't necessary," he quickly spouts. "Keep my family out of this."

In a conciliatory tone of voice, I press on, "We'll be more than glad to do that. All you have to do in return is give us what we asked for."

"I can't do that," he argues, the realization of defeat further draining the fire from his voice.

"Sure you can," Eddy purrs sensuously, sidling up next to me to get a better look at the man's ID. The touch of her body against mine is distracting me and I have to concentrate on the sound of her voice to keep from growing hard.

"You feeling better?" I ask of her, noticing the return of the confident sway of her hips.

Ignoring me as if I'm not even there, she says in a voice that is all business, "John, you do what this man here asks of you and we'll just be one big happy family. All you have to do is play your cards right and your lovely little wife and kids will never be the wiser. Now doesn't that sound simple enough?"

Her cold, calculating demeanor takes me aback. Considering she was just a waitress slash barmaid less than an hour earlier, she is acting like one cool cucumber now. In my business, you learn to recognize the players pretty damn quick or you end up dead even quicker. Is it possible she's a player? She did know my name, after all.

Before I can follow this train of thought too far, I suddenly find myself wondering if she can turn her emotions off so easily out here on the cold, wet streets, can she just as easily turn them on in a soft, warm bed? And if she can, will she be as extremely passionate as she is dispassionate now? For obvious reasons, I am suddenly even more intrigued than I had been at first sight of her. This might just be the dame that I'd been subconsciously looking for all my life.

"You can't do this," he argues, his emotions torn between fear and disbelief at what is happening to him.

"Right now, John, we can do damn well anything we fucking please and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it," I continue with the threat, sensing that he is faltering and on the verge of breaking.

"If I talk to you, he'll kill me," he says, his voice betraying his defeat. "He'll know it was me and I'm as good as dead."

"It's not like we're going to tell him," Eddy says, exasperated and growing impatient.

"Where's the money?" I ask, still believing that I can collect the debt I'd been hired to collect and go on about my business.

"What's this money you keep going on about?" he asks, clearly confused.

It doesn't escape my attention that Eddy grows quiet and slowly moves away, putting a little distance between us. But just because I'm noting it and logging away the information subconsciously, doesn't mean I'm putting any importance to it. After all, she is just a waitress from a seedy little waterfront tavern. Her job is serving warm beer and stale sandwiches to the hardworking men that drift in off the sea. Without a doubt, she's been around some tough characters and she's learned a lesson or two along the way. That would surely explain the cool exterior she's been exhibiting with this gent.

"Just give us a location and if it pans out, we all go our merry way," I continue, ignoring his plea of ignorance.

"I don't know anything about any money," he vehemently argues. "You must have me confused with someone else. I was just told to meet someone at the pub and then they would take over from there. The job didn't pay much, but I have some heavy debts and I'm being leaned on pretty heavily, if you know what I mean." He draws in a deep breath and adds, "Honestly, I don't know anything about any money. When you showed up and put your face in mine, I just assumed you were the mark I was supposed to meet up with. And then when those two idiots came in through that door behind the bar, I thought I'd done my part and I was good to go. I swear to you, that's the truth and all I know."

He seems to be playing the stupid card a bit heavily and I'm beginning to feel the same as Eddy, exasperated and impatient. If he doesn't cough up a location where we can find the money and soon, I'm going to resort to using measures more drastic than I'd intended and I really didn't want to mark the man up so that he would have to explain it to his kids.

Of course, I'm assuming that he really does have a wife and kids and that the kids are old enough to recognize a beating. For all I know, everything he's said thus far might be nothing more than a pack of lies to reinforce his cover.

Shoving him hard in the back so that he bounces off the hood of the car, I'm about to get forceful when another sedan comes screeching around the corner, entering the alley at a high rate of speed. Instinctively, I turn to warn Eddy but she's nowhere in sight.

With the sedan bearing down on us at a high rate of speed, I barely have time to shove John aside and dive for safety before a volley of lead from a fully automatic weapon pelts the wall behind and on either side of me, the sound of ricocheting bullets whining through the air and buzzing like a swarm of hornets around my head.

Without realizing that I'm even moving, I strike the ground rolling for cover behind the trash dumpster when the sedan collides into the rear of the parked car. To the sound of ripping and buckling metal mixed with crashing glass, John's body strikes the ground next to me, his eyes already glazing over with the onset of death as bloody bubbles gurgle from his chest in several places. It doesn't take a genius to realize that he was the target of the gunman in the sedan.

Both vehicles grow quiet, the hissing of escaping steam from a ruptured radiator the only sound in the alley while I peer cautiously from around the dumpster. John's sedan rolled forward from the impetus of the impact, stopping just beyond the dumpster. To my amazement, the other car's driver is even with me and I see him slumped over the steering wheel in a pose that makes him appear to be hugging a deflated airbag. The shooter in the passenger's seat has his hands on the driver's shoulders and is shaking him in an attempt to bring him around.

Still groggy from having impacted his head with the steering wheel, the driver slowly rolls his head in my direction and looks out the side window. Recognition is instantaneous; it's the man that hired me to collect the bad debt.

The starter suddenly grinds and surprisingly the engine roars back to life. In my moment of incomprehension, the driver pulls the shift lever into reverse and accelerates back out of the alley.

Stunned, I look on as the big car brakes to a stop before the driver slams the lever back into drive and shoots off in the direction from which it came.

Moving stiffly, I pull myself to my feet and slip the magnum into the waistband of my pants. Stooping, I check to make sure John Crane has really drawn his last breath. It doesn't really matter to me one way or the other since I obviously have no debt to collect. If I'm correct in my assumption it would appear that my true part in this scenario was nothing more than that of being the bird dog for a hit man. And frankly, the understanding wasn't sitting too well with me.

Moving slowly down the alley toward my bike with but one thought on my mind and that is to get out of here before the law arrives, I'm relieved to see that the big sedan missed it entirely.

Reaching down, I summon the strength in my back and limbs and slowly right it. Throwing my right leg over the saddle, I feel for the kickstand and from habit, knock it down and lean the bike on it. Only then do I realize that a good-looking dame in a tight fitting waitress outfit that barely covers her ass as well as restrain her breasts is nowhere to be seen.

More concerned that I might be missing out on a fine piece of tail than her personal safety, I dismount the bike and hike forward, studying the darker shadows along the walls to either side for her. Not trying to rationalize the archaic and politically incorrect way I feel, I just assume that she is cowering somewhere and waiting for a man like me to come along and rescue her. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

With a growing sense of urgency, I'm turning back toward my bike when Eddy's voice suddenly asks from the darkness, "Do you always give up so easily?"

Humiliated by her remark, I grasp clumsily for a proper response and only come up with the truth. "I thought you were long gone. What are you still doing here?"

"Don't try to tell me that you weren't worried about me or where I'd gotten off to because I know you'll be lying," she says with confidence, putting me in my place.

In the distance is the rising sound of sirens and I would be a liar if I said that I didn't find their wailing a bit of a relief. Instead of replying to her awkward remark, I determine instead that it is time to make tracks. Throwing my leg over the seat of my bike, I extend my right hand and indicate for her to climb on. Without hesitation, she takes my hand and throws her leg over the seat behind me, the action causing her skirt to rise up even higher on her thighs. Casually, I reach down to the saddle bag beneath her right thigh, the back of my hand skillfully sliding along the softness of her flesh on her inner thigh before reaching into the bag. Before she can remark, I extract my leather jacket and hand it to her. Without a word, she gratefully accepts the jacket and immediately throws it over her shoulders and slips her arms into the sleeves while leaving me to wonder if she would have stopped me had my hand gone any further up her thigh.

Moving gracefully, her hands slide around my waist and her firm thighs squeeze tightly against my hips as if she were riding a stallion. Even with the leather jacket between us, I can feel the pressure of her breasts pressing against my back and I'd be a liar if I didn't confess to liking the feel of them.

The bike growls to life and I knock it into gear with a gentle nudge from my foot. In a moment, we are flying along through the wet, cool mist, the city streets gliding past beneath the wheels of the classic ride. We have the address from John Crane's wallet in our heads as we left the ID and wallet along with a dead John Crane in our past. With no other leads to follow, I head in that direction, confident that the cops will be along behind us soon enough. It never dawns on me that Eddy might be able to shed a little light on the situation if I weren't so distracted that it hadn't crossed my mind to question her.

The night's chill is penetrating through the worn cotton shirt while the woman straddling my ride squeezes me tighter in an attempt to draw a little heat for herself from my chilled body.

Turning my face to the side and saying over my shoulder, "We'll be there shortly," I am surprised to find her face so close to mine.

Despite the cold and damp of the night, I feel a growing heat in my loins just from the nearness of her. It would thrill me to no end to take her to a nice warm motel and share a long hot shower and a tall dram or two of rum with her. Yet despite such thoughts keep my blood near boiling, I'm not foolish enough to give them any serious credence. Just as soon as I find out why the man that hired me to collect a debt from John Crane also killed him, she'll be back home and out of my life.

To my surprise, the thought of her being out of my life so soon sends a depressing chill down my spine. For the first time in a long time, I've come across a woman of substance and character, not to mention extremely good looks and a well-developed body. It only seems like a damn shame that she shouldn't have more opportunity to get to know me better! But then she did know my name before I even had the opportunity to introduce myself. That's something that she hasn't explained yet.

In less than thirty minutes, we enter a new development on the east side of town where every house suddenly looks like the one next to it, especially under the hazy cloak of darkness and the lack of adequate street lighting. The only visible light at this time of night is being cast from a solitary street lamp on the corner of each block as the dark windows in the houses cast our reflection back at us like polished obsidian.

Although I am not familiar with the area, I trust to my instincts and slowly cruise along in the dark while listening to the deep, throaty sound combined with the powerful vibration of the long-stroke engine reverberating up through the patent leather of the seat.

Were it not for the leather chaps, I would be soaked through to the skin. Unfortunately for Eddy on the seat behind me, she has only what protection and heat my own jacket can offer. Even above the vibration of the engine, I feel her body vibrating to its own rhythm and imagine her teeth chattering within her beautiful head.

"We're almost there," I casually remark over my shoulder, again finding her face almost touching mine.

"It won't be soon enough," she stutters in my ear, an unmistakable hint of annoyance coming through loud and clear.

Though I'm taking a sadistic satisfaction in her discomfort, I'm not really a heartless man. Maybe it's be the way she's clinging so desperately to me for any semblance of warmth that she might draw through my clothing. Or maybe something even more basic than that. It might just be the fact that her discomfort appeals to me because I know that very soon I will be able to remedy it and my own at the same time. There's something about a woman with needs that appeals to me on so many levels.

Plodding along at a steady pace so as not to draw any unwanted attention to our passing, we slowly draw closer to the address. Very soon cops will be tearing through these streets with their sirens wailing and waking up the inhabitants of the dark houses. Yet, no one will remember the stretched out motorcycle with two people straddling it, the passenger an off-work waitress in a very revealing skirt and leather jacket. They will only wonder what catastrophe they'll be hearing about on the early morning news.

### **1**

The house is a nondescript contemporary of upper middle class appeal, no different from the multitude of others we passed on the way to it. Before pulling over and parking along the curb, I cruise past before turning around and coming back, facing the bike in the same direction from which we approached but across the street from the house. Acting casually, I slip my leg over the seat and turn to give Eddy a hand.

"Don't act like we don't belong," I say barely above a whisper.

"I'm cold and wet, not stupid," she softly retorts, an edge to her voice that wasn't there earlier.

Writing it off to the cold and discomfort she's feeling, I head toward the front door as if arriving at an old friend's place with her close on my heels. "Whoops," I say jovially, stopping and turning back toward the bike. "I almost forgot the housewarming gift."

It seemed logical, judging by the age of the development that most of the inhabitants were new around here and probably didn't know their neighbors too well yet. But what I really wanted was the bottle of rum in case our dead Mr. Crane didn't have any libations in the house.

"What are you doing?" Eddy snorts impatiently, not understanding or knowing about my weakness for good rum. Before I can answer her, she demands, "Where are you going?"

Reaching the bike, I pull open the left saddlebag and withdraw a bottle still wrapped with the brown paper bag compliments of the liquor store.

As I draw up next to her on the sidewalk leading to the front door, she is standing with her hands planted firmly on her hips, a look of pure astonishment and disbelief on her face. From the wet mist and wind whipped from riding on the back of the bike, her blonde curls are plastered to her bright pink cheeks.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she hisses, her anger sparkling like fireworks in her eyes. "The cops are going to be here any minute and you're getting ready to start a party. I don't believe this!"

Smiling disarmingly at her, I condescendingly reply as I stroll by, "I don't understand why you're so upset. It's not as if I haven't invited you."

She stands on the sidewalk a moment longer as if trying to decide whether to start walking down the street or follow me inside. Although I am hoping beyond hope that she decides to follow, I've already decided that I'll turn around and chase after her if she decides to walk away. After all, I still haven't figured out how she knew who I was back at the bar.

Too my immense relief, she turns haughtily and follows me to the front door. The windows beyond are dark and I get no feeling of movement from within. Slipping my one and only credit card between the door and the jam, I slip the bolt and move quickly yet cautiously into the deeper darkness within. My police training kicks in and I slide to the left the minute I am past the threshold of the door

Eddy, although portraying to be a waitress on this particular night, glides in behind me before slipping off to the right and leaving the gaping doorway devoid of shadows or silhouettes for a gunman to sight on. It's a move that came natural to me because of my intensive training and background. Now I have one more question for her and that is if she can say the same?

Of course, there's always the possibility that in the wee hours of the morning after working a long, hard shift on her feet dealing with inconsiderate assholes and poor tippers, she might like to kick off her flats and watch old police dramas. It wouldn't take many nights alone watching the genre to adopt a few of their more obvious moves and techniques. This would be especially true if you were bored with your occupation and dreamed of something more glamorous and exciting.

The deceased Mr. Crane had mentioned a wife and kids and yet this dwelling seemed deserted. In fact, there wasn't even any furniture to be seen hiding in the darkness. The place was vacant.

"This was the address on his license, wasn't it?" I softly inquire of Eddy.

"I'm certain of it," she states flatly, all hint of her former anger having been replaced with a cold business-like demeanor. In the dark, a vision of her crouching forward with a handgun held out before her as if ready to take down a bad man flashes before my eyes.

Several quick blinks and the vision dissipates as if fog. Instead, I see her standing next to the stairs leading to the second floor. Before I can say anything, she says, "I'll check upstairs, you take the main floor." And then, as if the thought just struck her, she adds in the same business-like tone of voice, "Don't forget to check the garage."

"Yes, mam," I reply, throwing her an unseen salute from my brow.

There is just enough light from the corner streetlamp to watch her progress up the stairs and I take a moment to enjoy her lithe movement from the rear before turning toward what I suspect is the kitchen. Her voice stops me in my tracks as she calls softly over her shoulder without turning back, "Now that you've had an eyeful, don't forget to check the bedrooms."

Mumbling obscenities under my breath, I reply sarcastically, "Damned right I'll check the bedrooms, but you'll never find me in yours."

Before she can reply, I move off through the door leading into the kitchen. Since I'm certain the neighbors saw us approach, I determine it prudent turning on the lights and continuing the charade of acting as if we belong. The bright glare momentarily blinds me and I squint around the room, quickly locating the access door to the mud/utility room that more than likely leads on into the garage.

Stepping quickly since there isn't anything in the kitchen to detain me, I move through the empty mudroom and swing open the garage door.

Sitting in the garage is a brand new Rover with the temporary sticker still on the side window. After quickly stepping down two bare-wooden steps, I am standing on the smooth concrete floor and looking into the passenger side window.

As I'd expected when first setting eyes on the shiny new machine, the keys are in the ignition. This isn't the first phony setup I've seen in both my days as a homicide detective or since working as a private investigator. The house is nothing more than a front; an address for registering an escape vehicle or registering fake children in a local school. If John Crane really did have a wife and kids, they probably weren't anywhere near this place.

I was about to turn back toward the kitchen and find Eddy when she suddenly steps into the doorway. "What'd you find?"

"It's all a front," I say quickly, going to move past her curious gaze. "Nothing more than an address and a set of wheels in case he needed to get out of town fast."

"I guess he didn't get out of town fast enough," she says almost flippantly.

Her attitude seems much too relaxed for a waitress finding herself involved in a murder. But I don't have time to analyze it just yet. Hopefully, later on when we're alone and in the comfort of my West Indies rum, she'll open up to me and tell me a little bit more about herself. Maybe then I can put this uneasy feeling about her to rest and we can move on to a more intimate relationship.

It never dawns on me that we might not be compatible or that she might prefer not having anything to do with me. For the moment, those types of thoughts are only counterproductive.

When I reach the kitchen, I realize that she hasn't followed me and I turn back toward the garage. "Come on," I say sharply, getting her attention. She has moved around to the far side of the Rover and is opening the door.

"This is a nice car," she says, ignoring my command while admiring the soft leather with a swipe of her hand across the seat.

"Have you forgotten that the cops are on their way?" I implore calmly, trying to instill a little haste in her.

"To your left," she says wistfully, nodding toward the left of the doorway. "Click it so we can get the hell out of here."

Understanding settles in immediately. "You're not taking the rover, Eddy. For all we know there's already a BOLO out for it."

"It's brand new, Mac. Except for the dead Mr. Crane and the salesman that sold it, no one even knows it exists!" she argues, throwing herself behind the wheel, her face lighting up with excitement and anticipation.

"You're nuts!" I call out to her while flipping the switch and setting the door mechanism into motion.

The engine roars to life and she drops it into reverse, accelerating down the drive and out into the street before locking up the tires in a slide. As I flip the switch to close the door, I see her smiling back at me, her face lit up by the light from the garage door opener. This time the sparkle in her eyes isn't anger but the exhilaration of the moment. Looking away, she hits the gas and the tires break loose on the wet pavement. Before I can ask her where she's going, the Rover races down the street and out of my range of vision.

Not waiting for the door to close, I hurry back through the empty kitchen, pausing only long enough to turn off the lights and grab my rum before scrambling awkwardly through the living room and being thankful that there isn't any furniture to trip over as I'm guided only by the weak light filtering in through the open door from the streetlamp down the street.

Even as I reach the curb and secure the rum back in the saddlebag with a fleeting moment of regret at what could have been, I can hear the far off wail of sirens. Reaching down to flick out the kick-start pedal, I'm suddenly aware of a vehicle drawing up beside me at a high rate of speed. Skidding to a halt abreast of me, Eddy leans out of the open window and says, "Three-oh-eight High Street. I'll be waiting."

Before I can answer, she hits the gas and takes off like a rocket, her spray from the racing tires sending up a fine mist of moisture. To myself, I huffily remark under my breath, "When pigs fly."

Though I set off in the opposite direction, I know without a doubt that my destination is three-oh-eight High Street. There is something about Eddy that both troubles and intrigues me and I'm determined to find out exactly what it is. Moreover, she was in the pub when I arrived, which means she might know something about this whole situation that I don't. And if others besides myself were able to track him down, why did they need to hire me? And still niggling under my skin is the question of how Eddy knew my name. Oh yeah, I was going to three-oh-eight High Street all right. And when I got there, someone was going to answer my questions one way or the other.

Driving as if heading home after a late dinner date, I cruise through the soggy neighborhood without incident and head back out toward the coastal highway and familiar territory. Although this isn't home turf, I've done enough business here over the years to have grown intimately familiar with the older, more established areas of town. So when I see the intersection for the highway directly ahead of me, I hang a left on a side street and maneuver my way south on a course that gradually brings me out on High street. It is a time consuming and circuitous route, but it keeps me clear of the more traveled highway where eyes might be on the lookout for a lone biker or even a biker with a hot waitress wearing little more than a short tight skirt and leather jacket. Hell, just the memory of her is making me hard.

When I am less than a block from house number three-oh-eight, I sidle up to the curb and kill the gently throbbing engine. The house adjacent to her address has at least four cars in the drive and several more around back. Some appear as rusted-out lawn ornaments while others are in varying stages of disassembly. All in all, she lives in what appears at first glance to be a neighborhood in decline and I can't help but feel that at least my bike won't draw any undue attention here.

Swinging my leg over the seat, I stoop down and withdraw a small leather ditty bag from the right saddlebag before retrieving the brown paper sack containing the bottle of rum from the one on the left. The bag is damp and disintegrating, the lighter-colored label of the bottle showing through in places.

With the ditty bag in my left hand and the bottle grasped securely by the neck in my right, I casually stroll along the curb while thinking maybe there's a chance for this night to work out yet as I head toward the two-storied, wood-framed structure across the street. The sidewalk is crumbling all along its length and completely overgrown in places so I remain on the pavement, all the while fighting the urge to kick at the accumulation of litter that has collected in the leeward slope of the weathered street. Without a doubt, the immature urge stems from some childhood memory of playing kick the can or some such nonsense.

The cool damp air brings out another urge in me also, one that I had all but forgotten over time. It is the longing for a cigarette and I am caught up in the nostalgic memory when it suddenly dawns on me that the memory is being triggered by the smell of a freshly lit smoke wafting gently on the damp air.

Without missing a step, my senses grow wary of the immediate surroundings and I glance furtively from side to side, alarms ringing loudly in my head while the small hairs prick up at the nape of my neck. Someone is watching me. But whom? And Why?

Could it be something as innocent as a curious neighbor, discreetly concealed behind the curtains in the house across the street? Or is it something more nefarious?

Either way, I am instantly cautious without giving any outward indication. My instincts have kept me alive more times than I care to remember: I've learned never to ignore them.

Eddy lives in exactly the type of neighborhood I had expected of a minimum wage waitress trying to make ends meet on her own. Seedy, rundown, low-income or welfare recipients making up the bulk of its inhabitants while drug dealers and crack-heads filled out the remainder. I'd seen many more just like her in my past. Always, they view themselves as the outsider, the struggling innocent working their way toward something better. And giving credit where credit is due, a few have actually managed to move out of their dreary surroundings and improve their lot through diligence and hard work. While still others only continue the struggle until one day they concede that their situation is never going to change and they become just like their neighbors, a people without hope.

Having met Eddy, I can honestly say there isn't any sense of desperate hope surrounding her. In fact, she doesn't seem to fit into this neighborhood even on a temporary basis. And that realization starts me thinking afresh. So just what the Hell is she doing here if not struggling to get out?

Acting casual, I flip a glance over my shoulder in the general direction of my bike. It's a natural appearing action that shouldn't tip my hand to the secretive onlookers and make them aware that I know they're watching me. In that glance, I scan the structures opposite Eddy's place and then just as quickly turn my attention to study the houses on Eddy's side of the street. In the house directly before Eddy's and adjacent to my current position, I catch the furtive movement of a patterned curtain in a part of the building that is more than likely a kitchen window.

The movement proves out my suspicions that I'm being watched. Yet whoever it is that's hiding behind the curtain, I'm pretty confident that it's not the smoker that first tipped me off.

Faking a stumble, I quickly catch myself and then bend over and reach for my left ankle while cursing softly as if I'd just twisted it. Feigning pain and continuing to curse softly under my breath, I stand as a lame horse while casually turning sideways and furtively taking in the area directly surrounding me. Only then do I catch the dim glow of someone inhaling on a cigarette and recognize it immediately for what it is.

Sitting on their haunches next to one of the rusted out hulks of metal lining the side of the drive leading up to the house across from my bike is an individual smoking a cigarette. From their position beside the rusted out hulk it would be difficult to see Eddy's house directly. But it does afford them the ability to see everyone that comes and goes from it.

The questions just keep piling up as I ask myself why someone would be watching Eddy's place.

More than likely the place surrounded by rusting junk is inhabited by drug dealers or tweakers and it is nothing more than a simple coincidence that their security is keeping an eye on me and it has nothing to do with Eddy's place.

This line of thought seems much more plausible than suspecting that someone might find any value in keeping tabs on a waitress that works in a shabby part of town serving drunken sailors and fishermen.

Unless, of course, that waitress is connected in ways that I haven't even begun to surmise!

When someone uses me to birddog a man so he can be murdered, everything becomes plausible. It might also be a lot more than coincidence that a waitress whom is a very desirable woman gets involved in a case that I'm working on when everyone that knows me at all knows about my weakness for hot women. Throw a hot woman in the mix and my thought processes go all haywire like a regular old horn-dog. To say that a beautiful woman can easily distract me would be the understatement of the year.

There are just too many coincidences piling up of late and I'm growing a little weary of them. Eddy's going to have a lot of explaining to do the first chance I get her alone.

Making a mental note of the locations from which I'm being watched, I continue on toward the address Eddy gave me while suddenly wondering if it really is her place or just another twist in the game that I'm finding myself caught up in. Either way, I intend on getting to the bottom of this mess and right now the most direct route there is straight ahead.

### **2**

Tucking the bottle securely beneath my left arm, I use my free hand to reach casually into the zippered ditty bag and locate the comforting grip of the .357 magnum handgun. Moving the bag close to my stomach, I slip the gun out and secret it into the front of my waistband so that it is within easy reach if I should need it in a hurry. All that remains in the bag now is a new toothbrush, a half tube of toothpaste, and a barely used stick of deodorant. Everything is disposable and won't leave any trace of its prior owner unless someone is determined enough to run a DNA check on the deodorant. Since it no longer appears that I'm going to be spending a warm, cozy evening with Eddy in the comfort of her bedroom, I ditch the bag along with the few remaining contents in the street along with all the other garbage.

My mood no longer reflects the anticipation of indulgence with Eddy and her voluptuously enticing womanhood. Instead, I am anticipating a different type of meeting with her altogether.

When I step up in front of the address, I study the peeling green paint and splintered front steps of what was once a substantial dwelling; a dwelling that probably housed a hard working man and his family in its day.

Tonight, it no longer looks substantial. Its once grandiose charm and solid wood framing has been eaten through by termites and carpenter ants. Further up the wall, the stained glass in the window panes not covered over with plywood have been crisscrossed with masking tape to prevent the shattered pieces from falling onto the rotting deck of the veranda style front porch. It looks like a good wind would blow the entire structure over.

Stepping forward on the balls of my feet, my muscles taut and ready for action, I suddenly realize that there isn't any sign of the Rover. It's neither out front along the street in either direction nor in the drive leading to the side yard. For the briefest of moments, I question whether I'm on the right street or not.

Continuing forward, I catch movement at an upstairs window. Even as my eyes continue watching, a curtain shifts lazily behind a dirty pane of glass as if being pushed by a soft breeze.

Yet, the night is still. There is no breeze on the street and definitely not within the confines of the old house. Someone or something is moving within and stirring the air with their passing and causing the curtains to move.

Is it Eddy waiting in the dark for me? Or is it someone else and this is just a trap, nothing more than an elaborate means for Eddy and the man that hired her to dispose of loose ends?

Either way, I'm going in and the answer will be evident soon enough.

Reaching the front steps, I pause briefly to adjust the bottle of rum to my left hand so as to leave my right available. This is a superfluous move on my part as I am equally dangerous with either hand, but the action psychologically confirms that I'm ready for whatever lies beyond the closed door ahead.

Planting my right foot on the first of three steps, a loud creak followed by a languishing groan erupts from the rotting wood. Instinctively, I jump back, my right hand reaching for the familiar grip of the weapon secured in my waistband. And then, feeling foolish and knowing that others also watched my reaction to the noise, I mentally shrug off any remaining hesitation and skip up the steps, stopping only when I am close enough to the doorway to pull open the sagging screen door and rap on the remaining solid wood beyond.

Surprisingly, I hear Eddy's voice from within, calling out softly as if she's expecting a date, "Just a minute."

The last thing I'd expected in the last few moments was for her to actually be here. Suddenly, I find myself rethinking every thought I'd had since dismounting my ride. Crane's death must have rattled me more than I'd realized. For a moment there, I'd let my paranoia get away from me and was imagining all kinds of crazy things. I need to get a grip on myself. Eddy is just Eddy, after all. She isn't working for the man that hired me and she has nothing to do with Crane's death. She is just a simple waitress that works in a shabby bar on the wharf. Her dreams and illusions might run to the extreme, but she is firmly anchored by a low paying job without benefits. And the sooner I accept that fact, the sooner I can get on with finding the real truth behind Crane's untimely demise.

With sticking hesitation, the door suddenly jerks open and Eddy is standing in the dark beyond, a long white robe wrapped around her shapely figure. The front is hanging open just enough to give me a nice view of her cleavage, the pale skin glowing white in the darker shadows.

Sensing my eyes on her, she subconsciously reaches across with her left hand and pulls the front of the robe tighter together, leaving her hand in place to hold it there. If the action wasn't subconscious, she is a damned good actress at playing coy.

In addition to the robe, she has a thick towel of indeterminable color wrapped around her head like a turban, securing her thick mat of long, blonde curls. She looks soft and vulnerable in the dim light and I feel a tightening in my loins as well as a growing desire to pull her into my arms and embrace her against me so that she can never get away.

"Can I come in?" I inquire softly, almost a tad nervously, unable to shake the feeling that I'm asking my high school sweetheart to the prom with her parents standing behind her.

It isn't as though I'm a virgin. Far from it! I'd been around the block a few times and then some. So why did this woman bring out my deep-seated insecurities? Why did I find her so damned intimidating and yet so damned hot?

For the briefest of moments, I forget where I am and the danger that might still be lurking nearby. Even if the man smoking cigarettes by the rusted out hulk is nothing more than a drug dealer's security, we are still far from knowing what is going on. And even more importantly, who the players are.

So damned many questions just waiting to be answered.

### **3**

"I'm sorry," she says demurely, stepping aside. "Where are my manners?"

If it's an act, it's a damned good one and for just the briefest of moments, I am again in the past and feeling all the shameful feelings of a shy awkward schoolboy confronted by the innocent beauty of a nubile young girl.

But I'm not a shy awkward schoolboy any longer and my feelings aren't shameful, even if a tad debauched. And whether it's an act or the genuine thing, her actions have only one effect on me and the bulge becomes obvious in the front of my jeans.

Too innocently, her hand releases the front of the robe and she reaches out to me, grasping my free hand in hers and pulling/leading me into the darker interior. For just the briefest of moments before she turns away, I catch another glimpse of her full breasts, their firm silky smoothness enticing me to follow her.

With her hand locked in mine, she leads me toward the open stairwell while pulling me dangerously close to her body. For fear of pressing my manhood against the heavenly shape of her ass outlined in the dark by the brightness of the fabric enfolding it and giving myself away, I hold back and ask, "Where are we going?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she blurts innocently, releasing my hand and covering her mouth. "I should have explained that I live upstairs. I'm in the process of remodeling the place and I've made the upstairs habitable first." And then with a small giggle, adds, "I'm saving the outside for last so the tax appraiser doesn't figure out what's going on. By the time he gets around to re-appraising the place, I hope to have it resold."

Before I can remark on her astute business sense or her blind confidence in selling real estate in a down market or declining neighborhood, she continues, her voice a singsong melody of good humor, "That's just terrible of me, but I have an ulterior motive also. As you probably noticed when you pulled in, this isn't the best of neighborhoods. If the hoodlums and drug dealers knew about the tools and supplies I have on site, they would rob me blind to support their habits, especially with me working most nights."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," I agree, silently chastising myself for thinking all the absurd thoughts just a few moment's prior.

Turning back up the stairs, but not taking my hand this time, she remarks a bit snidely over her shoulder, "I see you didn't forget your bottle."

For the first time in a long while, I am at a loss for words as I follow her up the stairs, unable to tear my eyes away from her curvaceously swaying behind. Each step she takes sends my heart racing with lustful desire.

Yet, before we reach the top of the stairwell, I've regained my voice and I'm determined to find out what she knows before we're too distracted by other things. The evening is looking to shape up better than anticipated after all.

In order to develop a background image of her, I start by asking how long she's been working at the pub and where she grew up. Her answers sound pat and leave me with the impression they'd been rehearsed from a script. Though I try again to convince myself otherwise and that I am reading more into them than is actually there.

"I've only been working there for the last two weeks," she casually remarks, not outwardly realizing that I am interrogating her and critiquing her answers. "Before that, I lived and worked up in Portland as a personal assistant for an attorney." Before I can interrupt, she quickly continues as if she might lose her place, "His business practices were atrocious and his personal behavior became intolerable. It took me almost five years, but I eventually grew disillusioned with society as a whole and retreated to this place. Taking most of my savings, I bought this rundown dump, hoping to remodel it as money and time permitted."

She pauses to take a breath as we reach the one room in the building that shows any signs of habitation. A twin burner hotplate and a small fridge are set up on a makeshift table of sawhorses and plywood, while a mattress and box spring are set against the wall across the room. In between the two is a mess of electrical cords and power tools, none of which appear appropriate to the work that's been done so far, which seems minute. My instincts are screaming at me that this whole scene has been staged and any experienced person at remodeling a residential dwelling would pick up on the incongruities of it very quickly.

Moving out to the center of the 'stage' as if trying to draw my eye away from scrutinizing any aspect too closely, she continues in her singsong voice, "As you can see, the money hasn't come in as quickly as I'd hoped and my experience at remodeling sucks. I can't even buy the right tools to do the jobs that need doing. My faucet leaks so I buy a bigger hammer," she laughs.

Is she telling me the truth or is this an adept move to cover the staged appearance of the room?

Whichever it is, it doesn't change the fact that I'm standing face to face with a very attractive woman that is wearing nothing more than a bathrobe while I'm holding in my left hand a fifth of fine West Indies rum. Whatever the truth, this night won't be a total waste.

### **4**

The lighting in the room is nothing more than a dim bulb in a shade-less lamp next to the hotplate, leaving the mattress and box spring setting in deep shadows. Whether this is her intent or just coincidence, I'm not sure. But at any rate, the effect is quite alluring and disarming. If she's weaving a web of deceit and intrigue like a spider spinning a web to catch its lunch, I'm falling into it head over heels with no chance or desire for escape.

The robe slips open again as she moves her hand toward a pair of glasses setting on the makeshift table. Even more is revealed and she doesn't move quite as fast to cover herself as she had just moment's prior.

"I hope you intend on sharing that," she says almost shyly, turning toward me with a glass in each hand and a view all the way down between those luscious breasts to her naval.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I nonchalantly remark, my eyes lingering on her exposed cleavage and flat tummy as I move toward her while unscrewing the cap. "Would you like me to pour?"

She smiles at me with a knowing look in her eyes and a bit more than mere satisfaction at the effect she's having on me. As she holds the glasses out in front of her, I slowly pour a generous amount into each while savoring the view until the bottle clinks gently against the rims and pulls my attention back to what I'm doing. While I replace the cap, she takes a slow sip from one of the glasses, trying not to let her nerves show through the tough façade.

Setting the bottle on the table, I accept one of the glasses and take a tender sip before setting it on the table beside the bottle. It doesn't escape my notice that she's watching me with all the wariness of a jungle cat. Turning back toward her, she looks at me quizzically as if wondering the reason for setting my glass down. Without saying a word, I reach out and take the glass from her hand and place it next to mine on the table.

"We can get back to those in a minute," I say softly, moving up to her and placing my hands gently on her shoulders.

Like the proud woman that she is, she stands her ground and waits for me to get in close. When our lips are barely a fraction of an inch apart, I ease the robe from her shoulders and let it fall silently to the floor. Standing directly in front of me, her full breasts looking even better in person than they ever did in that tight fitting blouse, my eyes are drawn to her erect nipples. Looking like a couple of forty-four caliber bullets, I know it isn't from the lack of heat in here.

With my hands still resting gently on her shoulders, I take a deep breath and step back, slowly measuring the beauty of her body while her hands press softly against my chest. Savoring the sight of her from head to foot, I can find nothing about her that isn't perfect, even the wispy blonde hairs curling out from behind the black see-through panties where her legs come together. This gives testament to the fact that her blonde tresses are not from a bottle, but au naturel, just as the sharp blue of her eyes filtering through those blonde tinted lashes.

My heart quickens as she reaches down and grabs the hem of my shirt and jerks it up and out of my pants in one quick move. Ripping it free, the buttons popping like a burst of machine gun fire, she lets it fall to the floor atop the robe while her hands slide sensuously down the front of my chest, latching carefully onto the top of my belt. Her gaze fixed on mine, she undoes the buckle and sets to work on the top button, the bulge in my pants almost more than the cotton stitching of the seams can restrain.

With a gentle tug, the button separates and her hand moves to the zipper pull. There is almost nothing left between us and the anticipation of savoring each other's bodies is almost more than my heart can stand. The barrage of questions that I came to get answered are all but forgotten in the heat of the moment.

My fingers trembling with eagerness, they brush down the sides of her arms and around to the small of her back, pulling her ever closer to my manhood while her hands grow more frenetic between us. The zipper slips down without a sound and her hands swiftly slide in between my warm flesh and the denim fabric, grabbing for the smooth roundness of my buttocks while pushing my jeans down. Because my legs are thick with muscle and I wear my jeans tight, they resist her first efforts to force them down my thighs and expose my anxious organ.

But just when they begin to move and my erection is about to break its restraints, a loud knocking erupts at the door downstairs, rattling the decaying material against its hinges.

Not hesitating to even retrieve the fallen robe, she breaks from my grasp and makes for the doorway, pausing only long enough to retrieve a black satchel setting along the near wall. It only dawns on me for a moment before my reflexes kick in and I pull my pants together and give chase, but I hadn't noticed the satchel earlier.

Unlike Eddy, I pause momentarily to stoop over and retrieve a faded blue sweatshirt from atop an abandoned toolbox. In doing so, I feel the bulge of the magnum still tucked tightly in the rear waistband of my jeans and savor a moment of relief mixed with disappointment. Moving toward the door after Eddy, I make a mental note to get even with the sorry sack that interrupted what was promising to be a very good night. And then when it's too late to turn back, I realize that I've let my irritation cloud my otherwise clear and swift reactions. In my haste to catch up with Eddy, I left the fifth of rum setting on the makeshift table.

Things were really going downhill fast.

### **5**

It takes only a moment to overtake the almost naked woman carrying the black satchel and it's a good thing for me, because she moves through a series of hallways and rooms, weaving a path with forethought and haste that would have lost me were I not nearly so quick on my feet.

Somewhere in the distance behind us, I hear the crash of the front door as the men outside charge in, the sound of their footsteps thunderous in the poorly insulated stick-framed structure.

We eventually come to a rear stairwell that carries us downward below the ground floor. When we reach the bottom step, she stops suddenly and spins around to face me, her face and fabulous body little more than a lighter blur in the deeper darkness of the basement. "We must be quiet from here on," she whispers breathlessly. "We'll be moving beneath the sidewalks and sound will echo through the storm drains, giving our position away to those that are hunting us."

"Who's hunting us?" I demand in a lowered voice. But instead of giving me an answer, she turns toward a round hole in the wall where the bricks and dirt have been removed to create an opening leading into a series of damp, foul-smelling storm drains.

After climbing through the rough opening and stepping into the confined space, she pauses only a moment before taking off to the right. Were it not for the fact that she didn't have any clothes on and her pale skin stood out starkly against the darker, slime covered walls of the tunnel, she would have been lost to me. But her nakedness stands out in the dark and I hurry to keep up with the illusive nymph of the tunnels, a smile of amusement on my face as I consider what lies ahead for me. For the moment, I'm not concerned with the unknown visitor at the door as my thoughts are on how she's going to look when we come out of the tunnels and I'm dressed while she's still naked.

Soon enough, she will tell me what is going on and I will deal with it the way I always deal with situations, head on.

Meanwhile, I will continue chasing this beautifully naked woman through the storm sewers of Hell and back if that's where she leads me. And if I should overtake her before we reach the destination that she is heading toward, we might still share a night of unbridled passion, even if the location leaves a little to be desired.

### **6**

I am close on her heels as she fades ever deeper into the darkness with each step that takes us further away from the dim light of the entrance. Then slowly, her outline grows more distinct and I realize that we are closing in on a grate in the street somewhere near an overhead streetlight. When she is directly beneath it, she stops and sets down the black satchel, her breath gushing in and out from the exertion and adrenaline. Without straightening up, she pulls a pair of pants from the satchel and steps into them, much to my chagrin.

However, the light is enough from above to highlight the fine shape of her breasts and I savor each second as though it's my last until she pulls a sweatshirt over her head and shakes her head to throw her blonde tresses from her eyes. Reaching into the satchel again, she retrieves a dark pair of sneakers and quickly steps into them before tying the laces up. When she reaches into the satchel again and pulls out a handgun with a shoulder holster, I realize what a fool I've been.

As she slides into the shoulder holster and then checks the clip in the butt of the automatic before replacing it in the holster that is now positioned beneath her left arm, I ask of her in a sharp tone of voice, "When did you plan to tell me what I've gotten myself into? Or were you planning something else for me first?"

"You signed on when you agreed to collect the debt. It's your own fault that you were too caught up in playing the macho detective to realize that all the while you hunted Mr. Crane, your employer was dogging your trail." She takes a deep breath, still keeping her voice low, "Believe it or not, I'd actually heard you were better than this. The George McClain that everyone talks about would never have let his guard down this low unless he's become the drunken loser they so callously keep talking about."

"That hurt," I reply softly, feigning injury. "But now that you mention it, you don't happen to have a fifth of the good stuff in your bag of tricks?"

"Oh, shut up," she says disappointedly, her voice betraying her disenchantment at meeting the legend and discovering he isn't what the stories have portrayed him to be.

Words have never hurt me before, but the disdain in her voice cuts like a knife. I'm used to women giving me the eye, flirting with me and eventually falling in love with me. But this woman met me with a preconceived notion of what I am and unfortunately for me, I didn't live up to the image. Of course, all that might change once she gets to know me a little more intimately.

"Where to now?" I humbly inquire, playing the part of the humiliated fool, even if I didn't feel like one. The questions could wait. Every man makes a mistake now and again. How was I to know that I was being used for a hound dog?

"If we go up here, your bike should be less than half a block back the way we came, back toward the house."

"Yeah, that might be so. But in case you've forgotten, they probably know it's my bike and someone is waiting for us to try and reach it," I sarcastically remark.

"I'm counting on it," she flippantly replies before adding, "How else do we find out who just busted down the door to my house than by asking?"

"And I thought I had brass ones," I remark, checking out the fit of the black nylon pants as she climbs the steel rungs leading to the street.

Waiting in the tunnel below her, I nonchalantly slide the black satchel along the ground with my left foot, testing its weight to see if it's empty or not when she suddenly lets out a frustrating grunt.

The bag still possesses something and I bend over to retrieve it when she quickly climbs back down the rungs, her feet thumping loudly against the ground from the impact of dropping the last few rungs. Her voice tinged with anger at being defeated, she says sharply, "You'll have to move it. The damned things way too heavy for me."

"So, my brawn has worth to you after all," I remark curtly, wondering if she really couldn't move the grate or if she saw me going for her satchel.

"I never said that I couldn't find a use for your muscles," she coyly responds before laughingly adding, "It's your brains that I've reason to question." Before I can retort, she says sternly, "Hurry up, they must have entered the tunnels by now. They might be right behind us."

"If you know so much about me, then you must also know that I don't respond well to bossy women," I state matter-of-factly before hurrying up the rungs to the street. Using just one hand, I lift and slide the heavy steel grate aside, being careful not to make any sound while noting that although the grate is heavy, it isn't rusted in place and in her fine physical condition, shouldn't have been a problem for her.

"Quick!" she orders from below, her voice anxious.

Raising my head above the street, I cautiously glance around and note that it's deserted except for one vehicle parked at an angle outside her place with the front doors hanging open and halfway across the lawn. Before climbing any higher though, I carefully study the darker shadows of the nearer yards and hedges, sniffing for anything that doesn't smell right. My bike is almost half the way back toward her house and I'm hesitant to venture toward it. The thought of heading back toward the house without any cover gives me a bad feeling and my hunches are almost always right. Because I always follow my instincts, I've managed to stay alive a lot longer than a lot of folks in this line of work. From the jungles of Nicaragua and Panama to the streets of L.A., I've survived by trusting and listening to my instincts. This time shouldn't be any different.

"They're almost here," she whispers impatiently, tapping brusquely against my calf to get my attention. "Go!" she commands, raising her voice.

Against my better judgment, I pull myself from the tunnel and swing back to help her out behind me. Taking my proffered hand, she briskly extracts herself from the tunnel and then without comment, moves off in a hurried manner toward where the bike is sitting forlornly in the shadows. It doesn't escape my attention that she has the black satchel tucked securely beneath her right arm, the arm opposite her weapon.

Voices filter up from below and I realize that time is running out. Sliding the lid back into place won't slow them any so I decide to leave it where it lays and trot after Eddy, overtaking her just before she reaches my ride.

"You owe me a bottle of rum," I utter grudgingly. And then, in a lighter tone of voice, add, "Just so happens, I know where there's an open liquor store."

"You would," she quips sarcastically, leaning over the bike to insert her satchel in the open saddlebag.

It's a tight fit and she struggles impatiently with it, glancing furtively back the way we just came.

"Do we really need that?" I ask, growing constantly more impatient myself.

"Yes," she replies shortly.

"Then give it here," I command, taking it from her and recklessly jamming it into the saddlebag. Throwing my right leg over the seat, I knock down the kick-starter with my toe and jam it toward the ground with my right foot in one fluid motion.

Even before the engine barks to life, Eddy is climbing on behind me, her voice clear above the roar of the Beazer, "Hurry, there they are!"

It isn't necessary for me to follow her gaze to know they're climbing out of the storm sewer. The first shot is high, the snap of the fractured sound barrier loud in our ears signifying how close it came.

"Go! Go!" she yells at the back of my head, her hands striking my chest in an attempt to hurry me as she squeezes tight to hang on.

Being shot at has never bothered me in the same way that it does most people. I don't grow scared or panicky or spurred into reckless flight. In fact, quite the opposite happens. The bang of the weapon firing is almost synonymous with the pop of the lead slug bursting through the sound barrier over our heads and immediately, I feel a deadly calm settle over me. Instead of twisting the throttle and making a hasty retreat, I release the handle grips and plant my feet firmly on the ground to either side of the now idling machine. With all the time in the world to act, I turn and face the man that just fired his thirty-eight revolver at us while simultaneously drawing the magnum out of my waistband. It isn't necessary for me to check my load as I never carry the weapon without a round in every chamber.

Sensing imminent danger, the same man fires off another hastily aimed round at us. In his haste, he shoots prematurely, not taking the time to adjust from his first shot and this one also goes high, the sound only further fueling my calm deadliness.

At this point, he has a choice to make. If he turns and runs, I might just let him go. But his partner is also out of the storm sewer now and standing beside him which bolsters his courage. This time, instead of firing off a hastily aimed round, he takes a moment to adjust his stance.

Unfortunately, this isn't the right choice for the poor fellow. In fact, it is a very poor choice for him and before he can squeeze off a more accurate shot, I put a .357 magnum slug in his forehead, stopping him dead in his tracks.

A .357 slug packs a tremendous amount of force and the human skull offers little resistance against such a high velocity projectile. And while the entrance wound is an ugly gaping hole in the man's forehead, the complete removal of the rear section of his skull and brain splatters outward in a large cloud of grey matter, blood, and pulverized bone striking his partner full in the face.

The effect this has on another human being is quite dramatic. I know this from first-hand experience. First, there is disbelief which is quickly replaced with shock. And then there is fear and the desire for self-preservation. Both reactions are natural and neither means you are any less of a man for feeling or reacting to them.

In very rare instances, there is only anger and outrage. And the man that skips the fear reaction is usually the deadliest adversary you will ever encounter. He is much cooler headed and calculating which means his actions are thought out, less irrational but equally unpredictable and ten times as lethal.

This latter is a description of myself. But I don't mention this in passing as one might that is bragging, I mention this only because it allows me to recognize it in others and I'm seeing the second man exhibit those traits now.

When the blood and gore spray his exposed skin with the distinctly defined warmth of recently living flesh, he doesn't so much as flinch. Instead, he moves with the same calculated ease that I exhibited when the first shot was fired. Even as I watch him striding confidently toward us with the barrel of my weapon aimed directly at his chest, he reaches calmly into his suit coat for the weapon that lies concealed there, his partner lying dead in the street behind him.

In the dark, murky night, I should not be able to see the light in his eyes. Yet, it is as if he is looking right into me. There is a light emanating from his soul, his very being. He knows deep within himself that he has met an equal with me and that one of us is about to die. He isn't looking for mercy or quarter and he has no intentions of giving any. Such thoughts would no sooner occur to him than they would to me. That would be a sign of weakness and both of us are beyond showing such weakness. If he wants anything from me, it is a quick and merciful death-something that I feel obligated to make happen.

A part of me hesitates, wishing that it didn't have to be this way. Although I'd never met this man before in my life, I respect him and I believe he respects me as well. If we had met under different circumstances, we might have gotten along quite admirably.

But we didn't meet under different circumstances and I didn't reach this ripe old age of forty-four by treating adversaries with kindness or compassion; I reached this age by being even colder and more dispassionate than the men I've had to kill. With no remorse, I squeeze off the shot, my bullet striking him high in the right shoulder, numbing his right arm as the slug tears through muscle and flesh.

His weapon clatters loudly against the pavement after falling from a hand that won't be of much use to him for a long time to come. Swinging my leg over the bike while keeping my weapon leveled on him, I stride toward him while leaving Eddy sitting on the back of the bike.

He looks longingly at the fallen weapon, his left hand clutching his brutally damaged right shoulder. The pain is recognizable in his eyes, yet he stares at me without blinking. He harbors no hatred toward me. He doesn't know me well enough yet to hate me. That will come later when he refuses to answer my questions.

"Don't even think about it," I say softly, acknowledging his thoughts.

Resignation causes his face to droop in defeat as he straightens up, trying his damnedest not to let the pain show through his façade of machismo. "Why didn't you just kill me? You had me dead to rights. I wouldn't have hesitated to do you."

"I have a deal for you," I calmly state, while glancing around at the darker shadows. I notice that Eddy is off the bike and has the black satchel tucked under her right arm again. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she was getting ready to make a run for it.

"What kind a deal?" he asks gruffly, fully understanding what's coming.

"You answer my questions and you get to go home tonight, though I doubt it if you really care that much for home."

"You think you know me but you don't," he spits.

Grabbing him by the right arm, I give it a twist while forcing it up and back, eliciting a sharp hissing intake of breath from him despite his best efforts to hide the pain. "I know you well enough to know you can answer my questions and we can both go home. Beyond that, you're just another worthless slug of shit to me. Easy or hard, the choice is yours."

"All right already," he stutters, his breath ragged with pain. "What do you want to know?"

"Eddy!" I cry out.

But my warning comes too late. Before I can move a shot rings out and then a second, so close behind the first they almost sound as one. Eddy flinches and a man tumbles out of the shrubs next to a rusted out hulk of an old Plymouth.

"Eddy!" I call out again, a cold grip seizing my heart and freezing my breath in my throat.

Slowly, too slowly, she turns toward the sound of my voice, her face blanched white. I recognize the signs of shock immediately and the sick realization that she's been shot almost causes my knees to buckle when she suddenly lifts her nine mm toward me and squeezes off a shot.

The bullet snaps past my left ear with a thunderous pop and immediately strikes living flesh with a sickening thud. Spinning about, I see the man that I'd just moment's prior felt some sort of twisted kinship with, falling to the pavement. As a growing stain of darkness spreads outward on the front of his suit jacket, I notice a handgun clutched tightly in the dying fingers of his left hand.

He hadn't lied when he said that he wouldn't show me any mercy, the bastard!

Eddy! She's been shot!

My mind racing frantically, I race to her side and throw my arms around her. The black satchel has slipped from her embrace and is lying on the wet pavement. Slumping against me, suddenly too weak to stand, I lift her easily into my powerful arms and head toward my bike. I've taken less than two steps when she weakly pleads with me, "My bag. Please, get my bag. We can't leave it here for them to find."

"What's in it that's so damned important you're willing to die for it?" I stubbornly demand.

But my words fall on deaf ears as she slumps into an unconscious state in my arms.

### **7**

"I thought you were never going to wake up."

"Where am I?" she groggily groans, her eyes sunken and dark with sleepless fatigue brought on from her injury.

Rolling onto her side brings on a wave of nausea and pain and she slides back down until she is flat on her back once again. "You might not want to try getting up just yet," I comment casually, playing down the apprehension that I feel inside for her.

Weakly, her right hand moves up to her head and presses tenderly against the bandage she finds there. Grabbing the half empty bottle of rum, I pour two tumblers and take one over to her. I drop heavily into the chair setting next to the bed, the same damned chair I've been sitting in during the day and sleeping in through the long hours of the night for the last three days without rest and hold out one of the tumblers to her.

Tiredly, she glances over at the proffered tumbler of amber liquid and mumbles through fever swollen lips, "I can't even hold my head up and you're trying to get me drunk enough to have your way in the sack with me. What would your mother think?" She pauses to take a deep breath, the effort of trying to rise and now talk is taking its toll on her weakened body. "There really is no hope for you, is there."

"When I couldn't get any other fluids down you, you never refused this," I lie in good spirits, glad to see the fight returning to her fragile body. "A toast to a quick recovery."

Holding the tumbler to her lips, she sips delicately and then inhales quickly, fighting the urge to cough. When her breathing stabilizes again, she meets my gaze and says pointedly, "I was shot, wasn't I?"

"Actually, you're just suffering from one of the worst hangovers in the history of mankind. But if it makes you feel any better, it was preceded by some of the wildest, most passionate sex in the history of mankind."

With delight, I notice that the melancholy darkness in the depths of her eyes is beginning to brighten and a slight twinkle of humor sparkles through. "Did I enjoy it half as much as you seem to have?" she asks sarcastically.

Instead of replying, I simply smile back at her with a wink.

"You letch! You probably did take advantage of me while I was unconscious." She stirs her feet and then a look of surprise comes over her face when she realizes that she is naked beneath the thick blanket. "You bastard! You undressed me! How dare you?"

My expression serious, I calmly remark, "Someone had to see to your hygiene and I wasn't exactly in a position to call for an in-home nurse, now was I?" I continue studying her for a long moment while she looks back at me, her expression somewhere between humiliation and outrage. "In case you're not aware of this little fact, every gunshot wound must be reported to the police and I for one didn't want to be associated with the simultaneous deaths of three men."

"You would prefer to let me die?" she retorts acidly, the color quickly returning to her cheeks.

"You were in no danger of dying," I fire back, sounding shorter with her than I intended.

"How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

"I was unconscious for three days and you didn't feel I was in any danger of dying?" she says incredulously.

"Look Eddy," I respond defensively. "I've been around my share of bullet wounds, including a few of my own. I knew you weren't in any serious danger. If anything, you might suffer a little brain damage from that slug ricocheting off that thick head of yours, which might actually knock a little sense into you, but I never would have let you die. If I had any real concerns for your safety, I would have taken you to a hospital myself."

"Gee, you instill such confidence. Let's hope for your sake the next time you take a bullet you're not alone with just me to look after you."

"Eddy," I say softly, my voice dripping with sincerity. "If I ever take another bullet, I wouldn't want anyone but you looking after me."

"Careful what you wish for. It might be my bullet," she replies with a wince, the pain of laughing cutting off her breath.

"Here," I say tenderly, holding the tumbler to her lips. This time she drinks with more gumption, her strength returning quickly now that the fever brought on from the swelling of her brain has subsided. "Before you get drunk and want to ravage my body again, I'll get you some fresh water," I say with a smile, rising from the chair and heading toward the kitchenette.

Standing at the sink, I let the tap run for a few minutes while letting the tepid water flush through the pipes-a ritual I'd performed a hundred times in the last few days. My eyes drift to the red plastic bowl that still contains the threadbare washcloth that I'd used to cool her forehead. The sight of it reminding me of the fears that assailed me when it was touch and go. Although the bullet didn't penetrate her skull, the impact created considerable swelling and bruising of the brain, a condition that could have brought on permanent brain damage or even death. It wasn't fair of me to keep her from competent medical attention under such dire circumstances.

But she didn't die and her motor functions appear normal. If she is suffering any loss of brain capacity it's not readily apparent. And I will never admit to her or anyone else for that matter, just how close she came to meeting her maker. Such knowledge would serve no purpose other than to make me appear cold and uncaring, neither of which is true! I would not have let her die.

The cold water from the tap draws me out of my reminiscence and I chug the remaining rum in her tumbler before refilling it with fresh water. Out of habit, I study the view of the parking lot before turning away from the flimsily curtained window. Nothing appears out of the ordinary and I return to Eddy's side with the water.

When I attempt to hold the glass to her lips, she takes it from me, refusing to accept any more succors I might care to offer her. The reaction brings a smile to my face as it is further proof that I'd done the right thing in keeping her here and not rushing her to a hospital.

"Where are my clothes?" she demands, letting the weight of the glass settle to her chest.

"They're in the closet," I remark casually, not letting her anger have the affect on me that she is after. It goes without saying that she is only acting out of indignation at the fact that a man she claims to dislike and harbor no respect for hasn't only saved her life, but in the process of doing so has seen her naked and vulnerable, both of which are serious blows to her immense pride.

"Where's my bag?" she suddenly asks, her eyes betraying the edge of panic as she tries to rise and look around the room at the same time.

"It's in the closet too," I remark in the same casual tone of voice that I'd been using while making a mental note of her frantic concern over the bag.

Trying to regain her composure and act as if she's not concerned any longer in an attempt to play down the importance of the satchel to her, she tries vainly to change the subject. "How has the weather been? Is it still raining?"

Ignoring her questions, I comment instead, "It's safe and sound. In fact, I didn't even take a sneak inside to see what's so damn important to you that you were willing to sacrifice your life for it."

"I don't believe you," she grumbles tiredly, the effort of staying awake quickly sapping what little strength she's regaining. "You know damn well what's in it."

"Get some rest," I say softly, taking the glass of unfinished water from her before she can spill it in the bed. "We'll discuss it when you come back around. In the meantime, you need to get some rest. Trust me, the satchel is safe and so are you. Now rest."

Before I'd even finished speaking, her lids droop shut and breathing tapers into a smooth rhythm. My curiosity piqued, I set the glass aside and move toward the closet with every intention of seeing what's so damned important to her. From behind me, her voice suddenly pipes up, "You really haven't looked in it, have you?"

"I thought I'd wait until you were dead," I mumble softly, hiding my agitation at being caught, while adjusting my course toward the bathroom door instead as if that were my destination all along.

When I finally come out with my tail still tucked between my legs, she's actually sleeping. But unlike her sleep of earlier the haunted, haggard look of someone fighting for their life is gone. Instead, her face looks relaxed and at peace for the first time since we've met. Picking up the empty tumbler from the kitchenette counter, I pour myself a tall shot of rum and look back into the living area of the room. My gaze slowly travels past where she lies sleeping contentedly and on toward the closed closet door next to that of the bathroom. As tempted as I am to go to it and rummage through the satchel, her simple act of surprise at my not having done so before when I could easily have leaves a rankling of morality. To do so now would be the equivalent of breaking an unspoken promise, which could only lead to disappointment for the both of us.

Instead, I take my drink and stroll over to where she is lying. Oblivious of my presence looking over her, she sleeps on. The pale haggard features that had me so worried have been replaced with a soft, warm glow. Moreover, the covers that were once pulled up sharply to just beneath her chin have slid down from her movements to reveal a generous view of her full breasts. It takes all of my willpower not to reach down and touch them, if for no other reason than to prove to myself that they are as firm and real as they appear.

As if sensing my thoughts, she stirs in her sleep, subconsciously pulling the blankets up higher to cover herself. Yet, in doing so she exposes a creamy thigh and the lower part of a buttock. Like her breasts, it too is smooth and firm appearing with a slight dappling of blonde peach fuzz just visible to the naked eye that adds a soft, sensual illusion to the scene.

Feeling a firm protrusion of my manhood pushing against the fabric of my jeans for release, I decide to head down to the parking lot and check on my ride. A breath of fresh air will do me good and get my thoughts off her for a little while.

Closing the door gently behind me, I slip down the back stairs and skirt around to the breezeway between the office and the laundry room. With the manager's blessing, I parked my bike in the narrow breezeway to avoid it being seen from the road running along the rear side of the property. Of course, that isn't the excuse I used with the manager. He was much more inclined to listen to the pleadings of President Jefferson than anything I could say.

Because I'd left the saddlebags in the room, the bike looks gnarly all stripped down and ready to raise hell. Not like the sedate highway cruiser that a little leather dressing seems to bring out on her when the saddlebags are in place on either side of the rear wheel.

After checking the dipstick and fuel level in the tank, I climb aboard and let her roll out to the asphalt of the parking lot. When I am well clear of the building, I kick the starter and take pleasure in the ease with which she starts and the simple purring of her powerful engine. A quick twist of the throttle-grip brings a momentary roar from deep within the throat of the beast.

For the briefest of moments, I forget everything except the thrill of cruising down the open highway. The motel and everything it contains is temporarily pushed from the forefront of my mind. The lust in my loins is no longer for the flesh of a woman, but for the excitement promised by the throaty sound of a machine made of nothing more than iron and steel mounted on two rubber tires and propelled forward through the violent explosions of high octane fuel.

But the euphoric feeling is short-lived and my thoughts quickly return to the present. Kicking the bike into gear, I let the clutch slip and head out of the parking lot toward the busy street. It takes only a moment to meld into the flow of traffic, mostly tourists taking in the sights of a coastal fishing village, oblivious of the foul tide that runs beneath even the humblest of burgs. The sun is out. Probably temporarily. But with it comes the muggy heat fueled by the moisture of being next to a large expanse of water. Even the breeze blowing through my hair feels close and suffocating.

Although there is an abundance of traffic and people milling about, the sun brings no joy, no happiness to the many faces. It is as though everyone is nothing more than a hamster on a treadmill, going through life simply because that is all there is. There is no risk taking anymore, no adventures and no dreams beyond getting through yet another day with the promise of a paycheck at the end of the week for your troubles.

Before the melancholy mood threatens to send me plummeting headlong into the ocean, my thoughts turn back to Eddy and the memory of her silky smooth skin, the long, golden curls of damp hair from riding through a dark, wet night, and the deep blue fire of her quick and alert eyes. Yet, even more pronounced in my memory is the way she looked at me when we first met. Even though I now know she was looking at me with preconceived notions of whom and what I am, it doesn't tarnish or diminish my memory of that moment in any way. If the truth were known, her preconceived images only make me want to try that much harder to live up to her expectations.

When I see the sign up ahead advertising a convenience store, I roll off the street and into the busy parking lot. Using my natural charisma, I roll up in front of the main doors between two other vehicles, and knock down the kickstand. I have no illusions about my rough appearance and I use it to full effect when necessary.

A young girl sitting in the driver's seat of a small compact on my right appears to be waiting for her girlfriend in the store. Nervously, she glances up at me and when our gazes meet, I wink back at her, eliciting a quivering smile. On my left is a pickup truck, the passenger sitting with a beefy right arm hanging out the open window. He's dirty, whether from working hard or poor hygiene, it's hard to say. My arrival between him and the young girl in the low-riding compact visibly irritates him and I can't really say as I blame him. It was a nice view.

Smiling disarmingly at him, I decide to blow it off and let it slide. The last thing I need is to draw unwanted attention to myself. Although I've been reading the local paper for the last few days and finding nothing about a search for either Eddy or myself, the cops might still have me listed as a person of interest in the case and as such, will eagerly pick me up for questioning.

Unfortunately, I don't always get my way.

As I step up on the concrete leading through the door of the store, the unkempt hillbilly raises his head to see over my bike and remarks to the young girl in the car, "What say I just throw you in the back seat and screw your eyeballs right out of that pretty little head of yours?"

In a young girl's scared and nervous voice, I hear, "Please, just leave me alone."

Ignoring her wishes, the guy slowly opens the door of the pickup.

Sensing imminent danger, the young girl begs of him, her voice on the verge of tears, "Please, can't you just leave me alone? My friend will be out in a minute."

"Good, we'll have one of them ménage things," he says, following with a loud belch and spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice near the back wheel of my bike.

Stopping, I turn back toward my bike and watch as the dirty slime-ball puts his feet on the ground. The expression on his face clearly showing that he's enjoying the discomfort of the girl way more than he should be. Casually, I study the street, making certain that there isn't a cruiser going by or parked in the lot. Satisfied that whatever I do isn't going to bring an immediate police response, I step back down off the concrete walk.

Within two steps, I'm standing face to face with the ugly brute, the stench of sweat mingling with halitosis almost more than I can stomach.

"What's your problem?" he growls in his most intimidating tone of voice.

"It appears to me that this young lady isn't interested in either what you have to say or anything else your offering," I say as calmly as I can, anticipating a swing at my head.

"Mind your own fucking business," he snarls back, raising an arm to push me aside.

Taking his outstretched hand, I twist it backwards and up, exerting pressure on the wrist joint in such a fashion that it elicits a sharp squeal of pain from him.

"Why don't you get back in your truck and mind your own business," I casually suggest, holding him off balance with the pain so that he can't strike out with his feet and kick me in the shins.

But being the fool that he is, he doesn't take my friendly advice to heart. While I'm holding his right hand off at an awkward angle, he reaches over it with his left and jabs at my exposed eyes with outstretched fingers, hoping to blind or disable me.

Easily, I duck the strike and remark in a most casual manner, "That wasn't very smart, asshole."

The words have barely registered in his mind, when his wrist cracks from a sudden exertion of pressure. With him yelping like a whipped dog, I jerk on the broken wrist with enough force to spin him around toward the open door of the pickup truck. Jamming my right boot against his fat ass, I send him sprawling onto the bench seat of the truck.

Releasing his wrist, I reach down and grab an ankle in each hand. Lifting quickly, I pull his feet out from under him and drive them forward, sending him clear into the cab. With my right foot, I hook the lower lip of the open door and fling it shut with a slam.

Turning back toward the open door of the store, I pause for a moment to smile at the young girl who timidly smiles back at me before saying softly, "Thank you."

With a nod and a friendly smile, I head into the store, my eyes quickly searching out the pharmacy aisle. Although it appears that I have all but forgotten the incident outside, I'm not so naïve to believe that it's over. Inside the store is another man that arrived in the pickup and when he finds his friend lying injured and humiliated across the seat of his truck, he isn't going to be happy. For reasons that I've never been able to understand, the second man always fights for his friend's lost honor, usually resulting in the loss of his own.

And so it is that I want to find the medicines that I've come for and get the hell out before the driver of the pickup realizes what's happened.

The shelf is full of everything having to do with nausea, sore throats, and premenstrual symptoms, none of which is what I'm looking for. And then I reach the section of pain relievers. Gathering up several different types, since I'm not sure if she has a preference, I stop by the cooler and grab a couple of bottled waters.

Having paid and carrying my few purchases in a plastic bag, I discover the compact sedan with the young girl has left. But standing next to my bike is a large burly man wearing stained and faded jeans and a torn green t-shirt with the faded words ' _Make My Day_ ' in white lettering across the front. Ignoring him, I step down from the concrete walk and move in between him and my bike. "Excuse me," I casually remark while ignoring his attempt to intimidate me.

Once again, I am overcome with the stench of lousy hygiene and sweat, his breath reminding me of a dog I once owned that was so sick I had to put him down for his own good. "You and me have business," he says in a gruff voice.

"No," I remark, trying to keep my voice calm. "Your friend and I had business and it's been settled. I suggest you mind your own." I pause for a long moment, stepping back from having tied my purchases to the handlebars and study the big man for a moment before adding, "You would do well to mark my words. I'm not one to repeat myself."

Standing almost two inches above me and occupying half again as much space, he is not used to people dismissing him the way I have just done and it quickly brings his anger to the surface.

As an old male bear would do, he confidently reaches out and grabs a handful of shoulder with each meaty fist and pulls me in close to him. Releasing my shoulders, he encircles me with his smelly body and arms, intending simply to crush me in his embrace.

If the rank stench emanating from his body had knocked me out before I could think straight, he might have succeeded. But having taken a deep breath as he approached, I was ready for his simple and straightforward tactic and used his extra height against him.

With his arms squeezing viciously around my torso, my hands hang freely between us and the length of my arms put them directly in front of his groin. Without giving it any further thought, I grab the bulk of his manhood in my left hand and squeeze with all my strength. In less than a second I can feel the soft tissue of his balls collapse under the strain as they recede up into his belly.

Squealing like a pig losing his Rocky Mountain oysters, the strength quickly fades from his grasp and I take a step back as he doubles over in pain while clutching madly at his injured pride.

"God!" he hisses between peals of squeals. "You cheated," he finally manages to rasp still doubled over, a long drool of spittle dangling from his clenched teeth.

When his breathing finally stabilizes, I take him by the shirt collar and lead him around to the driver's side of the pickup. Looking in, I see his friend sitting in the passenger's seat holding his shattered wrist with his good hand and staring straight ahead like he wants no more part of this encounter. Opening the door, I push the big guy toward the opening with a brusque, "Get out of here while you still can."

Pain or not, the big man scampers into the driver's seat and fumbles frantically for the keys hanging in the ignition. When the truck roars to life, I stick my head in the open window and put my lips close to his ear and say, "If you ever see me again, you better turn and go in the opposite direction because next time, I'm going to kill you." Tenderly, I pat him on the side of his sweaty cheek and step back away from the truck, placing myself just a few feet from him.

Standing there, I continue staring intimidatingly at the driver while waiting for him to back out. Although I have no intentions of killing him if I ever see him again, he doesn't know that because he doesn't know me, just the illusion of me that I'm leaving him with. And because I have so many enemies in this world that are like him that I will never remember all of their faces, it is best that any I can avoid in the future through intimidation now is a good thing.

Jerkily, he works the clutch and backs out of the parking spot. With a squeal of tires, he accelerates across the asphalt, not even slowing down as he cuts into traffic on the street. Horns flare briefly and then they are gone, lost in the steady flow of tourists.

Shaking it off, I mount my bike and kick it to life, my thoughts already returning to the beautiful woman sleeping soundly back at the motel. It wasn't my intention to leave her alone as long as I have and concern quickly sets in. Weaving carelessly through traffic, I make short time of returning to the motel and yet, as it draws into view my worst fears are realized.

### **8**

Pulling into the lot, the first thing I see is the door to my unit standing ajar. Even as I dismount, taking the steps to the second floor two at a time, my heart is climbing up into my throat, threatening to suffocate me. As I reach the second floor, I glance quickly around the parking lot in search of vehicles that don't belong. Because I didn't intend on running into any trouble, I'd left the magnum stashed in a lower cabinet of the kitchenette. A decision that I was beginning to question the logic of.

But it is too late for regrets and I slam through the doorway, the impact of my shoulder against the door sending it slamming against the floor stop with a bouncing crash. Yet, even as it swings back at me I'm through the opening and ducking for cover. With the advantage of knowing the layout of the room, I dive behind the single chair facing the bed, my eyes hurriedly scanning the room for an adversary.

No shots or shouts ring out and my frenzied scan of the room shows no adversary. Or anything else out of the ordinary for that matter.

Slowly, I rise to my feet, my eyes darting to the cabinet where I'd stashed the magnum. It appears closed and intact. Keeping a wary eye on the open bathroom door and the closed closet door to its right, I move silently across the room and drop down by the cabinet door, swinging it open and feeling a momentary spurt of relief when I feel the heavy weight of the stainless weapon against my palm.

With the weapon poised before me, I hastily scan the bathroom and then fling open the closet door while simultaneously stepping aside in case an assailant is hiding within with a weapon aimed outward.

Like the bathroom, the closet also proves empty, right down to the missing satchel.

Yet, the missing satchel doesn't come as any surprise. Neither does the realization that Eddy left of her own accord. Although she was still under the weather when I think back on it, her sleep was too deep and too convenient. She'd played me and I fell for it like a wet-behind-the-ears whelp.

After gathering together my few possessions, I head back down to the parking lot. It takes only a moment to secure the saddlebags and head out into traffic. Now would be a good time to just keep going and head on back down the coast and leave this little burg far behind. I'd been paid in advance for finding the now deceased John Crane and I still had the money on me. Moreover, my close friend Larry was probably wondering where I'd gone off to by now and maybe even beginning to worry. Yeah, right. The hard truth of it was that no one was going to be missing me anytime soon.

Of course, there was also a tavern nestled in the woods of southwest Oregon that was probably going bankrupt without my continued support as well as a few lonely Lumber-Jills needing my hands-on attention.

Yep, the more I think about it, the more I really should be heading home.

Rolling down the busy street, my eyes studying the faces in the cars going by as my thoughts turn to all the reasons for me to stay and coming up with very little. Eddy is a grown woman that obviously doesn't want any more help from me, even if I still have some to give. And yet, by going home, I can't shake the feeling that I'm the one abandoning her and not the other way around. It's irrelevant that she walked out of the motel without telling me where she was going or what her plans were.

She'd just suffered a serious head injury and probably isn't thinking straight. One might think for me to abandon her without even trying to find out what kind of trouble she's in as an act bordering on criminal. It's the least I can do considering the close relationship we've shared. I've seen her naked after all and that's more than most men can say. At least, I hope that's true.

### **9**

Up ahead, I see a large red and white sign offering hi-test fuel. Whether I decide to continue south and ride on out of this town and not stop until I reach my sweet little place in the southwest hills of Oregon or hang around and find out what's going on with Eddy, I'm going to need fuel and the station up ahead looks as good as any.

Raising my left arm to signal my intentions, I'm suddenly caught off guard by a rusty red pickup truck cutting across two lanes of oncoming traffic and veering straight for me. In the passenger's seat staring directly at me is the dirty scuzz-ball that I'd just recently had the pleasure of shattering his wrist. In the split-second before twisting the accelerator on the bike and hanging on for a rough ride through the fuel island of a combination convenience store/fueling station, I see a thick wadding of white gauze or cotton bandaging taped to the slide mechanism of a twelve gauge riot gun, his other hand firmly gripping the trigger section of the piece.

In their haste to get at me, the guy with the shotgun hangs precariously from the passenger's side of the vehicle with the entire weapon extended out and across the windshield. The driver is accelerating madly to cut me off or hit me, confident that a bike is no match for a full-sized pickup truck.

Above the roar of the bike's engine, I hear the first bellowing boom from the shotgun, a splattering of double-ought buckshot ricocheting metallically from the parked cars waiting in line to my right. It was only by the luck of Satan that a single deadly pellet didn't find me.

The nearness of disaster's calling was enough to spur me into another level of self-preservation and I swerve the bike expertly between a fueling sedan and the front entrance of the convenience store, startling several customers and setting off a chain reaction of panic and confusion both within the store and out on the island.

Another shot rings out behind me as the driver of the rusty pickup brings the truck around on the cement tarmac of the station and aligns himself directly behind me. This time there is no evidence of the shot striking around me as his aim was wide to the right from the weight of the barrel being carried there by the momentum of the pickup's sliding turn.

At the end of the line of fuel pumps, I stand on the brake and put the bike into a controlled slide to my left, intent on keeping the passenger of the pickup on the off side of the truck from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a large section of window in the front of the convenience store suddenly turn opaque from the impact of steel shot, hiding the beer and soda banner ads behind its newly acquired crystal veneer.

With the bike stopped parallel to a brick and mortar wall on my right and the rusty pickup barreling down on my left, I wait just long enough for the driver to straighten out his skid and increase his speed before revving the engine and letting loose of the clutch.

But instead of taking off like a rabid dog, the bike's rear tire only spins madly on the oil slicked concrete of the gas station's tarmac. A blue cloud of smoke quickly rises off the rear tire, stinking up the surrounding air. Glancing to my left, my gaze locks with that of the driver and I immediately recognize the killer's lust within. He is no longer thinking like a civilized man. All sane thoughts have been forced to the back of his mind as he sees only one thing-the man that hurt and humiliated him. He is determined to see this man die at all costs! It is no different from the bull in the arena attacking the red cape of the matador. There is no reasoning with such madness. There is only survival at any cost as it has gone to a level well beyond rational behavior.

In the fraction of a second before his truck strikes me broadside and crushes me like a bug between the massive force of its raw steel and the un-giving structure of brick and mortar to my right, the old Beazer's rear tire finds purchase and she lunges forward like a wild bronco, vacating the space that is instantly occupied by more than four thousand pounds of rust encrusted steel and hot metal.

There is no squealing of braking tires on the slick concrete. In fact, subsequent accident investigators won't find any evidence of the truck having even attempted to brake before its deadly impact with the brick and mortar wall. And although many spectators watched the entire scene unfold before them, very few if any will even remember the stretched out bike and black leather-clad rider pulling out onto the street as the crash and roar of the pickup striking the wall echoes through the neighborhood.

If the two scuzz-balls in the truck aren't killed on impact, they die shortly thereafter by the all-consuming heat of the fire that is fueled by a ruptured fuel tank.

It isn't my intention to hurt people. I sincerely tried to warn these guys off just so this wouldn't happen. It can't be my fault that these incidents turn out with the warned ending up on the shorter end of the stick more often than not and I quickly put the incident out of my mind. Just another closed chapter in my book of life. I still need gas and life goes on. Eddy is out there somewhere and I have a bad feeling that something even worse than the death of two dirt-balls is about to go down if I don't find her fast. Maybe I should call Larry and let him know where I'm at so he doesn't worry.

Yeah, right!

### **10**

The call to Larry never takes place. No surprise there. However, a few miles later and back in the neighborhood of Eddy's old place, I find a suitable station to fill the Beazer's tank and even get me a cold drink. While waiting in line behind two young kids spending their lunch money, I absently study the hotdog rotisserie while contemplating the chain of events since arriving in town. About the only good thing to come of it so far is the fact that I was paid in advance.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the cashier asking me if I found everything I needed. Making a grunt in the affirmative, he advises me of the total. "You got this, too," I add, holding up the half-empty bottle of soda.

"Yeah," he acknowledges, reaching across the counter for my money.

Leaving the empty soda bottle on the curb, I soon find myself cruising along the adjacent street to the big old house with the once secret escape route to the city sewers. So little time has passed since leaving the place with the thugs on our tails, I'm not surprised to see patrol cars still scurrying around the surrounding neighborhoods as I draw closer.

Feeling conspicuous, I decide to abandon the idea of searching the place for any clues as to where Eddy might have headed and decide instead to work my way south toward familiar turf and relative safety.

But first, I have one little detour to make.

To my relief, there doesn't appear to be any cops staking out the bar and I park the Beazer alongside several Hogs. It feels conspicuous to me to leave it out on the street in plain view of any searching eye. To the inexperienced though, all bikes look alike.

Before going in, I sit on my ride for a few minutes and casually observe the comings and goings of the place. It is still early and the regulars are just now getting off work. Within an hour or two, the place will be hopping and the bartender won't be able to give me the time of day even if he desires to.

With everything appearing normal, I depart my bike and follow a group of three dockworkers in, trying to blend in with them. It doesn't work. My eyes haven't even adjusted to the dim interior when all hell brakes loose. The moment the bartender recognizes me, he lets out a holler warning a small group of tough looking men that look like they might belong to the hogs parked outside.

Turning back toward the exit, strong hands suddenly enfold each of my arms and a slow, deep drawl in my ear says, "Just relax, big guy. We only want to ask you a few questions in private. Don't do anything stupid and we all enjoy a drink later."

Standing fast, I plant my feet and wait for the shove that always follows this type of request. Instead, I find myself surrounded by the bikers, each trying to appear more menacing than the next. To my experienced eye, I realize immediately they're not connected to any major clubs. More than likely they're nothing more than a bunch of weekend riders with legit day jobs putting on an act for my benefit.

The most serious threat to my freedom is the big man gripping my arms from behind. Yet, if I decide to leave, this bunch of yahoo's isn't going to stop me. But I didn't come here to run; I came for information and these might just be the guys to give it to me.

"What do you want from me?" I ask calmly, not offering any resistance. If anything, I give them the impression that I'm intimidated by their threatening appearance, hoping it might work in my favor.

"Move along," the big man orders while the others clear a defining pathway for me.

Taking small hesitant steps to feed the illusion of intimidation, I go along the course they've laid out for me while looking nervously from one face to the next until I come up to a closed door at the far end of the bar. Before I can ask what's next, one of them reaches for the knob and pushes the door inward before stepping back and letting me go through first.

There is a light on. A low hanging fixture centered over a lone poker table situated in the center of the room. The walls are lined with a variety of cardboard boxes containing an assortment of liquors, the least of which I recognize is my favorite rum. Maybe there was more to that drink later than I had first anticipated.

Encircling the table are six chairs. Seated in the furthest from the door is no other than Mikeal Vercelli, or Mick, as his friends and associates refer to him. My latest employer is how I might refer to him. "Mick, funny meeting you here," I growl softly beneath my breath, gauging the distance separating us and wondering if I can take him out before he gets off a shot from the gun resting silently on his lap beneath the table top.

"Have a seat, Mac," he says almost too casually. "Like a drink? If I remember correctly you're partial to West Indies rum."

Struggling harder against the temptation than he'll ever know, I decline the offer. "I didn't come for a drink," I growl, mad at myself for not giving in to the temptation and letting my pride deprive me. That's the problem with pride, it's so damned demanding.

"Your call," he demurs with a dismissing wave of his right hand. Since I didn't make a move toward the nearest chair either, he quickly adds, "At least have a seat. You make me nervous hovering there."

"You have cause to be nervous," I remark, still not moving toward the chair and giving him a better line of fire toward my upper torso.

He understands my actions and the situation as well as I do and why I'm not moving. To my surprise, he decides to give up a small portion of his control by raising the weapon from his lap and placing it in plain view on the worn felt tabletop. Despite this little sacrifice, his hand remains clenched on the grip with his finger on the trigger. When he hired me to supposedly collect a debt from the now deceased Mr. Crane, he'd done his homework. When he learned about my penchant for rum and hot ladies, he also learned about my past that included unique training and abilities. Because he'd duped me once already, he knew it wouldn't be as easy the second time around and wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm truly sorry that you feel that way," he remarks, portraying an image of calm. He knew also that at some time in the not too distant future, I would return to the scene of the crime for answers and unless he'd already gotten what he wanted, he intended on being here.

With regard to his calm appearance, my senses are telling me a different story, however. His image of calmness is just that, an image. Beneath his skin, he's sweating profusely. This is his poker face and I'm seeing right through it.

"There was no debt to collect," I growl softly, deciding to take advantage of the chair after all. "You used me to find that man so you could kill him and now the cops think I'm involved in a triple homicide."

As I settle lightly on the seat, Mick says encouragingly, "They're only looking for you as a person of interest Mac, not a suspect."

"You and I both know that it's one and the same," I reply, losing some of the anger and putting on my thinking cap. I came here for answers, not a barroom brawl.

"Yeah, well, you may be right about that," he begrudgingly concedes. "However, I might be able to help you with that if you're interested. I do have a little pull with the local authorities."

Here comes the hook.

"What do you want this time?" I ask, realizing the inevitability of what's to come.

"Eddy," he says a little too eagerly. "I believe you two have met."

"We have," I admit.

"Are you sure that you won't have that glass of libation?"

My defenses are weakening and I look longingly at the open cases, my eyes immediately going to the one with the West Indies packing label. "We have no reason to share a drink," I comment wryly, continuing to fight the temptation.

"We will soon enough," he confidently remarks, his nervousness being replaced with confidence.

"Don't count on it."

"Then let us get to the point. You have Eddy and Eddy has something of mine. You give me back what's rightfully mine and you and Eddy can get on with your lives. It's as simple as that. No one else has to die."

The satchel! That's what it's been about all along. That damn satchel.

Seeing my eyes light up, he says, "You just realized something. Didn't you?"

With my mind racing, I lower my gaze to the table and ask, "What makes you think I have Eddy?"

"The two of you were last seen together. Why would I think otherwise?"

"You probably won't believe me then when I tell you that I came here in search of her."

"Not for a minute," he states matter-of-factly. "But I have a feeling you just figured something out that you don't want to share. That's okay. I really don't give a shit what's going on between you and her, I just want back what she took from us."

We sit in silence, each trying to stare down the other. I don't believe for a minute that he's going to let me out of here in one piece if I don't give him something in return. A promise of good faith in getting him what he wants might be enough to get me out of here unscathed. I have to give him something, because those boys waiting on just the other side of the door may not be hardened thugs but there is a very good possibility that they'll do whatever Mick asks of them out of fear for their own lives. And that can be just as dangerous to my wellbeing as facing the real McCoy.

"What if I just bring you the item you're after and not Eddy?" I ask of him, trying to buy myself enough time to come up with a plan even though I have no intentions of honoring any deals until I know more about what the hell is going on.

"I already told you, I just want what belongs to me. What the two of you do after that is up to you." He pauses for a moment as if thinking through his next words and then concludes with, "If you don't or can't return it to me, then I can't and won't make any promises guaranteeing your safety or that of Eddy's. You've got five days, don't waste them."

"What makes you think you can trust me?"

"You're not only known for your passion for rum and women," he replies dismissively.

The door opens as if on cue and I suddenly realize that our entire conversation was being observed and the man sitting in front of me is as much a pawn in this charade as I am. Someone with more clout is pulling the strings and I intend on finding out who and why, despite Mick's threats.

Just what the hell did I get myself into?

### **11**

Cruising away from the pub, I discover for the first time in a long while that I am at a loss. All hope of finding a clue or developing a lead that might put me in the right direction at Eddy's last place of employment just went out the door. And because I went there in pursuit of Eddy, now I can't simply walk away and hope she has a good life. If I don't find her first, her life won't be worth a plug nickel.

Those men I killed today were not local yocos. They were much more closely related to the man pulling the strings and they were hardcore players. My killing of them forced the man pulling the strings into resorting to the use of local talent for his muscle and that explains the local boys trying so hard to be thugs. They probably don't have a clue as to just how dangerous a game they're playing.

But because I have a more pressing dilemma to deal with, I put those thoughts away for later. Mick is letting me live for the time being only because he knows I'm good at what I do and for the most part that is finding people. It behooves me that I can't shake the feeling that I'm being used for the second time by the same man for the same purpose. Yet this time the outcome will be different! Because now I know that Crane wasn't there to meet with me, but rather he was there to meet with Eddy. He was there trying to draw out the unknown player, which Mick now knows is Eddy, thanks to me.

The urgency of finding her grows more imminent with each passing minute. She is the key to this mess and I can't help her if I can't find her. But I also have no doubts that I'm not the only one looking for her.

"So, where do I begin?" I breathe softly, the moist sea air whipping through my hair as I follow the winding PC highway north out of town.

Turning down a side road leading into a rundown and neglected campground, I slow way down and watch my mirrors for any sign of being followed. When it appears that I'm all alone on the road, I determine that a campground is as good a place as any to take a little time and plan my next move.

Cruising past the overgrown host site, I veer right, planning to select a site as far from the entrance as possible when I suddenly have a change of heart. Everyone else would do just that, figuring that the farther they are from the entrance the less chance of anyone stumbling upon them. But the reality of the situation is such that most people aimlessly cruising campgrounds don't really have anywhere to go and they always make their way to the furthest extremities. In addition, if someone is looking for me, they're not going to stop halfway through the campground.

With this thought in mind, I select a site adjacent to the main road, yet set back behind a thicket of laurel shrubs and huckleberries. Although my bike is fairly well concealed behind this cover of green foliage, I'm still able to watch the comings and goings on the road and regular campers can see that the site is taken.

Within a matter of minutes, I have a campfire of small twigs and dead leaves smoldering profusely, giving the impression of a fire that is burning down and not one that was just lit. Leaving it, I make my way along the multitude of footpaths to the nearest restroom. To my good fortune, I find it deserted, if not very clean. Without taking the time to organize my stuff on the edge of the sink, I plug the basin with toilet paper and run the water until I have enough depth in the bottom for a cold body wash.

When I finish soaping and rinsing, I dry off with a liberal use of the toilet paper provided for camper's convenience and letting the damp particles fall to the now water-covered floor. After re-plugging the basin and adding more water, I shave with only water and a disposable razor, splashing more cold water from the tap into my face. The brisk water revitalizes me and I leave the mess behind as I skip back to my campsite. I feel no compunction to clean up after myself as they hire people to do that in much the same way as I am hired to do my job. Everyone has their place and position in this world and far be it for me to disrupt the balance.

Feeling refreshed, the first thing I do upon arrival back at my site is retrieve my final bottle of rum from the saddlebags. Setting it on a stump next to the fire ring that is worn smooth from being used as a bench, I next retrieve the magnum and cleaning kit. This latter item is carefully arranged next to the bottle of rum on the stump with the different articles laid out in the order that I will use them.

With the fire smoking softly on the slight breeze blowing in off the ocean, I set to work disassembling the magnum revolver and meticulously cleaning the parts before carefully laying them out on a small piece of oil-saturated cloth. While my hands are thus occupied, my mind turns inward to a calm place where I can carefully consider the string of events since my arrival in town.

Mick Vercelli, the man that hired me to supposedly collect a debt on his behalf, only to kill the man after I unsuspectingly lead him to the poor shmuck and then now I believe had nothing to do with this whole mess except to lead them to Eddy. Not only was I used as a bird dog, but they also made me into an unwitting accomplice in a murder for hire scheme. Or was that part of their original plan too? Was I supposed to be their scapegoat when they got what Eddy supposedly took from them and they killed everyone to clean up loose ends?

In either case, the police are searching for me as their number one suspect and I'm being forced into hiding which is further tying my hands and making the job I have to do that much more difficult.

Complicating matters is the fact that someone higher up the food chain is pulling the strings. My first thoughts are to find Mick without his thugs to protect him and make him talk. But even before the thought fully forms in my mind, I reject it. Mick is a player, even if he has resorted to using unskilled local talent. The last thing he would do is talk to me. He might as well sign his own death warrant and he understands that better than anyone. I'm only grateful that he didn't take the killing of his private muscle too personally.

I need to find out who's at the top. Who's really pulling the strings and most importantly, what I've gotten myself into. Also, where does Eddy fit into all of this? There could be no doubt that she knew in advance Mr. Crane was going to be at that particular tavern on that particular night. Did she know Crane and his routines and habits and had thus set herself up days, maybe even weeks in advance? There was no chance that she was just in the right place at the right time. Moreover, I have to rule out the possibility that she found him the same way that I did because if that was the case it wouldn't have been necessary for her to seek employment there.

Unless of course, she knew that he would be there all along because she was supposed to meet him there. He wasn't waiting for me, he was waiting for her. He just didn't know it. And it wasn't that she was interested in him so much as she was interested in the item or items in the satchel!

But that train of thought just creates more questions. If he didn't know who he was there to meet, was it because she had something to sell him or the other way around. And even more confusing, she knew who I was and wasn't surprised to see me there.

So if I assume that the black satchel contains what she wants, where will she go? And when and if I find her, do I turn her over to Mick to save my own hide or find out what her true motivation is and possibly align myself with her?

That last thought brings a sardonic smile to my face.

Satisfied that the magnum is thoroughly clean and ready for business, I slip it in the rear of my waistband and wrap up the cleaning kit. Setting it aside for the moment, I reach for the bottle of rum and then suddenly freeze. A car has just entered the campground and is moving slowly, its suspension squeaking and protesting over the speed bumps and potholes. This is not the first vehicle to enter the campground since I've arrived, but it's the first that has a familiar resonance emanating from a brand new exhaust system. I've heard this vehicle before and the hairs suddenly stand up on the nape of my neck with anxious anticipation. Supper will have to wait.

My hand slides away from the rum and reaches around for the familiar grip of the freshly serviced magnum revolver while I rise and step off to the side, casually blending into the overgrown brush outlining the individual sites.

To my surprise, the vehicle continues on past my site. But because I've moved too far away from the small opening offering access to the site, I miss my opportunity to lay eyes on it.

Before I even make a conscious decision to do so, my feet are carrying me toward the opening leading to the road and I'm rushing along the short trail to give pursuit of the vehicle on foot. When I break out of the brush onto the road, I abruptly halt as common sense finally takes control over my impulsive behavior. Quickly, I berate myself for behaving so badly as a teenage boy going through puberty. There isn't any logical reason for me to be acting so erratically.

Since there isn't any egress from the campground, except on the same road that leads into it, if I wait long enough the vehicle will eventually have to come back by this way. And if it doesn't, then I'll go looking for it. In the meantime, I've got a perfectly fine bottle of rum in need of some company.

### **12**

A tall, distinguished looking man with gray wisps of hair at the temples and a finely tailored suit steps through a concealed doorway leading into the storeroom. He glances down at his shoes and grimaces sourly at the thin sheen of dust that has collected there from his stay behind the wall where he eavesdropped on Mick's exchange with the bounty hunter. When he looks up at Mick, the expression remains, if not turning a little dourer.

"I don't like it," he finally remarks, smug with the fact that Mick showed subservience by not speaking first. He was not a man that tolerated insubordination from the hired help. Or incompetence, either.

"He led us to Crane and he'll lead us to the woman," Mick states weakly in his defense.

"He should be dead. If your goons hadn't been so incompetent," the tall man starts angrily, letting his words trail off in a dismissing fashion of superiority.

"I'll take care of him just as soon as he finds the woman," Mick weakly rebuts, glancing nervously toward the man and then quickly averting his gaze toward the floor.

Nodding toward the door, the man adds sarcastically, "With those halfwits?"

"I'll do it myself if I have to."

"You're damn straight, you will!" the man almost shouts at him, his anger turning his expression black. And then, in a more conciliatory tone of voice says, "I can't afford any more screw ups. I'm moving forward at any rate." Turning toward the open door to depart, he pauses and says gruffly over his shoulder, "Call me as soon as you get it."

Mick visibly relaxes in the chair and then quickly tenses up when the man stops half in and half out of the door, his hand lingering on the lever to pull it closed. "And Mick, when I say to call me as soon as you get it that means you don't call me until you have it in your hands."

"Yes, sir," Mick mumbles beneath his breath, wishing he could put a bullet in the man's head just to teach him a little humility.

But he realizes that such an act will only give him a moment of pleasure, unlike the reward that is forthcoming just as soon as he gets the artifact from the woman and can deliver it.

With the room finally vacant, he draws in a deep breath and notices that the air still reeks of the man's lingering cologne. It leaves an aftertaste in his mouth and he fights the impulse to call in the boys waiting just beyond the far wall.

Even more than fresh air, he needs a moment to collect his thoughts. He finds it deeply troubling when he considers the woman and the way she showed up without any warning. She must have been staking out the pub and watching Crane's movements or she'd made a deal with Crane and was just waiting for an opportunity to make the transaction. Somehow, his boss had that figured out and knew it was only a matter of time before it happened but may not have been aware of whom Crane was supposed to meet to get the goods. That would explain why he had to hire that stupid drunk Mac for a fall-guy to flush the woman out of hiding. And yet, his boys never picked up on any of it.

Now he needs the stupid drunk to lead him to the woman. It just keeps going downhill

"Well," he sighs aloud, "They're incompetence cost them their lives."

Moreover, how was he to know that Mac would side with her in the foray? She is an unknown in all of this and now she has the prize. But does she really know what she has or is she working for someone else. And if she's working for someone else, who is it?

"She can't be," he mutters out loud, trying hard to convince himself of it. "She has to be in this for herself."

Giving this thought more consideration, he realizes that without an experienced crew, he needs Mac even more so than before. As long as Mac doesn't realize what's at stake, with the exception of his own mortality, there is a very good chance that he'll find the woman for him. And when he does, he can be the go-between. A deal can be made to get the artifact, whatever it is, since she must have a price she wants for it and then he'll be off the hook. After that, he'll recruit some new muscle and clean up the loose ends once and for all. This time though, he's going to be more selective in his choices. Although brawn has its benefits, a crew with a few more brains couldn't hurt, so long as they don't have too many brains or too much ambition for their own good.

Just for insurance though, it might be a good idea to keep a tail on that drunk so he doesn't get the opportunity to betray me if and when he finds the woman.

### **13*

I barely get a swig of the sweet rum down my throat when the pleasure of a relaxing evening with a fine West Indies rum for company is rudely interrupted by the rustle of dry leaves crunching softly underfoot. Setting the bottle down on the stump, I casually move my hands around the side of the stump until I feel the familiar fit of the Pacmyer grips. Turning as if to reach for something in the saddlebag lying next to him, I inconspicuously plant my heels against the side of the stump that I'm perched upon. With no break in my movements, I suddenly propel myself forward with explosive force, the power of my uncoiling leg muscles sending me sailing across the small campsite. Gracefully, I strike the ground shoulder-first, my impetus carrying me heel over cod and back to my feet, now facing the opposite side of the clearing and looking back across the fire ring.

The magnum is leveled and ready, a live round raring to go when I suddenly recognize the astonished face looking back at me from the cover of brush and shadows.

"Eddy," I breathe aloud, both relieved and thrilled at the sight of her.

Slowly, she steps out of the undergrowth, a sheepish grin on her face as she stares down the barrel of the magnum I'm still unwittingly aiming at her. Following her gaze, I suddenly realize that I haven't lowered the weapon and I self-consciously set the hammer down slowly before slipping it back into the rear of my waistband.

Visibly relaxing, she says, "If you're hiding out, you're not doing a very good job of it if I can find you this easily."

It takes only a second to regain my wits after the pleasant surprise of her arrival and I retort in kind, "If I were trying to hide out, you wouldn't have found me, I promise you. But actually, it's quite the contrary. I figured that eventually you would realize you need my help and I didn't want to be too difficult for you to find."

Stepping past me, she squats down and gathers some of the drier twigs lying nearer the fire ring. With practiced ease, she carefully brings a flame up and then adds some more substantial material to keep it going. Satisfied with her work, she turns toward me and plants her rear on the bare ground. Crossing her legs in front of herself before draping her arms around her knees, she appears ready to listen or talk, either of which will be good.

"I suppose you're wondering what this is all about," she starts casually, suddenly eyeing the bottle of rum lying on top of the open saddlebag.

"Would you like a shot before we get started? Just a little something to lubricate the vocal cords," I offer, reaching for the rum.

"Please."

"Sorry, but I don't carry glasses. You'll have to take it straight on."

"Not the first time," she remarks casually, accepting the proffered bottle.

After sniffing the bottle gingerly, she tries a small sampling sip and then with a self-conscious smile, places the bottle against her lips and takes a long draught. Handing it back, she swallows with a pink flush of heat rising into her cheeks before replying, "Not bad, but I've had better."

Unless my discriminating palate was letting me down, I found that hard to believe. But I shrug the comment off and renew my memories of the fiery sweet liquid first-hand. After all, tastes are personal and subject to being judgmental. I make a mental note not to hold it against her.

Holding the bottle out to her, she shakes her head in the negative and clears her throat, preferring to keep her senses clear and uncluttered by the effects of too much alcohol. Not sharing those thoughts with her, I put the bottle back to my lips and take another healthy swig before returning the cap and dropping it back on top of the open pack.

Perched atop the stump that I'd been keeping warm prior to her arrival, I sit looking down at her while admiring the smooth skin of her face with the fresh smudging of dirt that only makes her appear more real, more approachable. Since our last time together, she has changed into a tight-fitting pair of jeans and a heavy plaid work shirt. It strikes me funny how it resembles the one I'd just changed into. And even though the fabric of the shirt is a thick, heavy cotton, the definite outlines of her bare breasts beneath it are highly visible and I can't help imagining their soft, sensuous feel in my big, grubby paws. But I'm not seeing her new set of clothes, only her disarming charm and sensuous beauty.

"You were saying," I start, tearing my thoughts away from visions of her naked body being held tightly in my arms as we make love on a blanket draped across the packed dirt of the campsite.

As if reading my thoughts, her upper lip curls up at the corner and she subconsciously runs the tip of her tongue along her lower lip, letting it linger at the corner of her mouth for a second before shaking the thought off and refocusing her attention on the present.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this," she says, visibly relaxing and leaning back on her hands.

"Why I'm here really has nothing to do with you. Does it?" I reply, glancing toward the rum.

"You could have left already, but you didn't. Why?" she persists, answering my question with a question.

There's a moment of awkward silence and then her back stiffens and she sits upright, her defenses heightened. "Unless, you've hired on for another job."

"And what job would that be?" I asked, playing the game of cat and mouse with her while suspecting she already knows about my deal with Mick.

The sun has slipped below the horizon and the shadows cast by the flickering light of the small fire highlight the stress lines and shadows on her otherwise beautiful face. I find myself unable to help myself for feeling empathy and concern for her that is bordering on feelings of protectiveness. The damp sea air is creeping along our skin and she shivers involuntarily. "Here," I say, reaching into the open saddlebag and retrieving my lined leather jacket. "Put this around you. It'll keep the dampness at bay which is what really makes you feel the cold."

"What about you," she says, tentatively accepting the proffered jacket and the promise of warmth and protection that it implies.

"I'm acclimated, I'll be alright," I shrug, settling back on the stump while watching her stand and slide the jacket on.

Her legs aren't the longest, nor are they the slenderest. But they are firm and bordering on muscular, the flesh of her thighs pressing against the denim cotton for release. Almost subconsciously, she turns her back to me, her eyes straining to see into the darkness while the fragile flame of the fire highlights the curvature of her hips against the now-black shrubs.

There is a growing pressure in my own jeans and I feel the uncomfortable press of tender flesh against tightly sewn seams. If I were cold a minute earlier, I'm burning up now!

"When I was unconscious, you looked after me," she says with her back to me, staring into the darkened sky. "You could have searched through my things. I would have yours," she quickly adds, as if justifying what I might have done. "But I know you didn't or we wouldn't be here now with me needing help and you trying to figure out what you got yourself into."

She was right, of course. I hadn't searched through her stuff while she lay unconscious and vulnerable in that hotel room. Not that the thought hadn't crossed my mind, because it had. But out of some deep-seated chivalrous pride, I had respected what little privacy of hers I could afford her. After all, I undressed her, bathed her and even hand fed her, all the while torn between calling for help and continuing to let nature take its course. It was only through miraculous good fortune that nature smiled down on her and brought her back from the brink. It surely wasn't because of anything I did. The bandages she still wears are proof of the seriousness of the situation.

"And if I had snooped through your few possessions, what would I have discovered about you?"

"It isn't what you would have discovered about me that concerns me," she says in a serious tone of voice. "It's what you would have discovered in my satchel, had you looked."

She pauses, turning back to face me and expecting me to interrupt her with some snide remark or possibly questioning her about the contents of the satchel. But I sit quietly, studying her face and features as the light from the little fire again highlights the worry lines, leaving her eyes dark and fathomless depths of mystery. Having interviewed many people in my time, both with the police department and before when I worked special operations for the military, if I learned anything, short of torture, the quickest way to get information from someone was to let them tell it in their own time and at their own pace. Interruptions, no matter how well intentioned, only slowed matters down.

When her eyes drift to the bottle of rum, I lift it from its perch on the pack and silently hand it over to her. Without saying a word, she undoes the cap and takes a quick, judicious sip.

"Thanks," she utters, keeping hold of the bottle while she slowly lowers herself back to the ground. "If you had taken even just a quick look within my satchel, you would have figured out very quickly that you're way in over your head."

In her own words, she admitted to knowing who I was. This meant she knew that I wasn't just your run-of-the-mill PI. I'd been around. If she felt that I was in over my head, then she had my full attention. Now I was beginning to wish that I'd peeked when I had the chance.

When she sees that I'm not going to respond to her comment, she continues, "You're still thinking that Mikael Vercelli is behind all this and that he's pulling the strings to get me." She pauses for a moment, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth as she adds with a rueful smirk, "He probably even tried hiring you to find me."

This time, even I can't keep my mouth shut. "He did," I ashamedly admit.

"Don't feel bad," she says consolingly. "If I thought for a minute that you'd actually turn me over to him, or worse yet, take him the satchel without knowing everything, I wouldn't be here."

"So why are you here?" I asked, lowering my guard to her.

She rises, stretching languorously and slowly moves around the fire, her eyes fixed on me as the bottle of rum is all but forgotten in her right hand. "Because I need you, Mac."

Stepping in close to me with the smell of rum on her breath, which has become visible in the chilly night air, she says again, her breath growing husky in her throat, "Because I need your help." When I reflexively get to my feet and reach out to take her in my arms, she puts the bottle in my way, effectively stopping me from getting any closer than she has determined it to be safe. "Here," she says, her voice hitching in her throat. "Have another swig, cause you're going to need it for what you hear next."

### **14**

Using a cigarette lighter to find our way, we manage to scrounge some firewood left in nearby campsites and keep the flame in our own fire-ring going. Although I don't carry unnecessary items such as glasses, I do carry a skillet and a small coffee pot. Within a matter of minutes, I have water boiling and the smell of instant coffee mingles with the smoky night air. Fortunately, she likes her coffee black, because cream and sugar aren't exactly necessities to a man that lives on the edge and is forced to travel light.

Back on our respective stumps, a hot cup of coffee warming our chilled fingers, we again look across the fire at each other. She still seems hesitant to speak so, holding my coffee carefully with one hand, I roll the stump around the fire until it is setting next to her. Perching on it, I stare into the fire and softly urge her, "I'm willing to help you, Eddy, but you have to tell me what's going on."

"There isn't any money in it, so I won't be able to pay you," she murmurs apologetically.

"I rarely see money for my efforts," I growl, thinking back on a few cases that I should have been paid for and wasn't. But that's water under the bridge and this is current business. She's in need and it's a foregone conclusion that I'm going to help her no matter what she tells me.

In the soft glow of the flames, I study the proud contour of her face and notice a softness to her features that wasn't there just seconds before me telling her that I'd help her. In that moment, I realize that I can't turn my back on her even if I try.

Nervously, she rises to her feet and turns away from the fire. As if afraid of losing her balance, she takes a few gingerly placed steps and then stops, facing off into the darkness. The night has grown silent except for the distant sound of traffic passing on 101.

When she doesn't say anything for a long moment, I gently coax her. "You were about to tell me why those men want you. Is it because you have something of theirs, or just something of extreme value to anyone that possesses it?"

"They don't want me, per se," she starts, glancing at me over her shoulder.

The firelight sparkles briefly in her eyes and I'm reminded of a wraith from the fairy tales of my youth. Without thinking, I remark, "I can't imagine any warm-blooded man not wanting you."

The words haven't even left my mouth and I am regretting saying them.

Yet, instead of losing track of her thoughts, she turns back toward me with a warm smile of appreciation for the thought making her even more irresistible.

The smile fades as quickly as it took shape and her expression turns serious, worrying the words that she is about to divulge to me. "It's in the satchel," she starts, telling me something that I'd already suspected. "Before I tell you any more though, you have to promise me that you won't let them get their hands on it."

Moving toward me as she speaks, I find it hard to concentrate on her words while simultaneously studying the graceful movement of her shapely legs in the tight-fitting jeans. As if reading my mind, her expression flashes a mask of anger which quickly dissipates and she again appears soft and vulnerable. "Promise me," she firmly states, her expression serious.

"Yes, of course," I quickly stutter, averting my eyes to the licking flames in the fire ring. "So, what is it?"

"I know you searched my possessions while I was unconscious. And I know you've met with the guy that hired the thugs to retrieve it from Mr. Crane, the man at the tavern who was supposed to bring me information that would prove what I know. What you didn't know is what you were looking for or you would have seen it right off. That means, they didn't tell you the what or why of your job. They probably just gave you a number in American dollars and figured you would take them to it," she adds with a hint of contemptuous disdain.

Whether the contempt was aimed toward them or me, I wasn't sure. But I did hire my services out and that meant I had a price for which I could be bought. At least, for most things anyway.

"You're right," I sheepishly admit, looking away for a moment. "I did go through your things while you were lying unconscious in my bed." My comment brings back a vivid memory of her naked body lying cold and slick with fever upon the stained sheets in the dingy motel at which I was staying. It also reminds me of the lust I felt while cleansing her clammy skin with warm soapy water and the soft moaning sounds she emitted at my touch.

With great effort, I fight back the shame of my thoughts while she quickly turns away as if able to read them, a bright pink hue rising in her cheeks.

Breaking the tension of the moment, I clear my throat and continue. "And you're also right about the fact that I didn't have a clue what I was looking for, nor did I find it."

"Of course, you didn't find it," she sharply hisses, her hair flying around her face as she swings her gaze back toward me. "If you had, we wouldn't be here now!" She pauses for a moment, and the tension in the air slowly abates. Almost apologetically, she meets my gaze and in a calm, subdued voice, says, "If you had given Mick what he wanted, we would both be dead by now."

"I've worked for men like him before," I start weakly, not wanting to argue with her, but disagreeing nonetheless. "They tend to prefer handing over money than dealing with dead bodies."

"If it were just Mick, you might be right," she determinedly states. "But he ain't pulling the strings here. This goes way beyond his small time scheming and hustling."

Her comment hurt. I didn't see Mick as the small potatoes she was making him out to be. Her comment did confirm my belief that someone higher up the food chain was pulling the strings. Yet that didn't make Mick small potatoes like she seemed to feel. But if what she was saying were true, did that mean I was even smaller potatoes in the big scheme of things?

Ouch!

Sensing my indignation, she quickly continues. "I'm not certain who exactly is pulling Mick's strings, but when he didn't collect the product from Mr. Crane, whoever it is must have been very upset. They're running out of time and it's too late to start over."

"You've lost me," I state rather lamely, confused by her comments regarding time and starting over. I thought I was going to find a satchel full of money, possibly even counterfeit. Drugs didn't seem as likely, but I hadn't ruled them out either. Instead, I didn't find anything that any woman wouldn't have been carrying in an overnight bag, or maybe even her purse. In fact, though I studied every last item in it with a trained eye, there wasn't anything of importance in the satchel at all. But my pride will never let me admit such to her. "Where is the satchel?" I innocently inquire.

"It's in a safe place," she says distractedly, her thoughts elsewhere and not really hearing me. With a sudden flick of her head, she meets my gaze across the fire, her eyes sparkling with the reflection of embers. Suspiciously, she asks, "Why are you asking? Did they get to you? Have they met your price?"

Slowly, she rises from her perch, her eyes fixed on me accusingly. "Sit down," I growl at her. "If you know me as well as you claim to, then you would also know that underhanded plays and deceitfulness aren't my strong suit." I pause for a moment while she lowers her beautiful ass back to the stump. "If they had met my price, you would already know of it. The first thing I would have tried is to convince you to give them what they want and then I would have tried seducing you into seeing the world with me. Because with the kind of money it would have taken them to make me turn on you, we could go around the world quite a few times and then some." Her expression softens and she smiles at me-a smile that drives back the dark of the night and sheds a warm beam of light on my mostly bleak world.

"If they had believed you had a price, they could have and would have met it," she states matter-of-factly. "You really don't have a clue who we're dealing with, do you?"

"Beyond Mikael Vercelli, not a clue," I honestly reply, believing that she is about to enlighten me and she does.

"Vercelli is nothing more than a general contractor in this deal. He was hired to be the buffer between the real powers and the street crews needed to do the dirty work." She pauses for a moment, clearly organizing her thoughts. "But before I get ahead of myself, let me explain first who I am," she starts, piquing my interest even more than I had originally believed possible. "Several years ago, I was just a lowly lab tech for a major pharmaceutical company. I was assigned to a bright geneticist that truly believed he could make a difference. He was young and naïve and I was even more so. Together, we worked hard, our ambition blinding us to the reality of it all."

There is a long moment of silence while she reminisces, her smile warm, drawing me emotionally toward her. Though I long to reach across the fire and take her into my arms, I hold back, drawing on my reserve of patience so she can finish in her own time. Experience has taught me that people can be much more revealing when left to their own devices. Pressure only causes most people to grow defensive and tight-lipped.

And sure enough, within a moment her eyes refocus on our surroundings and she starts afresh, blurting, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't tell you. His name was Mark."

Suddenly unable to restrain myself, I question, "You speak of him in the past tense..."

"They killed him," she says softly.

In that moment, I realize they were lovers and her pain draws me closer to her. Rising, I move around the fire and squat on the ground next to her, my right hand reaching out and taking hold of hers. "You don't have to talk about it," I say gently, feeling the pain of her loss as though it were my own.

"It's the reason they're after the satchel and the main reason I will never let them have it! At least not so long as they can use it," she states angrily. Suddenly, she gives a toss of her head as if to clear her thoughts, her long trusses of black hair flying wildly like that of a mane on a beautiful horse. Smiling down at me, she applies a slight pressure in kind to my hand.

If we had been sitting in a bar or a bedroom, I would have taken her actions as an invite to join her in the boudoir. But we weren't in either. And her actions were just what they appeared to be, a gesture of thanks for my show of compassion.

"Is that bottle of rum still handy?" she asks, making a show of looking around the base of the stump for it.

When I hand it to her, she says while unscrewing the cap, "We don't need glasses."

After taking a big swig, she hands the bottle back to me while holding the cap in her other hand. Taking the proffered bottle, I down a healthy swig of my own, savoring the sweet, fiery blend.

"Better?" I ask of her, taking the cap from her and returning it to the bottle.

"Much. Now, where was I?"

"You were working as a lab assistant."

"Right. We were working on a new vaccine. My job was filling Petri dishes and time-stamping them for results. I didn't fully understand everything that was going on. But I believed in Mark and he knew what he was doing. He had a plan and a specific codetic agenda."

"Codetic agenda?" I interrupt.

"Yeah, it means your working on a specific gene code with an ultimate goal of achieving a desired result. All the genetics people in the labs used the term to impress the bureaucrats that funded their research. It's not really a word, but between the researchers, it meant you were on track."

"And what exactly was Mark's codetic agenda?"

"Don't laugh, but Mark actually managed to break down the common cold into a specific genetic structure that could be prevented with a simple vaccine. Everyone talks about it, but no one has ever achieved it. In fact, if there was a simple cure or preventative for the common cold, it would mean financial ruin for countless pharmaceutical companies."

"Why would a cure for the common cold ruin pharmaceutical companies?" I ask, feeling left out of the conversation for lack of understanding.

"Don't you see?" she asks incredulously. "People spend billions, maybe even trillions of dollars a year on fever reducers, sore throat medications, and countless other useless drugs that do little more than mask the symptoms of the common cold. If there was a cure or a preventative so that no one ever got the common cold again, what would the pharmaceutical companies do to generate revenue?"

"That sounds like little more than urban myth," I remark disbelievingly. "Pharmaceutical companies make drugs for everything from headaches to cancer treatments. Surely, you don't expect me to believe they couldn't exist without the common cold and the sales generated by the treatment of it each year."

"They could and they will, because they won't have a choice. In the future, they will have to make their money just like every other business-they'll have to earn it. A cure for the common cold means an end to their free ride and they're not going to go down without a fight. They can afford to spend millions on this war and they will," she says determinedly.

"Millions?"

"Don't get any ideas," she mocks, taking back the bottle of rum. "You wouldn't know what to do with millions of dollars."

"Can I at least think about it?" I smirk, studying her eyes and recognizing something genuine looking back at me over the upturned bottle.

In that moment, I realize that it is more than mere lust driving me to her assistance. There is something about her that touches me very near to my heart. If she was to ask me to do anything, I couldn't refuse her if I tried.

Handing the bottle back to me, she says in a very business-like tone of voice, "You realize that we're not safe here. If I can find you this easily, so can they."

"That was my original intent, that you find me," I say with a wink. When she starts to protest my cavalier attitude, I quickly cut her off, "They won't bother with us for at least a day. Vercelli has given me time to find you."

"And you don't think they have this place staked out already, waiting for me to come to you?" she asked incredulously.

"I'm counting on it," I smile back at her, enjoying her sudden unease and paranoid reaction. "If you believed for one minute that they didn't know I was here, you would have brought the satchel with. But you didn't. That tends to make me think you thought they knew I was here as well." Her silence only convinces me further that I was right about what she thought or suspected. "Don't worry, we'll lose them soon enough. As soon as they report back to Vercelli that the two of us have hooked up and I'm not making a move to bring you back to him, he'll order his thugs to move in. I don't plan on having to kill any more people, at least not tonight, not yet."

The relief is apparent on her face. Still, her eyes dart to and fro along the shadowy edges of the campsite, trying to distinguish the darker patches of shadows from the foliage. When a field mouse scurries by, its tiny feet stirring the dry leaves into sound, she jumps to her feet as her right hand moves instinctively across her chest. The action solidifies my suspicions that she is more than familiar with packing a concealed weapon beneath her left arm.

Gathering my few possessions that I'd pulled from my saddlebags and throwing them back inside, I say, "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Where are you parked?"

"What about your bike? You can't just leave it here."

Her concern for my old Beazer really touches a soft spot and I feel an even warmer place in my heart for her. "It'll be alright here for the night."

"I can meet up with you somewhere," she quickly suggests, causing me to wonder if she is trying to ditch me.

"This campsite is as safe a place for my bike as any, unless you think we should leave it parked outside the police station. I'm sure that won't raise any suspicions," I add sarcastically, thinking back on the house where she was staying and how the cops were sure to be looking for my bike and me as a person of interest in the slaying of several men.

"You're right," she hurriedly concedes, either agreeing to my logic, or not wanting to sound too desperate to lose me that I might grow suspicious.

Leaving the campfire burning down, I follow her northeast in the dark while sticking to the roughly paved campground road as it winds through the tall, dark sentries of fir and cedar. Despite the lack of light, she seems to find her way with ease, never once varying far from the center of the lane. Glancing skyward, I notice the stars are out and the sky is magnificent.

As we continue along the road, the sound of traffic on highway 101 slowly grows louder. We cross a small bridge and stop. "It gets a little tricky from here. You might want to hold onto my hand. If you step off the trail at all, you're liable to land in the creek," she says softly, her voice the only sound in the dark.

Not hesitating for fear she might change her mind, I reach out in the dark and take her hand. "Lead on," I whisper softly, feeling her move away and down.

The trail starts off at a slightly downward slope but then quickly levels out again. Although the water is barely moving, I hear a faint burp and gurgle off to my right. When a loud splash just ahead shatters the stillness, she freezes in her tracks, her grip on my hand tightening reflexively.

"It's just a beaver," I whisper softly, familiar with their nocturnal habits.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her voice tense.

"Trust me."

Taking me at my word, she continues forward. Within a few minutes, we come to a highway overpass and the sporadic traffic is now passing directly overhead. Coming out on the far side, she stops to scout the area before proceeding further. Parked next to an old wooden bench is a rundown, beige colored van. Just beyond it the Range Rover from Crane's safe house. Blocking both from view of the main parking lot is a low growing juniper, its branches spreading out widely.

We sit on our haunches for a long moment, studying the surrounding area while listening to the traffic going by above us.

"The van is mine," she whispers softly.

When I'm satisfied that we're alone, I move out from the cover of the underpass and work my way up the side of the bank toward the highway. My feet slip on the damp grass and I almost slide back to the bench before finally gaining the top of the bank and reach the guardrail running along the highway. Staying low, I look both ways along the highway, making certain that there aren't any vehicles or people lurking along the shoulder. If someone had followed her here, they would pick the shoulder of the highway for a vantage point to keep watch and any movement down below would be easy to follow. In fact, a marksman from up here would have an easy time with a night-vision scope. We would have been easy targets moving toward the van.

Eddy draws up close beside me, her voice barely a whisper, "What is it?"

I'm just about to tell her nothing when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. But it's not from along the highway where I was expecting someone to be hiding. Instead, the movement is at the bottom of the bank directly below us. Whoever it is must have followed us out of the campground.

Moving slowly, I gently press my fingertips against the soft flesh of Eddy's lips, urging her to silence while simultaneously nodding toward the darkness at the mouth of the overpass. Understanding dawns immediately and she crouches lower to the ground as a car passes, its headlights creating a bright backdrop silhouetting everything above the crest of the bank from below.

The moment the car's headlights flash past us, I lunge into action, taking advantage of the fading noise of the receding taillights to get into position on the man or men slinking in the darker shadows beneath the overpass. Because I need both hands to steady myself in the darkness, I leave the magnum holstered in the small of my back.

As I reach the bottom of the bank, I sense Eddy's presence close behind. Glancing back, I catch a glint of starlight on metal and involuntarily cringe, realizing that she's drawn her weapon and the highly polished metal is acting like a diamond as it reflects even the smallest of light sources.

Moving without thinking, I reach out and grab the weapon from her hand and then cover as much of the polished steel with my bare fist as possible. A startled gasp slips from her and the man in the dark suddenly disturbs the gravel, crunching it softly beneath a poorly placed foot. Like me, he too caught the glint of reflected starlight against the pitch of black behind us and it spurred him into action.

But was he moving into position for the kill or was he just a tail assigned to keep an eye on us? Furthermore, did he have backup or was he working alone?

Before we can leave here, we need to determine the answers to those questions and I know of only one way to do that. We have to take him alive.

"Don't move," I hiss angrily into her ear, forcing the weapon against her chest in such a manner that her right hand and arm cover it.

With the grace of a jungle cat, I slip down the bank while angling away from the road and the open maw of the overpass. If there is anyone else waiting in the darkness, I don't want to stumble on them by accident. One slippery quarry is enough when maneuvering in unknown territory under cover of darkness.

When I feel the ground level out beneath my feet, I stop for a moment and hold my breath to get my coordinates, every sense on high alert for the nearby presence hiding in the darkness. Patiently, I wait and listen to the natural sounds surrounding us. The bugs crawling in the taller grass and the dew dripping almost soundlessly from the metal framework of the bench.

Before I even realize the man is moving, I smell him, his stench of garlic and hot grease permeating the cool night air. Eating fast food within the airtight confines of an enclosed vehicle saturates one's clothing with the airborne smells leaving a clinging odor much like an aftertaste. Not everyone has the keen sense of smell that I have and thus most would never notice such a scent emanating from another human. But I have this ability and when incorporated with an acute sense of being, I pick up on the location of the man as he skulks in the darkness along the riverbank.

My senses tell me he is alone and as I trust my senses implicitly, I move slowly through the dark and drop down to the edge of the water, putting myself below him. My instincts further tell me he hasn't moved since I left Eddy's side and based on this knowledge, I conclude that he isn't an assassin but simply a tail, his only mission to follow and observe and maybe even grab the satchel if the opportunity presents itself.

Studying the darkness of the landscape, I realize that unless I circle back toward Eddy, maybe even going across the highway and dropping down the far side of the overpass, my only other option is to approach from the creek.

While I weigh my two options, trying to decide if I should take the time to double back and come at him from behind or enter the frigid water, Eddy suddenly slides down the bank, her boots unable to get purchase on the dew-slick grass. Before I can move, the man darts from the shadows, retreating hurriedly into the maw of the overpass and disappearing from sight. A long minute later, I hear him stumble and curse as he trips on a limb. Placing the sound, I can safely estimate it to be from a distance of at least three hundred feet.

Stepping over to Eddy, I reach down and with a hand beneath her left elbow gently raise her to her feet. "Come on, let's get out of here," I grumble sullenly.

"My foot fell asleep waiting for you to do something," she argues defensively.

"It doesn't matter," I irritably snap, pushing her along toward the van by the elbow. "It was just a tail anyway. By now, he's probably called and given a description of the van and someone else will be waiting for us to surface on the highway. Whether we go north or south, they'll be waiting to pick up our trail."

"I said, I'm sorry," she quickly retorts, moving toward the van on her own steam. She could easily shake my hand off her arm, but she doesn't. Instead, she lightly leans on it as if for comfort.

Reaching the van, she pulls the keys from her front pant pocket and hands them to me with her free hand. "Here, you drive. You seem to want to control everything, it's only fitting that I come along for the ride."

"You'll have to tell me where to go," I innocently reply.

"Yes, that I can do," she flippantly replies as she heads around to the passenger's side of the van while I fumble with inserting the key into the door lock.

When the door opens, I throw my saddlebags over the front seat and into the back cargo area before climbing in. Once in, I reach across the doghouse lid and unlatch the passenger door, letting my hand dangle for a moment so she can lock her hand in mine and I pull her in. For the briefest of moments after settling into the passenger's seat, her hand lingers within my grasp and our eyes meet. Despite the dark, I can see the outline of her face and the soft rise and fall of her breasts beneath the heavy cotton work shirt.

Letting go of my hand, she says a bit breathlessly, "When you get up on the highway, head south. We have a better chance of losing anyone that might be following us on the backstreets of town than we do on old logging roads in the hills."

Turning the key, the engine roars to life and I quickly back up into the center of the parking lot before shifting into drive and accelerating up onto the highway. Within a few moments, the heater is spewing out warm air and we're both feeling comfortable despite knowing there is a tail on us. And even though I was a bit short with her for losing her footing on the bank and alerting the tail, I was more than a little bit relieved that I didn't end up having to go into the creek. Right now, the last thing I want is to be cold, soggy wet and covered in mud.

"I know you told me that your friend created the cure for the common cold and I believe you obviously have something of value to somebody. But there has to be more to it," I begin almost casually and yet a tad accusingly, all the while watching her in the passing streetlights for any sign of deception.

As I suspected she might, she flinches and her eyes suddenly look guilty. "What do you mean?" she innocently questions me, her eyes shifting and growing softer even as I continuing watching them.

"There's more to this than you're telling me and I'm not in the mood for games. I'll help you, but you have to be honest with me, Eddy. No games. Just the whole truth," I softly plead with her.

Her gaze drops to her lap and for the briefest of moments, her right hand slips beneath her left arm, feeling the solidity of the weapon concealed there as if for strength. But when her hand comes back into view, it isn't empty.

"What is it, Eddy?" I ask, unable to make out the object in the darker shadows.

"It's the last hope for mankind," she says softly, almost inaudibly over the sound of the engine noise coming up through the doghouse between us. She's silent for a moment as she stares at a small perfume bottle containing a clear yellow liquid. When she again speaks, her voice is distant, detached, "They gave it a name, _Toxic Rain_. It spreads with the ease of the common cold, but it's so much more deadly. And there is only one available cure." She pauses for a moment, never taking her eyes off the bottle. "When _Toxic Rain_ hits the streets, mankind will be forced to pay their price or die. But, as I'm sure you've figured out also, it isn't their intention to reveal the cure until several hundred thousand, maybe even millions, are already dead. Then, on the pretext of rapidly developing a cure they'll make their product available to the public at a horrendous cost. Only the wealthy will be able to afford it at first and then eventually the government will get involved and more and more people will be given the cure. But by then, the world as we know it will not exist. Or," She pauses for a second before continuing. When she does, her voice is filled with even more dread at the prospect of what she is saying. "And this is what Mark and his friend believed, they intend on selling the vaccine to the highest bidder, even if it's a ruthless terrorist that isn't afraid to use it on any country that won't or can't meet their demands."

Although I hear her every word, I can't grasp the full meaning of them. What she is saying seems so preposterous and yet, I don't have any choice but to believe her.

"How did you get it?"

"Mark. It was the last thing he did before they killed him."

"Your boyfriend developed the deadliest virus in the world?"

"No, he developed the cure!" she angrily retorts. When she calms down, she adds, "He didn't know all of what he was working on until later. And then, he wasn't supposed to find out about _Toxic Rain_. While developing the cure, he was only given parameters in which to work. It was during trials of the drugs he was working on that he met one of the scientists involved in the other side of the research. When they started talking, they took an instant like to each other. Within a few weeks of meeting, they had become fast friends. But even then, they didn't understand the scope of what they were doing. That came later after he got sick and Mark was unable to save him. Only then, did Mark figure out the implications of their research. His friend had developed the super-cold and Mark was only weeks behind in coming up with the cure. But by then, his newfound friend was already dead."

"What happened next?" I ask, turning down a side street while watching the rear view mirror to see who follows.

For a moment, the street remains empty and then a black SUV turns onto it, coming from the same direction as us. Wanting Eddy to finish with her story, I don't mention the tail.

"Mark told me about everything. He was going to go to the police and the CDC." Her voice trails off. "But he never got the chance. The minute they discovered that he'd developed a cure for their super-cold they had him killed. They made it look like an accident. But they killed him just as surely as I'm sitting here."

Her knuckles are white from clenching the bottle of supposedly _Toxic Rain_ vaccine and I suddenly worry that she's going to crush it and release the only evidence of it within the confines of the van. "Relax, Eddy," I say softly, glancing casually into the rearview mirror to keep the tail in sight. "So tell me, how did you get your hands on that stuff?"

"The morning before they killed him, Mark called me and asked me to meet him for an early lunch. We met at a small restaurant that we ate at occasionally so it wouldn't raise any eyebrows. When I got there, Mark was already there and waiting. He was sitting at a table near the rear as far from the door as he could get and still keep an eye on it. My first impression was that he didn't look well and I immediately feared that they'd exposed him to the virus. But then, I realized he wouldn't have called me to come to him if there was any chance that he might in turn expose me to the virus." She pauses for a moment and then says, "I sure could use a drink."

"Saddlebags in back," I suggest, hinting for her to climb into the back and retrieve the bottle of rum. Like Eddy, I too am feeling the need for a stiff one. If what she is telling me is the truth and I have no reason to believe it's not, then we are into something much bigger than I ever could have imagined.

After only a moment's hesitation, she shifts over and climbs up on the doghouse, the shapely curve of her rear-end highlighted by the lights of the dash. Playfully, I reach across my chest with my left hand while my right grips the wheel. But before I can lay my palm across the stretched denim covering her firm cheeks, I think better of my actions and restrain my impulse. Instead, I lay my left hand on my right arm and squeeze it hard enough to cause pain.

Almost as if sensing the immoral thoughts in my mind, she hesitates with the lower half of her body perched precariously over the back of the doghouse while her upper half extends toward the floor of the van with her hands searching through my saddlebags for the bottle of rum. The temptation is almost too much for me to withstand and I bite down on my lower lip, adding to the pain of my fingers digging into the flesh of my right arm.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I am brought back to the reality of our situation much quicker than any physical pain could ever achieve. No longer are we being followed by a single SUV. Now there are two SUV's trailing us, their exteriors as well as their behaviors identical. No longer can we be content with leading around a tail, the appearance of a second vehicle can only mean they are getting ready to try something and have called in their backup. But even more troubling is the notion that Mick wouldn't have this kind of power at his beck and call. So who's joined the game?

Eddy suddenly plops awkwardly into the rear of the van, a slight grunt escaping her when she lands solidly on the hard metal floor. "You all right?" I ask, glancing quickly into the darkness of the van before turning my attention back to the two vehicles ominously following in our tracks.

"Nothing that a gentle massage won't cure," she says almost playfully, oblivious of the vehicles joining in our parade. After rummaging through my bags for a moment, the sound of the contents spilling unmercifully over the rear floor of the van, she cries out with joy, "I got it!"

Almost hurriedly, she unscrews the cap and takes a large swallow. "Here," she says, offering me the bottle while resting on her knees amid my scattered belongings.

Taking the proffered bottle, I ask her to find my spare box of ammo for the magnum. "It should be lying on the floor with the rest of my worldly possessions," I sarcastically grumble, before checking on the vehicles following us in the rear view.

Convinced that the vehicles are satisfied with staying behind us for the time being, I put the bottle to my lips and fill my mouth with the fiery liquid, savoring it deeply before letting the heat slide down my throat. There is nothing as pleasant as the smoothly satisfying abilities of fermented sugarcane. Except of course, the charms of a beautiful woman.

"Why do you need these?" she suspiciously inquires of me, setting the partial box of magnum ammunition on the doghouse next to me.

"Hopefully, I won't," I casually reply, handing back the bottle and then slipping the box in my left hand jacket pocket. Checking the mirror and seeing the two vehicles still keeping pace with us and not trying to gain ground, I urge her to continue, "You were saying how you came to be in possession of that stuff."

Still clutching the bottle of rum, she clambers over the doghouse and plops down heavily in the passenger's seat. Her eyes drift off to sights unseen outside any window in this universe and in an equally distant voice, says, "He was sitting alone in the back of the restaurant, his face pale as he nervously watched the door. As I walked up to him, he kept glancing past me as if expecting someone to be following me. When I asked him what was wrong, he didn't answer at first. It was almost as if mouthing the words made them real."

Her voice is soft and I have to strain to make out the words when I notice another black SUV identical to the two following us parked along a side street. Expecting the show to start, I brace for it to suddenly pull out in front of us while my eyes survey the areas on either side of us. To my surprise though, it lets us pass and then falls in directly behind us, putting itself between us and the other two vehicles.

Taking a deep breath, I realize at that moment that I'd been holding it in. Letting the air whistle out of my mouth with a long sigh, Eddy glances over at me and understands immediately the significance of the black SUV.

"They're following us?"

"Yeah," I truthfully reply while glancing in the rearview mirror. "Two of them have been with us almost since the boat launch."

"What are they waiting for?" she says almost to herself.

"They must think you're taking me to the stuff and don't realize we have it with us," I suggest, not even convincing myself of my answer and yet unable to come up with anything better. "So, you were saying."

Taking my lead, she continues, her voice firmed up with the anger of her thoughts and the fortification of the rum. "He ordered me to sit down beside him so that I wouldn't block his view of the doorway. When I did as he asked, he started talking, his eyes never leaving the door. He explained how they had used him to develop a cure for his friend's super virus and how they needed his silence now." She pauses for a moment, remembering him and the kind of man he was. "He was ecstatic at first. The breakthrough he'd engineered was going to save millions of lives. Naively, he expected the company to make it available to the public at little or no charge and then, only if the worst should happen and it was really needed. He never believed for a minute that the virus would ever escape the lab where it was being developed. His friend wasn't the kind of guy to let something like that happen-he'd abort the project first. But his friend never got the chance to abort the project." She pauses for a long moment before continuing. "After his friend died, figured out that it was the company's intention all along to make everyone sick by spreading the virus so they could hold the public hostage for the cure. Learning the truth almost killed him before they did."

When she pauses again, I offer, "Of course, the more that die originally, the greater the demand for the cure." And then, to keep her talking, I ask, "What companies are involved?"

"I don't know for certain. The one Mark worked for was nothing more than a paper sham, an office building with an upscale address that wrote the paychecks and a nice lab in an industrial complex across town. Who set it up is anyone's guess. But I do know for certain that the type of equipment and research they were doing didn't come cheap. It has to be someone with deep pockets and a lot to lose if their reputation should take a hit."

"So, he gave you the cure and told you to get it to the proper authorities before they released the virus."

"That was the plan until I learned that everywhere I went, they'd already been there ahead of me and everyone seems to be on their payroll except me. I'm not even sure that you aren't. But I'm running out of options," she sighs resignedly.

"Yeah, I know," I sarcastically remark. "At some point in the game, you have to trust someone. So why not the tall handsome hero, huh? If nothing else, he'll probably take a bullet for ya."

Smiling gratefully at me, she softly asks, "Would he?"

### **15**

After a long pause, I break the silence with, "I know this isn't easy for you, but how did your Mark die?"

Her head snaps toward me and for just the briefest of moments, sparks fly from her eyes. Yet, as quickly as the anger is there, it's gone and she's suddenly demure and timid in the glow of the dash lights. When she answers, her voice is faint as if the effort is almost more than she can endure. It pains me to have to ask. But it's important that I know everything. In the most irrelevant seeming bit of information could lie the key to this situation and our dilemma. "That night after he left the restaurant, we were to meet up at one of his friends' place. Even though I didn't like the idea," she pauses, and then hesitantly explains herself. "I never trusted the guy whose place Mark said we were to meet and couldn't understand how he and Mark had ever become friends. The guy was a lab cleanup technician, not even a scientist like Mark. We'd only gone to his place together once before and all the while the guy kept ogling me. You know, undressing me with his eyes. I told Mark after we'd left that I never wanted to see that guy again and he just laughed it off."

"Yeah, I've known a few men like that," I agree, having to clear my throat in the process.

She glances in my direction and smiles, almost laughing at my acute attack of embarrassment before continuing. But when she does, there is no humor in her voice. "When I got there, the front door was standing ajar. At first, I just assumed they'd left it open for me, though I remember thinking at the time how foolish that seemed. Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was the lights were out and it was already growing dark outside which made it even darker inside." Her voice grows shaky and I feel a desire to reach for her hand and comfort her. But before I can, she continues, "Even without the lights on, I can see the dark stain in the light beige carpeting and I know something isn't right. Without thinking, I rush forward while calling out Mark's name. Halfway across the room, I find him lying on the floor with his back soaked in blood. He's still breathing, but barely conscious. When I roll him over, he cries out and blood gurgles from between his lips."

Without thinking, I whisper, "Punctured lung."

"Yeah," she agrees, momentarily losing herself in the memory.

"He never had a chance. What about his friend, did you find him?"

"I never saw him," she says after a long moment, her voice slowly growing steadier as the sharpness of her memory stirs up the underlying feelings of anger again. "He might have been there, maybe in the bedroom or somewhere. I don't know because I didn't hang around. Mark was just able to tell me where to find the vaccine before he passed away. I got out of there as fast as I could run. But when I got to the locker where Mark had stashed the drug, his so-called friend had beaten me there. I followed him for several days while waiting for my chance to get the drug away from him. It was just by chance that I learned of his intent to sell it at the pub down on the wharf. Before he arrived, I made a deal with the owner of the place to work strictly for tips. He leered at me all night, probably thinking I was going to lay him after the shift."

"You even had me fooled," I smile at her.

"I was about to take the satchel and run when you strode in like you owned the place."

"I've been around," I quip, taking her comment as a compliment.

Continuing as if she hadn't heard me, she says, "When I heard your name, I recognized it from the gossip that I'd gleaned earlier regarding Vercelli." She pauses for a moment before giving me a smirk and adding, "I also recognized your name from an article I read about you in the paper a year or so back. There was a picture of you in combat garb and I remember thinking how dashing you looked. I don't know why, but the article stuck with me."

"You played me!" I growl, not liking the realization though having a hard time maintaining my outrage toward her while thinking how she remembered an article about me in the paper after all this time. Plus, she thought I was dashing.

"Your heart is in the right place," she smiles. "In that tight fitting, short cut barmaid's outfit, you couldn't resist me. I needed help and you unwittingly jumped right in. Your testosterone levels must have been going through the ceiling." Still smiling, she softly adds, "You looked much better in person than that grainy picture of you in the paper."

"Don't rub it in; this is a long ways from over. In case you haven't noticed, we've got three black SUVs keeping pace with us," I growl, trying to take some of the wind out of her sails while trying not to get hung up on her statement of how much better I look in person. And then unable to restrain myself, add, "You really think I look better in person?"

Ignoring my question, she remarks matter-of-factly while glancing in the side mirror, "Yeah, I've noticed. You know, I may not have been doing this as long as you, but I'm not exactly stupid."

"No, you're not exactly stupid. And you're not exactly half-bad looking either. But don't ever play me like that again. So long as you dance straight up with me, I'll have your back."

Reaching across the doghouse, she playfully squeezes my right bicep before saying, "Are you sure it's just my back you want to cover?" Before I can answer, she adds in a more serious tone, "You know the rest of the story."

"Yeah, I've been your lap dog," I growl, still angry at having been played like a sucker and all because of my hyperactive libido.

"No, it's more than that," she coyly smiles back.

### **16**

I would have loved to continue the conversation in the direction it was going. But there were suddenly more pressing matters to contend with. Less than four blocks ahead and coming toward us at a snails pace are two more SUVs. In the dark, it's impossible to make out the model and color, but the headlight pattern is identical to those behind us. Glancing in the rear view mirror, it comes as even less of a surprise to see those behind us accelerating to close the gap.

"How are the tires on this old thing?" I ask of Eddy, studying the street directly ahead of us.

"Why do you ask?" she replies a bit nervously.

"No reason," I casually remark before suddenly yanking the steering wheel viciously over to the left while simultaneously stomping down hard on the accelerator.

The top-heavy old van careens over dangerously and then slams head-on into the concrete curb before bouncing up and over and crashing down with brute force more than half way across the sidewalk. The headlights rake the tree tops and then the front bumper digs into someone's manicured front lawn as the rear tires find purchase and the van races headlong up a slight incline before I jerk the wheel to the left, narrowly avoiding a thick old cedar tree.

A dark house suddenly looms in the windshield directly ahead of us and I jerk the wheel back around the other way, the rear tires now tearing up damp sod and grass as the engine races wildly in the doghouse between us.

Narrowly missing a corner of the house, a light colored ranch-style exhibiting no character, we shoot down a side yard between it and its nearest neighbor. At the end of the side yard, less than thirty feet ahead and coming at us fast is a solid wood fence, the gate hanging open but much too narrow for the van to pass through. With a resounding crash and the splintering of dry wood the momentum of the van continues forward unimpeded by the fence.

At first, the only noticeable damage to the van is the loss of the right headlight. But then the smell of sickly-sweet antifreeze quickly assails our nostrils.

"Shit!" I thoughtlessly cry out.

Directly ahead of us and much too close to avoid is an in-ground swimming pool. Turning hard to the right even though the effort appears futile, I cringe inwardly and grip the wheel hard as the front left tire drops over the edge of the pool, carrying the front end of the van down with it. And then, as quickly as the front end drops it suddenly lurches upward. The tire strikes the further side of the corner and our momentum carries us forward as the van bounces precariously over the open water at the deep end of the pool.

To our good fortune, the rear wheel misses the edge of the pool entirely and we charge forward, parallel with the rear of the house. Another fence is looming in the light of the remaining headlight, but at the last minute, I yank the wheel over hard to the left and shoot around the side of the pool. Directly ahead is another wood fence at the far end of the property. When I try to straighten out the wheel, I realize that the front continues pulling hard to the left. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the front left tire is blown. But even more likely the entire rim was mangled when it caught the edge of the pool.

By now the front windshield is fogging up and the van is losing momentum as I fight to keep it headed toward the rear fence. Crashing through it, we lose the remaining headlight and all in front of us is absolute black. There isn't any rear neighbor, only sand, beach grass and stunted pine trees, all of which are invisible to us within the confines of the van.

With only the blind thought of putting as much distance between the pursuit and us, I hold the pedal down firmly with my right foot while straining to see through the foggy windshield and into the blanket of darkness. If it hadn't been for the earlier rains, the sand would have been soft and powdery and we wouldn't have gone twenty feet before sinking in and coming to a stop. But to our good fortune, the sand is wet and dense, momentarily supporting the weight of the crippled van as it carries us forward at an awkward angle. The engine is sputtering and running on less than all of its cylinders but still trying to do the job of carrying us along. If we could see outside at all, we would probably be lost in a cloud of oil smoke and steam.

When a tree suddenly lurches out in front of us, I let the wheel go and the van careens sharply to the left, almost overturning. Before I get the chance to straighten it out, the ground drops away before us and we plummet downward, crashing through a thick stand of Gorse and Waxmyrtle before coming to rest at the bottom of a shallow ravine. With a loud clunk, the engine dies and we're left sitting in the dark, a heavy silence crowding in around us.

"Are you all right?" I ask, forcing the door and not being able to get it open far enough to pass through due to crumpled metal pinching the hinges.

"Fine," she replies, a slight hint of defeat in her voice. "Now what?"

Climbing over the doghouse and falling into the rear of the van, I sharply command her to bring the bottle of vaccine and follow me. I delay only long enough to scoop up my saddlebags from the floor before throwing myself against the rear service doors. They fly open with little resistance and to my surprise, Eddy stumbles out directly behind me.

"Here," she says, her voice steadier than a moment earlier as she slips the bottle of rum into one of the saddlebags draped over my shoulder. "I'll keep the vaccine with me."

Glancing back the way we came, we see the flash of handheld lights as they rake the fog and strike out at the landscape and sky. "This way," I quickly instruct her.

Not waiting for an answer, I take off at a brisk pace heading toward the north. Already, we can hear shouting and a cacophony of voices as the hunt for us begins in earnest.

"Where are we going?"

"First, tell me who they are," I fire back. "Mick Vercelli could never get a force of that size together on such short notice."

"I don't know," she says defensively, struggling to keep pace. "They haven't really tried to harm us," she adds, her voice betraying a possible desire to turn back and give herself up.

"Don't even think it!" I command. "They may not have tried killing us yet, but that's only because they're not sure whether we have what they want or not. I guarantee you the minute they get their hands on your bottle of vaccine, we'll disappear. And that goes double if they're feds.

"How can you be so certain?" she weakly argues between breaths.

"Don't you remember? I'm the one with the experience. I've dealt with their kind before," I state matter-of-factly, the memories bringing a foul taste to my mouth.

With no further conversation, we continue at a hard pace through the wet sand, waist deep puddles and water dripping brush that soaked the parts of us that the puddles didn't reach. Sometimes in my haste we were forced to backtrack and go around thicker stands. The voices of the pursuit are slowly fading into the distance behind us as their patent leather shoes and designer suits are not exactly conducive to this type of terrain or weather.

Just as I am beginning to believe we might actually get away unscathed, my ears pick up the unmistakable thump-thump sound of a low-flying helicopter. Since the nearest military airfield is almost fifty miles distant, it suddenly dawns on me why the SUVs were keeping their distance. They were waiting for whoever it is in the chopper to get here before making their move. They were expecting us to run and they wanted all of their players in place before that happened. This has to be a para-military operation with the kind of restraint and coordination they're exhibiting.

Grabbing Eddy by the arm, I jerk her away from the path of least resistance and push her toward a flat area devoid of brush. "What are you doing?" she gasps between breaths while offering only a small amount of resistance.

"Get down in the water and stay down," I bark at her, the sound of the chopper coming straight toward us.

"Are you nuts?" she cries out, standing almost waist deep in icy-cold water, her face white and shivering from exertion and hypothermia.

With no time to lose, the threatening sound of the chopper's blades just seconds away from cresting a small hillock of wet sand, I place my hand on the top of Eddy's head and force it downward, hesitating only long enough for her to fill her lungs with air before submerging it in the frigid liquid.

Fearing that she might not understand my intentions, I keep a firm pressure on the top of her head and hold her beneath the surface where the heat sensing cameras of the chopper cannot get a reading. When she quits fighting, I let my hand slide down to her shoulder where I let it rest in a reassuring manner. Meanwhile, the chopper slowly cruises by above our submerged heads at an altitude of less than thirty feet, the thumping of the rotors reverberating through the cold liquid.

No sooner than the vibration from the rotors has abated, I raise my head above the surface and take a quick look around. Already, the taillights of the chopper are lost behind the next hillock, its heat sensing equipment facing forward and away from us. Gently I assist Eddy to her feet.

With both hands, she clears wet hair from in front of her face while hissing water out of her mouth in a fine spray. There is no doubt that she is upset and angry. But for the moment, we are safe, even if cold and wet and on the verge of hypothermia.

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine and turn toward the receding helicopter with the intention of continuing in the same direction the chopper is heading so we don't get caught in the path of the FLIR camera again. To my surprise, she is not as grateful as I would have expected. Instead, she shakes her hand loose of mine and plants her feet firmly in a stance of defiant resistance. "No!"

Torn between the urgency of getting out of there and attending to her distraught condition, I turn back to face her while seriously considering throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her the rest of the way. But the pathetic image of her standing waist deep in a muddy swamp, cold to the bone and soaking wet, her blond curls hanging in strands along the sides of her pale face, my heart goes out to her. I am almost overcome with a longing to reach out and take her in my arms, to comfort her and reassure her, giving her warmth and security.

While these thoughts are racing through my mind, the sound of the chopper changes and I realize with a mixture of desperation that it has gone as far as it's going to go in that direction and now it's making a new path back toward the point where they lost track of us. And even though we are not directly in its path, the sweeping action of the camera will be such that it's scanning overlaps the original search area. We need to move now or sit and wait in the water, submerging again when it gets close. But that's not an option. Eventually we'll succumb to hypothermia or the foot soldiers will come across us.

"Come on!" I bark at her while simultaneously grabbing her wrist and dragging her after me.

Sensing the urgency, she doesn't resist this time and we scramble up the next hillock, cresting the top and coming face to face with a formidable wall of dense brush blocking our path. "This way," she suddenly says, pulling me to the right and away from the approaching chopper.

Skirting along the edge of the brush on a small strip of clear sand separating it from the small pond that we'd just vacated, she leads me toward the east yet not quite the direction I wanted to be heading. But much better than toward the chopper or the men closing from the south.

Floodlights suddenly flare to life on the belly of the chopper and their sudden appearance startles us, causing a frantic dash for cover even though the lights are well over a quarter mile distant.

"Why'd they do that?" Eddy breathlessly mouths, her eyes darting toward the south and west.

"Probably flushed out a deer or maybe even a bear and wanted to make sure it wasn't human. Or, thinking on it, they might have stumbled on some homeless folk's camp and they're verifying that we're not among them," I tell her between deep breaths, confident in my answers.

Her body is wracked with chills and I put an arm around her for comfort more than any real warmth I might be able to impart. When her teeth start chattering, I realize that we need to keep moving. "Come on, we can't stay here."

"Wait a minute," she chatters, reaching into one of the saddlebags draped over my shoulder. When she withdraws the bottle of rum, I silently question the extent of her distress. Unscrewing the cap, she takes a stout swig and then hands it to me.

Taking the proffered bottle, I put it to my lips and put her swig to shame. Handing the bottle back, I take a moment to let the sweet fiery liquid drive the cold from my chest. When she puts the bottle back in the saddlebag, I smile at her in the dark and say, "You sure do make it easy for a man to fall in love with ya."

"Don't get to used to it," she retorts with a feigned hint of disgust. "Come on, the chopper is moving again."

With her in the lead, we don't go far before coming to a thinning in the growth of the Gorse and Waxmyrtle and I retake the lead. "This way," I softly mouth, concerned that our time spent in the pond gave the pursuit a chance to draw closer. Correcting our direction, we continue on toward the north. Keeping an eye on the chopper, I recognize the grid pattern of search, further confirming my suspicions that they're military. With this knowledge, it becomes increasingly easy to stay clear of its heat sensitive camera equipment.

After three hours of working our way through the woods and swamps, we come to our first serious obstacle in the form of a paved two-lane road. Pulling Eddy down next to me less than twenty feet from the asphalt, I signal for her silence with a soft touch on her lips. It concerns me to feel the quivering of her flesh and realize that it's not from my touch.

Since we haven't varied much from out original direction of escape, it seems logical to me that they will have posted sentries on the road and are expecting us to attempt a crossing at some point. And because it's impossible to go around, their expectations are going to prove correct.

### **17**

"Why are we stopping?" she mouths through chattering teeth, her eyes darting first to the left and then to the right.

"They'll be expecting us to cross somewhere around here."

"I don't see anyone," she stutters hopefully.

"The same heat sensitive equipment they're using in that chopper may be handheld or mounted in their vehicles. They'll see us long before we're even aware of them," I sadly confide, aware that the effect of the knowledge will be much more disheartening to her than it is to me.

"Then, what are we going to do? We can't go back even if we wanted to. I don't think I could make it," she admits, her voice stuttering and yet soft and vulnerable in the darkness.

"We make ourselves invisible to their sophisticated equipment," I state matter-of-factly.

"We can't swim under the road," she says with a deep sigh that sounds more like a tremor in her chest.

"But we can crawl under it," I correct her. "We just need to find the nearest culvert. These swamps are all connected. Even when new roads or developments are built, they can't isolate or segregate sections of the wetlands. They have to preserve the integrity of the area."

"Would the culvert be built where the land naturally lies lower than the surrounding area?" she asks, cautiously raising her head enough to see a short distance in either direction.

"Very good," I commend her, glad to be working in such close synchronicity with her.

"Then I suggest we head this way," she says, looking off to her right.

"Let's move back a short distance and parallel the road," I quickly suggest when she starts to get to her feet.

I knew even before we found the culvert that with the rains we've had it was going to be impassable. But I remained optimistic right up until Eddy plopped down on the soggy ground in defeat.

"Now what do we do?" she asks weakly, all hope drained from her.

"Give me a minute," I say, settling down on the wet ground beside her and sadly realizing that we are both too numb from the cold and wet to notice the discomfort.

The culvert, while measuring approximately three feet in diameter, is completely submerged. There is a fairly good current moving from our side of the road into it, but no guarantees that we won't encounter blockage if we try swimming through it. And if we have to turn around within the close confines and fight the current to get back out, we might not have the strength left to survive, especially if we don't encounter a blockage until we are clear to the far end.

The whole idea seems foolhardy and overtly dangerous. And yet, what other option do we have? If the road surface is being monitored and I'm confident that it is, we'll be dead or captured within minutes of setting foot on it, neither of which is an option.

"Whoever's pursuing us will never expect us to reach the other side of this road, Eddy."

But if we do, we'll have given them the slip, I continue thinking silently.

Even without realizing that I am doing so, I'm convincing myself that we have to risk going through the submerged culvert.

"We have to keep moving, Eddy. If we don't, we run the risk of capture or hypothermia."

"Are we going to try running across?" she asks, her voice weak from the effects of hypothermia and causing me to momentarily reconsider our options.

"We can't," I finally and firmly object. "The road is a certain trap. They're trying their damnedest to box us in and this road represents an easy trap for them."

"But I don't see anyone," she argues weakly, her voice belying the true depth of her fatigue and weakness.

"You have to trust me on this, Eddy. I have experience with these types of people and I can assure you that there is no crossing that road without them seeing us and being seen equates to capture and possible death."

"I'll go first," she says with all the determination she can muster. "I'll leave you with the vaccine and if no one jumps out of thin air and shoots me then you follow." When I start to protest her plan, she weakly cuts me off with a voice on the verge of tears, "I won't make it through the culvert Mac. I just won't. But if you're behind me..."

For the first time since meeting her, I truly doubted my ability to keep her safe. If I let her cross the road, bullets are surely going to cut her down before she gets halfway across. And if I drag her into the culvert with me, I might be pulling a corpse out the other side. It was a dilemma that I wasn't sure I had the answer or resources to remedy. I'd never felt so helpless before in my life.

"I'm sorry, Eddy, but I can't let you do that," I state with determination.

"Then shoot me now and put me out of my misery," she says with no enthusiasm or conviction. "I'm so cold and numb, I won't feel the bullets anyway."

Lying to her, I say with false confidence, "I would rather die than let anything happen to you. You have to trust me on this. There isn't any other way. I'm going to put you in the culvert first. Secure your clothes snugly to you. Anything loose is liable to snag and hold you up. If you're not comfortable in the clothes you're wearing then take them off and tie them in a ball. The current will carry the ball through and you can retrieve them on the far side."

"You'd really like that, wouldn't you," she remarks offensively, her voice betraying her inner strength and spirit.

"I'd like that very much," I reply with a smirk.

"Well, you can get the image out of your head. It's not going to happen!"

"I didn't really expect it to, but it's an image that I'm not going to lose anytime soon," I tease, smiling at her pale complexion in the darkness.

The chopper is still working back and forth but never drawing within more than a quarter mile of our position. Other than that, there isn't any evidence of pursuit. But the lack of pursuit only confirms my suspicions that they have the road covered. If they didn't, we would have seen patrols going by.

"Let's go," I finally order, regretting everything that I was putting her through and how much more was still to come.

Without a word, she rises to her feet and checks the buttons and zippers of her clothing, making certain that nothing is hanging loose. Satisfied with her own person, she looks at me and asks, "What are you going to do with the saddlebags?"

I am already securing them beneath my jacket like a flak vest when she asks. "As long as my jacket stays tight, they'll be alright," I offer, having done this same thing once before in my sordid past. Not swam through a culvert submerged in water, but something similar.

When I finish, I look up to see her staring at me. "Is everything all right?" I ask, suddenly concerned that I'd overlooked something.

"Couldn't be better," she says almost lightheartedly. And then, to my surprise, she throws her arms around my neck and pulls my face hard against her own. Our lips, though numb from the cold, are hungry for each other nonetheless.

### **18**

Even the cold and wet can't conceal the passion that flares between our bodies in that brief moment of contact. And then, just as quickly as it ignites, it is over and she is stepping into the deeper water at the mouth of the culvert while leaving me standing alone in the cold, my thoughts confused and yet my body screaming with excitement.

"When you get under the water, keep your hands out in front of you. I'll give you a push from behind to get you started. If you move with the current, you should be out the other side within ninety seconds, less if you can pull yourself along," I offer, making certain that she understands the brevity of the situation.

"I'm not sure I can hold my breath that long, all things considered," she says weakly, her teeth chattering uncontrollably from the combination of cold, anxiety, and a fresh shot of adrenalin.

"You'll do just fine," I say warmly, trying to instill confidence.

Turning to face the road, she reaches slowly into the water until her hands find the upper metal lip of the culvert. Her breath is rushing in and out rapidly as she attempts to hyperventilate in anticipation of running out of oxygen.

"Whenever you're ready," I whisper softly, physically having to restrain myself from stopping her.

With a sudden lunge, she drops below the surface and I quickly follow her down. The moment I'm certain that her head is clear of the corrugated steel, I place my hands on the backs of her legs and though I'm acutely aware of the firm muscles quivering beneath the stretched denim material of her jeans, shove her forward with all the strength of my upper body while silently praying that I'm doing the right thing.

Between the pull of the current and my send-off, she quickly vanishes before me and is on her way through the culvert. With a tightening of fear in my chest, I quickly rise to the surface and suck in several quick breaths before taking in a long deep draw and holding it.

Spurred by the fear of losing her, I drop below the surface and enter the culvert, pulling frantically at the slime covered walls to speed my body along its length. Although it is a distance of less than fifty feet, time seems to stand still and I feel claustrophobic panic closing in on me when I abruptly collide with Eddy's furiously kicking feet.

Feeling my hands on her calves, she refrains long enough for me to draw up alongside her. We are much too far along in the culvert to consider turning back when I realize that my worst fear is coming true. Reaching past Eddy's head, I feel for the obstruction that stopped her progress and discover a dense layer of branches and debris almost a foot thick, yet porous enough not to restrict the flow of water. Reaching through the debris, my heart skips a beat with panic when my hands close on the solid steel of an iron grate. Both ends probably had grates on them at one time. But for some reason that we will never know the one on the side we entered must have been removed at some point. It might have happened by mistake when work crews were clearing debris away from the opening and never got replaced or it got damaged and because of a lack of funding it never got repaired.

But whatever the cause, the lack of one on the side we entered gave me a false sense of hope that we could actually swim through the culvert to freedom. If I can't get us through that grate, my oversight is going to cost Eddy and me our lives.

Running out of oxygen, I frantically struggle to get through the debris piled up against the grate by pushing it through the openings and letting the current carry it away. In a matter of seconds that seem like eternity, I can finally feel the circumference of it. To my dismay, the grate extends clear to the top and sides of the culvert. But when my hand feels along the bottom, I'm surprised to discover a gap of eight inches or so between the grate and the bottom lip on the culvert.

Not wasting any time, I pull and push and force the debris and twigs against the grate, working them downward or through while using the current to wash them through until there is a small opening beneath the rubble. Though I am working frantically, I am acutely aware that Eddy has stopped struggling, her body floating above mine in the tight confines of the culvert. Doing my damnedest to remain calm, I roll her body under me and carefully feed her headfirst through the opening that I've made while fighting the effects of the cold and lack of oxygen. Although barely more than a minute has passed since entering the culver, her body is completely limp and I have only the current working to assist me.

The moment she is through, I roll onto my back and frantically pull myself along behind her, my lungs on fire from a lack of oxygen and my limbs growing weaker by the moment. The only sound is the beating of my heart in my ears, sounding like a bass drum within a small room. Yet, before I can rise and take that sweet breath of air, I must get Eddy to the surface!

Unconscious, she has floated upward with her face down in the water above me and floating away with the current. Because the culvert was installed with a slight slope to prevent water setting in it during dry spells, this side of the road is under more water. While we're both moving along with the current, I reach up and my hands graze along the front of her chest. Grabbing the front of her jacket in both hands to prevent her slipping away from me, I simultaneously lift upward while planting my feet on the loose rocks at the bottom and fight the weakening force of the current to raise her out of the water.

Yet the water is deep here and though I stand to my full height, I am barely able to get my head above the surface while extending Eddy's body above me.

Coughing and spitting up brackish water, I step away from the culvert and move parallel to the road as I work my way to higher ground. Reaching shallower water, I lower Eddy to my right shoulder before my quivering arms give out and I drop her back into the water. With her head hanging limply over my back, I frantically work my way across a stretch of larger rocks hidden beneath the water. Though the cool night air feels like manna to my inflamed lungs, I am only aware of the unconscious woman slung over my shoulder.

Hurriedly, I lower her to a stretch of drier ground along the bank and place her with her head lower than the rest of her body. After giving her several quick compressions, I pinch her nose shut and blow into her mouth. When I release her nose, her head rolls limply to the side. Not wasting time to see if there is a pulse, I give her several more hard compressions while fighting to remain calm and then pinch her nose again before placing my lips over hers and blowing my warmed breath into her.

Suddenly, her head rolls over to the side and she starts coughing and spitting up water through her mouth and nose.

"That's a good girl. Get it all out," I say excitedly, encouragingly.

As soon as she is breathing regularly, I help her to her feet. "Come on, we need to get you on your feet or the water will settle in your lungs and you're liable to get pneumonia on me," I instruct her. Whether that's true or not, I have no idea. What I do know is that it's urgent we find shelter and a place to get warm and dry before we both become immobilized from hypothermia. "Can you walk or would you rather I carry you?"

"The things you'll put yourself through just to get your hands on me," she gasps out between spurts of coughing.

"You have no idea," I remark, overjoyed to still have her with me.

### **19**

With her left arm draped over my shoulder and my right arm around her waist, I half assist and half carry her on our trek northward. For the first time since the chopper arrived, it doesn't draw any closer. For the time being, we have given them the slip. But dawn is only a few short hours away and we still have a long way to go. We're need to continue pushing hard if we're going to make it before sunrise. Eventually the searchers will figure out that we're no longer in their search grid. Our only hope in remaining out of their grasp then is if they have the illusion that we found a ride and are no longer anywhere near here. But they'll only develop that illusion if we can stay out of their sight or actually do find a ride out of this area.

Our escape is hindered by ever thicker growing stands of Gorse and Waxmyrtle mixed in with sandy hillocks and deep, water filled ravines. The loose sandy soil is taking a tremendous toll on my legs and I'm beginning to feel the gnawing effects of hypothermia combined with fatigue. Compounding my growing concern for our safety is when Eddy suddenly speaks out in the dark, her voice delirious and making no sense as she drifts in and out of consciousness. It is becoming more and more urgent that I find a warm shelter and a dry set of clothes for her.

With less than an hour to daylight, we reach another paved road. But I'm familiar with this road as it leads into the campground where I'd left my bike. Taking advantage of the open road, I lift Eddy off her feet and cradle her in my fatigued arms. Half jogging, half crab walking, I hurry along the road, always ready to dive for the cover of the ditch at the first sign of an approaching vehicle.

When I come to the place on the road directly across a wild cranberry bog from my campsite where the bike is stashed, I set Eddy down on the side of the road and collapse on the pavement behind her. The movement causes her to stir and she momentarily regains consciousness. "Where are we?" she asks, trying to rise into a sitting position before giving up and falling back, her body too weak anymore to even sit upright.

"We're almost there," I gasp softly, my own body feeling weak as a wet rag and chilled to the bone.

"Why did we stop?"

"You needed a break," I lie, not wanting her concerned for me. "Go back to sleep, get yourself some rest," I softly add, soothing her with the tone of my voice.

Without a word, her eyes close and she begins snoring, a hiccupping type of sound rattling through water and chills. It doesn't sound healthy and yet, I comfort myself with the fact that at least she isn't feeling any discomfort. This ordeal is taking much more of a toll on her than it is on me because of her recent injury and not having fully recovered yet. If it wasn't for her previously weakened state, she would probably be pulling me along and waiting for me to catch up.

Rising stiffly, I lean over and again cradle her lithe form in my arms. Straightening up, I glance first down the road toward the entrance to the campground and then across the glistening water of the bog. It takes me only a minute to decide to cut across the bog versus following the road. When I am less than halfway across, the sky opens up and a downpour crashes down in sheets of cold water. Despite the noise of falling rain, wind gusts, and me stumbling over submerged plant life intermingled with sucking mud pockets, Eddy remains asleep, possibly even unconscious; it's impossible to tell in the dark and drenching downpour.

The shortcut isn't such a shortcut after all. Although it meant fewer overall steps, each one was ten times harder than if I had remained on the road. Yet, despite the poor footing, waist deep water in places and being fatigued and chilled to the bone, we eventually come out on firm, level terrain as we make it to the perimeter of the campground.

Concerned that my campsite might have been compromised, I hide Eddy beneath a dense Waxmyrtle bush bordering the roadway within one hundred feet of the campsite and set out on my own. Working my way through the hedge-like shrubs dotting the interior of the campground, I slowly approach the site from the far side. When I am in the site adjacent, the smell of smoke from a smoldering fire assails my nostrils from a sudden shift in the wind and a man grunts his distaste for it.

Freezing in my tracks, I study the shadows intently before concentrating on the place where the sound originated. Is he alone, or are there others?

### **20**

Cautiously, I crouch lower to the ground and continue listening until I'm finally able to pinpoint at least the one man's position. Despite my instincts screaming otherwise, I fail to sense any others and slowly move in toward him. Though I'm still armed with both my knife and the magnum, I draw neither. If it turns out to be just a harmless camper, I would rather only temporarily incapacitate him and not do any serious harm.

Although it takes time that I can ill afford to waste with Eddy is dire need of care, I move stealthily toward the man until I am directly behind him. Slowly, I draw up behind him until I am close enough to reach out and slip my hand over his mouth from behind. Because I can't be certain as to whether we are alone or not, it's imperative that he doesn't get an opportunity to let out a warning. It might be as simple as pushing a speed dial number on his cell phone or a shout to other compatriots hiding in the surrounding brush.

Lashing out with my right hand, I reach around his face and jerk him backwards, drawing him off balance while muffling any sound he might try to make. With the quickness of a cat, he doesn't resist the force of my hand across his mouth. Instead, he rolls toward me and onto his back, making it impossible to keep his mouth covered and even more difficult to restrain him. To make matters worse, in my fatigued condition the move catches me off guard and I lose my balance as my feet slip out from beneath me on the wet foliage. Before I can catch myself, my right knee comes down hard on the man's right shoulder, low enough to drive the wind from his lungs and setting up an opportunity for me to regain control of the situation. It is just a stroke of luck and has nothing to do with skill. Yet it comes at just the right moment to avoid a catastrophe.

Operating only on adrenalin, my left hand strikes downward at an angle, striking the man solidly against the side of his head and knocking him unconscious. Yet, he continues struggling for air. It takes me a moment to realize that it's not a conscious effort and that the man really is unconscious.

Plopping back on my haunches, I remain silent for a long moment while holding my breath in and listening to the silence. When I'm certain that no one else has been alerted to my presence, I drag the unconscious man out from beneath the shrubs and rifle through his pockets. Beneath his left shoulder is a holstered nine-millimeter Glock. I remove it and check the loads, sliding the clip out and then sliding it home again. With practiced ease, I slip it into the back of my waistband next to my magnum before turning out the rest of his pockets.

Before I'm finished, I find two more clips of ammo, some loose change and a thick wad of hundreds, fifties, and twenties totaling more than five grand which I slip into my pant pocket for later. What I don't find is any form of ID which strengthens my growing suspicions that these aren't government agents after all, but well paid mercenaries.

Carefully, I remove his Gortex raincoat and tuck it under my arm. Though I'm tempted to bring him around and question him to find out whom he works for, I know better than to waste my time while Eddy lies helpless and possibly dying beneath a shrub. Furthermore, it only takes one look to realize that he's a professional and it will take more time and effort to get anything out of him than I have time and effort to put into it.

Before entering the campsite, I make a quick yet stealthy surveillance of the area to confirm that he was left here alone. When I don't find anyone else, I consider their arrogance and how it just cost them. Whoever is trying to catch us never expected us to make it back here.

Before marching headlong into my deserted campsite, I carefully study the terrain, acutely aware that it might be booby-trapped. Only when I am completely satisfied that neither the campsite nor my bike have been tampered with, do I remove my soggy jacket and slip off the saddlebags, briefly considering another swig from the bottle of rum. After fighting back the urge, I slip the bags over the rear of the bike and shrug back into the cold, heavy leather. Feeling beneath the tank, I find the concealed kill switch and flick it off; the key dangling from the ignition is only for show.

Despite the cold and wet weather, she roars to life on the first downward kick of the starter arm. With the unconscious man's raincoat tucked loosely beneath my arm, I knock her into gear and slowly idle along the road, moving slowly toward the spot where I'd left Eddy while half expecting gunfire to erupt at any moment.

When nothing happens, I ease over to the side of the road and kill the engine. "Eddy," I softly call out, crouching down near the shrub where I'd left her lying. At the same time that I feel something even colder than the night pressing against the chilled flesh of my right ear, I hear the familiar click of a safety being released.

"Move and you're dead."

The voice is chilling, devoid of all emotion. And yet, I recognize it immediately.

"Eddy, it's me," I gently reply, while starting to turn toward her.

The cold metal barrel only presses against my ear a fraction of a second longer and then I hear a deep, rattling breath as she drops to her knees beside me, the gun suddenly too heavy to support.

Rising, I reach around her and lift her to her feet and then carefully take the gun from her stiff fingers and return it to her shoulder holster. "Here," I say, slipping the confiscated raincoat over her shoulders and fumbling for the zipper.

"My arms," she protests weakly.

"You won't need the arms."

She staggers for a moment and I put my hands on her shoulders to steady her. "I can't hold on," she argues.

"You won't need to. I'll put you on the seat in front of me like a small child. To anyone we pass, it'll just appear that you're driving."

With the raincoat zipped up, I climb on the bike and assist her in getting her feet in the right places so she doesn't interfere with my shifting or braking. The bike wasn't designed to be ridden in this manner and it immediately feels awkward and unwieldy. But with both hands free and her upper body supported between my arms, I quickly adapt and we head out of the campground toward Hwy101.

### **21**

When I pull up to the highway, my first reaction is to head south and back into town where we'll find shelter. But I realize the foolishness in such a move. When the searchers fail to turn us up in the wetlands, their next reaction is going to be drawing the assumption that we changed course and headed back to the south and into town, hoping to lose them in the maze of streets and side streets that make up every small burg in America.

The highway is deserted in both directions and I quickly accelerate northward. My plan is to simply put as much distance between here and us as possible in as short a time as possible.

Cruising along at a high rate of speed, the cool night air bites viciously into my already chilled face, forcing me to draw on my last reserves of strength to keep from succumbing to chills. With Eddy bundled up in the rain slicker, I pray she isn't feeling the cold night air as severely as I am when I hear her voice blowing back to me and asking where we're going.

"Someplace safe," I yell into the back of the hood on the slicker.

Satisfied with my answer, I feel her body relax against me and I squeeze her reassuringly between my arms.

### **22**

Forty miles up the highway, we pass a large motel with a parking lot more than half full, which is extraordinary for this time of the year. Though I would have preferred more distance, Eddy hasn't stirred since asking me where we were going and I'm growing more concerned for her wellbeing with each passing mile. I'm also numb from the cold and fatigue and my driving is becoming increasingly unstable as I find myself drifting from one side of the lane to the other and taking corners much too fast for the slick road conditions.

Circling back, I slowly cruise the parking lot while looking for anything familiar or suspicious. When I don't see anything in either category, I park along the side of the building not visible from the highway while just a few feet from the lobby doors.

When I walk in, I'm both surprised and relieved to find the lobby deserted except for a petite, red-haired young woman standing behind the receptionist desk. Upon seeing me, her practiced smile and welcoming attitude waver uncertainly for a moment. But when I innocently smile back and act all apologetic for tracking wet footprints across their immaculate tile floor, she quickly recovers her composure and returns the smile.

"Good morning," she says cheerfully, moving closer to the counter. "Check in isn't until two PM. If I give you a room now, check out will be at noon, unless you intend on staying a second night which I will have to charge you for now," she continues, her voice firm yet visibly sorry at being the one to inform me of the motel's payment policy.

"That's quite alright," I say quickly, withdrawing the thick roll of confiscated bills. "I'd like something around back where it's quieter and I'll take it for two nights, if that's okay."

Nervously, she eyes the thick wad of greenbacks and then hesitantly replies, "We require a credit card, sir."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I quickly apologize, watching her visibly relax at the prospect of not having to go against hotel policy. But she quickly stiffens up again, when I explain. "I had a little problem with my bike yesterday and when I attempted to draw money out of the ATM to pay the mechanic's bill, the crazy machine spit out everything in my account and then ate my credit card. I do have a note that came out with the receipt asking me to go inside and see a teller. But by that time the bank had already closed for the day," I ramble on, making it up as I go while foraging through my pockets in search of a receipt that doesn't exist. When I fail to produce the receipt as proof of my dilemma, I look pleadingly at her and say, "I don't understand, I thought I'd put it in my pocket with the money. It should be here somewhere."

Finally, after an interminable time in which I thought she was going to turn me away, she finally relents and says, "When you get the matter taken care of today, could you please come and see me? I'll just hold your cash in lieu until then." She hesitates, clearly going against her better judgment and motel policy. "I could lose my job for doing this," she adds, smiling weakly at me.

"I swear, I'll be back just as soon as I can get to the bank today and straighten it out. I surely don't want you to get into any trouble on my account," I sincerely remark as she accepts the tendered cash and hands me a room key. "Thank you very much, Elaine," I quickly add, leaning forward so I can make out the name on the tag pinned above her firmly supported breast. "I promise, I won't damage anything in the room." When she smiles coyly in response, I wink my best wink and add, "I'll look you up later, I promise."

With her looking after me, I retreat out the front lobby and around the corner of the building. If it wasn't for Eddy, I'd definitely look her up later. After a hot bath, hotter food and a change of clothes, she might be just the ticket to a memorable evening. But considering the circumstances, odds are against me ever laying eyes on her again.

Sitting on the curb under the overhang of the motor foyer, Eddy slowly turns her face up toward mine and gives me a weak, yet encouraging smile. In that moment, the cute red head behind the counter is instantly forgotten as well as every other woman that ever shared a piece of my heart.

Reaching down, I take her cold hand and assist her to her feet, pulling her close to me so that I don't lose my own balance and pull us both down. "Come on, we got us a date with a hot shower," I say lightly, leading her toward the rear of the building.

"What about your bike?" she weakly asks.

"Don't worry, just as soon as we get you taken care of, I'll come back and put it somewhere out of site."

"I'm sorry," she continues, her voice barely audible.

"Now what?" I ask, confused by her comment.

"I've been a regular burden to you ever since we met," she says apologetically.

"That's not quite true," I argue, practically carrying her up the steps to the second floor.

"Yes, it is," she insists, her voice fading.

"Well, if it is, I'm sure you'll make it up to me soon enough," I tease.

Reaching the door matching the number on the key fob, I lean her against the wall and unlock the door. When I go to put an arm around her waist to help her into the room, she smiles coyly and whispers, "I fell for you the first time I laid eyes on you, big boy."

The words haven't even left her lips when she collapses into my arms. It is everything I can do to keep her from falling to the floor. But fear of being observed gives me a final surge of strength and I just manage to get her into the room and kick the door shut behind us. Half carrying, half dragging her to the bed, I lay her out across it and then collapse next to her.

Though the darkness of exhaustion is groping for me and threatening to pull me into its warm embrace, I fight it off yet again and struggle drunkenly back to my feet. Before I can rest, I must hide the bike somewhere that it won't be seen by someone searching motel parking lots. But before I can go back out, I need to get some warmth into my core. Heading into the bathroom, I push open the shower doors and crank on the hot water, waiting only a moment before stepping into it, jacket, jeans and all.

The heat of the water momentarily revives me and I head back down to the bike, pausing only long enough to locate the thermostat on the wall next to the bed and turning the dial to high before exiting the room.

It takes only a moment to find a narrow path leading around to the backside of the caretaker's shed. Without starting the old bike, I roll it around to the back side of the shed feeling confident that no one has been back there since summer. Glancing around at all the old cigarette butts and paper coffee cups, the most recent of which appears to have been there a few months, I can't help but feel it's a hangout for the summer help. A place where they can hide from management's eyes while enjoying a pilfered cup of Joe from the reception area and smoking a forbidden cigarette.

After parking the bike so that it faces out toward the road in case we have to make a quick getaway, I stop at a vending machine in the hallway and use up the loose change in my pockets on candy bars. One more quick stop at the ice machine and then I'm back in the room and securing the door behind me.

### **23**

Leaning against the closed door, I study the dark room for a moment before noticing that the early morning light is creeping around the corners of the drapes. It will be full light soon and the search will take on a completely new dimension.

Pushing off from the door, I stagger into the kitchenette and set the cups of ice on the counter. After dumping the candy bars on the counter next to the cups, I retreat into the bed/living room, and retrieve the half empty bottle of rum from the soggy saddlebags. Though I should be getting myself undressed and warmed up or looking to Eddy's needs, all I can think about is having a drink. Pouring rum into both cups, I lift first one to my lips and then quickly follow it with the other. The effect is like being struck with a sledgehammer and I throw back my head and breathe deeply of the warm air, savoring the heat as it filters down through my flesh.

Aware that the effect of the alcohol is temporary at best, I return to the side of the bed where Eddy is lying face down on the freshly made linens. There is a darker outline surrounding her where her soggy clothes have soaked the top sheets and blankets. While I continue to study her, my thoughts grow fuzzy from the alcohol. Without stepping away from the bed, I shed my water-logged jacket and then the shirt. Turning, I drop down on the edge of the bed and pull off my equally soggy boot and socks. The wet jeans require more effort and I almost fall on the floor before getting my feet free and regaining my balance on the edge of the bed. For a moment, I hesitate to remove the soggy drawers that have turned a light blue from the dye of the denim jeans. But I hesitate only a moment before thinking that no one is going to see me without them and step out of them also.

Kicking the pile of wet clothes together into a pile on the floor, I retreat to the bathroom and gather together a handful of towels from the towel closet. On my way back to the bed, I stop and refill my glass of melting ice with rum and stand down another long shot. The searing heat immediately boosts my strength as well as my spirits and I stagger back to Eddy's side.

Leaning down next to her, I place a hand on the side of her throat and feel for the rise and fall of her pulse. Due to the influence of the rum on my fatigued senses, it takes me a moment to find one. But when I do, it is strong and regular. Breathing a sigh of relief that I haven't failed her yet, I carefully remove her jacket and add it to the soggy mound of clothing on the floor. In the back of my mind, I am aware that at some point I will have to carry our clothes down to the laundry room and run it all through the dryer so we can get dressed again. We have no spare clothes with us and if we did, they would be just as wet as these. What I am going to do with the leather jackets and our boots, I'm not sure. If I don't do something aside from letting them dry naturally, they will be as stiff as boards.

Although I move with steady deliberation, trying my damnedest not to let my eyes linger on the smooth rise of her buttocks in the wet jeans. Growing increasingly distracted by her lying helpless on the bed, I force myself to ashamedly step away and return to the kitchenette and the dwindling bottle of rum. Foregoing the cup of ice, I drink straight from the bottle, snorting like a bull as the fire warms my throat and chest while leaving me with a false sense of invincibility. Glancing down and seeing my manhood standing out before me, I curse beneath my breath with disgust despite my best efforts to keep my thoughts pure.

"You're a genuine dog, Mac," I chastise myself while setting the bottle back on the counter and then grabbing at it when it looks like it might tip over.

After steadying the bottle, I steady myself with a firm grip on the edge of the counter and lean into it. Shaking my head to clear the growing cobwebs, I return to Eddy's side and slowly roll her over onto her back. Taking my time and being careful not to accidentally pinch her, I undo the buttons down the front of her shirt and then push it to side and down her arms. With a gently lift, I ease the wet fabric out from beneath her back and add it to the growing mound of wet clothing on the floor. Though the room appears as a fog-enshrouded tomb from the booze in my head, Eddy's half naked body lying so vulnerable on the bed before me causes me to take pause.

My hand reaches out to fondle her left breast. Yet, even with the alcohol in my system or because of it in my system, I am able to stop myself and I reach for her shoulder instead before deciding to leave her bra intact as it is nothing more than a thin, lacey fabric that won't hold water anyway. A soft moan escapes her lips which are still a dark shade of bluish purple against her pale complexion, a result of the cold and hypothermia. Even through the fog of alcohol, I suddenly remember the urgency of the situation.

Undoing the front button and zipper on her jeans, I stand at her feet and ease them down past her ankles and feet, pulling them off her limp body that offers no resistance. The thought of taking advantage of a woman that is unconscious turns my stomach and the erection fades as quickly as it rose. Even stoned out of my gourd, it's not in my nature to take advantage of the helpless. That is so far from who I am.

Since this isn't the first time that I've had the pleasure of undressing her, and it is a pleasure that I will never forget despite the circumstances, it comes as no surprise that she isn't wearing panties.

With only her bra on, I gently lift her in my arms and head into the bathroom. Stepping into the tub, I turn on the water and adjust the spray to hot. The heat of the liquid tingles on my cold flesh and when I hold Eddy's limp form beneath it, she whimpers like a puppy as the tingling sensation reaches through her fatigue-induced sleep.

When the water in the tub gets threateningly close to spilling over, I shut off the tap and step out onto the tile floor. Moving carefully so as not to disturb her, I set her down in the water and then prop a pillow from the bed beneath her head. Her eyes open briefly and she smiles up at me. Before I can offer her a drink, she fades back to nana land leaving a smile of contentment behind.

For almost an hour, I stand beneath the ceiling mounted heat-lamp while staring down at the beautiful woman in the tub. I can't help wondering what my life would be like if she were always at my side and not just skipping through my life like a slice of sweet pie. But alas, I will never know. Women like her find men of stability and wealth, not shiftless drifters like me without a future. She is much too smart to settle and with such fine beauty, she will never have to settle. Especially not for the likes of one as me.

Lost in these thoughts as well as battling back and forth between remorse and guilt that come from a combination of self-pity and too much booze, I am suddenly brought back to the present when there's a soft knock on the door. Because I'd purposely positioned the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob, my first thought is that they found the Beazer as I rush out to the bed and retrieve the nine-millimeter Glock from the nightstand before taking up a defensive position against the wall to the left of the door.

When the knock comes again only harder, I risk answering. "Who is it?" I call softly, flipping the safety off.

"It's me, Elaine," comes a soft, hesitant voice.

My first thought is that they're using her to gain access. But I quickly dismiss the idea. If they have a master key, they would try a stealthy entrance in hopes that they caught me asleep or in the shower. Not being government agents, they want to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Silencers are more their speed and not shock and awe.

Slipping the deadbolt, I open the door a crack and cautiously look through the narrow opening. Glancing from left to right I see only an overcast day and a perky young redhead in a tight fitting shift with a cardigan sweater bearing the motel logo over her left breast. The shift is cut short with a pleasing amount of nylon-covered thigh showing. Clutched in her right hand is a folded envelope that she continually worries with her left. "I'm a little busy right now," I say apologetically.

Pushing the door wide, she steps past me, almost prancing into the room. "That's okay," she says sprightly, turning to smile at me in the soggy towel.

Reaching across the opening to pull the door shut, I glance furtively outside again and realize that it must be nigh onto noon. "What can I do for you?"

With the door shut and all the blinds drawn, it suddenly feels oppressive and intimidating in the room and her smile quickly fades as it's replaced by a mask of nervous apprehension. When she doesn't answer me, I repeat myself. "I asked you what I could do for you, Elaine." Not sure that I'm reading her reaction correctly, I add in a light tone with a smile, "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she blushes, suddenly remembering the envelope. "I brought your money back. I thought you might have forgotten that you were going to take care of your credit card and get back to me," she blurts, her voice tense and high like a young school girl's.

"I haven't had a chance yet. I just got up and took a shower," I lie, acutely aware that the bed doesn't appear to have been slept in yet.

Her demeanor grows steadily more anxious and I suddenly wonder what I'm missing. Without warning, she throws the envelope down on the bed and rushes up to me. Before I can react in my boozed and fatigued condition, she wraps her arms around my neck and presses her thin, boyish body against mine. Her breath rushes in and out, a warm sweet fragrance of mint against my face and neck as her lips search hungrily for mine.

Frantically, I reach up and grab her wrists while simultaneously stepping back in an effort to put some space between us. Without warning, she lowers her hands to my waist and jerks the towel loose, dashing it to the floor before I can stop her.

"Take me," she says huskily while pulling the top of her dress down to reveal two small breasts with oversized nipples standing taut, the little girl's voice lost in the heat of her desire.

"You don't understand," I plead softly with her, trying to hold her at bay while standing naked and self-conscious before her.

"I saw the way you looked at me," she continues, not hearing me. "I saw the desire in your eyes the minute you laid eyes on me. Well, I'm here now and nothing is going to stop this moment from happening. Can't you feel it? Don't you want it as bad as me?"

Before I can get control of her hands, she grabs my unprotected manhood and pulls it outward while simultaneously hiking up her shift and shoving her naked bush of red pubic hair toward me. In the back of my mind, a perverted thought briefly makes its presence known and my manhood quickly responds, growing hard in her grasp.

What is it with women not wearing panties?

Mistaking my growing manhood as desire for her flesh, she throws herself backwards on the top of the bed and spreads her legs while using her free hands to pull off the cardigan sweater and fling it across the room. Her face is flushed a bright pink and her eyes seem too large and bright for her head.

"You have this all wrong," I protest weakly, my resolve fading much too quickly as I'm torn between an innate hunger to take advantage of this wanton woman and the knowledge that not only is Eddy in the other room, but what she would think of me if I let this happen.

As I'm about to order her out of the room, another voice draws both of our attentions toward the bathroom. "What's going on here?" asks Eddy, standing in the bathroom door with nothing on but a see thru bra that is barely covering her breasts and a towel hanging loosely around her waist while riding up her backside.

### **24**

"She was just leaving," I blurt out, feeling a blush rise up the back of my neck while my manhood quickly drops to half-mast.

The young redhead Elaine frantically bounces off the bed while self-consciously pulling her shift down over her exposed womanhood. Hurriedly, she retrieves her sweater from the far corner where it landed and then dashes out the door without a word while pulling the sweater over her head and then slamming the door behind her with a bang.

Eddy glares on in silence during the duration of Elaine's hasty departure while I stand self-consciously, too shocked and dumbfounded to think of covering myself.

When she moves, she heads toward the counter and the almost empty bottle of rum. Taking it, she bitingly remarks before putting it to her lips, "Appears to me, I missed the party."

"It's not what it looked like," I say weakly, finally finding my vocal cords. "She just came in and threw herself at me."

"Yeah, I'll bet that happens a lot," she sarcastically replies, setting the bottle down on the counter a bit unsteadily. "And you aren't one to leave a woman wanting, are you?" she hisses venomously, her hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. Releasing it, she staggers unsteadily away from the counter and then quickly rethinks the move and turns back toward it just in time to reach out and steady herself.

"You need rest," I state firmly.

"Why, because I'm too weak to show you a good time?" she spits out, turning away from the counter and staggering as far as the bed before stopping and turning back to face me. "Just call room service. I'm sure she'll be willing to pick up where you two lovebirds left off." Then her eyes roll up into her head and her body goes limp.

Moving with a grace that I wouldn't have expected in my current condition, I lunge forward and catch her in my arms, preventing her from crashing unconscious to the floor. Gently, I lay her on the bed and pull the wet covers to one side to expose the dry sheets beneath. Removing the damp towel from her naked body, I add it to the heap of soggy clothes and then while I'm too embarrassed to look at her with anything but respect, I pull a dry section of the covers over her and tuck them in around her limp body, making certain that no part of her flesh is exposed.

Doubling back to the door, I open it just wide enough to make certain the 'Do Not Disturb' sign is in place on the knob and then close and lock it securely. Because I don't know what to expect, except that I intend on sleeping through the rest of the day and hopefully most of the night, I take the stiff backed chair from in front of the writing desk and prop it beneath the door knob.

Satisfied that no one is coming into the room without my knowledge, I head toward the shower thinking it's my turn. As I pass the bed, I pause only long enough to study Eddy's sleeping face. Despite the pale blue lips, dark rings around her eyes and scraggly ringlets of blonde hair framing a sickly white complexion, I am awestruck by her natural beauty. Her face exhibits a truly fine bone structure. She is one of the fortunate few that is born with high cheekbones, wide set eyes and an even forehead. Despite the pale bluish tint to her lips, they remain full, sensuous and inviting.

Without warning, I realize that my manhood has returned to attention and the shower suddenly has greater importance than it did earlier. Pulling my eyes from her face, I hurry into the shower and step into the tub of water. It has cooled considerably since setting Eddy down in it and I flip the drain lever while turning on the cold, my body shaking violently in protest at the frigid stream. Yet, I endure the frigid water while standing in solitude until my teeth begin to chatter and my manhood is nothing to write home about. Only then do I reach down and turn up the heat, adjusting the tap until it feels as if it is burning my skin off. The chills abate and my skin quickly adjusts to the warmth. The heat slowly soaks through my flesh and bones.

But with the warmth returns the fatigue and dreamy visions of Eddy's beautifully naked body. Though I could have taken the perky young girl from the lobby and satisfied my sexual needs, she is not on my mind and I have no regrets that our tryst was interrupted. If I have any thoughts about her at all, it is just that she will never know my prowess in bed and that she had to suffer such humiliation and embarrassment because of her attraction to me. After all, she is just an infatuated and naïve young girl with many life lessons yet to be learned.

With yet another towel wrapped around my waist, I return to the main room to find Eddy still peacefully sound asleep. Though it might be my imagination or even wishful thinking, she appears to be smiling. Moving over to the bed, I put my ear near her mouth and listen to her breathing, satisfying myself that it's steady and shallow like that of normal sleep.

When I rise up, a slight rush of blood to my head causes me to sway on my feet for a moment. While I wait for the wave of vertigo to pass, I contemplate between finishing the bottle of rum and climbing into bed with Eddy. But when I look down at the vacant side of the bed, I see where the bedding is still wet from having soaked through to the mattress. The thought of lying on soggy bedding suddenly seems revolting and I turn toward the counter and the almost empty bottle of rum.

Before I can reach the counter however, my eyes catch sight of the envelope on the floor containing the money that I'd given Elaine for payment on the room. With a sickening roll in my belly, I suddenly realize that Eddy and I are in a room that hasn't been registered and that Elaine in her embarrassment might have reported us as vagrants to the day manager. At any moment, the cops could be knocking on the door and things will only go down hill from there.

With all signs of my earlier fatigue suddenly forgotten, I look at the pile of soggy clothes, towels and bedding lying on the floor and try desperately to come up with a plan. Some idea that will allow Eddy time to rest and heal from her ordeal and give me a few hours of shuteye that, even though I don't feel a need for this minute, is going to come crashing down on me the minute my adrenaline tap shuts off. And this time, I will feel tenfold as bad as I did a few minutes ago.

As unappealing as the thought of putting wet clothes back on is, I am unable to come up with anything better and I set the bottle of rum on the counter and begrudgingly move toward the pile of soggy material. Digging through the pile until I have all of my clothes in hand, I squeamishly redress. Despite the rising temperature within the room from having turned the thermostat on high, my clothes feel cold and clammy against my skin. At the last moment, I decide against the underwear and socks and instead slip the heavy leather boots over bare feet.

Locking the door behind me, I head down to the lobby, all the while studying the parking lot and surrounding terrain for anything suspicious. To my relief, everything appears normal for a late fall, early winter day on the Oregon coast. The night rain and blustery wind has settled into dull gray skies and a steady drizzle pushed along by a cool breeze. Although typical weather for here, it's effective in keeping the less hardy souls inside.

When I turn the corner facing the front parking lot, I hesitate for a moment and study the cars facing the building as well as those parked further out. Like the back, nothing appears out of the ordinary. If men in black SUVs came snooping around, they didn't find anything here to raise their suspicions. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that Elaine hadn't put us in the register yet.

With a practiced calm, I enter the lobby and quickly assess the loungers. No one so much as raises an eyebrow at my presence as I head toward the check-in counter.

"Good afternoon, Sir," says a young man adorned in a uniform that reminds me of a nineteen fifties bellhop.

"Hi," I cordially reply, glancing past him into the office off to the side in search of Elaine. Seeing only an elderly gentleman studying a ledger, I feel a moment of relief. "I came in last night, but I was unable to find my credit card. The young lady told me that I could come back just as soon as I was able to get to a bank and get it sorted out. I hope that wasn't a problem because I wouldn't want to cause her any trouble."

Laying my credit card on the counter, he takes it and slides it through an electronic card reader. Within a moment, all the information he needs is displayed on a terminal. "I just need the room number that she assigned you, sir," he says amiably. When I tell him the room we're staying in, he punches in the number and then asks, "And how many nights will you be with us, Mr. McClain?"

"Just tonight, yet," I answer him, and then inquire, "Are you sure this won't cause the young lady from last night any trouble? It was very nice of her to trust me and I really needed to get in out of the rain. That wind was really howling," I comment, seriously concerned for her.

"No Sir," he quickly replies. Reaching under the counter, he tears a receipt off a printer feed and hands me a copy. "When you check out, we'll put the total in and have you sign, Sir," Taking the copy from him, I'm about to head back to the room when I notice the way he's eyeing me up and down.

"Something wrong?"

"I was just thinking that I haven't noticed any vehicles come or go within the last few minutes, and then I noticed how wet you are and realized that you must have walked to the bank," he states, his voice a mite suspicious.

Not wanting to draw any more attention to Eddy and myself than absolutely necessary, I remark with a chuckle, "No, that would have been a tad far, even for me. As it turned out, I had the card with me all the time, I'd just forgot where I'd put it. But you're right about going for a walk. The air at sea level just feels so good, I decided to take a hike down the beach and enjoy it. My momma always said I wasn't made of sugar and wouldn't melt from a little rain. And she was absolutely right, God rest her soul, a little water never hurt anyone."

"Have a good stay, Sir," he says with a placating smile, not understanding what motivates tourists to do the things a local would never consider for fear of catching their death of pneumonia.

"Thanks," I say with a self-effacing smile, relief flooding through me.

### **25**

On the way back to the room, I consider the risk I took of using a credit card under my real name versus not paying for the room at all. If the police are looking for me, they will find me regardless. In a small-town back of the woods place like this, especially during the off-season, I stand out like a sore thumb and I'm not fooling anyone but myself if I believe otherwise, especially cruising around on my old Beazer.

It's the men in the black SUVs that have me more concerned than the local cops. If they turn out to be government after all, they'll have access to the same information as the local police. In which case, they'll track back the credit card activity to this motel before I can count to ten. Yet, the flip side of that coin means that if the hit squad doesn't show up before my upper lids are doing the tango with my lower lids, we will be safe here for at least the night.

Entering the room, I'm forced to swallow down a slight chuckle as I consider the looks they must have had on their faces when they came up empty handed the night before. They had us dead to rights and we gave them the slip.

Though the memory of evading such a large force equipped with the latest technology boosted my ego enormously, I sober immediately at the sight of the naked woman stretched out on her belly across the bed, the blankets pulled back revealing the smooth curvature of her ass. When I'd left to go down to the lobby, I'd left the heat on high and though she slept soundly the warmth caused her to shed the cover of the blankets.

Closing the door softly behind me, I find it almost painful to tear my eyes from her smooth flesh. No longer is her skin a clammy pale hue. Instead, the warmth of the room has soaked into her while she slept and raised the blood to the surface, turning it to a soft and inviting shade of ochre. Where her hair was once plastered to her skull, it too has been transformed, drying to a golden soft yellow in the subdued light of the room. Her curls are vibrant and alive, no longer limp and muted.

If it weren't for the fact that my legs are about to collapse from fatigue, I would stand here all day and savor every moment in her presence without her being aware of me. But alas, if I don't find a soft spot to lie down and soon, I will be the one in need of succoring and not her.

Ignoring the bottle on the counter, I search out the largest and most comfortable looking recliner in the room. As it turns out, there is just the one and heading toward it, I pause to grab a blanket out of the linen closet and make for it. Removing the revolver from the rear of my waistband and setting it on the end table next to the Glock, I plop down and pull the blanket up to my waist. Using first one foot and then the other, I slip off my boots while determining that it's just too much work to remove my pants and shirt since my skin has adjusted to the dampness of them. Within seconds, I'm oblivious of the world and my snores are echoing off the walls in the small confines of the room.

### **26**

Because I am usually a light sleeper, especially when I am on the job, it comes as a shock when I am slowly awakened by the sensual scent of a beautiful woman leaning over me, her face within inches of my own.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, quickly pulling back as if embarrassed to be in my space.

Instantly alert, I have to pull my eyes away from the cleavage created by a bath towel tied tightly around her body. And then, sudden concern grips me and I'm dreading that her waking before me can only mean that something terrible has happened or is about to happen.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I anxiously blurt as I pull myself up in the recliner, my eyes darting first to the door and then the kitchenette.

"It's alright," she hurriedly replies, stepping forward and pressing me back into the chair with a gentle pressure from her fingertips against my bare chest. "I just woke up is all."

Her touch is like an electric current that flows both ways and I see the look in her eyes as she recognizes it in mine. While her fingertips linger on my bare flesh, I reach up and enclose her hand in both of mine and pull her closer and off balance, forcing her to settle gracefully into my lap before falling clumsily on top of me.

Reflexively, we shift slightly, adjusting our postures to better accommodate the other in a more comfortable manner. It takes less than a second and when we are settled, it doesn't miss my attention that the towel has come loose from her breasts and is revealing the left nipple in a very enticing manner. Almost as an afterthought, she reaches to pull the towel back up across her breasts and in the process causes it to hike up her body, further exposing her trim, peachy smooth thighs and making the entire right cheek of her ass visible to my unscrupulous scrutiny.

Yet, her efforts do not have the desired effect that she is after. Instead of covering her breasts when she releases the towel, it again falls open. Only this time instead of just putting one breast on display, both of her lovely breasts are exposed. Having accomplished nothing more than to cover her naval and the elusive blonde patch of hair between her thighs, she gives up and leaves herself exposed.

For the briefest of moments, she watches me studying her flawless skin and creamy smooth flesh before commenting, "That didn't work as planned."

"Depends on whose plan," I softly protest.

Pushing herself upright on my lap, the sudden tension in her body acutely apparent, she looks me in the eye and says hotly, "I'm sure that young totty in the short uniform with the red hair didn't plan this."

"Not with you being the one on my lap," I quip, and then regret having said it as she pulls even further away from me and plants her right arm stiff against my left collarbone. This definitely wasn't going the way I had hoped. "Look, I'm sorry about that," I swiftly apologize. "I know you don't believe me, but I didn't invite her up here and I wasn't going to do anything with her even though she came up here of her own accord."

"You left me sleeping in a tub of hot water, unconscious and unaware. I come out unannounced and find you with another woman in a compromising position and you think I'm going to believe your excuse?" she accusingly lashes out, the scent of her so close to me it's overwhelming my senses.

Even before I am aware of it myself, she shifts her weight to better accommodate my growing manhood as it presses impertinently against the soft flesh of her buttocks. The insolence of it further fuels her anger. Unable to think of anything to say, I blurt out in my defense, "By what right are you laying claim to me anyway?"

The words strike her like a slap and she lunges forward, attempting to extract herself from the chair. But my reflexes are quicker and she is still off balance when I reach around her waist with my powerful hands and though momentarily distracted by the feel of her warm, sensuous flesh against my fingertips, pull her naked body tightly against me.

My move is a frank gamble since I'm completely uncertain of her feelings for me. But it's a gamble that immediately pays off in sweet dividends as her lips search hungrily for mine, the pent up passion between us quickly rising to the boiling point.

Our hands work feverishly, exploring each other's bare flesh in a heated frenzy while tearing savagely at the few remnants of cloth still separating us. In the rising heat of passion, the restraints are broken and her lips press crushingly sweet against mine, the salty sweet taste of blood heightening the frenzied demand of lust as our combined breath rushes in and out without tethered restraint.

Holding her taut body hard against my own, I rise to my feet while the room spins crazily around us as if no blood can reach my brain and stagger toward the unkempt bed. As if from a million miles away, I hear her voice. Its resonance is husky and off-key and yet recognizable. "Mac," she says breathlessly, a chord of concern causing me to pause.

Swaying dizzily, the room moving too fast to keep up with, I feel my hold on her slipping away. "Eddy," I stutter, my voice echoing across chasms of distance. "Eddy, what's going on?"

"Mac, put me down," she cries out, the concern in her voice evident even through the cloud of confusion and disorientation.

Numbness envelopes my body and I see the floor coming at me. Eddy screams and then there is only the roar of waves crashing through my head. Eventually, even that dies away to be followed only by silence and darkness.

### **27**

Gradually, the sound of the surf grows in intensity until I am suddenly aware that I am really hearing the surf crashing upon the beach and it's not just the roar of blood pounding in my temples. Unlike the thunder of blood rushing madly within the confines of my head, the sound is soft and soothing and my body relaxes with the familiarity of it. Having spent as much time along the Pacific Ocean as I have, the in and out slewing of the waves quickly carries my mind along to more peaceful, safe times and I fall into a deep sleep.

When next I hear the soothing crash and retreat of the Pacific Ocean, I quickly climb from the depths of exhaustion and force my eyes open, not certain of what I will find surrounding me. The blinds are drawn and the little light slipping in at the edges tells me that it is either early evening or late afternoon, depending on just how dreary the day outside is.

"Hey sleepy head," comes Eddy's voice from the kitchenette. "Are you going to rejoin the living this time or are you just coming up for a little air?"

Turning my head in the direction of her voice, I am greeted with the most beautiful smile lighting up the room and my spirit instantly takes flight. "Hi," I bashfully utter.

"Hi yourself," she says back, stepping toward me. "I'll put on some coffee and come join you in a minute. There're fresh towels in the bathroom and the room has been paid up through the week. Of course, we only have four more days before that's up," she adds with a wink before turning back into the kitchenette.

"I don't understand," I say, my voice and my brain both groggy from having slept so long.

"Go, take a shower and we'll talk when you come out," she commandingly orders.

Throwing off the covers, I discover that I'm completely naked. Glancing around the room, I further notice that the pile of laundry is no longer on the floor. Instead, neatly folded and stacked on the seat of the recliner are my once soiled and dirty clothes. While I lay sleeping, she took it upon herself to do the laundry. And even though the motel has its own laundromat downstairs next to the lobby, I had to wonder how she managed without a change of clothes. I would have liked to been awake for that show!

Heading toward the bathroom, I pause for a moment while standing in the middle of the room in my nakedness and turn toward the kitchenette and Eddy. When she looks up, I casually inquire, "Have we really been here three days?"

Studying me for a minute before smiling in approval, she slowly looks up before answering. "No, sweetie, we've been here five days. You had paid for two before I booked the following week." Before I can form a remark, she licks her upper lip with sensual slowness and adds, "Go take that shower. There'll be time enough to jaw afterwards."

Just the sight of her is enough to infuse fresh blood into my manhood and suddenly self-conscious of my growing dilemma, I turn and hurry into the bathroom. Before I can close the door however, I hear a soft giggling behind me and I know for certain that what happened just before I passed out wasn't a dream after all.

The water is hot and deliciously soothing, bringing warmth to my body and instilling confidence in my soul. Through the steam, I smell fresh coffee brewing and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with a sudden urge for a cup.

Turning toward the tap, I'm abruptly aware of a cool draft in the air swirling the damp mist around. The bathroom door has just been opened and then just as suddenly closed.

Someone has just entered the bathroom!

Instincts kick in and I glance around furtively for a weapon, my hands groping for anything that can be used in self-defense. Aside from a back brush, a bar of soap and a plastic bottle of shampoo, I see nothing serviceable. Furthermore, there is no telling where Eddy may have put my magnum.

Eddy! What happened to Eddy? Did they overpower her? Is she hurt or worse? And I wasn't there to protect her.

Adrenalin starts pumping through my veins at the thought of something happening to Eddy. Crouching, I place a firm hand on the edge of the shower door and then with maddening strength, jerk it open while simultaneously leaping out to take the assailant off balance. Unarmed with nothing but my hands, my only hope for survival and a favorable outcome is to take the offensive.

Even before the door can slam against its stop, the safety glass miraculously not shattering on impact, I am through it, crashing against the soft, forgiving flesh of a woman!

Almost too late, I catch myself and rein in my momentum while barely avoiding crushing Eddy's beautiful, naked body against the lip of the vanity.

An involuntary scream escapes her lips follow by a soft cuss from mine and our bare flesh pressed against each other, the small of her back bruised from the impact nonetheless. "Damn it! Don't ever do that," I start, my heart racing.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers, intimidated by my show of brute force. "I was only coming to wash your back."

Her voice betrays her feelings of insecurity and fear and I suddenly regret having growled so angrily at her. "It's all right. Don't worry about," I say a bit huskily, acutely aware of her full breasts pressing against my bare chest while my swelling manhood exerts increasing pressure against her exposed groin. Unable to think of anything else to say, I foolishly blurt, "Is the offer for the back wash still good?"

Disentangling herself from me, she retreats self-consciously to the door with a hand pressed into the small of her back. Before ducking through it, she turns and says, "Coffee will be ready in a minute."

Before I can apologize for being so gauche, the door is shut and I'm left standing alone in the cool air. Grabbing a towel from the towel bar, I'm about to dry off when the door slowly reopens. Standing just outside wearing a tight pair of denim jeans and a tighter-fitting knit sweater pulled over her bare breasts is Eddy. "Here," she says, setting down a stack of clothes on the vanity.

"Thanks," I remark to a closed door.

### **28**

Fully clothed, we sit facing each other across the counter with two steaming cups of coffee between us. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Though she is civil enough, I find it hard to believe that we almost made love five days earlier. The incident in the bathroom was an accident on my part and because I handled it so ineptly, I probably blew any chance of ever getting close to her again.

Of course, that doesn't mean for one minute that I'm giving up. Quite the contraire! If anything, my prior actions just mean that I will have to try harder. Now that I've seen her in the flesh and understand exactly what the prize is, there is no way I can do anything but try harder.

"Where do we go from here?" she is asking, my mind momentarily on the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes slowly in and out. I can almost make out the firm little bumps of her nipples through the tightly stretched material and just the thought of them is infuriatingly distracting to me. "Please, Mac, take your eyes off my breasts and talk to me," she suddenly commands, her voice brisk and clipped. "We can't stay here forever. We need to do something soon."

Self-consciously, I stare down at my mug of coffee, suddenly too embarrassed to meet her gaze. A weak, "Sorry," escapes my lips.

In frustration, she starts to rise while mumbling something about me being next to useless to her and that the stories she'd heard about me must be just that, fictional stories.

"Wait a minute!" I snap at her, stopping her cold. "That's the second time now that you've mentioned having heard tales of me. Unless you've been in this type of work before, how would you have heard of me?" I demand. "Are you really just a lab assistant working for a pharmaceutical company, or is there more you would like to tell me about yourself? And don't tell me you read about me in the paper. They didn't hardly mention me in passing in that article you referred to."

The anger is gone from her face as she turns back to the counter and slowly lowers herself back down on the stool across from me. Since she appears ready to talk, I keep my trap shut and patiently wait for her to begin. After a long moment, the coffee all but forgotten, she says, "Okay, there is more to me than I first let on, but only because I wasn't sure if I could trust you." She looks up from the mug of coffee and meets my gaze, sincerity fogging up her eyes. "Before you say it, yes, I should have trusted you from the beginning. And believe it or not, there were times when I really did trust you."

"But not all the time," I inject coldly.

"No, I admit, not all the time." She pauses for a moment before continuing, "Although I've heard nothing but good about you and that you were an honorable man, I heard also that you were a gun for hire. When one considers the amount of money involved, it's not surprising to think that I was afraid you might have been swayed or even bought off, especially when Vercelli let you go. In case you've forgotten, you killed several of his key men and he still let you walk out of his place alive. I found it hard to believe that he would let you leave on your own steam. Unless, of course, the two of you had struck a deal and you were on his payroll."

"I suppose, I would have had the same concerns if our rolls had been reversed," I concede. "You never did tell me how you knew of me, though."

"It would probably be best if I start at the beginning," she says resignedly.

"We have a little more than three more days here, right?"

"Yes," she answers with a puzzled frown.

"Then I suggest, you get to it," I reply with a grin.

### **29**

"What I told you about the vaccine is true. Mark did develop it according to the specifications laid out to him. However, I wasn't his assistant, I was his girlfriend. Even though he signed a confidentiality agreement and the lab was a secured work environment, he discussed his work with me. In the late hours of the night after a passionate round of love-making, we would lay in the dark and talk about things-things that he couldn't trust to anyone else but were weighing on his mind." She pauses for a moment with her hands tightly gripping her mug of coffee. When she begins again, her voice is shaky and the confidence of just minutes earlier has evaporated. "I betrayed that trust and it cost him his life."

"It isn't your fault that someone killed him," I consolingly interject even though I suspect her mentioning the late night hours in the manner that she did was only to get a jab in at me.

"I was a lowly receptionist in the front lobby of the company. I was naïve, oblivious of what was really happening in the rooms beyond the front corridor. I thought it would be as simple as telling the police and they would make everything right with the world. Mark argued with me. Although he was almost as naïve as me, he understood the gravity of the situation much better than I did. And even more important, he understood all along that he was working for ruthless men with power and influence. Yet, even he didn't realize just how far their influence went or to what extremes they were willing to go to realize their ambitions."

"You still haven't explained how you knew of me," I narcissistically interrupt.

"When Mark convinced me not to go to the local police, I started asking around about private investigators. Your name popped up and so I asked around about you. However, my queries didn't go unnoticed. Right after that a guy followed me home from work. He said he was a PI and could help. Like a fool, I let him into my apartment and spilled my guts to him. I even went so far as to tell him that Mark was trying to find a way to get out of it before it was too late." After a pause, she hesitantly adds, "He played me like a fiddle. He knew just what questions to ask and when to ask them. He was smooth."

"Were you going to look me up? That is, if this other guy hadn't gotten to you first."

She looks confused for a moment before answering and then realizes that I'm dead serious. "I'm not sure, to be honest with you. What I was told about you wasn't all that flattering. You weren't exactly at the top of my list. And besides, I thought when this guy came along, I wouldn't need anyone else." She pauses for a second, taking a sip from her mug of lukewarm coffee to moisten her throat before continuing. "He left my apartment and Mark showed up a little while later. When I told Mark about the PI, he went ballistic. The strange events since leaving work that evening suddenly made sense to him. He left my place in a panic, explaining that he had to get back to the lab before they knew what he was going to do. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn't let me. He was truly concerned for my safety and I was still too naïve to believe there really were monsters capable of such cruelty working in the same building as us."

"Just after that, he called you to meet him so he could give you the vaccine because he knew they were close to catching up with him?"

"Yeah, he gave me a key to the locker at the bus terminal," she softly concurs, thinking back to that night when she found Mark in his apartment, dying from a bullet wound probably put there by the man claiming to be a PI. It was all her fault that he's dead. Shaking her head as if to clear it of cobwebs, she adds, "You know the rest. When I got to the locker, the vaccine was already gone. It was my fault that Mark died."

"I don't know how to convince you otherwise, but it's nobody's fault that someone kills someone else except the man that pulls the trigger. Unless you can control another man's actions, it's just not your fault. Now they want the vaccine and if they can't buy it back, they're willing to kill to get it back. That much we know for certain. Shit, even if you gave it back to them now, they will still have to kill you for fear you might talk to the wrong people. And that means, they're influence only goes so far."

There is a long moment of silence while we study our mugs. Then, slowly, I raise my eyes to hers and say with utmost sincerity, "I wish you had called me when you first considered doing so." When she doesn't respond, I turn the conversation back to business. "Precisely how did you know where it was going to turn up?"

"Like I told you, it was a fluke," she says noncommittally.

"What kind of fluke?" I press, determined to know all the details.

After a long moment's hesitation, she says, "You know that house I took you to, down on the lower side by the port?"

"Yeah, the one with the secret passageway out through the cellar."

"The man I rented that from treated me like a daughter. He knew Mark to. I introduced the two of them. Through a strange coincidence, two of Vercelli's men were doing some odd jobs for him. Cleaning up around some other rental properties or something like that. Anyway, they were talking about the place where I work and having to tail some guy that got their bosses goods out of a bus locker. He didn't know all the details, but he knew enough to tell me what he overheard and I immediately put two and two together. I wasn't familiar with the pub, but I knew if the vaccine was still in the satchel, I would at least recognize that, and I did."

Her story seemed plausible even if a bit of a stretch and I let it slide. "So, do you have any idea who those guys in the black SUVs might be?"

"I thought you might have a better idea than me," she retorts. "They looked more like your type."

"At first, I thought we were dealing with a government agency," I confess. "But if that were the case, they would have found us by now. By the way, how did you pay for the room? And even better than that, what did you wear down to the laundry room when you did our laundry?"

This time, she smiles coyly at me before answering and I know it's only a matter of time before I get back into her good graces. "I used the cash in the envelope on the floor. The man in the lobby said that since they had your credit card on file, your cash was good enough." She purposely stressed the fact that it was a man she dealt with while exhibiting a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Before I realize that I'm doing it, my eyes drift down to the prominent little bumps of her nipples and a longing desire makes itself known in the crotch of my jeans. Catching myself, I self-consciously raise my gaze to her face. To my surprise, she is staring back at me as if reading my thoughts. Yet, it is not a look of contempt or disgust that I see in her eyes. Rather, she appears flattered by my amoral attention. There is definitely hope for me yet!

### **30**

We're working on the cold coffee in our cups in silence when Eddy suddenly blurts, "I'm sorry, there's more coffee if you would like a warm up."

Grinning, I comment, "I can see now that the waitress outfit really was nothing more than a disguise, after all."

Smiling back, she slips off the stool and turns toward the coffee maker while commenting coyly over her shoulder, "Careful, big guy. Especially if you don't want to be wearing this in your lap."

Instead of filling both cups to the brim, she stops half way up. When I give her a puzzled look, she smiles playfully and sets the carafe back on the element. With a decided lightness in her step, she strolls past me and heads toward the bed. But before reaching it, she veers toward the door, pausing only long enough to scoop up a paper sack setting next to it. As she returns to the far side of the counter, I hear the faint chink of glass knocking against glass.

Setting the paper sack on the counter, she pulls out a Styrofoam container of eggs, a package of bacon, a bottle of concentrated orange juice and a fifth of West Indies rum. Smiling mischievously, she asks, "Would you like the honors?"

"It would be my pleasure," I comment with a broad smile as I top up our mugs with the rum.

The warm coffee infused with the heat of the rum goes down smoothly, instantly igniting my aspirations anew. Meanwhile, Eddy is fishing through the cabinets and pulling out pots and pans with a clear intention of her motives. With an amorous glow building in the pit of my stomach, I study the fine shape of her ass in the tight fitting jeans, her golden blonde tresses curling impishly against the form-fitting sweater. The memory of her body pressed against mine is fueling thoughts that a gentleman shouldn't have.

Turning around to retrieve the eggs from the counter, she catches me ogling her and smiles mischievously, giving even more rise to my already soaring spirits. "You'll feel better after you get some solid food in your stomach," she says, turning back toward the small, two-burner stovetop before bending over and retrieving something from the floor.

Although, I don't believe it could be possible to feel any better than I do at this moment, between the rum induced coffee and a beautiful woman fixing me breakfast, I still intend on keeping my options open.

"You are one fine looking woman," I exhale softly, drinking in the whole of her as she straightens up.

She doesn't say anything for a long minute and I begin to wonder if she even heard me when she suddenly turns around and silently steps around the counter and throws her arms around my neck, pulling my face to hers.

Caught off guard, I almost fall over backwards. But I quickly find my balance and plant my feet firmly to either side of the stool. Reaching down, I grab the firm flesh at the back of her upper thighs in my beefy mitts and lift her off the floor while our mouths press almost painfully against each other's. The passion roars to life with a white hot flame as our tongues hungrily explore the uncharted depths of our need.

With her held closely against me, her feet dangling above the floor, she wraps her legs tightly around my waist for extra support and pulls the sweater up and over her head, exposing her beautiful breasts topped by ochre aureoles and bright pink nipples that are rock hard. In the brief moment when our lips separate, I glance down at her beauty and obvious desire before huskily remarking, "I like my eggs over easy."

"Then you be the chef," she breathlessly replies before planting her mouth back over mine.

Almost savagely, she tears at the buttons on my shirt, trying to get to the flesh beneath. Spinning on my feet, I carry her to the bed and gently lay her down on her back. Before I can stand upright, she has my shirt unbuttoned and pushed off my shoulders, only held by my arms in the sleeves. Seeing me working my arms out of the sleeves, she turns her attention to the waist of her own jeans and frantically undoes the button and zipper, exposing the tightly curled blonde hair of her womanhood.

All the while, her eyes never leave my exposed body, a look of anticipation and approval in her expression. Stepping hurriedly out of my own pants, I take her hands in mine and slowly assist her with the removal of her jeans, savoring the moment while slowly pulling them down over her feet. Completely naked, my manhood at the ready, I stand towering over her while she stretches languorously across the bed in anticipation and study the exquisite perfection of her. She is truly the most beautiful woman that I've ever laid eyes on and I've laid eyes on quite a few.

The light from the kitchenette causes the peach fuzz of hair on the sides of her thighs to glow enticingly and though I want to savor this moment, to make it virtually last forever, I am suddenly overwhelmed with desire and must sate the first wave before I can relax enough to explore all the hidden depths and pleasures that she has to offer.

As if we are of the same mind, we move toward each other at the same moment, our bodies forming a natural union of unspeakable pleasure as the lights in the room abruptly glow bright-white before our eyes and then suddenly flare into all the colors of the rainbow.

It takes me a second to realize that the room hasn't changed, but that all the excitement is in our minds and souls as we meld together in the white-hot heat of unfettered passion.

### **31**

Our passion lasts through the evening and into the wee hours of morning. It is still dark when I roll off the bed and hunt down my discarded clothes. Eddy stirs softly in the gloom, the lights in the room having been extinguished at some earlier point in time.

Bundled up, my leather boots hard from having dried and then been neglected, I slip out the door and draw it softly behind me. The night air is cold and damp as I slide silently down the back stairs and head toward the maintenance shed. After a furtive glance around to be sure that I'm not being observed, I slip around to the back of the shed.

Although I didn't expect to find it any different, it is still with a vast amount of relief that I find my bike exactly where I put it. After a quick assessment to be certain that it hasn't been tampered with, I slip back to the motel room.

Upon entering, I carefully lock the door behind me. But when I reach the bed, I discover that it's unoccupied. My heart climbs into my throat, cutting off my air supply.

"Eddy!" I hiss, my breath caught in my throat.

Just then, the bathroom door swings inward and a bright light falls into the room, chasing the gloom into the further corners. With a rush, my breath escapes and I take a few shallow gasps before I'm able to speak.

"Is everything alright?" she anxiously asks of me before I can mouth my concern.

"Fine," I stutter, realizing that her silhouette is that of a naked woman. "Never better."

Leaving the light on, she enters the room. But instead of returning to the bed, she comes straight toward me. As if attending to a child, she removes my jacket and then pulls me into her soft embrace while my hands clumsily search for an inconspicuous place to rest. With her head pressing firmly against my chest, she softly inquires, "Would you like that breakfast now?"

Because of the length of my arms, my hands settle conspicuously in the small of her back, my fingers trailing down to the rise of her firm buttocks. Just the touch of my fingertips resting lightly on her creamy smooth flesh is enough to ignite the fire in my loins and she suddenly grows aware of the bruising force of my manhood pressing outward against the crotch of the denim jeans. "Does that mean you would rather wait until later?" she asks almost dreamily, arching her back slightly to press her taut belly against my burgeoning crotch.

"God forgive me, but I'd never eat again if it meant I could be here with you for all eternity," I whisper huskily, my head bowed down to her lips.

Her body molds sensuously into mine with accustomed familiarity and ease of purpose as we tenderly explore each other, discovering all the intimate secrets that only lovers share.

Our lovemaking lasts for more than two hours and although the sky outside remains overcast and dreary, small shafts of muted daylight are beginning to sneak in past the edges of the drapes. Sliding out of bed, the top blanket wrapped around her as if regaining some sense of modesty, she heads for the bathroom while I continue lounging amongst the crumpled sheets. With the thermostat in the room set at a moderately warm setting, the covers on the bed are really just for show.

"Are you ready for that breakfast?" she asks, stepping sprightly from the restroom to the kitchenette.

"I could eat a horse," I growl softly, completely content with life and my current set of circumstances.

"Then hit the shower," she orders, a smile lighting up the beautiful features of her face in the overhead lights. "It'll be ready before you are."

"Yes, yes, yes," I grumble happily, rolling off the bed and heading for the shower.

Halfway to the bathroom, I stop suddenly and return to the side of the bed where my jeans and shirt are lying in a crumpled heap. Stooping, I scoop them up and verify that the magnum is among them. Satisfied, I head into the restroom, glancing quickly toward the kitchenette and Eddy as I pass. When I notice that the blanket has slipped down from her shoulders and is only being held up by the perkiness of her full breasts, I almost trip over my own feet.

Stopping short, I stare at her bare back, the blanket just barely covering the cheeks of her ass. Although I am unable to see anything more intimate than the fine bone structure of her upper back, or the proud set of her shoulders, my eyes are drawn to the sensuous curve in the small of her back. Because there is just the slightest hint of cleavage showing between two firm, high cheeks, I feel a growing desire to see more, to have what is not available.

The enticement of her lovely physique stirs the longing in my groin anew. Standing halfway between the bed and bathroom, I am suddenly torn between the familiar comfort of a hot shower followed by a sumptuous breakfast and the fascination and allure of an attractive woman.

Almost as if she senses my presence behind her, she turns with a spatula in hand and brusquely orders, "The shower! Now!"

Grinning sheepishly, I throw her a wink and hurry into the bathroom.

### **32**

Sitting across from her at the counter, the bacon and eggs nothing more than a fond memory resting contentedly in my belly, I take a sip of the fresh mug of coffee and say, "We need to get that vaccine to the right people before they turn this _Toxic Rain_ thing loose on the world. With a vaccine readily available, they won't have the hold over the people that they're hoping for, especially if the justice department learns of their intent to extort the public."

Rising from her stool, she steps around the counter and with a smug look on her face, places her hand on my shoulders and kisses me square on the lips. Parting, she whispers softly, "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you had suggested anything else."

As she moves back to her stool, I respond with mixed feelings. Though I am hurt by the fact that she doubted my intentions, I am flattered by the fact that she is genuinely concerned for my character. "I understand that your knowledge of me is very limited, but I would have thought if anything, my reputation would have been brought up during your inquiries. Or at the least, mentioned in passing. Anyone that knows me at all knows that I don't work for money so much as I do to right injustices and allowing some corporation to get away with murder, at any price, just rubs me wrong."

She studies me from across the counter for a long moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "Some part of me trusted you the minute I laid eyes on you. If there had ever been any serious doubt, I never would have taken you back to my place." She pauses again and then smiling from ear to ear says, "And I surely would not have gone to that campground to collect you."

"I was hunting for you, remember?" I say timidly, feigning hurt pride.

"More coffee?" she asks, allowing the conversation to slide. After refilling our mugs with the last of the pot, she continues, her voice sounding businesslike and detached, "Have you decided where we go from here?"

"Well," I reply, also switching to my most serious tone of voice. "I suppose we ought to get hitched before the kids start popping out."

For the briefest of moments, a smile flashes across her face and then she quickly berates me for fooling around when we have serious issues to discuss. And though she is right and the discussion turns serious as we plan our next moves, I will never forget that momentary look of contentment and pleasure that I saw on her face in that moment when I mentioned marriage and children. If I ain't careful, this could turn too serious too fast!

After a long discussion of options involving the CDC, the Justice Department and even the US Marshal's Service, we decide that I should at least call in my good friend Larry. And although the motel has been safe, if the search for us returns to this area, someone is liable to stumble upon the bike behind the tool shed. We need to find a new safe-place to operate from and since it would be suicide to ride through town heading south, our only option is to go further north.

Despite Eddy wanting to go just far enough north to reach Highway 34 before heading east into the valley, she quickly discards the idea when I mention snow and even colder temperatures at the higher pass elevations. These wouldn't be a problem in a vehicle properly equipped for such weather, but they are a major problem to a biker with a passenger. Unless we intend on finding another means of transportation, we are stuck on the coast.

But that is fine with me. As it just so happens that I have a friend up the road that manages a casino and I personally can't think of anywhere better I would care to hide out with a beautiful woman than a casino, especially since he is still in my debt and I know I can trust him.

We further determine not to wait to call Larry, but that I should go down to the lobby and use a pay phone while she freshens up and prepares for the ride. "You know, we really should wait until after dark to head out," I suggest with a smirk and a wink.

"Why, because your red-hot Elaine doesn't come back on duty until the night shift and you feel some twisted sort of obligation to tell her good-by?" she retorts hotly, feigning anger.

"No, actually, I was thinking about the rest of the day and how it could be better spent in this room with you than freezing our asses off out on the open road."

Coming around the counter with her lips pouting sensuously, she steps into my embrace and presses her body up hard against mine. "And what exactly would you have in mind for us to do in this dark and dreary room all day?"

Sliding off the stool, my feet settling firmly to either side of hers, I lean over her while carefully cradling her back until she is off balance and falling into my arms. With her lips hunting eagerly for mine, I carry her to the bed and gently lay her across the soft mattress, letting my own body down gently atop her.

Slipping my mouth from hers, I confidently answer her question, "Anything I damn well please."

"Ooh, you animal," she purrs.

### **33**

With our lust temporarily sated, our bodies freshly showered, our few items packed away in the saddle bags and the perfume bottle containing the vaccine stashed in amongst our clothing to protect it from harm, we close the door to the room for the last time and work our way down the rear stairs. The parking lot is almost empty and the sky a dark mass of slow moving clouds. As always, there is a heavy mist bordering on drizzle and the air feels cold and clammy. I have no doubts that it will penetrate our clothing within minutes once we're moving down the highway. Fortunately, where we're going is less than an hour's ride away.

Feeling conspicuous despite the gloom of night, I glance over at Eddy keeping pace beside me and notice a steady plume of shallow breaths in the air before her face. To my amazement, even in the dark and gloom, her hair sparkles and shines from droplets of dew glistening like diamonds among the tightening locks of spun gold.

"It's this way," I whisper softly, veering off to the left toward the maintenance shed. A dim bulb is glowing weakly over the front door, the light being cast off is just enough to bring a soggy reality to the falling mist.

When we reach the front of the shed, I turn to Eddy and instruct her to wait while I head around to the back. Within moments, I return, pushing the bike silently along the narrow path, the saddlebags secured in place.

"Climb on," I whisper, straddling the black and chrome machine.

When she is settled on the rear of the seat, her feet planted firmly on the rear foot pegs, I kick the starter and feel a familiar sense of pride when she roars to life, ready to carry us on our journey into the cold, wet night like a faithful steed.

Over my shoulder, I say, "Hang on."

In response, I feel her grip around my waist tighten and then we are accelerating around the side of the motel and heading toward the highway. Barely slowing, we lean left and head north up 101, accelerating quickly away from the warmth and security of the motel where memories were made.

The ride north is uneventful, the drizzle soaking our clothing and chilling us to the bone shortly after setting out. Even through the leather jacket and heavy cotton shirt, I can feel Eddy's body trembling, her grip on me relaying the chattering of her teeth.

Feeling empathy for her, I call over my shoulder, "It isn't much further."

This time, there is no evident response. But her grip is still tight around my waist, even if it's a bit shaky.

Soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, we pull into the Sand Dollar Casino parking lot. Swinging past the front entrance, I continue on around to the side and head directly for the groundskeeper's shop. Because casinos are twenty-four hour a day operations, it doesn't surprise me to see a light on within the confines of the well-maintained building. In fact, I would have been more surprised if someone had not been working.

As I pull up to the door, it suddenly flies open. Even before I can kill the engine and knock down the kickstand, a burly Latino man in dirty coveralls comes charging toward us, a broad grin exposing an uneven set of teeth that are barely visible through his graying beard.

"Olay, hombre! My compadre! I knew it was you when you first turned off the highway. There is no other machine on this earth that sounds the same as this fine piece of English made machinery. I would recognize it anywhere. Ah Mac, it is good to see you again," he declares emphatically, grabbing my hand and shaking it firmly between the clasp of his two large, thickly calloused paws. He is about to say more when his eyes land on my passenger and for the first time in all the time I've known the old fix-it man, he is momentarily at a loss for words.

Taking Eddy by the hand, he gently assists her to her feet and then, stepping back so that he can take the sight of her in, breathes the words, "This is a vision from heaven." And then, regaining his voice, adds, "Miss, if I may offer you a cup of coffee. Please, come in and get out of the cold. It is mucho warm inside." His voice instantly grows more concerned as they move into the light cascading from the door and he realizes that she is bordering on hypothermia. "Mac! What have you done to this poor girl?" He scolds.

"It's a bit of a story, Julio. Is Manny around?"

"I will get word to him. But first, we must get some warmth into this poor lady, she is freezing to death! Come along, Miss, I will look after you," he says, taking her hand and leading her into the shop office while glaring at me. After leading her to a chair and sitting her down, he grabs me by the arm and drags me inside before hastily pulling the door closed behind us to keep the heat in.

Moving quickly around to the opposite side of the desk, he leans over and retrieves a bottle of rum. Although I don't recognize the label, I'm not about to protest. The first mug he fills, he carefully places in Eddy's hands and smiles warmly at her as he steps backwards to the desk, turning only long enough to fill a second mug for himself. He is like a small child standing in awe of something beautiful and wonderful and at the same time afraid that if he looks away, it might disappear.

"Hey, Julio, I could use some of that," I mention softly, vying for his attention.

Acting startled by my voice as if he had forgotten I was even there, he sheepishly turns back to the desk and pours the third coffee mug full and hands it to me with his apologies, all the while glancing furtively at Eddy.

The Sand Dollar Casino is quite a large establishment that employs somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred or more fulltime employs. Even during the week, it's a hopping place, drawing locals and people from afar. Manny Banks, the owner and sole proprietor of the place ran into a little trouble a couple of years back. But that's another story, so let's just let it go that he owes me and I know I can trust him.

As far as Julio goes, he is Manny's right hand man. They have known each other since Manny was a young boy, orphaned and all alone on the streets. Julio took him under his wing, even though he had little to offer a child in the way of a home life. They moved about a lot, drifting from town to town and working odd jobs, usually some kind of maintenance or caretaking work. There isn't a piece of machinery on this planet that Julio can't fix. And even though he is of Mexican descent and having lived most of his life in the United States, he harbors an affinity for English engineering, my old Beazer in particular. He is the one man that I would trust beside myself to work on her.

Gingerly, I sniff the contents of the cup, concerned that I might harm my sensitive taste buds. Noticing, Julio scolds me again. "It's every bit West Indies, don't let the label fool you. By now you should know that I wouldn't have anything else around."

"Thanks, Julio. Saluda," I comment, raising the mug before putting it to my lips and pouring the sweet, fiery liquid down.

Julio never lies, at least not to his friends and I instantly appreciate the fine, smoothness of the rum as it warms my throat and lights a fire in my belly. Setting the empty mug on the desktop, I turn back toward the door, pausing just long enough to inquire of Julio where I can hide the bike.

"My friend, you are cold and wet, let me put her away for you," he quickly insists, putting his hands on my shoulders and guiding me to an old padded chair, dirty white cotton protruding through torn and weather cracked vinyl of a non-descript color.

Moving stiffly from the cold, I settle down heavily in the chair as he quickly hurries past me and out the door, closing it quickly behind him. Although I expected him to push the bike by hand, it doesn't surprise me when I hear her burp to life and then charge out across the parking lot.

The sound of the Beazer is still roaring back and forth across the parking lot when a short man in a precisely tailored pinstriped suit enters through the door leading from a back stairwell connecting the shop to the casino. His hair is cut and greased as an actor from the silent days of film, his mustache waxed and trimmed to match. Despite his short stature, he is dapper and distinguished-a man that is noticed and commanding in presence.

"Manny," I cry out, rising quickly to my feet and extending my hand.

"Mac, it is good to see you again," he says cordially enough, though harboring a hint of suspicion in his voice. Of course, his demeanor was to be expected once he saw our wet and cold condition, not to mention the fact that he is meeting us in the maintenance shop and not at the grand entrance.

"It is good to see you also," I say with true sincerity. Although I haven't been back to see him since finishing the job, he is one of the few customers that I've had over the years who I've truly enjoyed their company.

Noticing Eddy sitting in the chair shivering, he quickly becomes the endearing host that has helped make his casino a landmark on the Oregon Coast. "My dear young lady," he says, extending his hand to guide her. "Please, come now. You are freezing to death. I have a lovely room waiting and I will call ahead to run a hot bath."

"That's very kind of you Manny, but," I begin when he quickly cuts me off.

"Whatever trouble she is in, we can discuss it later," he says brusquely, leading her through the door and up the stairs with me following close behind.

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Banks," Eddy graciously remarks.

"Oh, please, please, call me Manny. And your name, my lovely lady?"

"Eddy, Eddy Lotto."

"Such a fitting name for a lady in a casino," he chuckles, finding humor in the connection of her name with gambling.

"And the name _Banks_ means nothing?" I grumble sourly behind them, feeling a touch of jealousy as the way they are getting along so quickly.

The staircase is just wide enough for two people abreast with a metal railing on the right wall. Ahead of me, Manny is walking side by side with Eddy, her right arm crooked under his left elbow. To my surprise, her symptoms from the cold are all but gone already.

"I must ask of you, Miss Lotto, how you come to be connected with this ruffian of a soldier that follows us. But that story will wait until later. First, you must get warm. To do that, you will need a hot bath, a hot meal, drinks and a dry change of clothes."

Reaching the third floor landing, we go through a door that leads us out into a broad hallway decorated in a muted gold-tone paint and provincial art along the walls. Leading off the hallway are wide, ornate wooden doors that we continue on past, stopping only when we reach the double doors at the end of the hall. Using an electronic passkey, Manny opens the doors and steps aside, letting Eddy lead the way through.

She is immediately awestruck by the opulence and grandeur of the place. Situated almost in the center of the main room is a four-poster bed of magnificent size, the canopy draped in lace. To the left is a wet-bar and through another set of double doors a conference room.

"We don't really need anything quite so fancy, Manny," I start to protest.

"Nonsense," he says, cutting me off from further protests. "I'll have someone bring you up some dry clothes," he continues and then studies Eddy for a long moment before adding, "I'm sure we have something in the shop downstairs that will fit you most lovingly, my dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will see you in an hour, if that is okay."

"That will be fine, Manny. And thank you for everything," I sincerely remark.

Catching both Manny and me off guard, Eddy suddenly runs up to him and throws her arms around his neck. Forgetful of her wet clothing, she hugs him tightly to her. When she realizes what she's done, she ashamedly steps back and apologizes profusely for her actions. But Manny truly appears more saddened by the fact that she let go of him than he is by the fact that his suit appears damp and soggy down the front from her contact.

"I am so sorry," she whimpers, torn by her thoughtless action as she brushes at the front of his suit coat.

"Please, do not worry," Manny quickly replies, smiling warmly at her and taking her hands in his and squeezing them gently. He is clearly touched by her open show of humility.

When he turns to leave, I stop him and ask, "If you could have Julio bring up my bags, I'd really appreciate it, Manny."

"Consider it done. If you need anything, anything at all, let any of the help know and it will be done," he replies, nodding graciously and winking fondly at Eddy as he pulls the doors closed behind him.

### **34**

Julio arrives with my bags and knocks briefly before letting himself in. "Oh, thanks, Julio. Did you enjoy the ride?"

"Si, muchos.Gracias senor Mac."

"Am I taking good enough care of our girl?" I ask with a wink, as I pour three glasses of rum from a bottle in the liquor cabinet.

With a knowing smile, he replies, "I took the liberty of adjusting the points in the magneto and resealing the cap. She will still start easy, but I think you'll find the throttle response a bit quicker under load." It isn't necessary for him to explain as to what load he is referring. I generally travel alone.

Handing him a glass and indicating a luxuriously upholstered chair, he automatically declines out of hand, nodding down at his dirty coveralls. But I don't miss the furtive glances around the room while he stands nervously at the bar, the glass quickly finding its way to his lips.

"She's in the bath," I explain, watching him visibly relax.

Smiling bashfully at me in return, he says a tad self-consciously, "She is a very pretty lady, Mac. Should I be concerned for the two of you?"

"That depends," I wink at him, maintaining the feeling of levity.

After taking another swig from the glass, he sets it firmly back on the bar to be refilled. While obliging him, his expression suddenly turns serious and he meets my gaze before speaking. "Although we have not known each other for a long time, we are two of the same kind, you and me, Mac. We speak the same language, even if it is with a different accent. Yet, we understand each other as brothers. You saved Manny when I was unable to help him and for that, I will be eternally grateful." He pauses to take another swig from the glass, pouring more than half of its contents into his mouth and swirling it around a moment to extract the fullness of flavor that only fine rum can give a man. Setting the glass back on the bar, but retaining his grip on it, he continues, "You are a man that can be trusted. When you say friend, you mean just that, friend." He leans on the bar, putting his face squarely before mine and says, "But you are not a man that makes social calls, especially in the middle of a winter storm on an old motorcycle with a beautiful woman in tow. You are here because you need our help. So, I say to you as an old friend, even if it is not in years, how can we help?"

"You never were one to beat around the bush," I smile back at him. "So, I won't either. I need a safe place to hide her," I nod toward the closed bathroom door. "And I have a small package that I can't trust with just anyone to take care of. That's why I'm here, Julio."

"You honor us with your trust," he says, his gaze unwavering. "Give me this package that you speak of and I will guard it with my life."

"If I give it to you Julio, you might just have to do that and I sincerely hate to put you and Manny in that position."

"You let me worry about that. Your package and the young lady will be well protected here."

"I know that, Julio, that's why I'm here," I say, heading toward the saddlebags where Julio left them on the floor near the bed.

But before I reach it, there is a soft knocking on the door. Glancing toward Julio, he quickly understands and steps toward the door while I retrieve my magnum and take up a stance on the far side of the room while concealing the magnum behind my back.

Giving Julio a curt nod to indicate my readiness, he opens the door and then quickly steps aside, allowing two members of the staff bearing armloads of clothes to enter. His surreptitious wink is enough to dispel my concerns and I understand immediately that he recognizes them as employs of the casino.

It seems strange and a bit disorienting to watch an aging, slightly overweight Mexican in dirty coveralls giving orders, but that is exactly what he does as he instructs the staff to display the clothing across the bed. Thanking them, he promises them a little extra in their pay for keeping this to themselves and not advertising the presence of their special guests.

Nodding their thanks, they quickly retreat from the room and Julio closes the doors behind them. They have done this for special guests before and they know how to keep their mouths shut. Manny takes good care of his staff and works diligently to instill a deep sense of loyalty to the casino.

Looking the threads over, a whistle of awe escapes my lips. "This is too much, Julio," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed by Manny's lack of reserve.

"Please, do not feel that way," Julio quickly says, understanding my pride. "Manny feels a deep debt of gratitude to you and it will make him feel better knowing that he can finally repay some of the debt."

"Thank you," I remark with sincerity while reaching into the saddlebags and retrieving the perfume bottle of vaccine.

When I look at it in the light of the room, I suddenly wonder if I should divulge its true contents or make up a story. But I quickly put my doubts aside, reprimanding myself silently for having second thoughts. Julio and Manny might not be willing to lay down their lives for me, but I'm pretty certain they would go quite a distance for me, if not the whole nine yards.

"This is not what it appears to be, Julio. In fact, and I don't say this lightly, but the whole of the human race as we know it might depend on the contents of this little bottle."

Sensing the seriousness in my voice, he gingerly accepts the bottle, holding it carefully in both hands. His actions make me think that he's afraid if he drops it, he will have the eternal distinction of being the bumbling idiot that caused the demise of the human race.

His voice hushed, he says, "I will hide it where no one can find it ever."

"Once you have it hidden, can you let me know where it is in case I have to have it in a hurry?"

"Si, Senor Mac," he acknowledges. Just then, the bathroom door opens and Eddy comes out with her hair in a towel and another wrapped tightly around her sensuous curves, the firm muscles of her calves and thighs still glistening with water. Taking one look at her, Julio quickly smiles and nods in her direction before hurrying to the door, his words only loud enough for me to hear, "I will let you know later."

"Thanks, Julio," I say, closing the door behind him.

Smiling, feeling warm and human again, Eddy casually asks, "What will he let you know about later?"

"He's going to do some tinkering on the bike," I lie and then immediately feel guilty about it. "No, that's not true."

Perplexed by my comment, she turns toward me and asks, "What's not true?"

"What I just said. He might be going to do some tinkering on the bike, but that's not what he was referring to," I say lightly, feeling relieved for not following through with the lie. It isn't that I don't trust her, I tell myself, but that the less she knows, the less chance of her getting hurt.

Still confused, her expression turns serious and so does her voice, "What was he referring to?"

Moving toward her, I say softly, "I gave him the vaccine for safe keeping. He's going to let me know later where it's stashed in case we need to get to it."

Shocked and feeling a bit angered, she states, "I know you told me how they are your friends and that we can trust them with our lives, but I didn't think you would trust them with the future of the human race!"

Now it was my turn to feel anger. "Yes, that is it exactly! They are _my_ friends! And for your information, there are very few people in this world that warrant that distinction," I almost shout at her. "If I made a mistake, it'll be on my head, not yours!"

Calming down, her voice barely a whisper, she lowers her gaze to the floor and says, "I'm sorry. You have done more for me in the last two days than anyone ever has before. I think if anyone deserves my trust, it should be you. If you trust Julio and Manny, than I should too." Moving into my embrace, she raises her mouth close to my ear before adding, "Please, can you forgive me?"

The words are barely out of her mouth when the towel enclosing her body drops to the floor and she is standing naked within my embrace. My hands pull her tightly against my lean body, the water still dripping from my soaked clothing. She is warm and inviting and a fire stirs in my breast, the scent of her bathed body overpowering all my other senses.

Our lips press delicately against each other, her hands working the buttons down the front of my plaid shirt and exposing my chest to her touch. My hands slide down the fine form of her bare back, a chill of delight escaping her throat as they press along her spine. When they reach the small of her back, I gently squeeze the flesh together between my fingertips.

Her voice husky with passion, she whispers, "Keep no secrets from me and I'll keep none from you, my lover."

"That's a promise I can keep," I whisper back, my hands sliding the final few inches to the firm, welcoming flesh of her womanly cheeks.

She quivers with anticipation and lowers herself to her knees while pulling my jeans down with her. The separation of her flesh from my hands leaves me with an instant sense of loss and I immediately drop to my own knees to be on her level again. My manhood is hard and willing and she takes it tenderly between her fingers, sliding gently along its length.

Placing my hands on her shoulders, I lay her down on the plush carpet of the room and kiss her naval, running my tongue along her belly as I work my way up toward her breasts and the rock hard nipples waiting anxiously for my fondling caresses.

Her hands guide me into place and we connect like never before. Almost immediately, her body arches with pleasure, the heat from the shower only turning hotter to the touch from the passion boiling within her. The towel around her head comes unwrapped and lies on the floor beneath her head, the long blonde trusses spreading out from either side of her head creating the illusion of an angel.

The sight and feel of her quickly overpowers my restraint and I explode with an almost vicious cruelty, driving into her tender and accepting flesh with the intensity of a pneumatic jackhammer running amok.

Sated, I roll over and lie on the carpeting next to her, both of us feeling the fatigue all the way to our bones. "We should get dressed," I regretfully suggest. "Manny will be back anytime."

Without a word, she rises and trots into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her. Within a minute, she returns looking fresh, though still naked. Upon taking in the sight on the bed for the first time, a small exhalation of surprise and awe escapes her.

Rising from the floor, I too take a gander at the threads laid out for us. All of them are of the finest fabrics and materials and undoubtedly the work of famous designers.

"They are beautiful," she says in a hushed voice, awed by Manny's opulence in taste.

"Could you pick something out for me? I'm going to take a quick rinse off."

Nodding in the affirmative, she gingerly touches the fresh array of clothing adorning the bed-top while I trot off to the bathroom, leaving the door open behind me. It isn't so much that I'm afraid to leave Eddy alone as it is a feeling of having moved beyond the modesty stage of our relationship. At least on my part.

### **35**

Dressed in a white silk shirt and black slacks with a pair of patent leather riding boots adorning my feet, I'd feel like I belonged on the cover of GQ if it weren't for this ugly mug of mine. Yet, it isn't my image in the mirror that has my attention so much as the image of Eddy standing proudly before me, showing off the evening dress that she selected from the items brought up.

Each time I step forward to touch her, she promptly prances away, always remaining just out of my reach. I am beginning to believe that I'm imagining her like a wraith on the wind when a soft knock resounds on the wooden door.

Reluctantly tearing my eyes from the lovely image of her, I open the door to be greeted by Manny. "Come on in, please," I say, stepping aside and letting him into the room. When he sees Eddy, he stops in his tracks, unable to take his eyes from her. "Tell me," I beseech of him, "Is she real or am I just imagining things?"

Stepping forward, he takes Eddy by the hand and drops to one knee while placing his lips tenderly on the back of her hand. When he speaks, his words are low. But I can tell the extent of his compliment by the sudden blush effusing in her face. Rising, he turns to me and in an apologetic voice says, "If I could, I would take her by the hand and show her off to the world. But alas, that is not to be. For it would bereave me to no end if something should happen to her while she is under my care."

I am about to tell him that he will have his opportunity to do just that once this is over, but he cuts me off before I can start. "However, since that is not possible at this time, I will bring the world to you," he says, turning back to Eddy. "If you will excuse me for just one quick moment."

Stepping past me with a wink, he returns to the door and holds it open while three men in white uniforms from the kitchen staff wheel in three carts laden with serving trays and platters, their contents covered by silver lids and white silk cloths.

"A couple of hoagies and some ice for the rum would have been more than sufficient," I protest weakly at the sight of so much effort on our behalf.

Ignoring my remark, he quickly instructs the staff to set the table in the conference room for four while watching over them with a critical eye to detail. Again, when they're filing out, he slips them tokens and promises of being remembered come payday.

Julio arrives in a fresh change of clothes as they're leaving and freezes in his tracks at the captivating sight of Eddy. Unlike Manny, who is characteristically at ease around beautiful women, Julio quickly grows uncomfortable. With his voice on the verge of trembling, he stumbles clumsily for words to compliment her.

"You guys are just too much," she says with a smile, stepping toward Julio and giving him an endearing hug. His demeanor changes immediately and he smiles broadly, his shoulders taking on a prouder set. It doesn't miss my attention that she treated him like a father and he is responding in kind. With one small effort, she made him comfortable with his position in her life. And that simple gesture has won her an ally and protector for the rest of her life.

"Please," Manny starts, taking Eddy by the hand and leading her to the table. "Will you all be my guest tonight and share in this lovely feast laid out before us? Especially you, my dear and lovely, Miss Lotto," he adds with a flourish, placing her at the table with a view out the patio doors before taking the seat next to hers.

Julio and I move around to the far side of the table that is facing into the room with a view of the entrances which is fine with me. Before sitting down, I move the fresh bottle of rum next to my place setting. Eddy looks at it and I half expect her to admonish me, but she keeps silent, her eyes saying more than words ever could.

Upon each plate is a large piece of filet mignon with the blood running freely while the exterior is singed to perfection. Setting to the side of each steak is a baked potato and a pat of butter. Also on the table are several platters, each containing a sizeable amount of varying delights ranging from grilled salmon, baked lobster and an assortment of desserts, some fancy and some substantial.

"I want to thank you for all of this, Manny. It really isn't necessary," I speak up, my mouth beginning to salivate at the prospect of eating.

"Nonsense," he argues. "Even if you were a stranger that showed up at my doorstep with this vision of beauty in tow, I would do no less. So don't feel obligated, it is just my way. I feel happy sitting here among people that I know to be good. That makes it all worthwhile. Salude," he adds, raising a glass of dark port.

"Salude," we chorus back, our glasses tinkling loudly against each other's.

The food is delicious and there is little conversation as we indulge.

### **36**

As our tummies grow full, we turn to washing the food down with the fine wines set upon the table. Soon, the desserts have also been hard hit and we are starting to talk about things besides the meal and how wonderful all the food was.

Julio is the first to mention something aside from the food by bringing up the latest weather forecast. It also hasn't escaped my attention that he is growing much more relaxed in Eddy's presence. "There is a Pineapple Express expected to blow through later tonight that should last into late tomorrow," he says. "They say it will dump between four and five inches of rain along the coast with winds close to one hundred miles per hour at the headlands. We might see eighty miles per hour or more here. Such weather will ground your bike," he finishes, looking toward me.

"I've ridden in worse weather," I smile, cringing inside at the thought of being blown over a steep cliff and landing on the rocks of a forlorn beach far below.

"There won't be any need," Manny quickly interjects. "I will put my car at your disposal for as long as you have need of it. And for what it's worth, it's well insured and Julio is a great mechanic, so don't worry about it."

"You are too kind," Eddy says, smiling at him.

"Ah, but the car isn't for you, Miss. You, I'm afraid, will have to remain here in this room or down in the shop with Julio. At least until Mac can get things straightened out," he adds. "Of course, I will do everything in my power to assure you don't get bored. You can gamble live from any room in this place, including this one. All the monitors are connected directly to the floor. And if that isn't enough to entertain you, I will personally check on you every hour of the day and night. I will be at your complete disposal for the duration of your stay here." He clears his throat and quickly adds with a smile, "And I do hope for selfish reasons that it is a long stay."

"I appreciate your generous offer and I do believe that I would enjoy nothing more than the companionship of both you and Julio. But I'm not a tender heart," she protests, though reservedly. "Mac and I simply need a safe base from which to operate. I'm afraid you must have misunderstood," she continues, looking at me for reassurances. "But Mac and I are a team. We work together."

Although I am deeply touched by her comment, what I am contemplating is not something that I dare involve her in despite having proven to be quite a resourceful individual. She can better serve the situation by remaining right here under Manny's watchful eye so that I don't have to worry about her.

Looking hurt, Manny turns toward me. "Don't worry, Manny." Meeting Eddy's gaze, I say with finality in my voice, "She is going to remain here in your care no matter what she says."

Lunging to her feet with her hands planted firmly on her hips while her face twists up in anger, I suddenly wish that we were alone because the fire within her has never been as evident as it is in this moment. She is the most beautiful creature that I've ever seen and I feel an embarrassing desire growing in the area of my groin.

Just then, there's a sharp rapping on the door and Manny, Julio, and I scatter to different vantage points within the room, our weapons drawn and ready. "This isn't over!" Eddy defiantly declares, marching past all of us and going directly to the door.

Before I can stop her, she twists the knob and pulls both large wooden doors wide open.

"Halleluiah!" echoes into the room and then Eddy is swept up off her feet, the evening dress fanning out as she's swung high into the air before being gracefully lowered to her feet. It appears that she is involved in a fine performance of ball room dancing, her partner a man with dark wavy hair and several days' growth of beard. He is tall and lean with handsome features, if a bit hawkish.

Setting her down, his hands remaining firmly planted on her hips, he stands spellbound by her beauty and I realize with a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach that I'm in for trouble. Dressed in faded jeans, a heavy wool shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a pair of riding boots scuffed and in need of attention, stands Larry. My most trusted of friends in the world until it comes to women. Especially when it comes to a beautiful woman like Eddy. He is closer to me than any natural born brother, having shared most of our lives with each other. We have fought together, suffered hunger and cold together and bled together. The Indian equivalent is blood brother, but the term doesn't do our relationship justice.

Adding to my discomfort is the way Eddy doesn't pull away from, though he is a complete stranger to her. Julio and Manny, instantly recognizing Larry, holster their weapons and hurry forward while leaving me standing alone in the middle of the room looking on.

"Larry, it is so good to see you again. We had no idea you were coming," Manny excitedly spouts, taking Larry's right hand from Eddy's hip and gripping it affectionately, completely unaware of the sparks flying between the two.

"If I had known you were keeping such a beautiful woman in your company, I would have been here yesterday," he says, still smiling at Eddy, who blushes shyly at the compliment.

Removing his other hand from Eddy's other hip, he grips Julio's outstretched hands in his while looking over his shoulder and giving me a knowing smile. Julio pulls him close and gives him a fatherly hug before turning back to the bar and offering to fix drinks.

"It's good to see you, my friend," I say softly, truly glad for his presence. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning."

Grabbing me, we hug like two long-separated comrades. "I came as soon as I heard about the storm coming in. Which reminds me, I need a place to tie the bird up before the winds get here or I'm afraid we won't find it come morning."

"You drink this," Julio says from the bar, where he's poured five tumblers full of rum. "I will look after your bird for you."

"You better watch him, Larry. He's liable to be buzzing the parking lot with it," I tease, giving Julio a wink.

Julio only chuckles in reply, grinning his crooked toothed grin.

We all take up a position around the bar, Eddy and Manny planting themselves on stools while Julio, Larry, and I remain on our feet. Manny looks around at everyone with a smile and then raises his glass in the air and says loudly, "I propose a toast. To good friends, good times, good liquor, and a lovely woman to please the eyes."

To the sound of clinking glasses, Larry chimes in, his voice sounding louder than normal, "Here, here."

Standing next to Julio and across the bar from Eddy, it's hard for me not to notice the way she keeps studying Larry out of the corner of her eye while Manny and Larry keep openly admiring her, each trying to outdo the other by lavishing her with flattering compliments. They're high school antics are almost enough to make me gag and if it wasn't for the smooth rum of Manny's, I just might.

While they continue their fawning banter, I find myself questioning the logic of having brought Larry in to help.

### **37**

Drinking late into the night, it comes as a surprise when Manny rises to leave and turning to Larry, offers him a room of his own for the night. For whatever reasons, I was expecting him to simply crash on the floor in this room. But it's an even bigger surprise when he accepts Manny's generous offer. My impressions of his actions regarding Eddy during the evening and into the night were such that he would have kicked me out of the bed in this room if he thought he could get away with it.

Due to the unfamiliarity of the feeling, it takes me a bit to realize that I have a jealous bone in me after all. Yet there is no excuse for me not recognizing that Larry hadn't spent the evening trying to toe into my territory but that he was simply playing me. He is thoroughly enjoying my unease and controlled anger while he and Manny flirt with Eddy. Knowing him as well as I do, I should have recognized it sooner.

Realizing the game he's playing on me, I silently vow to get even when this is over and we can get back to our regular lives of drinking and debauchery. In the meantime, I'll play along and see just how far he's willing to go to stir me up.

Turning toward Eddy, who was enjoying the attention of the three men all night, I smile inwardly and wonder just how much of the game being played between Larry and me she is aware of. And if she's aware of what's going on, what comes next now that we're about to be alone for the rest of the night. Things could get very interesting tonight.

When Eddy catches me smiling at her, she throws me a puzzled expression to which I simply wink in return before turning away. Shaking Manny's hand and leading the way to the door, I thank him again for his generosity. Larry reminds Julio of the bird out in the parking lot while offering to move it if he only shows him where to put it. Julio graciously declines the offer and we all move into the hall while still talking and thanking each other when Manny takes Eddy by the hand and pulls her aside.

"I will be back first thing in the morning with breakfast for us and anyone else that cares to meet up here," Manny says just loud enough for all of us to hear while not letting go of Eddy's hand as if he is afraid that when he does, she will disappear. "And my dear, you need not worry about getting bored while you are under my roof. I assure you, I will keep you well entertained."

Bidding her a goodnight, he releases her hand and steps back. Julio gives her a fatherly hug and also bids her a goodnight with an open offer and instructions to visit him down in his shop anytime she needs to get away from Manny. As they stroll toward the stairs that lead down to the maintenance shop, Larry nods and advises me that he will be back bright and early to discuss what's going on and to go over some ideas that he has. Then he turns to Eddy, scoops her up in his arms and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and heads down the hall toward his room.

Instead of fighting him off, she simply lays her head on his broad shoulder and gazes dreamily back at me. Despite knowing that this is just another part of the game they are playing to make me jealous and get a rise out of me, I can't help the anger that quickly blurs my vision and brings my blood to a boil. It disturbs me that I can be so quick to anger. Between Larry and me, he is usually the one that goes off halfcocked when something angers him. I'm usually the calmer one, the one that thinks everything through before taking action guy. And I have never before experienced jealousy to such a degree!

Blood-brother or not, I start forward with my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. All I can see through the narrowing tunnel of anger is the sight of the two of them heading down the hall in each other's embrace. When Eddy closes her eyes, an expression of deep content on her face, my heart quickens and I pick up the pace. Reaching the door to the room that Manny gave Larry, he sets her down on her feet in order to get the key out of his pocket. Eddy watches me approaching and tries to warn Larry with an expression of mixed concern and humor on her face. She clearly doesn't know if she should laugh or be apprehensive about what is going to happen next.

Before Larry realizes that I am behind him and that she is trying to warn him, I grab his left shoulder and spin him around, my right fist flying toward his face. In the moment before my fist connects with his face, I realize that he is smiling roguishly through a set of white, evenly spaced teeth.

Seeing the blow coming, he twists his head away from the impact and I deliver a glancing blow that drives him against the still-closed door. Eddy suddenly cries out in alarm, reaching for my outstretched arm and preventing me from swinging a second time. Unharmed, Larry turns back, his grin becoming an outright laugh.

"What's so damned funny?" I angrily demand, still half-heartedly trying to strike him again while Eddy restrains my right arm. It never dawns on me to strike him with my left hand which can be just as dangerous as my right.

"You are," he laughs. "In all the years I've known you, I've never known a time when you've been this crazy about a girl." He looks at Eddy and says, "A very pretty girl, I have to admit. But in all the years I've known you, you've never acted this crazy before. You actually tried to hit me!" he adds in surprise, looking me in the eye.

Still boiling inside, I meet Eddy's gaze and realize she is staring at me with a look of pure delight and contentedness. "Were you in on it with him?" I demand of her, unable to hold on to my anger under her scrutiny.

Releasing her hold on my arm, she moves in close to me and places her hands on either side of my face, cradling it tenderly between her hands while her own face breaks into a broad smile. And then, unable to control herself any longer, her smile erupts into laughter and her head moves up and down in response to my question. Her laughter proves contagious and Larry quickly follows suit. Leaning back against the wood door, he tenderly feels the reddening place on his cheek where my fist grazed him while breaking out in laughter.

But it isn't the laughter they're having at my expense that gets through my decaying layer of anger. It's the feel of her hands on my face that brings an acute change to my frame of mind. No matter how angry I was feeling just moments before, I suddenly see the humor of what they were trying to do and it has a devout sobering effect on me. Larry's comment carried a lot of truth-no woman has ever had such an effect on me before and it's scaring the hell out of me!

Eddy, unable to decipher the expression on my face, quickly grows concerned and her laughter dies off. Larry, realizing that he's the only one still laughing, grows silent too.

Larry's the first to break the silence, saying softly, "You really do have it hard for her, don't you."

Eddy remains quiet, not sure what to say. Except for telling her about him being closer to me than a brother when we were back at the motel, she had no idea what to expect. "Hey, I'm really sorry, Mac," he apologizes, his voice sincere. "If I had known how serious it was between the two of you, I never would have acted the way I did tonight. Don't blame Eddy, Mac. The only reason she played along with me is because I told her you would get a kick out of it. She isn't interested in me." A smile lights up his face and he teasingly asks her, "You aren't, are you?"

When Eddy and I both give him a dangerous look, he holds his hands up in a show of surrender and says with a smile, "Kidding. Only kidding!"

### **38**

Alone, back in the room, Eddy turns to me and says, "I'm sorry, Mac. I never should have let him talk me into that."

"It's not your fault. When Larry sets his mind to something, he can convince anyone of anything. Tomorrow, we'll probably find out that Manny and Julio were in on it too," I chuckle, pouring a nightcap of rum at the bar.

"They were," she guiltily admits, letting the evening dress slip down to the floor in a puddle around her feet. "But they'll never be into this. This is all yours," she says, her voice growing husky with emotion.

The two glasses of rum remain forgotten on the bar as I step toward her, intent on catching my apparition of beauty. "Wait," she says, holding up her hand.

"What is it?" I asked, concerned.

"Don't forget the lights," she smiles coyly before turning and retreating with an exaggerated swinging of her hips toward the bed.

Before I reach the light switch next to the door, I glance back. To my delight, she is sitting languorously in the center of the bed with the silk coverlet teasingly draped across her right knee, barely concealing the golden mound of her womanhood.

Smiling dreamily at me, her tongue sliding along the length of her lower lip, she says in a voice barely above a whisper, "You don't want to keep the lady waiting, do you?"

"Not at all," I reply, flipping the switch and dropping the room into quasi darkness.

Moving toward the bed, I slip out of my clothes, letting them lay where they fall. Her body is warm to the touch and I slip into her embrace, our lips finding each other with a practiced ease.

"You can't leave me here alone," she says, her hands working their magic across my bare flesh.

The question catches me off guard and I don't immediately answer. But it only takes a moment for me to regain my wits and I tenderly explain that she won't be alone.  
"Manny and Julio will be keeping an eye on you, Eddy. One or the other of them will be with you at all times. They're going to look after you so Larry and I can do what needs doing."

Her body tenses beneath me and her voice betrays her disappointment. "They are wonderful people and I really enjoy their company. Yet, this is my problem and you are supposed to be helping me, not leaving me behind. You know I'm more than capable in the field. I won't slow you down." She hesitates a moment, her hands now on my shoulders as her voice pleads, "Please, Mac, you can't shut me out on this."

"Let me think about it," I offer, trying to placate her. "Larry and I still have a lot of details to go over tomorrow. If we can work you into the plan in a way that keeps you out of harm's way, I'll do what I can."

Her body language says it all when she suddenly turns playful and grabs my manhood teasingly while running her tongue down the front of my chest. Although I desperately need to get some rest, my heart starts pounding with anticipation and every nerve ending on my bare flesh tingles with excitement from the soft caress of her fingers as she trails them enticingly over my bare flesh.

Getting to her knees and moving around on the luxurious mattress until she is straddling me, she drags her finger nails along the tender nerves of my inner thighs, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from me. Before she can stop me, I'm on my knees and slipping around behind her, pushing the sheets to the side before they can entangle my feet and stop me from doing what I intend doing to the beautiful woman I'm sharing the bed with. Positioned behind her, my erection pressing firmly between the cheeks of her perfect ass, I pull her backwards to keep her off balance while my hands run over her taut stomach muscles, savoring the creamy feel of her warm flesh.

"What are you doing?" she breathlessly whispers, her hands covering mine.

With my right hand cupping her right breast, my left slides down to the soft, moist place at the base of her tummy and gently explores the wet folds of her desire. When I find her nubbin and carefully rub it, a soft moan escapes her lips. While continuing to massage her wanton desire with my left, I use my right to force her forward and expose the core of her heat to my manhood.

When her hands reach forward to stop herself from falling forward, I finally answer her question. "I'm doing whatever the hell I desire," I reply, my voice husky with emotion.

Being careful not to rush anything and bring it to a premature conclusion, I slowly and purposely press my manhood against her and then just as slowly withdraw the pressure of it from her. Reaching around to her breasts with my right hand again, I softly massage first one and then the other breast while alternately rubbing her erect nipples between my thumb and index finger.

When I finally enter her, a low moan slides from her throat and her body quivers deliciously beneath mine as I lean over her, my hands sliding to her hips and pulling her against me.

"Ooh, Mac," she moans breathlessly. "Don't ever stop. Please. Do whatever the hell you're heart desires. Just don't ever stop."

With each thrust into her, she pushes back harder and we quickly develop the rhythm of two lovers, the speed and intensity of our thrusts growing fiercer and more animated with each stroke. We're right on the edge of the abyss, my heart thrumming like a runaway diesel when her body suddenly contracts tightly around my shaft and she screams in ecstasy, her flesh quivering and trembling uncontrollably.

The excitement of her orgasm is more than a mere mortal such as I can handle and I too fall off the edge of the abyss. While her body shakes wickedly beneath me, my rod shoots bolt after bolt of lightning until there is no more and I collapse against her sweat drenched body as she releases her death hold on the bundle of bedding that she's been clenching in white knuckled hands.

The moment is shorter lived than I would have liked and within moments we are lying next to each other, our breath coming fast and shallow, our bodies glistening with sweat.

"You're going to be the death of me," I whisper in the dark while debating if it's worth the effort of fetching our drinks from the bar.

"You were jealous tonight," she says coyly. "No man has ever cared enough for me to be jealous. I liked it. It turned me on."

"I find that hard to believe," I contest light heartedly. "Not that whether you liked it or not and certainly not whether it turned you on, but I'll bet you've had men fighting over you since you were knee high to a bean sprout."

"Men fighting over you and a man displaying jealousy are two entirely different matters. When a man fights for you, he is doing it as a matter of pride. It's all about the man. But when a man is jealous of you as you were of me tonight that shows a caring for the woman," she says sincerely. "Where are you going?"

"Retrieving our drinks," I casually remark. "It appears to me you're not quite ready for bed just yet. At least not in the traditional sense."

"Depends what you mean by traditional sense," she smirks.

### **39**

We awake to a deafening barrage of fists on the door. Groggy and a bit disoriented, I yell for the obnoxious intruder into my dreams to hold his horses. "I'm coming!" I angrily shout, glancing over at Eddy who appears as disturbed by the intrusion as I am.

"Kick his ass," she says angrily in contrast to the smile on her face as she rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.

We don't need to see his face to know that it's Larry at the door. Manny and Julio are much too polite to hammer so loudly on the door as to wake up everyone else on the floor.

### PART TWO

Annoyed and tired from lack of sleep, I cringe as I see the almost empty bottle of rum sitting proudly on display. Before opening the door, I slip on my crumpled jeans and wait for Eddy to grab her clothes on the way to the bathroom. While smiling after the curvaceous wiggle of her sweet ass, I envy her the shower that I know she is going to luxuriate in while Larry and I get coffee and breakfast brought up.

"Do you want me to call Manny or Julio?" he asks, flopping down on the plushly upholstered sofa.

"Nah, don't bother. I'm sure he'll be notified the minute we place an order for room service and he'll be certain to bring Julio along with him," I casually remark, picking up the receiver and punching the number for room service.

As I replace the receiver, Larry comments, "I think I understand about this vaccine for some potential epidemic code named _Toxic Rain_. What I don't understand is how you got dragged into it? I thought you came up here just to do a simple debt collection for some small time thug named Vercelli?"

"Yeah, me too," I grumble, thinking bitterly of the shower with Eddy that I was missing out on.

"So, what happened?"

"Turns out the debt I was supposed to collect wasn't a bag of cash after all. In fact, there never was a debt to be collected at all. Turns out it was about the vaccine all along and Mick Vercelli is just a pawn for a drug company that wants their vaccine back." I hesitate for a moment, listening to the sound of the shower through the door and envision Eddy's smooth, glistening body in the steam-filled room.

"Earth to Mac," Larry teases, realizing why I'm distracted.

"I wish that coffee would hurry up," I mutter with a knowing grin.

The words are no sooner out of my mouth than a soft knock resounds on the door. Larry moves first while I hang back and take up a defensive stance while mentally locating my magnum's location in the room and suddenly wishing that I'd had the foresight to strap it on. Instincts and old habits that have served me well are hard to ignore and really shouldn't be.

Larry opens the door slowly at first and then swings it wide as he recognizes Manny and Julio. Following closely behind them is a maitre de pushing a service cart. My eyes immediately lock on the large stainless carafe of steaming hot coffee and my mouth sets to watering.

Manny meets my smile with a broader one of his own, asking, "How has your stay been, my good friends? Pleasurable, I do hope."

Larry smirks and I answer truthfully, "Most pleasant. You are a very gracious host, Manny." Turning toward Julio, I ask, "Any problems putting up the bike or whirlybird?"

"Nada, none at all, there is mucho room in the shop."

While we continue exchanging small niceties, the maitre de sets out a setting for each of us at the table in the conference room. When he is finished, he nods to Manny and steps aside while each of us takes a seat before pouring coffee and orange juice, depending on our personal choice. Julio is the only one that declines the coffee and I note immediately that the maitre de never even offered him any out of familiarity. When I look questioningly at Julio, he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and says, "Keeps me up at night."

Although I suspect his reasons for not partaking of the coffee has more to do with his prostate than sleep, I keep my thoughts to myself. It's none of my business unless he wants it to be.

At just that moment, Eddy makes her debut and everyone rises, all equally stunned by her bright smile and shimmering beauty so early in the morning. It pleases me to note that she is dressed casually in a fresh pair of form-fitting jeans and a tight knit sweater over a thick cotton shirt. The clothes are both practical and flattering on her.

After another round of niceties and greetings, we dig into the fine array of food set out before us like ravenous dogs while washing it all down with mugs of black coffee. Larry and I do the most damage to the bountiful offerings as he too has spent the night physically working up an appetite.

With our plates clean, our bellies full and a never-ending supply of coffee in our cups, Manny is the first to speak, immediately bringing up the topic of _Toxic Rain_ and if we've come up with any plans yet and if so, what he can do to help.

Larry, looking first at Eddy and then at me, says, "It seems to me we need to take this to the source and rout out the bad apples. I'm finding it hard to believe that an entire company can be corrupt."

Before I can respond, Eddy says, "They have resources available to them beyond anything you can imagine, Larry."

When Larry looks doubtful of her statement, I quickly come to her defense, "She's not exaggerating, Larry. I've seen some of what they're capable of mobilizing on a moment's notice. If Eddy hadn't convinced me otherwise, I would have sworn it was a government entity."

Manny interrupts next, his voice underlined with disbelief, "And you say they're not afraid to kill or be killed?"

Not willing to admit to having killed anyone ever, I justify the comments made the night before by explaining that the men that shot at us and were ultimately killed were small time thugs working for a guy named Vercelli. "They probably knew nothing about _Toxic Rain_ , only that there would be a large bonus paid to the man that retrieves the satchel containing the goods. Also, the men that followed us down Joshua Lane had many opportunities to take us out and yet they never fired a shot," I quickly add, meeting Manny's gaze. "Moreover, if they were government, they would have found us at the motel within a day. Since they didn't, I feel confident we can rule out feds. At least, at this point."

"What about bringing the CDC into the picture. Aren't they supposed to be the agency that deals with this kind of thing?" Julio asks.

"CDC will never believe a couple of hicks from nowhere about a potential epidemic being launched by a pharmaceutical company so they can hold Americans hostage while they negotiate the best price on the world market for the only known vaccine," Larry explains. "Hell, it even sounds a bit far-fetched to me and I know Mac well enough to not only believe him, but that he doesn't exaggerate!"

"Gee, thanks Larry," I grumble sullenly. "When you put it that way, even I feel a bit overwhelmed by the prospect."

"Surely there is something we can do!" Eddy asks, a nervous apprehension in her voice that I hadn't noticed before.

"There is always something we can do," I say calmly, the wheels of my brain turning frantically.

Manny, always the businessman, is the first to offer a suggestion. "If I understand you both correctly, their whole idea is to place the public in a predicament where they have a desperate need that can only be filled by them. Simply put, they are planning to try and create a very unique case of supply and demand. If someone else can meet the demand, then their business plan goes down the toilet. All we have to do is come up with a different supplier for the vaccine that will have it readily available before they can trigger the epidemic."

"That sounds great in theory, Manny, but unless you have friends in the pharmaceutical industry that are willing to mass produce a vaccine at a cost of millions of dollars for which there is no current or even foreseen demand, I don't see what good it is," I argue, sounding more defeated than not despite not wanting to discourage Eddy anymore than she already is.

"We don't need a friend in the pharmaceutical industry with the clout to initiate such an undertaking on our word. What we need is a friend in the industry who could make them believe that he is undertaking the endeavor without actually doing so," Larry says with optimism in his voice. "And with your connections in the justice department, Mac, all we have to do is draw these scoundrels into the open and expose them committing an act of treason." He hesitates for a moment and scrunches up his face in confusion before asking, "Attempting to start an epidemic in order to profit by it should be serious enough to get the Justice Department to make a case strong enough to arrest the kingpins behind it. But if they're caught trying to auction off the welfare of the United States to a foreign entity that damn well has to be treason. Right?"

"I'm not sure if it's treason or simply attempted murder on a grand scale, but it will definitely get the attention of my friends in the justice department, if not Homeland Security," I assure him. Larry has a tendency to get excited a bit prematurely on occasion and I didn't want to get him started this early in the game. Talking to my friends in the Department is a far cry from a guarantee they will even listen to me. If someone approached me with everything I now know, I'd still be too skeptical to take any action. And let's face it, my reputation with them isn't exactly beyond reproach.

"Outside of this casino, I'm just another sharp dressing shmuck," Manny says with a grin, drawing all eyes to him. "There isn't any reason that I can't claim to be an entrepreneur with a pharmaceutical lab in my hip pocket. In fact, we can use this casino as my base of operations, with the help of my employs, and draw them right into our trap." His voice grows increasingly more excited as he continues, "The rooms are already hooked up for surveillance and we'll be on home turf. It's perfect!"

"It's suicide, Manny," I advise on a serious note, not even giving his idea a second thought. Although Manny and Julio seem to feel a debt of gratitude to me, the danger involved in undertaking the type of scheme that he's suggesting is out of the question! "There's another way," I start, not really sure where I'm going, yet determined to keep the risk solely on my shoulders.

"Here we go," Larry demurs, throwing Eddy a conspiratorial wink.

### **40**

Larry and I have been friends since before I can remember and he knows that I don't have any solid idea of what we are going to do, but only that I'll come up with something on the fly and make the rest up as we go along. This little knack of mine has always fascinated him and I take a deep breath before continuing, hoping to God it doesn't let me down now.

"Since we obviously don't have any connections in the pharmaceutical industry, we'll have to consider something on an entirely different tack. What we need is some way to get their attention. We need to draw them out under a pretense of wanting to do business." I pause briefly while shaking my head in the negative to Manny as his eyes light up and he thinks I'm reconsidering his offer to use his resources. "The easiest way and the most effective way to accomplish this will be to march right into their offices and put our proposal in their faces. You might say we need to call them out." Meeting Larry's gaze, I add, "We'll use the same tactics that we employed in the jungles against an enemy that wouldn't come out into the open. We'll make our presence so obvious and in their face that they can't ignore us."

"We know who they are or at least the company," Larry confirms, his eagerness rising at the thought of taking aggressive action.

"Not everyone that works there is evil," Eddy argues, concerned that we might be planning to blow up the place or something equally drastic.

"You're letting my reputation cloud your image of me," I chuckle and then instantly turn serious when I note her somber stare. "No one will get hurt. I promise," glancing furtively at Larry.

"But, you yourself said they were capable of anything. Why do you think they'll let you leave their company alive?" Manny asks, his voice belying his concern for our wellbeing.

"They won't be that crass, Manny. They can't afford publicity or the media on their doorstep. And besides, it's like Eddy said, they're not all bad. Those responsible for _Toxic Rain_ are keeping it secret from all the others and unless they're ready to launch the final stage of their plan, they're not going to risk exposure over a single yahoo like me. More than likely their favorite silencer will get a call and be on my tail the minute I walk out of their offices." I glance sympathetically toward Eddy and add, "Probably the same man that killed your friend."

"What's to keep him from killing you, too?" Eddy nervously demands, her eyes delving into mine with concern.

"Me," Larry pipes up, drawing all eyes to him. "The minute Mac exits their offices, I'll be tailing the tail. Before he can do anything to Mac, he'll be in our custody. Trust me. And when we get through with him, he'll be singing like a canary in the sunshine."

"You're planning to use yourself as bait to draw out their killer and possibly get yourself killed in the process," Eddy confirms. And then adds in a clipped tone, "I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it," I remind her. "You'll be here as a guest of Manny's, safely tucked away."

"Don't patronize me, George McClain!" she snaps angrily. "I have a better idea."

"I'm all ears, so long as it doesn't involve you being at risk," I determinedly reply.

"They know me and they'll find it much more believable if I show up in their offices looking to make a deal. If they see you, they'll be suspicious immediately. They'll be looking for a trap."

I really hate it when I've been outgunned and she just outgunned me. It made sense. They wouldn't suspect anything if she showed up looking to make a deal. And yet, I couldn't risk letting her walk into the lion's den if there was any way around it. If something happened to her, I would never be able to live with myself. I've never lost a client yet and I don't plan on starting now!

"She's not only good looking, she's smart," Larry grins, finding my dilemma humorous. "And damn if she ain't got moxie!"

"Too damn much for her own good," I grumble, looking longingly about the room for the bottle of rum.

"Then, you'll let me do it?" she pipes up excitedly.

Looking crosswise toward her, I realize that my unique ability has just let me down and I can't fathom why. Feeling torn between anger, humiliation and pride toward the beautiful woman that just pulled one over on me, I raise my head to meet her gaze straight on and determinedly remark, "You're in, but you do everything I say, exactly the way I say it. Is that clear?"

"Clear as the blue in your eyes," she winks, smiling from ear to ear.

"I still think you should consider my offer," Manny cuts in, the disappointment of not being Eddy's host for the next few days mixed in with the trepidation of her embarking on a dangerous mission weighing heavy in his voice.

Eddy, sensing his disappointment, sidles over to him and gives him an endearing hug while whispering something in his ear that only he can hear. And although none of us is privy to what she says to him, it has a profound effect on his demeanor, immediately lifting his spirits. I make a mental note to find out later exactly what she told him, because the only thing she could have told me to bring on such a sweeping change so suddenly wouldn't be very appropriate. But then, that's just me. And that damned jealous streak again!

### **41**

"We need to make plans," Larry says, giving Manny a chance to regain his somber composure.

"I need to make a few calls," I say, looking to Manny for permission.

"Please, use the phone in the conference room. If there is anything else you need, just ask any of my staff. They will treat you as I will," he says with a flourish, moving toward the door. "It doesn't appear as if you will need me for this part of your operation, so unless I can be of further assistance, I have a casino to run. Excuse me, please."

"Thanks Manny. If we need anything at all, we'll be sure to let you know. We appreciate all that you've already done for us," I sincerely remark.

Just before pulling the doors closed behind him, he catches Eddy's eye and throws her a conspiratorial wink. Julio, sitting in one of the recliners was until now silent while listening to all the exchanges. Rising to his feet, he heads toward the bar mumbling good-naturedly, "Now that the boss is gone, maybe we can have a little something to get the wheels in our heads turning."

Moving as one, we all head to the bar. Julio in the lead sets tumblers on the hard wood surface for all of us including Eddy. After pouring a generous portion into each, he says, "I've taken the liberty of fueling up the bike and the whirly bird." Before Larry can open his mouth, Julio quickly adds, "Yes, Larry, I check oil, seals and injectors. Everything is fine and ready to go."

"Thank you, Julio. By the way, why is it you don't keep up the accent when Manny's not around?"

"I'll deny this if I ever hear it repeated, but it makes him feel superior to me when I sound like I swam the river." He pauses for a moment before adding, "It's the least I can do for him. He didn't have to drag me along when he started making it in the big-time."

"He's a good man, Julio. I'm sure he wouldn't look at you any different than the father he has come to know you as no matter how proper or improper your English," Larry finishes.

With the small talk out of the way, it's time to get down to business. The rum is wearing off the rough edges of the morning and I for one am thinking much clearer. "We need to scope out the offices and the general lay of the land before we make our presence known to them. It would probably be best if all three of us went together and familiarized ourselves with the streets and neighborhoods around their main offices. We also need to plan our route so that Larry has an easier time tailing the tail than the tail does us."

"And where do I fit into this marvelous plan of yours?" Julio asks, clearly feeling the effects of the rum.

"You'll be our backup, Julio. When we make our move on the tail, you'll already be in position and waiting. It's important that we take him alive and I'm certain that the only way to achieve that is to guarantee he feels completely overwhelmed and out gunned. Anything less and he's liable to try shooting his way out," I calmly explain with a deadly seriousness in my voice. Whenever I discuss the possibility of killing or being killed, I take it very serious.

"Where will you be?" Eddy asks, looking questioningly at me.

"I'll be with you every step of the way," I promise her.

She smiles in appreciation, not asking how I plan to achieve it and yet trusting that I will.

### **42**

The drive in Manny's loaned SUV into the valley is uneventful, despite the encroaching storm front and we quickly locate the offices of Harmon Pharmaceutical. To my surprise, they appear as real and believable as the sign on the doors would like you to believe they are. Moving slowly, just another vehicle in the steady stream of traffic, I drive on past while studying the adjoining office buildings and upscale retreats. It's a modern part of town that exudes success and influence with a Starbucks on every corner.

Two blocks past, I hang a right and go two blocks down before hanging another right. Two blocks more and I hang another right that brings us back to the intersection in front of the building, but this time from another direction. Cruising on past, Larry reiterates aloud my own sentiments about the real feel of the place.

"It might have been a legitimate business at one time," I concur, glancing left and right along the street. "Or it's been a write-off company for the parent company for a lot of year. A place where they can carry out elicit experiments and research without any prying eyes. Then if they hit the lottery with something, they slip it in through the back door of their legit labs and no one is ever the wiser.

After traveling more than six blocks due north, I see a business that elicits a sense of familiarity and I realize we have reached the fringe of affluent success. Pulling over to the curb to discuss our options for a route, Eddy is the first to speak up, "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"Maybe he had me in mind," Larry grins, glancing out and upward at the neon sign protruding out over the sidewalk and displaying a figure of a well endowed female dancer surrounded by large 'X's.

"Funny, real funny," she grumbles, not entertained by his humor.

"Sit tight, I'll find another open parking spot," I offer, trying to placate her, though I don't see another open sight for as far as the eye can see. Although this isn't the high finance district, it's still a busy part of town with a lot of cars, delivery trucks and pedestrians. On foot, it would be easy to blend in and disappear among the crowds.

"I'm just teasing, Mac. You should know me better than that by now," Eddy quickly says to stay me. "If you're thinking what I am, this is the perfect direction to take. There's been enough foot traffic from their offices all the way down here to lose an army."

"I'd originally planned on using a vehicle, but you're right, Eddy, this is much better. With everyone on foot, we can set the pace to suit us and not the other way around," I agree, liking the idea more all the time.

"There are a sufficient number of businesses for me to move through without drawing attention to myself and with Julio lying in wait, this could be easier than even I had imagined," Larry concurs, obviously liking the idea of being on foot over using vehicles that are hard to hide and can get hung up in traffic and separated.

"You want to use a coffee shop, restaurant, or a bar with a dingy booth near the rear?" I ask of Larry, trusting in his judgment when it comes to suburban-gorilla types of operations.

"What's wrong with this place?" Eddy pipes up, indicating the burlesque joint we're currently parked outside of. "Nobody would think twice of a woman in a short skirt and open top running into such a place. They're always dark and gloomy inside and no one will give an old Mexican sipping rum in a dingy booth near the restrooms a second glance."

"I thought you said you were new to this type of work," I smile at her.

"I'm a quick study, remember," she smiles back with a conspiratorial wink.

"Larry, you'll take the first leg, passing Eddy off to me at the three block mark. We'll use two-way radios so there isn't any chance of miss-identifying the tail," I continue, feeling my mojo finally kicking in. "When you're certain I've picked him up, you'll set off around the back causeway and pick up the pace so you're close at hand by the time Eddy gets here. Even though Julio will be waiting inside, he's not experienced at this type of work and I might be a good minute or more behind. Too much can happen in a minute."

"Don't worry, I'll slip in the side door and set up opposite Julio before they arrive," Larry assures me. Turning to Eddy, he adds, "You just have to lead our mark through the crosshairs and he'll be all ours."

"I didn't see a side door," I innocently comment before noticing a pink blush rising above the collar of his plaid cotton shirt.

"You never were as observant as me," he says weakly in his defense.

Eddy chuckles softly, adding to his embarrassment.

"As long as we're here, let's go in and get the lay of the place," I quickly suggest, letting Larry off the hook.

We each enjoy a quick shot of rum at the bar and use the restrooms while casting a mental image of the entire interior in our minds for later reference. Back in the SUV, we discuss the main details of the interior so as to further burn the details into our memories. We decide where to place Julio in relation to the restrooms and the side entrance as well as the myriad of details along the street leading from the pharmacy offices to the bar.

As I pull away from the curb, Larry asks where the labs are that developed the deadly virus in relation to the pharmacy offices. "Hang a left at the next light and follow it east till it ties into Hwy 99. Follow that until I tell you where to turn," Eddy pipes up.

Following Eddy's directions, it takes a little more than thirty minutes before we turn down a paved but poorly maintained side street. Following the rough road leads us into an aging and unkempt industrial park bordered by old and dilapidated wood structures that once housed small manufacturing businesses and family run factories. Guiding me by memory, her instructions take us to a large warehouse that appears only slightly more functional than those surrounding it.

Pulling up beside the only car in the parking lot out front of the main entrance, I kill the engine and glance at Larry. "We could go in and waste our time, possibly run into a fat old security guard that has no idea what he's even doing here. Or, we can simply drive away, content with the knowledge that it's no longer operating, no longer churning out the deadly virus," he says calmly, clearly not interested in what we might find inside.

Or possibly, fearful of what we might find. The risk doesn't seem worth it. If what Eddy has told us about _Toxic Rain_ is factual, the residue left in the place could be deadly and I have no interest in learning first hand whether the vaccine we have is effective or not.

It gets dark early in the winter along the Oregon coast and with a hell raiser of a storm beginning to blow in, the setting sun is already completely obliterated and bringing the day to an even earlier end. By the time we pull into the casino parking lot, wind gusts are whipping up to over eighty miles per hour and the rain is slamming sideways with all the force of a solid wall of water. Even though we park in the cover of the valet pull-through, the driving rain drenches us before we can reach the comfort and relative safety of the lobby.

To our surprise, Manny is working behind the desk and checking in the few guests for the night that were caught out by the storm while simultaneously overseeing the activities on the floor.

"Whew, that's some storm brewing out there," Eddy calls out excitedly to him from across the room while high stepping across the tiled lobby floor, her heels clacking off a sharp cadence. Manny steps out from behind the desk with a broad smile on his face and spreads his arms to receive her into a warm embrace.

Even after they step back from each other, Manny keeps a possessive hand resting casually in the small of Eddy's back while covertly inquiring of us, "How was your day out? Did you take in all the sights so you'll remember them long into the future?"

"We had a great day," I quickly assure him. "Even better than expected. But I'm afraid I got these wonderful threads drenched by the storm, as did my friends. Would you find it rude of us if we headed off to our rooms now and meet up with you later over dinner, say six o'clock?"

"That will be fine," he agrees, almost unable to contain his excitement at being let in on a dangerous operation. "I'll set up something for six then if you're certain that will work for you," he quickly adds.

"That would be great," we agree, heading toward the stairs.

Almost to the stairs, Larry suddenly begs off. "I'll catch up with you at dinner," he says distractedly while veering off toward the gambling pits.

"I can't cover you if you go bust," I laugh, taking Eddy by the hand and skipping up the steps two at a time with her in tow.

The idea of a hot shower, warm rum and a hotter body is almost more than I can stand and I can't control my urgency any longer.

### **43**

To my delight and surprise, Eddy is every bit as eager as I am. A short distance down the hall from our room with the door in sight, I stop and push her up against the wall and plant my lips on her neck as she begins undoing the buttons on my shirt. With my shirt undone and her hands running up and down my bare chest, she kicks off her shoes and starts working the buckle of my belt before I can stop her. Retrieving her shoes from the floor while she rushes ahead and opens the doors wide. Standing between them with a dim light from the lamp on the side table by the sofa, she places a hand to each side to hold them open, her exquisite figure outlined against the dim light. As I reach her, I sweep her into my arms and carry her into the room while recklessly exchanging kisses with her, our hands frantically tearing at each other's clothing and letting it fall where it will. Even before the doors can swing closed behind us, we are in each other's arms and I'm lifting her bodily onto the bed. Like a rutting boar, I climb on top of her ravenous need, her hands roughly guiding me into her. She bites my lower lip sending shivers through my body and I taste the salty blood in my mouth followed immediately by her probing tongue. The pain further fuels my need for her as her hungering haste is the equivalent of pouring gasoline on the raging fire of our combined passions.

Her voice husky with passion, she cries hoarsely into my ear, "I wanted you so badly when we were in that topless bar today, I almost dragged you into the restroom and took you right there."

"Every time I look at you, I have to control myself," I reply between ragged breaths, driving deeper into her with each thrust of my hips against her tender flesh.

"Why?" she rasps, her hands clenching tightly into my buttocks as she pulls me deeper into her. "I never asked you to."

"If I didn't control myself around you, we'd be arrested for indecent exposure and you wouldn't be able to walk," I breathlessly reply, rolling over onto my back and pulling her along so that she is now straddling me while our bodies maintain the driving rhythm of our passion. "They'd have to lock us in jail and throw away the key to keep me away from you."

Riding me as if I am a mechanical bull at a roadhouse bar and grill, she lowers her hands from above her head and places them on my shoulders. Smiling down at me with her breast hanging teasingly close to my face, her nipples hard and erect like a couple of 44 magnum bullets, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being egged on to my best performance with a woman yet. "I'd share a cell with you for all eternity," she breathlessly whispers, moving her breasts ever closer to my face until I raise my head and take her right nipple in my mouth, nibbling tenderly on the sensory-filled pebble.

Moving my hands to the firm roundness of her buttocks, she sighs deeply as my fingers massage the tender flesh on her inner thighs. Within seconds, her body quivers in my grasp and I feel her climax, the rush of her breath escaping in one long exhalation before she collapses on my chest.

When her rush of breath subsides and the orgasm has passed, she says disappointedly, "I'm sorry, Mac."

"What do you have to be sorry for?" I ask, running my hands through her blonde tresses and filling my nostrils with the scent of her wet hair.

"I feel so selfish. I had all the pleasure and you're still hard and waiting."

"Are you kidding me?" I laugh while rolling her over onto her back and slowly start my own slow and gentle rhythm of sliding in partway before stopping and retreating, but not quite coming out as if I am teasing her.

With my lips suckling first one breast and then the other, it takes only a moment or so before a long, soft sigh of pleasure escapes her lips. "Ooh, Mac, you animal," she hisses breathlessly, her forehead covered in sweat and her face flushed a bright pink. "You're going to be the death of me."

Picking up the pace, I quickly give in to the sensation of her and my manhood explodes inside her, the pulsing of my shaft bringing a sleepy smile to her beautiful face. When there isn't any more left in me, she raises her head contentedly and kisses me softly on the lips while her eyes look dreamily into mine. Exhausted, she collapses back onto the bed and we lay contented with our bodies intimately connected together for a short time before the warmth of the shower and the pressing time beckons us.

"Manny will be here soon," she says softly while rising up and pushing me off to the side.

"Manny can wait," I grumble tiredly, moving too slowly to catch her before she slips off the bed and runs lightly into the bathroom, intentionally leaving the door open behind her.

Though contented and at peace with the world, I grumble softly at having to give up the soft comfort of the bed and feeling the chill of the air against the parts of me that were snug and warm against Eddy's body as I tiredly follow her into the bathroom.

Already, the steam is rising from beyond the shower doors and I slide them aside enough to pass through and join her. Gently, I reach out and touch her shoulder to feel the heat of the water warming her skin. She is soft and sensuous and I feel the blood engorging my manhood yet again. Turning to face me, she feels it brush against her thigh and smiling, reminds me that we don't have the time.

Almost hurriedly, we wash each other off while taking special care with the intimate areas of our bodies. "We'll take this up later," I promise, stepping out of the shower and handing her a towel.

"I'm going to hold you to it."

Dried off, we quickly sort through the remaining selection of clothes from Manny and after deciding on some simple slacks and a loose fitting cotton shirt for me, I retreat to the bar and fix a couple of tall tumblers with rum. Eddy looks absolutely delicious in a tight fitting shift that accents her curves. When the knock comes at the door, I set out three more tumblers and pour generous amounts of rum into each while taking the opportunity to top up Eddy's and mine.

Manny is the first through the door, followed next by Julio and then a waiter pushing a cart piled high with trays of food. Signaling the man with the cart to the conference room, Manny sidles up to the bar and accepts the proffered tumbler of rum while waiting patiently for the servant to leave before bringing up the topic that is burning on the forefront his mind.

Before the man leaves, Larry arrives looking even more disheveled than when we'd last seen him. He apologizes for being late and then when he realizes that we haven't eaten yet, a smile warms his face. Thanking the waiter as he heads out, we all file eagerly into the conference room with our drinks in hand.

Manny remains standing while we shuffle chairs and get settled in. "Although I am ravenous as I'm sure the rest of you are too, I must first apologize for being rude and then we'll start with the questions. We can set formality aside and talk while we eat if nobody minds," Manny states over the noise, unable to contain himself any longer with the anticipation of learning of our day's events.

"Hey Larry, would you like to dry off and put on some fresh clothes before you eat?" I ask.

Smiling slyly, he replies, "If no one else minds, I sure don't."

"Not at all." Taking a seat next to Eddy, I gently brush my hand along the top of her thigh and then add, "Would you like us to bring you up to speed, Manny?"

"Please," he replies excitedly, glancing at each of us with eyes sparkling like those of a young child eagerly waiting to hear an exciting story.

While we devour the abundant helpings of food from the covered dishes set out on the table, we fill Manny in on the events of the day. Although I would have been disappointed by the lack of excitement were I the listener, Manny is enthralled as he hangs on every little detail while completely forgetting about the food growing cold in front of him.

When we finish, we briefly talk about the raging storm that is growing in intensity just beyond the windows. But despite being one of the worst storms to hit the coast in many years, talk of it pales in comparison to the uneventful day we had in the valley.

Julio quickly turns the conversation back to the topless bar and where he will be sitting in wait for Eddy to lead the mark past him. For Manny's sake, I run through it again. "There is a booth along the rear wall on the left after you enter. The restrooms are down a short hallway lined with payphones to the right. Eddy will make out as if she is going to use a payphone. When she stops, the tail will hesitate briefly next to the booth that Manny will be sitting in."

"What if he doesn't?" Julio asks, concern deepening the frown lines on his forehead while Manny listens on intently.

"He will," Larry pipes up, a large piece of grilled salmon in his mouth. Swallowing, he adds, "It's a human nature thing. Since he'll feel too conspicuous in the open area of the bar to try anything obvious, he'll want her to continue on into the restrooms where he can bar the door behind himself and do what he was hired to do. But when she stops short of the restrooms, his only option will be to turn into a phone stall next to the one Eddy's at and survey the immediate vicinity to weigh his odds of success. If he feels comfortable that he can pull it off, he'll do it right then. But with you, Julio, sitting so close, he's going to back out and wait for another opportunity. By that time, Larry or I will be on him and he'll be neutralized."

"How do you know these things?" Manny asks in awe.

"It's what we do, remember," I say casually, feeling a flush of pride. "You run this fine establishment like no one else. We do what we do like no one else."

"When will we do this thing?" Julio inquires, a fine bead of sweat glistening on his forehead.

"Day after tomorrow, if you'll extend your generosity to us that long, Manny," I say with sincerity.

"Surely, you jest!" he blurts, flabbergasted by my statement. "You can stay here as my guest for years if that's how long it takes to do this thing."

"You are too kind, Manny," I thank him.

"I do this for our country and all the innocent people that will suffer or die if these animals succeed. So please, do not feel as if you are infringing on my generous nature," he emphatically states.

"All the same, we can't thank you enough Manny," Eddy says, immediately bringing an end to the debate.

"Tonight, we will rest and tomorrow we will finalize our plans and make certain that everything is ready," I say softly, smiling contentedly as I glance around at the faces sitting around the table.

Despite the draw of the gambling pits, the five of us sit around the conference table taking turns running to the bar to refill our tumblers. We talk about a myriad of topics, the operation that we performed for Manny not excluded. Under normal circumstances, I would never discuss another client's case with a current client sitting next to me. But Manny brought it up and he is determined that Eddy hear all the details, especially how Larry and I saved both him and his business.

Although it is very flattering, I realize that it's just Manny's way of instilling confidence in Eddy with regard to Larry's and mine abilities, though I seriously doubt that she needs any.

As the night wears on, I notice Larry growing increasingly antsy as he begins fidgeting in his chair and then constantly glancing at his watch when no one is paying him any mind. "Hot date tonight, Larry?" I finally ask, smiling conspiratorially.

"Nah," he says, rising suddenly. "I'm going to head over to my room and get out of these soggy rags, if ya'll will excuse me. A hot shower and a soft bed have been calling my name all evening and it sounds damn inviting."

"Yes, it's been a long day," I commiserate.

"Goodnight, Larry," Eddy adds, smiling softly at him as he turns toward the door.

"Yes, it has been a long day," Manny agrees, rising from the table. "Come on Julio, you can join me on the rounds tonight if you don't have anything else to do."

Rising, Julio says, "Nothing at all, boss."

"What time in the morning will you be starting?" Manny asks of me.

"Starting what?" I ask, perplexed by his question.

"The planning, of course. I wouldn't want to miss it," he quickly explains.

"I'm not sure, Manny. But we'll be sure and get word to you before we start," I promise with a grin while extending my hand in thanks of everything he has done for us.

"Goodnight, then," he says, leading Julio out.

They pause only long enough for Eddy to wish them a goodnight also before pulling the door behind them.

"I like Manny," Eddy says softly in the silence that follows.

"Yes, me too. He's a real standup type of guy."

"He has a lot of respect for you, you know," she says, gliding gracefully toward the bed with a smirk on her face.

"I have a lot of respect for him, too."

"Do you respect me, Mac?"

She has stopped by the edge of the bed, and is looking back at me over her should and yet she doesn't make a move to undress. "Of course, I do. What kind of question is that?"

"Come here," she softly teases. When I move in close to her, putting my hands in the small of her back and pulling her tenderly against me, she puts her lips next to my ear and says, "You won't when I get through with you tonight."

### **44**

The night is much too short for everything that Eddy desires. But we do with it what we can and in the first light of dawn, we end up in the shower with our passion sated for a short while.

After ordering room service and asking that a note to be left for Manny, a knock sounds at the door. Opening it, I'm slightly surprised to see Larry standing before me. I'm not surprised however that his hair is still wet from a recent shower.

There are dark circles beneath his eyes that indicate he hasn't spent the night sleeping peacefully. In fact, if it weren't that he is slightly taller than I am, I would have sworn I was looking at my own disheveled reflection in a mirror.

And then it registers and I suddenly realize what's going on!

"Get in here you old dog," I tease, taking him by the arm and pulling him into the room without closing the doors.

"Looks as if we've both had a good night," he says with a lopsided grin.

"When are you going to bring her home to meet the parents?" I jibe.

Eddy steps up beside me and realizes instantly what we're discussing. "Good for you, Larry," she says excitedly. "Does she have a name? Are you going to introduce us or keep her all to yourself? Does she work here or did you find her wandering around out in that storm?"

"Hold on! Wait just a minute! Now you're both starting to sound like my parents," he remarks good-naturedly. Although Eddy isn't aware of it, I am about the only thing close to a family he has left. But his expression quickly turns somber as he adds, "It's not that simple."

"Why, is she married?" I press, still smirking.

"No, but she's seeing someone on a steady basis," he admits.

"That's never stopped you before," I tease light-heartedly and then realize Eddy is giving me a chastising look.

"Does she love the other guy?" Eddy inquires, her tone serious as she steps forward and places a tender hand on his arm.

The gesture has a profound effect on him and he immediately opens up to her like I've never seen him do with anyone aside from myself.

"I'm not sure. But I do know that I don't like the way he treats her."

"No!" Eddy gasps. "Does he hurt her?" she asks, tightening her hand on his arm in a conciliatory manner.

"She won't admit it, but I suspect he does," he says with a hint of anger in his voice.

"Then we'll take care of it," I promise. "Just as soon as we finish this business."

Treating him like a lost puppy, Eddy uses her hold on his arm to lead him to the edge of the bed and silently instructs him to sit down. Just then, Manny shows up at the open door with a waiter and a serving cart in tow. "Can we come in?" he asks, smiling happily and looking completely refreshed.

"Only if you brought a large pot of steaming black coffee for our heartbroken friend here," Eddy says with a wink before hurriedly running for the bathroom.

Glancing at Larry, I realize immediately that he doesn't want anything mentioned regarding his dilemma in Manny's presence. Unfortunately, Eddy realized too late the consequences that might result if Manny knows about one of his girls being brutalized by another employ of his. Fortunately, he missed out on the import of Eddy's words as her actions cause him to wonder quizzically at her sudden need to reach the bathroom.

"Is Eddy feeling alright?" he asks, concerned by her behavior.

"Nothing that won't pass quickly," I jest lightly at her expense, only to receive a reprimanding frown from Manny, For all his wonderful attributes, he takes himself very seriously and finds crude remarks, even when made in fun, very disparaging.

But his frown quickly fades and his demeanor again reflects the anxiety that currently possesses him as he anxiously waits to hear our tale of excitement and adventure. "So tell me," he begins excitedly as soon as the servant has retreated through the door and pulled it shut behind him. "Where do we start? Would it be okay if I tag along with Julio? I was thinking that I could wait in another vehicle outside the topless bar just in case I'm needed."

"Patience, Manny," I placatingly instruct him, still harboring regrets at having agreed to allow Eddy to act as bait. "Just as soon as we get some coffee in us, we'll get started."

"I'll second that," Larry chimes in while rising from his seat on the edge of the bed and following us into the conference room.

Eddy, having guessed that enough time has passed for her to rejoin us, exits the bathroom and falls in next to Larry. A conspiratorial look passes between them that only I seem to notice.

We're all sitting at the table with coffee in our mugs and bacon, eggs and pancakes on our plates when there's another knock on the door. Before I can rise, Larry yells out for them to enter. Julio, timidly opens the door and hesitantly glances around. He visibly relaxes and a big smile lights up his face when he sees us all gathered at the table in the conference room.

Pulling up a chair at an empty spot next to Larry, he apologizes for being late and then briefly explaining that one of the central heating and air conditioning units needed attention because of damage from the overnight storm. "The weather vent on the exterior pump housing was torn off by the wind and rain overloaded a relay switch. It didn't take much to fix it. But until I found the damage, I couldn't figure out why it wouldn't kick on the exhaust clearing cycle."

"That's more than we really need to know, Julio," Manny impatiently remarks, wanting to get started on the planning stage of our operation while Julio, on the other hand, seems reluctant. I feel a wave of concern that maybe we are forcing Julio into doing something that he really isn't comfortable doing. Although he'd led a rough and tumble life, especially raising a young child in a country that was biased against minorities, he is timid in nature.

Or, and this was probably closer to the truth, he is afraid of failing and letting us down. Although he would be nothing more than backup, he might be feeling more responsibility than I am giving him credit for feeling. If Larry arrives late, it will fall on Julio to look out for Eddy's safety and that's something that even has me concerned.

With the food before us sitting untouched, Larry starts the ball rolling. "We're going to need at least three vehicles for this operation and Mac's bike is out of the question as well as my little bird. Aerial surveillance isn't an option in this weather, even if it were needed."

"That's not a problem," Manny quickly cuts in. "I have several cars, drivers too, if you need them."

"We'll need the cars, but not the drivers, Manny," I remark, nodding my thanks. "We'll each drive separately except for Julio." Looking at Julio, I continue, "You'll ride with Larry and he'll drop you off at the bar in advance." I take a deep breath, making sure I have everyone's attention before continuing. "At first, I thought it made more sense to have Larry doing the initial tailing from the offices. But after giving it some thought last night, I've decided I'm going to do the first surveillance leg. As soon as I have the mark in sight, I'll pass the description and location on to Larry who will pick him up on the second leg. With him handed off, I'll work my way through the side streets and alleys to get ahead of him. By the time you all reach the bar, I'll be waiting beyond the pay phones in the restroom at the end of the hall."

"What made you change your mind?" Larry casually inquires, suspecting correctly that it has to do with Julio's sudden case of nerves.

"I want to be there when it goes down," I reply with a grin and a wink toward Eddy.

"You don't have to worry about me, I can take care of myself," she quickly interjects. "Or have you forgotten already who led you to safety after that confrontation with Vercelli's goons?"

Chastised, I acknowledge her survival instincts, "You did, Eddy. Will you ever let me forget?"

"Not in this lifetime, baby," she grins smugly at me.

After a moment of silence while we sip or refill our mugs, Manny asks, "Won't someone call the cops when they see a man being mugged in the back of the bar?"

"Of course, they will," Larry states matter-of-factly.

"How will you explain what you're doing?" he asks, perplexed by our casual attitude regarding the question.

"By the time the police arrive, Manny, we'll have the mark bound, gagged, possibly unconscious, but definitely in the back of the car on his way out of town," I confidently answer while thinking that's the way it's supposed to happen. Yet, realizing that plans rarely ever go the way they're supposed to.

"Wouldn't it be wiser to have a vehicle with a driver sitting outside waiting to whisk the package away?" he asks, causing me to suddenly look at his instincts in a whole new light.

"That's not a bad idea," I comment thoughtfully as the gears in my mind spin furiously and I realize where Manny is going with this new idea and not coming up with anything substantially valid to debunk it. Running with what comes to mind, I say, "But it won't be necessary. Larry and I will each leave our vehicles outside the bar with the engines running and the doors remotely locked. Whichever vehicle we reach first with the package is the vehicle that Eddy and I will take while leaving Julio and Larry to follow in the other vehicle. We can pick up Eddy's vehicle any time."

"That sounds good in theory, Mac, but it leaves a lot to chance and you told me once that you never take a risk if there is another viable option. Well, I'm that other viable option if you'll let me," he states emphatically while looking pleased with his case for being included.

"One more man involved only increases the risk, Manny," Larry argues, not wanting anymore inexperienced people involved than absolutely necessary. We've been doing this long enough to know that inexperience only breeds problems. And although this is a fairly straightforward operation, one can never underestimate the unpredictable. Not to mention that the mark is a trained assassin and may not take to losing too well.

"Sorry, Manny, but we're already bending our rules by involving Julio," I add.

"Then let me take Julio's place," he says determinedly.

"I can't do that, Manny. No offense intended, Julio, but he'll blend in where you won't, Manny. You'll stand out like a sore thumb," I argue.

"Let me change clothes and come back," he continues arguing. "If you still believe I won't blend in, I'll shut up and stay out of your business."

"Manny, that's not necessary," I say placatingly. "Besides, we should have someone here waiting for us so we can slip the mark in unnoticed."

"Yes, it is necessary," Manny says determinedly. "Moreover, Julio will have a much easier time clearing the back stairs without raising any attention. He can put up barriers and close off sections of the casino and no one will ask questions. If I get involved in maintenance, everyone will be talking within minutes."

"He's got a good point, Mac," Eddy agrees, not quite understanding how Larry and I work.

My first reaction is to give her a reprimanding scowl, but then I see the logic in it. We won't be adding another inexperienced person to the equation, just a more eager one. Begrudgingly, I acquiesce to Manny's demand and instantly see the mixture of relief and new concern on Julio's face.

"Okay, you're in, Manny. Julio will stay behind and give us a private path to a secure room where we can interrogate the mark. But first, I want to see this getup of yours if you don't mind."

Still on his feet, he says, "I'll be back within the hour." When he is almost to the door with Julio following close behind, he suddenly stops and turns around. "I'll let room service know they can collect the cart and clean up."

"Thanks, Manny," we all harmonize, while Larry reaches for the almost empty carafe.

"Now, where were we?" I ask, referring to Larry's new acquaintance.

### **45**

We've finished off the coffee and have formulated a loosely thrown together plan for dealing with the lowlife that is making Larry's new interest uncomfortable. With most of the day and all of the night open to us, we decide to take action sooner rather than later. Larry has filled us in on the details, both of his new girl, Suzy, and the scumbag, Mark, who wants to own her so he has exclusive rights to kick her around. Both Mark and Suzy will be working the swing shift. Suzy is scheduled to be on the floor in the pit area while Mark will be dealing twenty-one.

The entire idea will be simply using Eddy to draw the scumbag into an out of the way place with the promise of personal delights and then me throwing the kibosh on him if he doesn't listen to reason. It's very important that we keep Larry at a distance so he doesn't have any explaining to do to Suzy or the law if the guy decides to go that route. A swift beating and threats of more bodily harm to come if he doesn't give the girl her space usually works wonders. Sadly, this isn't anything new to us.

When a scruffy looking employ in a dirty uniform lets himself into the suite, we grow quiet and watch the man carelessly placing the dirty dishes on the cart while dropping crumbs and whatnot on the floor. With a used cloth towel that is showing stains from other food still embedded in it, he casually wipes off the conference table. Leaving it streaked with food residue and coffee, he takes the cart and retreats toward the doors as a coffee cup and several pieces of silverware fall to the floor in the process.

When he ignores the fallen items, Larry gruffly calls out to him, "Hey! You dropped something."

Looking back, the man smiles at us, a set of crooked yellow teeth visible through the unkempt beard and mustache, his hair oiled down and crudely combed off to one side. His clothes look as if he dug them out of the laundry. To his credit, they neither fit properly, nor are they even remotely clean.

Eddy is the first to make the connection as she runs toward him with her arms open. "Manny!"

Realizing that we'd been had, I admiringly concede, "Manny, you old dog, you."

### **46**

From a distance, I watch Eddy playing twenty-one at the dirtball's table. Feigning slight inebriation and openly flirting with the guy has caught his attention as he winks seductively back at her. If our plan works, Larry gets the girl, Manny doesn't lose an employ and no one but the dirtball gets hurt. So, it comes as a bit of a surprise when Manny suddenly shows up next to me, his eyes also on Eddy. "Would you like to tell me what operation you're running in my house?" he asks, his voice firm as he holds back his anger.

"I'm sorry, Manny," I start, sincerely apologetic. "We were hoping to resolve this without having to draw you into it."

"I know you're not trying to rob me, so tell me, what makes this dealer special from all the others?" he says, his voice only a degree softer than a moment prior. Although Eddy's act of drunkenness is working on the dirtball, Manny realized right off that it is only an act and I'm her chaperone.

Deciding to come clean, I ask of him, "Are you aware that he is having an affair with one of your pit girls?"

"If I were, would it matter?"

"Not unless you knew also that he's been physically and verbally abusing her on a regular basis."

"You know that I wouldn't tolerate that in my casino," he says, his anger no longer aimed at me, but now focused on the dealer.

"I know you wouldn't and that's why we felt we could do this without involving you."

"You should have involved me sooner. But now that I'm here, what is the plan?"

"Are you sure you really want to know?" I ask, basically offering to leave him out of it.

"This is my house, remember," he resolutely states.

"For legal reasons, you might want to content yourself with firing him tomorrow for failing to show up at work on time," I suggest, trying to keep him out of it as much as possible.

"Don't let anyone else get hurt, Mac. But in the future, don't do anything in my house without first consulting me."

"You have my word on it, Manny."

At just that moment, shift change begins and Manny moves off into the milling crowds where he quickly blends in and is lost to sight. The dealer takes his money box from beneath the table top and moves out of the way while the new dealer sets himself up. Eddy, feigning an even deeper level of intoxication, follows the prior dealer at a distance while giving him time to turn in his money box and head toward the stairs before cutting him off.

"Excuse me," she slurs.

"I'm sorry, mam. I'm off for the night. There's a new dealer if you want to play more," he says politely enough, self-conscious of co-workers moving past him as they head home for the night.

Grabbing him by the arm and stumbling after him, she says just loudly enough for his ears, "I want to play alright, but not on the tables, if you get my meaning."

He pauses for a second, ready to shake her loose from his arm when he notices that most of his co-workers are more concerned with getting home than with what he's doing. She is a very attractive woman and she didn't hold back tonight when she selected her dress or makeup. Reading the hesitation as a queue that she has his interest, she sensually suggests that they find an empty room while licking her upper lip for effect.

The dress is a low-cut design that exposes most of her breast and even a little of the ocher aureole surrounding her nipples. She is a true blonde and not from a bottle and she knows how to use it to her advantage. "It'll only take a minute," she hints seductively while swaying drunkenly to accent the curve of her hips.

"Well, maybe just a minute," he finally gives in. Taking her by the left arm, he says, "Come with me, I know a place where no one will bother us."

"Will anyone care if I cry out? I like to scream when the mood hits me," Eddy teases, seeing a light come on in his eyes.

"Where we're going, you can scream to your little heart's content and no one will be the wiser but me," he answers her, subconsciously licking his own lips in anticipation.

Following discreetly, my heart misses a beat when they get on the elevator and I have to run the two flights of stairs, all the while on the verge of panic for fear of what he might be doing to her behind the closed doors of the elevators. It's a moot point that there are security cameras in the elevators if security can't get to the occupants until after the damage has been done.

But when the doors open, they are still chatting amiably with his grip on her forearm turning the knuckles of his right hand white. Although his attention is focused on her and his thoughts are thinking of what's to come, he still glances furtively up and down the hall, noticing only a man pausing outside a door while fumbling for his pass.

Hunching my shoulders to hide my face, I dig deeply into my pockets and jingle my loose change while mumbling sourly about having lost my room pass.

The act works, spurring him to move faster for fear I'm going to ask him for help because he is still wearing his casino uniform. When they arrive at the room that he intends on taking Eddy into, I move quickly and silently, timing my approach to strike him squarely in the back at just the moment the door swings inward, driving him into the room.

Losing his grip on Eddy's arm, he grunts from the impact as the wind is driven from his lungs in an outward rush. Letting my momentum carry me into the room behind him, Eddy quickly follows and pulls the door shut behind her.

As Mark begins to rise, I kick him solidly in the side of the head with enough force to momentarily stun and disorient him. "You might want to wait for me outside," I suggest softly, watching the man for any sudden moves.

"I'd rather stay, if you don't mind."

"Your call," I concede, aware firsthand that she has a strong constitution for this type of stuff.

Moaning, the man slowly draws his knees up under himself and tries to get to his feet. Grabbing him by his collar, I lift him bodily to his feet and turn him to face me. Without warning, I sucker punch him in the gut, driving the wind out of him for the second time. He collapses like a sack of spuds gasping for air and unable to suck any in. If he's never had the wind knocked out of him before, he probably feels like he's dying.

Reaching down, I grab hold of his left lapel and lift him up until he is barely supporting himself. Putting my face close to his, I ask him in my most menacing voice, "Do you know why you're here?"

Unable to talk, his eyes tearing with fright and confusion, he shakes his head frantically from side to side. "Do you want me to tell you why I'm here and what you're going to do if you don't want to see me again?"

This time, he nods his head vigorously up and down as he slowly catches his breath. "Good," I commend him, smiling to show my pleasure. "There is a girl. Her name is Suzy. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

This time, he tries the ignorant route and pretends not to understand what's going on. Without warning, I slap him across the side of his face with the back of my hand. His eyes roll up into the back of his head for a moment and he sways on his feet. Were it not for my iron-fast grip on his lapel, he would have fallen.

"Don't play stupid with me!" I hiss in his face.

"I didn't do anything," he cries, the left side of his face turning a bright scarlet as blood trickles from a split lip.

Without warning, I slap him again, only harder. Enough force to knock him off balance. This time, I let him fall to the floor. When his eyes stop swimming and he is able to focus on me, I ask him again, speaking slow and steady since his mind might be a little incoherent at this point, "Tell me what you did to her?"

"Why?" he angrily cries out, his voice belying a sense of panic while still displaying a stubborn streak of defiance. The notion that this asshole might be harder to break than I had originally thought swims around in my head for a moment.

To take the wind out of his sails, I kick him in the groin, watching silently as he doubles over in pain. "I'm asking the questions," I firmly remind him.

Reaching down and grabbing a hand full of his hair, I pull him to his feet and wait for him to steady himself. Speaking very slowly, I say, "We both know why you're here and what you've been doing to Suzy. If you deny it again, I'm going to castrate you, asswipe. If I have to take you aside and have a little talk with you at a future date because you don't heed my words here tonight, I'm going to make you eat them. One jaw-busting syllable at a time. And that's not a threat, Mark that's a promise."

The sound of my fist striking his jaw rings through the room with crack and I know immediately by the give in his skull that I've busted his jaw clean through. Exactly what I intended. The pain will be so intense in his head now that he won't be able to hear me unless I scream at him which I have no intention of doing. I've said everything I've intended saying. It's up to him now.

If there is one thing in this world I can't tolerate, it is men that abuse women and children. Unfortunately, they are God's blight on this world for whatever his reasons. In the meantime, I will deal with them as I see fit and screw anyone that doesn't abide with it.

Meeting Eddy's gaze, I say almost kindly, "Come on, let's get out of here."

"What about him?"

Looking down at him, I see the lopsided set of his face and the pain and hatred in his eyes. It only bothers me marginally that I don't see as much fear there as I had hoped. Some day in the future, he's going to come after me as surely as I'm standing here now. And when that day comes, I will kill him. Simple as that.

Without a word, I kick him in the ribs and get a small amount of satisfaction at the sound of bones snapping. "We better call room service and have this mess cleaned up, I guess."

Closing the door behind us, we walk in silence back to the elevator. Only when the doors close and we're standing alone does she speak what's on her mind. "Why did you do that?"

"Because he had it coming," I casually reply, believing that she wouldn't understand or believe me if I tried explaining that some day he's going to come hunting me and it was just my intention to put that day as far out into the future as possible.

"Wasn't breaking his jaw sufficient?" she presses, not content with my excuse and yet not sounding angry with me either.

Suddenly, I'm not in the mood to beat around the bush any longer and I turn to face her. Placing a hand on either of her forearms, I press her back against the wall. My eyes are burning and I feel a wave of anger rising within me. "Eddy, even though I know you're not going to understand or believe what I am going to tell you, this is the truth. This is why I did to him what I did. But first, let me tell you this. I have never explained my actions to anyone before in my life and I don't appreciate having to now. That man we left back there showed more anger in his eyes than he did fear. When a man has that kind of anger, he is usually not afraid of dying or being on the receiving end when pain is being dished out. Some day in the not-so-distant future, he's going to come looking for me. The only way I can put that day off is to make sure he takes a long time to heal or doesn't heal at all. Would you prefer that?"

"I'm sorry, Mac." She says softly, her eyes belying her inner confusion. "I thought I was in love with you, but now I'm just not so sure anymore."

"I seem to have that effect on people," I say lightly, the anger having dissipated with the vocalizing of the words.

The elevator doors open and I reach for her arm, only to have her pull away from me. "I'm going to find Larry," I say calmly, not letting her see how her reaction to my touch has affected me. "Get a good night's sleep. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

Without a word, she heads off across the foyer. Briefly, I consider going after her, my heart never having felt so torn before in my life. But I hold back, realizing that she will only rebuke anything I might say in my defense. I already told her the truth-she will either learn to deal with it or she won't.

### **47**

I find Larry in a corner booth near the rear of the main lounge behind a long row of one-armed bandits. He is sitting next to a young woman that I take to be Suzy, her eyes adoring him while he laughs softly, thoroughly enjoying her company. In all our time together, I can't remember ever seeing him so relaxed and content.

A short distance from their table, I pause as a pang of envy pries at the fresh wound in my heart. While I am happy for my friend, I can't help but feel a twinge of anger that Eddy and I are not together because of his troubles.

Yet, I quickly banish the thought as I realize that it doesn't have anything to do with him or Suzy. My problem with Eddy is just that, my problem. She is having her doubts about me and who I am. Not because I helped a friend, but because of how I helped a friend.

Stepping up to the table, I distractedly stand through the introductions of his friend as though I have no idea who she is and then covertly let Larry know that her problems have been resolved for the time being. When next we have a moment to talk, I will warn him of the individual and my concerns for the future.

Using the excuse that I don't want to infringe on their little party and that I need to get some sleep, I wish her the best and saunter off to where I know not.

### **48**

My sauntering takes me through the pits and past the show halls before bringing me to a small gallery of paintings. There is a counter on the left as I enter where a tall slender brunette with pleasant features in a tight fitting black dress that reaches mid-thigh is moving items from behind the counter to a shelf along the back wall in an attempt to appear busy. Glancing up at me as I enter, she smiles politely and then goes back to her make-work. There are very few items for sale. All of the paintings along the walls are locked behind security glass and are strictly for viewing by the casino patrons needing a respite from the tables.

Although I haven't dropped a plugged nickel in any of Manny's machines since my arrival, I feel an almost desperate need for a break. Before I realize that I've casually observed all the paintings along the right-hand wall, I reach the end of the line. There is but one painting left on the rear wall and like the rest, it does nothing to hold my attention.

Turning back toward the exit, I almost bump into the lady in the black dress. Distracted by my thoughts, I hadn't kept track of her.

"Can I help you?" she politely inquires, smiling kindly.

Close up and smiling, I notice for the second time that she is quite attractive, her perfume a soft, inviting fragrance of meadow wildflowers. Smiling back though my heart isn't in it, I politely decline her offer of assistance and glance toward the exit.

"You're not the first, you know," she says softly with a melodic voice.

Misunderstanding her meaning, my breath momentarily catches in my throat and I cough, trying to clear it. Suddenly realizing the double meaning of her words, she breaks out in laughter, the sound easy on the ears. "I'm sorry," she quickly apologizes, "That's not what I meant."

When I take a moment to study her before answering, a blush of pink rises up the sides of her throat and adds a warm glow to her cheeks. "It's quite alright," I smile. "I'm sure that I'm not."

The words aren't what she's expecting from me, and her blush turns a deeper shade of crimson as it climbs from her cheeks all the way to her forehead. It would be easy for me to continue teasing her, but my heart isn't in it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way," I apologize, letting her off the hook. "I know what you meant, but you just left yourself so open, I couldn't resist."

"That wasn't very nice of you," she scolds, feigning anger.

"No, it wasn't. If you'll excuse me," I add, moving toward the exit. Feeling weak and vulnerable, I can't afford to be around her any longer than necessary. She is a nice looking lady with a great set of legs and a sweet fragrance. I can't afford to know any more about her than I already do.

Taking an involuntary step back as if I'd just slapped her, she stands silently to the side as I pass, the downward turn of her lower lip giving her a hurt and dejected appearance. It takes great willpower to keep walking and not turn back. And then, before I make it out the door, she says just loudly enough for me to hear, "I think the least you could do is buy me a drink."

Though my brain tells me to keep walking as if I haven't heard her, I stop and turn back to study her anew. She has sidled up to the counter and is leaning on it for support, her left hip canted out at an alluring angle, her lips displaying a sensuous pout. I didn't remember them looking so full, so inviting.

When I don't say anything for a long moment, she breaks the silence by pushing off from the counter and moving around to the back where she retrieves her purse. "I'll lock up and we can go," she says with a knowing smile.

Watching her walk toward me, I think to myself that I should be running away as fast as my feet can carry me. But instead, I stand frozen in place as though I am wearing shoes made of concrete.

As her long legs lead her past me, my eyes just naturally turn down to her thighs and then the swing of her buttocks as I fall into step behind her like a lost dog. Reaching the exit, she steps aside and lets me pass before pulling the door closed and inserting her key. When the tumblers click, she turns her gaze toward me and smiles while slipping the keys into her purse.

Latching onto my arm, she guides me down the corridor. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you from the valley?" she cordially inquires in an attempt to make small talk.

"No," I simply reply, not giving her anything to hang her hat on.

"Does that mean you're not from around here, or no, you're not from the valley?" she giggles politely.

There is no doubt in my mind that she intends to have a drink or two at my expense and then return the favor sexually. But because I'm not acting overly eager, she is slowly losing interest, finding the game too troublesome to continue. Because she is a fine looking woman, she probably has little difficulty picking up anxious men and I'm quickly becoming more effort than I'm worth.

Out of the corner of her eye, she studies me again, not quite ready to throw in the towel. On any other night, I would have been flattered to have the undivided attention of such a fine looking woman. But tonight is not just any night and I suddenly feel a need to bring the charade to an end.

Stopping abruptly, I take her by the hand and turn to face her. "I'm sorry, but I'm not really in the mood for this tonight. You're a very beautiful woman and I'm sincerely flattered by your attention, but this just isn't going to work for me."

For a long moment, she just meets my gaze and returns it while deciding what to do next. No one has ever turned down her favors before and she is having a difficult time accepting it. When she finally does, she handles it with all the grace of a lady. "Okay, I can accept that. It's been a long day for me too. So, how would you like to have that drink anyway, maybe some small talk on the side and then home to our separate beds?"

"I would like that very much," I reply, smiling kindly at her.

With her hand on my arm, I escort her to the quietest lounge in the casino where we find the furthest booth from the bar and discuss the virtues of West Indies rum late into the night.

### **49**

After seeing her safely to a taxi, instead of returning to my shared room with Eddy, I decide I might get a better night's sleep down in Julio's shop where I know the cot will be made and the heat turned on. Entering his space from the rear stairwell, it takes me a moment to figure out what looks different. The last time I was here, I remembered it being much larger and more open, even if it was cluttered with unfinished projects in varying degrees of repair.

It only takes a moment, however, to realize what Julio has done. Running the entire width of the shop and extending at least thirty feet in from the rear wall is a floor to ceiling drape of heavy material. To a first time visitor, it would easily pass for the rear wall. Unless, of course, you were intentionally looking for something, such as a small whirlybird or motorcycle, would you ever realize that it wasn't a real wall.

Although the lights are on, the shop is deserted and I decide to do a preflight inspection on the little 2-seater helicopter to take my mind off things. Striding across the cement floor, I head to the near wall, figuring there must be a gap to slip through somewhere in that area. My cursory inspection finds a rope securing the edge of the fabric to a series of eyebolts running from floor to ceiling. After loosening the tie nearest the floor, I slip through and discover not only the whirlybird and my bike, but also a few other items, not the least of which is a small single-seater stunt plane.

Studying the plane with the interest born of being a natural pilot, I wonder to myself why I never knew that Manny harbored an interest in flight. Even though we haven't socialized that much since we've first met, Manny knew that Larry and I were both avid enthusiasts of flying and not just little helicopters. It seems strange to me that he never mentioned it.

But then, what business is it of mine? Manny hired me to do a job and I did just that. Now he is offering me help. Except for last night, we haven't really socialized. I'm sure it would have come up eventually.

After a thorough and familiarizing study of the little bird, more commonly referred to as a BD-5, I move on to Larry's helicopter. For some reason, just touching the familiar metal hull and running my hands over the canopy in search of minute chips or cracks not yet visible to the naked eye has a way of relaxing me. Without thinking of my actions, I go through a complete pre-flight inspection while subconsciously realizing that Julio had done exactly what he said he was going to do. The little bird was fueled, the oil topped up and all the fittings sporting fresh grease.

Without thinking, I climb into the pilot's seat and close my eyes. Before I know it, I'm waking up and it's early morning. Climbing out of the little bird, I work my way back through the loose fold in the fabric and come face to face with Julio, startling him.

"Morning, Julio," I nod, smiling sheepishly.

"Senor," he blurts, surprised by my sudden appearance and falling back on familiarity.

Realizing that he's not aware of the fact that I'd just spent the night in his shop, I pretend to have just worked my way down here as part of a morning stroll. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," I grin. "Just thought I'd come down and see how you were taking care of my bike."

"Si, Senor," he smiles back, his demeanor nervous as if I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. If I hadn't just personally inspected the chopper and my bike, I would have sworn he was embarrassed at having said he'd serviced them when he hadn't. But that wouldn't be Julio. Turning away from me, he heads toward his desk while asking over his shoulder if I would care for a morning eye opener.

"A man after my own heart," I acknowledge, following him.

His hands shaking slightly, he sets out two glasses and pours a generous portion of rum in each. Studying him over the rim of my glass, I find it difficult to believe he has a dishonest bone in his body. Softly, my voice sincere, I ask of him, "Is there something you want to tell me, Julio?"

"Senor?"

"You know me Julio, what is said between us stays between us. Manny doesn't have to know."

"Si, mucho gracias," he says softly, sighing resignedly. "I worry for Manny. I should be going along today, not him."

"I won't let anything happen to him, Julio. Trust me, he won't be in any danger," I promise him with all earnestness.

"I know you mean well. But it doesn't change the fact that it is I that should be going today, not him, not my Manny."

"He is like a son to you and I can appreciate that. But I give you my word Julio, I won't let any harm come to him."

Finishing his glass in one swallow, he sets it down on the desk and steadies himself before looking me in the eye and stating, "I will be holding you to that, Mac. If anything happens to my Manny, I will hold you personally responsible."

"I can live with that."

### **50**

When I get back to Eddy's and mine room, I find her dressed and ready to go. Manny is sitting in the recliner, a half mug of coffee balanced on his lap. "Good morning," he calls out when I enter. He is dressed for his part in today's operation and if I hadn't seen him in disguise before, I would not have recognized him.

Eddy glances briefly in my direction before slipping off to the bathroom. "Seen Larry yet?" I ask of him.

At just that moment, Larry walks up behind me, his happy expression saying everything about the night before. "Good morning, everyone," his voice cheerfully rings out. Glancing at Manny, he winks and adds, "Looking good, my man."

"Mucho gracias, Senor," he replies in a gravelly voice, taking the disguise to the extreme. Rising, he shuffles up the two steps leading into the conference room and stops at the top. Turning to face us, he adds in the same tone of voice, "Would my esteemed guests care for some coffee and a humble breakfast of corn bread and jam?"

Stepping past him and making for the table, Larry responds whole-heartedly, "Don't mind if I do. I can't remember the last time I've had such a ravenous appetite."

"How bout the last time you had a woman?" I slur derisively.

When he throws me a sharp glance of inquisition, I quickly realize that my sour mood might be contagious. And although this mission is pretty straightforward, I don't want anyone distracted on my account because that's usually when something goes hinky. Just as soon as Eddy comes out of the bathroom, I'm going to set things straight with her or we're going to call this operation off.

The resolution has no sooner entered my mind than the bathroom door opens and Eddy steps out. Seeing everyone gathered up at the conference table, she lithely rises up the steps and takes a seat while smiling sweetly toward Larry, Manny and Julio and then blowing me off completely as if I wasn't there. She probably suspects that I spent the night in another woman's bed. And even though I didn't, it would piss her off to know how close I came.

Sipping my coffee, I forgo the muffins and jam, all the while glancing furtively at Eddy. Unlike me, she looks vibrant and refreshed. Clearly, she took advantage of my absence and got a good night's rest.

While her appearance gives my conscious a little ease, I can't help but regret the time I missed being with her. Her radiance this dull and dreary morning feels like daggers in my heart and I find myself both distracted and questioning my actions that led to her disapproval of me.

No woman has ever affected me in such a way before. For the first time in my life, I am actually considering my behavior and how I might want to try changing it to appease another person. If Larry, or anyone else for that matter that knows me at all, knew what was going through my head, they would be shocked to say the least.

So, why is this woman having such a profound effect on me? Of course, there's the obvious, she's beautiful, sexy, witty, a pleasure to be around and always attentive, putting my needs above her own. But that's just the obvious. I've known many women that have been just that way with me.

So, what makes her different? What makes her stand out from all the others before her?

For the first time in my life, I think I have truly fallen in love!

"Are you still with us, Mac?"

When Larry's voice brings me back to the present and I realize everyone is looking at me to respond to a question that I hadn't heard, I quickly confess, "I'm sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Obviously," Eddy remarks, her voice dripping acid.

Yet, only I seem to be aware of the cool indifference she has shown me and the icy daggers she is throwing at me. If anyone else is aware of the frozen chasm between us, they're keeping mum and trying not to get involved. Or more likely they're preoccupied with the mission that lies ahead, which I should be also. "What was the question?" I ask, clearing my thoughts.

"When he follows Eddy into the hall, should I wait until she starts back out toward the exit before I make my move or should I get up and follow him?" Manny repeats, looking a tad anxious.

"Hopefully, you won't have to make any move at all. I'll be waiting in the john or pretending to be preoccupied on the last phone at the end of the hall by the time Eddy leads him into the hall. Whatever you do, don't acknowledge me when I go past you. When you hear the scuffle start in the hallway it will be your job to keep the curious at bay, even if you have to improvise. Remember, we'll need a clear path back to the waiting vehicles in the street," I try to impress on him. "Don't take it personal if we leave you behind. Just don't be there when the police arrive and they will arrive."

"What do you mean by improvise?" he asks, further revealing his inexperience in this type of work.

For fear of sounding condescending, I look at Larry for help. Picking up on my dilemma, he quickly takes over the conversation. "Mac knows how to subdue a man, believe me," he starts, smiling broadly. "By trying to assist him, you're liable to get in the way." Before Manny can protest, Larry adds, "I've seen innocent people get hurt trying to help. We don't want you to get involved in that part of it unless something goes drastically wrong and you see Mac lying on the floor. But even then, I should be there by then." He pauses for a moment before adding, "The most important thing you can do is keep Eddy safe and make sure we have an unobstructed exit for a fast departure. The last thing we need is getting tied up with police and having to explain what is going on."

"Yes, we all know that Mac knows how to take care of himself," Eddy suddenly comments, causing a silence to fall over the table, her voice bitterly sharp.

Under any other circumstances, everyone would have assumed she was referring to the previous night's exploits in the bedroom. But with the seriousness of the situation being discussed, they realize immediately that it isn't my sexual prowess being referred to.

"Would you excuse us for a minute? Eddy and I have something to discuss," I state, my gaze holding her steady. "In private," I quickly add when she defiantly remains seated.

Holding my gaze in her own for a long minute, she finally backs down and rises huffily to her feet. Stepping hard, she marches around the table with her eyes staring fixedly at the door. "We'll be right back," I promise, stepping quickly to catch up to her.

Not waiting for me to get the doors for her, she charges into the hall, letting them swing back at me. If anything, she gave them a little push, hoping to catch me in the face.

Letting the doors close behind me, I overtake her outside the elevator doors, placing a hand on her shoulder to restrain her from going any farther. "Eddy, listen to me."

"And if I don't, are you going to beat me into submission too?"

"I'm sorry you had to see that. But you know that's how we work," I firmly admit.

"I'm not sorry that I had to see it," she angrily retorts. "I'm only sorry that you feel violence is always the solution. The only solution."

"It's effective," I say weakly in defense of my actions which is also my chosen lifestyle.

As if realizing for the first time that my hands are resting lightly on her shoulders, she says, "I wish you would take your hands off me."

"No."

My reply is not what she's expecting and she looks at me anew. Yet, there is no fear in her eyes, only disappointment and that hurts even worse.

"I can't, Eddy," I solemnly confess. "If I let you go now, there will be no returning."

Instead of pulling away, she stands firm as the look of disappointment in her eyes slowly turns to a look of hope.

Fueled and encouraged by this small change, I decide it's time to lay my cards on the table and bare my soul to her. Uncertain where to begin, I blurt out, "I love you Eddy Lotto. Unlike any woman before in my life, you've made me feel things that I'm not sure it's healthy to feel. If I could take back last night in that room and do it over, I would in a heartbeat." For a moment, I stumble over the rush of words that I want to say to her that I desperately need to say to her. "But I can't do that, Eddy. I can't pretend last night never happened. And I sure as hell can't pretend my life never happened!"

Though she remains silent, her eyes speak volumes. No longer do I see anger in their depths. Yet, the hope I see there is intermingled with pity, which instantly triggers my own anger. I am much too proud to be pitied.

But I control my momentary surge of anger, realizing that there are issues of more importance at hand. "I can change the way I am in the future, Eddy. I can learn to use my head instead of my hands. You have to believe that. For you, Eddy, I can change."

"I wish I could believe that, Mac. But I'm not that naïve. If you weren't who you are, you wouldn't have survived this long. You're only standing before me now because you live on the edge, trusting your instincts over all else. It's what makes you who you are. If you try and change now, especially if you're doing it for me, you will only grow to resent me. And the new you might not survive in your world." She takes a slow breath before continuing. "And I couldn't live with that, Mac. That would be worse than if we go our separate ways now. Much worse."

"I beg to differ," I start.

But she abruptly cuts me off. "It's true, Mac. Today, I can accept the fact that you're not the kind and caring gentleman that I had mistaken you to be. You are, however, still my knight in shining armor. That will never change. But when this is over and we come to the end of our journey together, we will go our different ways, remembering each other the way we were before last night."

When I start to protest, she silences me with a gentle placement of her index finger on my lips. "Please Mac, don't make this any harder than it has to be."

Defeated and crushed, I pull her into my embrace. To my surprise, she doesn't resist. Yet, my heart doesn't rise from the depths with hope, only a longing for what might have been. She is right; I can no sooner change than she can learn to accept me for who I am.

At just that moment, the doors open and Manny, Julio and Larry walk through. Larry is the first to speak as Eddy and I step apart. "We need to hit the road if we're going to do this thing."

"Yeah, right," I concur, clearing the emotion from my voice and giving Eddy one last, longing look. "Let's do it."

### **51**

Piling into the vehicles that Manny provided us, we set off single file for the valley, the sky hanging low on the horizon with a steady breeze and occasional rain mixed with hail. Climbing over the coastal mountain range, we encounter snow flurries and more freezing rain, but nothing that slows us down. Eddy is alone in a dark 4-door sedan followed by Larry and Manny in a full sized SUV. The plan is for him to drop Manny off at the topless lounge before taking up his position along Eddy's route. I'm bringing up the rear in another full sized SUV. When Eddy parks near the office building, I'm going to hang loose on the street, always maintaining a position where I have an unobstructed view of the front doors. If I have to double-park on the street, I will. Whatever it takes to keep Eddy under my watchful gaze, I will do it.

Right on schedule, we enter the city and pull into the agreed upon service station for fuel and a last minute check to assure we brought everything we might need. Larry and I are the only ones carrying weapons. Manny's inexperience with both guns and this type of an operation precludes him from packing a weapon and Eddy's clothing does the same for her.

Each of the three vehicles is similarly equipped with rope, duct tape, gag material, blindfolds, and even a vial of ether wrapped in a soft piece of cloth on the off chance our mark remains hostile after the takedown. In addition, we're each outfitted with 2-way radios and cell phones, excepting Eddy, who is only carrying a single cell phone in her bag. Although we'd discussed wiring her up for communication, she declined for fear that they might make her as a decoy if it were spotted. Furthermore, we don't know what kind of surveillance equipment is set up on the office building. They might be monitoring for foreign radio traffic and pick up our signal off Eddy's gear and that would be disastrous.

It's mid-day. Traffic is light and the weather lousy from a sunbather's point of view. For me personally, I couldn't have asked for better weather. Everyone on the sidewalks and streets is running to their destinations with their heads down against the blustery rain and ignorant of those passing by them. My intention is to sit in the SUV as long as possible before taking to the sidewalks. And although Larry is expecting me to follow the mark on foot, if I can remain in the SUV and keep Eddy in site until I pass the mark off to Larry, it will cut down on my travel time to the lounge. Improvising on the fly as it were.

Yet, I can only remain in the vehicle if I'm certain that I'm not adding any additional risk to Eddy. If anything looks hinky at all, I'll abandon the SUV in a heartbeat, even if I have to leave it sitting in the middle of traffic.

These thoughts and more are going through my head as I stand watching my three cohorts double checking everything for a third time. "If you need to relieve yourself, Manny, this is the time to do it. I wouldn't want to bump into you in the john because you just had to go," I tease, getting a self-conscious grin from him.

Larry sidles over and eases me away from the others so we can speak privately. "Did you make your calls?"

"Yeah, but unless this guys sings his heart out with information that can be substantiated, we'll be better off not expecting any help. Everyone I spoke with gave me the same run around. They're all too damn busy or don't have enough manpower and resources to invest in such a broad scoping operation without any concrete information to go on," I grumble softly. It wouldn't do anyone any good if they knew we were doing this operation without any type of legal support. If our plan fails, the mark might even press charges claiming we kidnapped him. The whole mission is nothing more than a big gamble based on what Eddy told me. When I ask myself if I would do this for anyone else, the answer is a resounding no.

"Is her story solid?"

His question catches me off guard. He'd never questioned me before and it was more than just a little disheartening. "If you're worried Larry, maybe you're getting too old for this kind of work," I retaliate, more hurt than angry. "She called and made the appointment. They're expecting her," I add, pointing out the obvious. There wasn't any way I could make the call and set it up for her. It has to appear that she is acting entirely on her own or they won't risk a hitman taking her out.

"Slow down, partner," he says quickly, smoothing my ruffled feathers. "I've always had your back and now is no different. I just wanted reassurances from you before we stick our necks out too far here. It's not too late to pull out and fight another day."

"I guess I owe you that much," I answer him, a bit humiliated. "I'd be lying if I didn't say how much better I'd feel about this whole thing too, if I could have gotten some kind of confirmation or acknowledgement from my friends at the justice department. But as far as pulling out, not going to happen."

"Well, it's not the first time we've gone in without a friend in our back pocket," he smiles encouragingly. After a moment's hesitation, he asks, "Is there some kind of problem between you and Eddy? You two seem a little distant from each other." Before I can respond, he quickly adds, "It's none of my business, but if you want to talk about it, just let me know."

"It won't affect my judgment today. Let's just let it go at that," I advise him, not ready to air my laundry. When this is all over and we're sharing a bottle of rum, maybe then. And then again, maybe not. We've never allowed a woman to come between us before and it isn't going to start now.

"If everyone is ready, let's roll. Eddy, I'll pick you up when you exit the building. Good luck inside and don't forget you're giving them the performance of a lifetime," I say with a smile, doing my damnedest to sound upbeat.

To my surprise, she steps up to me and puts her arms around my neck and pulls my lips to her own. After kissing me gently, she pulls back slightly and whispers just loud enough for my ears, "Don't let me down, Mac."

Before I can say anything, she turns and climbs into the sedan. Manny, looking a little flushed despite the makeup and costume, smiles nervously at me and climbs into the SUV with Larry. Nodding encouragement, I climb into my own SUV and fall in behind Eddy. Manny and Larry are bringing up the rear and continuing on to the strip lounge while Eddy heads into the office building.

All chances of speaking with Eddy are past and I feel a momentary pang of regret. I should have gone back to the room last night and tried to explain my reasons for acting so brutally. Maybe if I told her about my experience with scumbags like him, she would have understood why I did what I did.

Yet, the more I go over it in my head, the more I realize that words alone will never make her see me in another light. Watching me in action last night triggered something in her that cast me in a different light, maybe the harsh light of reality. No words will ever undo what she watched me do and beating myself up over it will only distract me during the mission that we've embarked upon.

Before I know it, Eddy is pulling into a parking spot along a side street running adjacent to the front of the building. Knowing she will be entering the front doors and also exiting them, I slowly roll past her, letting her see me to assure her that I have her back covered. Barely acknowledging me, she locks the driver's door and drops the keys into her purse before strolling toward the offices. We're assuming that she's already being observed via security cameras from the offices.

In my rearview mirror, I study her graceful walk and the tight fitting jeans accentuating her perky little ass. Before I realize it, I sense a growing tightness in my own jeans and curse myself for letting her distract me from the mission. Between the exhilaration and adrenaline of the operation and the sight of her lithesome movement, my manhood swells without warning. "Damn it Mac!" I silently scold myself.

When she crosses the street, being careful to wait for the crosswalk light, I drift over to the side of the street and luck into a parking spot with an unobstructed view of the front doors in my rearview mirror just as they close behind her. I see her through the glass windows until she moves beyond the reach of light from outside.

At the least, she will be in there for approximately ten minutes based on our calculations of the time it will take her to ride the elevator up, get past the secretary and then ride the elevator back down. Settling in to wait, my right hand slides subconsciously to my left armpit and I take comfort from the familiar bulge and weight of the magnum resting there. Although it's not really an ideal weapon for concealment like an automatic, the double action revolver has never let me down. With the extra punch from the magnum cartridge, the effective range is much farther than an automatic, even with the short barrel. And it will never jam in a fire fight.

Watching intently in the mirror, I notice a slender man suddenly come running from out of my range of vision and duck into the front doors. Instantly, I come alive. Where the hell did he come from? Why didn't I notice him approaching and why did he walk with his face almost entirely concealed? Covering one's head because of the rain is to be expected. But this guy wasn't covering his head so much as he was hiding his face!

My initial reaction is to jump out of the SUV and go storming into the building with my weapon at the ready. But I quickly stop myself and trigger the two-way radio for Larry. He answers almost immediately. "I believe the mark has just entered the building."

Believing he misunderstood me, he comes back with, "Did you mean to say he just left the building?"

"Negative. A suspicious individual just entered the building behind Eddy. I think he came from the hotel three doors down, but cannot confirm at this time," I advise him, my voice devoid of emotion.

Sounding a bit irritated, his voice comes back, "Keep me posted when they exit."

I should have waited until I had something definite to say. Telling him over the air about a suspicious looking john was very immature and amateurish. It was a blaring reminder of just how distracted I am. And now he knows it too.

Almost five more minutes pass when Eddy suddenly exits the building, heading along the sidewalk adjacent to where I'm parked. It takes extreme willpower to pull my eyes away from her and keep my concentration on the office doors behind her.

When she is almost abreast of me, the office doors suddenly open and the suspicious looking individual exits. Exhibiting no hesitation or indecision, he crosses the street to my side and hurries along the sidewalk on a course that will carry him right past me. Glancing forward, I see Eddy moving along the sidewalk, neither hurrying nor wasting time window-shopping. She appears as a woman on a mission and the mark is keeping her in his sights.

Watching him surreptitiously in the mirror, the rear and side windows of the SUV tinted just enough to mask my presence, I notice as he gets closer that his eyes are nervously studying his surroundings while watching both Eddy and the people on the sidewalk ahead and behind her. He is also checking the people on the far side of the street and glancing into car windows as he hurries past them. If I don't do something quick, he's going to make me.

With the mark less than thirty feet from the rear of the vehicle, I start the engine and slowly pull out into traffic. Triggering the microphone on the two-way radio, I advise Larry of my dilemma. "I'm on the move, heading east. Our mark is nervous and edgy at my 6 with heading on my 12. I'm currently trapped between him and Eddy and I don't see any chance of slipping back in behind him." Half expecting Larry to reprimand me, I wait a long moment for him to reply. When he doesn't, I give him a hurried and yet detailed description of the mark.

"Copy. I'm in the doorway of the GP Marine Salvage building. I'll hit the sidewalk as soon as he passes," he finally answers, the tone of his voice speaking volumes. "When I pick him up, you get to the lounge."

By waiting in the vehicle, I've fucked up! Now I have to decide whether I can afford to hang between Eddy and the mark as Larry ordered and run the risk of being made by the mark, or leave Eddy out on the sidewalk without cover while I separate and head for the lounge. The mark is acting much too edgy to risk being seen a second time. For whatever reason, his guard is up.

When I contemplate my options for a second, I realize that the mark never actually made me in the vehicle. If I hurry, I can still stash the SUV out of sight in one of the back alleys and then beat feet back to the street and come in behind him.

Though I don't like the idea of leaving Eddy without backup for even a split second, I opt to improvise again without consulting Larry. Hanging a hard left and cutting off oncoming traffic, I shoot up an adjoining street till I reach the rear off-loading area of a department type store. Pulling in, I kill the engine and throw it into park while grabbing the keys out of the ignition. By the time I get back to the street, I see the mark almost across from me. While I detoured to stash the SUV, he crossed the street. Glancing left, I see Eddy now less than half a block ahead of him and I afford myself a sigh of relief. He is expecting her to reach a parked vehicle at any time and is closing the gap between them to be within striking distance when she does.

Since there isn't any need for me to be on the same side of the street as them, I remain on the north side and hang back a little as if I'm interested in displays in the different windows. Because there are so few other pedestrians out in the rain, I feel more conspicuous than I thought I would and suddenly question my actions. With less than two blocks to go before she passes Larry, it might have been more prudent of me to drive straight to the lounge and trust that nothing happens between here and Larry's pickup of them.

And yet, I promised Eddy that she would never be out of our sight. If something happened to her in the next two blocks, I would never be able to forgive myself.

With my head down or facing into the street-level shops, I furtively keep an eye on the mark while occasionally patting the familiar lump of the magnum tucked into the shoulder holster resting comfortably beneath my left arm pit. At this range, I could drop him with ease and no risk of collateral damage. Because the streets are almost deserted, there is no telling what he might try. A single shot with a silencer and a quick dash up a side street and no one would be the wiser except that Eddy would be dead.

Yet, I can't let myself think along those lines. I can't let myself believe that he will risk trying something so brazen. There are still a few innocent bystanders moving along the soggy streets, any one of which might make him. A professional won't take that kind of chance. His success depends heavily on his anonymity. At least that is what I have to believe. "I never should have allowed Eddy to get this involved," I curse under my breath, staring at the mark's back.

We are less than a block from Larry's stoop now and it's time to alert him of our location. "We are three hundred out and closing," I say softly into the microphone clipped to my inside collar.

They're short-range radios and the closer distance makes a big difference in the sound quality. "Copy, I have her in sight."

"Give me the go the minute you make the mark," I order him, anxious to break off the surveillance and head for the lounge now that Eddy is under his watchful gaze. Not only do I have to make up the distance separating me from them, I also have to get there far enough ahead of them to get set up. It won't do for me to be panting and out of breath while dripping water like I just shot in ahead of them. If that's the situation when I get there, my only option will be to wait in the restroom. It's going to be a foot race for sure. But it's important that I don't draw undue attention to myself while doing it.

"Got him! Go," suddenly erupts in my ear.

Turning around, I glance up and down the street and assess the flow of traffic before dashing across. My sudden charge across the street causes only one impatient motorist to blare his horn at me for cutting him off. Before turning up the connecting street, I take one last look at the mark's back and assure myself that he suspects nothing and then turn the corner. When I am out of his range of vision, I break into a dead run. Eddy's safety is now in Larry's capable hands.

At a flat out run, I reach the first connecting service alley and hang a hard left, the gravel of the unpaved lane crunching and flying out from under my feet. Oblivious of the many puddles, I hurry on with my pant legs soaked and my sneakers a dirty brown over blue canvas.

At the intersection of the first block, I stop just long enough to glance to my left and assure myself that the mark hasn't somehow reached the intersection before me. Concerned that I'm wasting time, I dash across the pavement and into the continuing alleyway while once again upsetting a driver in the process.

By the time I reach the end of the second block, even my sweatshirt and shirt are drenched from splashing through the puddles at a dead run. Anyone seeing me go past the rear of their place must be thinking either I'm up to no good or I have a rabid dog nipping at my heels. But I've got more important things on my mind and I really don't care what anyone might think.

Breathing hard, a stitch already biting at my side, I lean against a chainlink gatepost to catch my breath and study the flow of traffic. This alley leads off a main thoroughfare that connects into the college district to the south. The lounge is now less than two blocks distant. One more street to cross and then half a block north will take me to the side entrance.

Not waiting for the stitch to subside, I push off from the galvanized post and dodge through the two-way traffic, setting off a cacophony of horns and shouts from upset drivers. Ignoring them, I hit the final stretch of alley as my legs begin to feel a tad rubbery.

Unable to stop myself with any grace due to the lack of oxygen reaching the muscles in my legs, I stumble out of the alley and into the flow of traffic. Across the street and less than a hundred feet to my left is the nondescript side entrance to the lounge. Directly across the street from the entrance is the SUV that Larry and Manny drove here.

Tires suddenly squeal in protest and a horn blares menacingly in my left ear. A blue sedan stops within inches of where I'm leaning precariously over with my hands on my knees to keep from falling. Looking up, I meet the driver's angry and impatient stare as his horn blares again. Rising to my full height and placing a hand firmly against the throbbing pain in my left side, I stagger proudly across the street and onto the far sidewalk. Turning to the left, I walk as fast as I can, which is painstakingly slow while not once looking back at the impatient driver. There is nothing to be gained by drawing attention to myself. Any other day, I would have dragged him out of his car and planted him on the hood of it as an ornament. Of course, that's the streak in me that Eddy can't abide by. Will I ever learn? At any moment, I expect to see her on the adjoining street as she makes her way across the crosswalk and toward the front doors of the lounge.

Slowly, feeling returns to my legs and before I know it, I'm pulling open the side door of the lounge and entering the dark space within. Stopping just inside to the right of the door so as not to make a silhouette of myself, I wait a brief second while my eyes adjust to the gloom.

Familiar with the layout, I move toward the rear restroom even before I can see clearly. When I see Manny sitting at the table next to the hallway, I am both relieved and anxious. True to his word, he doesn't so much as look up at my entrance.

Moving toward him and the hallway to the restroom, I throw a furtive glance toward the bar and then keep my head turned away so the bartender working there won't be able to give a good description later if asked. In that brief glance though, I can't help notice the bartender watching me closely as he's probably wondering if I'm just going to use his john before bolting back out the door without spending any money. If I were in his position and saw someone looking as disheveled as I do, I would be wondering the same thing.

Moving quickly down the hall, I slip into the door at the end and then do a quick search of the restroom. To my relief, I find it deserted. Moving back to the door, I open it just a crack and peer down the hall. So long as nobody comes, I can remain here with an unobstructed view.

But as luck would have it, someone else slips in the side entrance of the lounge and heads straight for the restroom. Hearing the door slam shut behind him, I ease back from the doorjamb while hoping that he's going to stop at the bar and order a drink.

When I see the wet slicker enter the hallway, I slip away from the door and into one of the two stalls while pulling the door behind me and sitting down on the throne. The man walks in and goes straight to the urinal. Within a minute, he's pulling up his zipper and moving toward the chipped and stained porcelain sink. As if having second thoughts regarding the sanitation he would achieve washing his hands in it, he turns and heads back out the door.

Before the door has a chance to close behind him, I'm back at the jamb with my eyes studying the hallway. To my relief, the receding figure of the man that relieved himself is the only person I see. Eddy apparently hasn't arrived yet.

Holding the door with one hand to prevent it closing, I stand back from the jamb and contemplate going out to check on Manny. Although the man that used the urinal was only a minute, anything could have happened in that minute while I sat stupidly in the stall without me being any the wiser. I could never forgive myself if something happened to Eddy.

At just that moment, Eddy enters the hall. Our eyes meet for just a fraction of a second. But in that scant moment of time, a million unsaid words are conveyed between us. Although she does not condone my actions of the previous night, she is glad that it's I looking out for her and not someone with less conviction. The things that make her despise me are the same characteristics that draw her to me and the dilemma has her torn. She wants to love me but at the same time, she is repulsed by what I am capable of.

In the split second that our eyes meet, I see all of that as clearly as I can see the light shining from the fifty watt bulb burning over the sink. I can see also that she appears nervous in the light of the hall, the fluorescent fixture casting a harsh white light over her.

Instead of stopping at the first pay phone in the bank of phones, she continues on to the end of the hall and stopping only when she comes to the last one in line. Turning to face the phone as if preparing to make a call, she looks nervously toward the restroom door, her eyes looking for more than I can give her.

Shaking my head, I attempt to signal encouragement to her while also indicating that she needs to look away from me. At the far end of the hall stands the mark. He is having a moment of indecision as he's uncertain whether to enter the hallway or simply wait outside for her. He looks back the way he came and then he looks down the hall at Eddy. Uncertainty holds him back for a moment and then as if summoning up his courage, he suddenly reaches into his inside breast pocket while stepping quickly down the hall toward Eddy.

He is making his move!

Yet, if I move too quickly, he will draw down on me instead of Eddy and I will be forced to kill him. And if I don't kill him, he will kill me and then Eddy, neither of which is an acceptable outcome. It's imperative that I hold my ground until he is totally committed to his action.

As if reading a script, he steps past Eddy with his hand concealed beneath the fabric of his jacket. And then suddenly, he stops and spins toward her, a small caliber automatic gripped in his right hand is rising toward the back of Eddy's head.

The moment of action has come!

With the swift reactions of a big jungle cat, I launch myself through the doorway and my beefy paws clamp down viciously on his forearms before he can bring the weapon all the way up to her head. Jerking hard on his right hand to prevent him lining up the gun along Eddy's body, the first shot thunders in the confines of the narrow hallway as the round strike harmlessly into the solid wood restroom door.

By now, Manny is coming down the hall at a run, his concern for Eddy overwhelming his fear and logic. When the mark twists suddenly in my arms, Manny ducks his head and rams him in his exposed abdomen, knocking the wind from his lungs in an outward rush of air and causing Manny to stagger backwards against the nearer payphone. He hit it with enough force to dislodge it from the cradle and send it dangling freely at the end of the cord.

A small cry of concern for Manny escapes Eddy as she turns and reaches out to steady him. The mark, now realizing that it's a setup, drops the weapon and kicks me hard in the shin before spinning away. There is nothing to be gained by killing people unnecessarily, further enforcing my belief that he's a professional. An amateur would use the gun to try and shoot his way out of the trap and possibly getting himself killed in the process.

The force of his kick almost takes my left leg out from under me and I stagger back against the wall. Still out of breath and struggling for air, the mark bolts past Manny and Eddy and makes his way for the open lounge and the nearest exit. To his dismay, Larry suddenly appears before him and straightens him up with a solid upper cut to the base of his chin and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

Shaking the momentary numbness from his fingers, he asks, a bit perplexed, "Do I need to carry the lot of you?"

Hobbling on my good leg, a wet stain of blood soaking through the front of my left pant leg, I pause only long enough to assure myself that Eddy and Manny are fine. "Pick him up and let's get the hell out of here," I hurriedly order Larry.

"A little touchy, aren't we?" he teases with his lopsided grin. Knowing him as well as I do, I know that it is just the satisfaction of seeing everyone standing except the target that has put him in this good mood. It surely isn't because I improvised and almost blew the mission. I'm sure I haven't heard the end of that yet.

Stopping, I turn to Eddy, intending to tell her to collect the mark's weapon. But when I see she's already doing it, I simply say instead, "Let's go."

"We're right behind you," she remarks, dropping the little gun into her purse.

### **52**

Exiting the side door of the lounge, we look like a bedraggled lot of misfits scrambling across the street, the mark being supported between Larry and me despite my hurting leg. Though he is still unconscious, he is mumbling and drooling and even lifting a foot as if trying to walk on his own. This is very typical of someone that has received a blow to the head. But Manny doesn't realize this and voices his concern as we literally dump him in the back luggage area behind the second seat in the SUV.

"Shouldn't we tie him up?" he nervously asks.

"Don't worry about him. Let's get a move on it before someone calls the cops on us," I blurt a bit too harshly, not accustomed to being questioned while in the middle of an operation. "Just get in."

Jumping in the passenger's side, Larry climbs in behind the wheel and hits the gas, causing the rear wheels to spin and slide as we shoot away from the curb. My lower leg is throbbing from the blow to the shin and when I reach down to feel for a break, my hand comes away wet with blood. "Damn, he must have razor blades in the soles of his shoes," I curse bitterly.

"Is it broken?" Larry asks, not really concerned as I'm still able to hobble on it.

"He's stirring back here, Guys," Manny anxiously voices, sitting up on the back seat and wrenching around so he can keep an eye on the guy.

Ignoring Manny, I grumble softly in reply to Larry's concern, "No, just busted the skin open."

Pulling the vehicle to a stop alongside Manny's SUV, Larry gives Manny a quick nod of approval for his part in the job and says with exaggerated anxiety, "Your chariot, Manny. We'll gather up back at the ranch."

"This guy is waking up," Manny says excitedly, ignoring Larry.

Eddy, also tired of Manny's over-reacting, sits up and twists around on the seat to get a better view of the guy. "He's out like a baby, Manny. Now move," she commands, fully understanding that everything depends on timing in a situation like this.

Almost hesitantly, Manny opens the rear door and steps out. Immediately behind us, a vehicle sounds off its impatience with Larry's double parking. Fortunately, it's not a cop. But that could change at any moment, especially if someone passes on a description of the SUV when the kidnapping is reported. And I have no doubts that the bartender called the cops the minute he heard the gunshot echoing from the hallway. He might even have assumed from the way we carried the unconscious man from his lounge that he'd been shot, possibly murdered. Cops could be converging on this area by the dozens.

"Go!" Eddy yells at him, reaching to pull the door shut.

Even before the door catches, Larry is accelerating down the street. "Maybe we should have stayed with Julio on this," he absently mouths, his eyes studying the rear mirrors and road ahead for problems.

"It's almost over now. Don't worry about it," I calmly remark, relieved that Manny is on his way back to the casino and for the most part out of danger.

When he turns up the street and begins to pull in behind Eddy's sedan, I tell him to keep moving. Thinking he missed something, his eyes dart first to the mirrors and then to the road ahead. "What is it?"

"Hang a right up ahead and continue on for three blocks. See if you can find a quiet place to park near the Ramadan Hotel," I instruct him.

"I think he's starting to come around," Eddy suddenly says.

"Good, we're going to need him able to walk and talk in a few minutes," I advise. "Keep an eye on him. I don't think he's so stupid he'll try anything with us since we're not the police. Yet, you just never know."

"What's at the Ramadan?" Eddy inquires, as Larry adheres to my directions.

"I think it's where our guy came from," I quickly explain, bringing both him and Eddy up to speed. "His employers are going to expect him to check in with a progress report very soon. I figure his room is much closer than driving clear back to the casino. Plus, I don't really care for the idea of getting Manny and Julio involved anymore than they already are."

"You're right," Larry agrees. "If the mark connects us with the casino, they'd never be safe, no matter how small their involvement."

"My thoughts exactly," I concur.

"I can't believe I hadn't even considered that," Eddy humbly remarks from the rear seat. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"If we had, Manny only would have argued and felt we were simply trying to keep him from getting involved and he would have been insulted. This way, no one's feelings get hurt," I quickly explain to her. "At least not until after he's out of harm's way," I add as an after thought.

A loud groan emanates from the rear area in the SUV behind the seat giving me reason for concern. As a caution to Eddy, I calmly suggest, "Watch what we say from here on out."

Leaning over the back seat, Eddy remarks, a hint of genuine empathy in her voice, "I think he's injured pretty seriously. He seems to be in a lot of pain."

Larry nonchalantly replies, his voice sounding gruffly callous, "He'll be just fine. Don't let his whimpering fool you."

This isn't the first time Larry's used his fists to incapacitate an individual and it probably won't be the last. If there is one thing Larry is good at, it's in knowing where and how hard to hit someone so as not to inflict serious or permanent injury. The mark may be in a lot of pain, if he isn't faking it, but he definitely isn't going to die.

"How does this look?" Larry asks, pulling in between two other SUV's near the rear entrance to the hotel.

"Perfect," I remark, studying the parking lot. Speaking more for Eddy's benefit, I continue, "Get the mark ready to move. Keep it casual and act friendly to anyone we encounter. It's still early in the day, but I doubt if anyone will think otherwise if we all appear to have been at an all night celebration. Moreover, it won't draw any undue attention to our inebriated friend back there."

Stepping out of the vehicle, I turn and open the door for Eddy, while Larry shuts off the engine and comes around the rear, stopping momentarily to glance in the rear window at the mark. Before he reaches us, Eddy looks into my eyes and for a moment I get the strongest feeling that she is about to say something important. I half expect an apology or maybe even a proclamation of her love for me. But then she quickly looks away and before I can press her, Larry joins up with us.

Reaching in through the back door, he flips the seat forward and grabs the mark by the back of his shirt collar, dragging him ungracefully across the floor and out the door. He is just barely able to get his feet under him before Larry lets him drop to the pavement.

Although he appears unsteady on his feet, the mark balances between us, his eyes pointing downward as if in defeat. Yet, I don't believe his act for a minute. If our roles were reversed, I would be playing the same stunt, hoping my possum act could lull my captors into letting their guard down.

Without warning, Larry kicks him in the side of the shin, almost knocking him off his feet while sternly ordering him to lay off the act. "That's for the kick you gave my friend," he viciously hisses at the guy.

Despite the pain it must have caused, the mark doesn't bat an eye. In fact, he raises his gaze from the ground and turns it on Larry as if to intimidate him.

But Larry has been around the block and he isn't easily intimidated. What did cause me to take notice even more than the exchange between Larry and the mark was the expression that came over Eddy's face when she witnessed the same cruelty erupting from Larry as she'd seen in me the previous night. It was a mixture of disappointment and revelation. Although she'd been around some in her life, she hasn't lived in the pits and sewers of the world the way Larry and I have. We've become accustomed to the cruelties that man is capable of and have been on the receiving end more than a few times. Sadly, being exposed to such disregard for others has jaded us to the point we only consider the end result and not the means by which we arrive there.

Eddy, on the other hand, still believes in good and empathy. She believes that people can reason and resolve their problems and differences through negotiation, compromise and understanding, despite the harsh blows to which she has been subjected. I almost wish I still possessed some of that innocence and naivety that she somehow manages to hold dear to.

"Come on, let's get moving before someone sees us," I urge them. "Get the room pass from his front right pocket," I add, recognizing the hard plastic credit card shape through the smooth material of his slacks.

When Larry digs into his pocket and retracts the room pass, the mark's eyes turn toward me. Meeting his gaze, I remind him that we haven't really hurt him yet and that so long as he does as ask, we won't. "If you give us any troubles at all, just remember that we don't really need you."

Understanding lights up his eyes and he realizes that we're all players. This isn't the first time we've done something like this and the next time, he might be the one giving the orders. In this line of work, one never knows what's down the road.

"Keep a tight grip on his arm," I suggest to Larry as we move toward the rear entrance.

To our good fortune, the parking lot is devoid of pedestrians as most opt to use the main entrance and the valet parking service thanks to the foul weather. The trip across the wet pavement is uneventful and within a couple of minutes, we are racing through the back door and up a metal flight of stairs.

At the first landing, I slip through the door and out onto a mezzanine. There are several small groups of people as well as a few singles lounging down below in the lobby. Just then, an elevator door slides open almost next to me and I hurry to catch it before the departing gentlemen even see me. Stepping out, they smile and nod as the four of us shuffle in.

"8th floor," Larry reminds me as I push the button.

The door slides shut and the floor rises, carrying us slowly upward.

### **53**

When the floor shimmies to a halt and the doors slide open, we step out into the hall on the 8th floor and turn right after studying the number plaque directly ahead of us. The mark seems to be regaining control of his lower extremities and is actually beginning to walk unassisted by the time we come abreast of room 827. While Larry slips the plastic key through the reader, I glance at the mark's face and am a bit surprised at the extent of bluish-black bruising his face has taken on. I almost feel sorry for the guy and wonder briefly if Larry is losing his touch. The last time I saw someone look this bad from his hands, he'd meant to kill the guy.

As the door opens, Larry goes in first followed by Eddy and then the mark while I keep a hand on his shoulder in case he should feel we're letting our guard down. Holding the mark just within the doorway so I can close it behind us, Larry and Eddy each move off in opposite directions with their first objective being to make certain there isn't anyone else in the room.

Larry returns first, coming from the direction of the bathroom and kitchen. "It's all clear through here," he says, moving off toward the bedroom to see what is taking Eddy so long.

He has no sooner disappeared through the bedroom door when I hear him ask Eddy what she's found. Though my interest is piqued, I remain where I am. My job at this point is only to secure the mark and cover our rear. Larry will bring me up to speed as soon as he gets the opportunity, I need only remain patient.

Although they remain in the bedroom less than a minute all told, it feels much longer to me. Larry comes out first and I notice right off that he's holding something in his left hand. "Look at these," he says, handing them to me.

Taking the proffered items, I'm only slightly surprised to note that one of them is a California driver's license. The other is a credit card from a bank in the San Francisco area.

Slipping the credit card under the driver's license, I take a minute to study the name and face on the license. The picture is that of the man standing silently before me. But now I also have a name if the license isn't a forgery.

David Hytrek; the address unsurprisingly is nothing more than a mail box in San Francisco. "David," I softly mumble, letting it roll off my tongue.

His gaze rises to meet mine and I immediately recognize a mixture of defiance and submission in the depths of his eyes. Because it's only natural for a spirited individual to feel rebellious when caught, I don't put much stock in it. And while the look of submission can be attributed to the fact that he is a professional and thus realizes the futility of resistance against overwhelming odds, he can still be a dangerous individual if the right opportunity presents itself. It's important that we don't let his docile demeanor lull us into a single moment of complacency.

"David, David," I repeat myself. "What kind of trouble did we get ourselves into today?" I gently continue, trying to relay a feeling of comradery between us.

Eddy comes out of the bedroom before he answers, her expression almost accusing me of violence that has yet to happen. In her hands, she is carrying a small black velveteen bag and a brown leather case that looks like a man's typical ditty bag that is more than likely containing his shaving kit and other toiletries.

Larry speaks first, "What did you find there, Eddy?"

Without answering, she flips him the ditty bag. Without a word, he unzips it and extracts a thick wad of cash consisting of mostly hundred dollar bills. "Whew," he whistles, thumbing through the bills. "Must be close to ten G's here."

"Twelve," Hytrek casually remarks, his eyes looking hard at the small velveteen bag still held in Eddy's right hand.

"What else do you have there, Eddy?" I ask, intrigued by Hytrek's undivided attention to the small velveteen sack.

Putting on an act of innocence, she smiles slyly and says, "Would you believe a girl's best friend?"

"Keep the cash, I'll answer your questions and then let me leave with my stones. That's all I ask," Hytrek quickly states, looking more nervous by the second. "I'll tell you anything you want. But let me have my stones and my freedom." When I hesitate, he turns a pleading pair of eyes toward me and adds, "We're all players here. Show a little respect. This time we're on opposite sides of the fence. But next time, we might be partners."

"Trust me, we will never be partners. You might be able to set your morals aside for the almighty buck, but we haven't reached that level and don't ever expect to," I comment dryly, feeling nothing toward the man but disgust for his part in such a deadly scheme. I could forgive him for trying to kill us even though I wouldn't appreciate it. But I can't find it in me to show him any compassion after weighing the consequences of his actions, not to mention that he was prepared to do more.

His type need stopping. They do nothing for the mercenary business but give us all a bad reputation. After all, it only takes one to spoil it for the rest. Yet, I can't reveal my true intentions to him if I expect his cooperation.

"We can help each other, though, if you're willing to work with us," I lie, watching for Larry's reaction to my statement. It isn't necessary for him to tell me how he feels about David Hytrek. We know each other well enough to realize when the other is stringing someone along.

His demeanor visibly relaxes as he begins to believe that he might still walk out of here a free man with his bag of diamonds. "Just ask me what you need to know," he says in a most congenial manner, truly believing that we are all of the same ilk and a deal has been struck.

"Have a seat," I suggest, indicating one of several peach colored barrel chairs. "Do you have any liquor in this place?"

Even before he can nod in the general direction of the kitchen, Larry has found the stash of bottles in a lower cabinet beneath the sink next to a small trash compactor. I was more than a little surprised that the suite didn't have a well stocked bar, because it definitely wasn't an inexpensive hotel.

"Name your poison," Larry says loudly from behind the counter in the kitchen.

"Scotch, neat," he sighs.

Larry sets up four large tumblers and two bottles. Seeing that one is a fifth of West Indies rum instantly raises my spirits. All of a sudden, my wet and muddy clothes are all but forgotten as I anticipate the smooth, mellow spirits.

A long time ago, I made a deal with the devil. He holds up his end of the bargain with each shot of rum that meets my lips. But whether or not I can afford the price that's extracted from me for that deal is still up for debate.

Feeling as if I'm about to make another deal with yet another devil, I say with inflexibility, "Don't get up."

Collecting my drink and Hytrek's neat Scotch from the counter, I take it to him and then immediately set my own tumbler to my lips. Taking a long swallow, I realize with smug satisfaction that it never leaves me disappointed.

With the tumbler held firmly between my hands, I move to stand next to a low coffee table with a plain solid wood top. Planting my right foot on the top, I appear to be standing over the mark, intimidating and yet, not threatening. Studying him in silence, I notice how he only appears to be drinking when in fact, he is barely sniffing off the fragrance of his drink.

But that's his business. He is only doing what it takes to appear non-threatening so as to avoid any further confrontation. There is nothing wrong with wanting to keep a clear mind. Fortunately, some of us actually think with less restriction when we've had a shot to lubricate the brain cells.

Eddy moves over to stand next to me, her eyes on Hytrek while Larry retreats to the restroom while muttering something about not starting until he returns.

He is gone only a minute. When he returns, he drags over another of the ugly barrel chairs and after setting it facing Hytrek, drops heavily into it with his tumbler still almost three quarter's full. Mine is under one half and Eddy has barely sipped at her glass. Maybe I am pushing the rum a bit too fast, but that's neither here nor there.

"Are you aware of _Toxic Rain_?" I ask, trying to sound like an old buddy. "I understand your current employer has the virus and that we have the cure. Is that your take on it?"

"One question at a time," Larry flatly states, giving me an irritated glance. "Let him answer the first question before you ask him another."

Chagrined, I wonder how I could be so stupid. The first rule of interrogation is never ask too many questions, it tells them what you want to know and tips your hand. Each unnecessary word that comes out of the interrogator's mouth is a tell. A small piece of information that can be used against you without your knowledge.

" _Toxic Rain_ is nothing more than a super bad cold," he starts, sounding as though he believes what he's saying.

"If that's the case, why are they willing to kill for the vaccine?" I ask.

"Everyone knows that pharmaceutical companies start small epidemics all the time just so they can sell their drugs that only mask the symptoms. That's how they generate the monies it takes to do all the extensive research they do," he righteously explains, possibly believing the rhetoric that the drug companies spin in their PR scripts.

Larry leans forward in his barrel chair, plants his face in front of Hytrek's and says, "Do you honestly believe that _Toxic Rain_ is nothing more than the simple flu?"

"What else would it be?" he replies, either ignorant of the reality or putting on one damn good act. "It sure isn't the plague."

Taking a different tact, I ask him, "Are they expecting you to check back with them once you take care of the target?"

"Course, they are," he says a bit exasperatedly.

"Then I suggest we make that call. Let them know their dog has done his deed," I say, watching him closely for the little subconscious tell that says he is lying to me. It might be something as innocuous as rubbing his nose or scratching his scalp. Or, it might be as obvious as a nervous twitch of an eyelid or the quavering of his lips. This latter one, I've used myself on occasion when I wanted someone to think I was telling a fib.

But I'm studying him for reasons that I can't quite put my finger on. We basically promised him that we would return his stash of diamonds and set him free if he cooperated. The only reason he has for betraying us is if he intends on collecting more, much more. And by assisting us in taking down his former bosses, he is cutting himself off from the purse strings.

What more he was promised might be something other than just monetary. If the epidemic runs as rampant as Eddy was led to believe by her dead lover, a substantial shift in the power structure of the world might take place. And a man with immunity and the right contacts could leverage himself into a key position of power and set himself up as a regular demigod of sorts. After all, power can be much more alluring than simple cash.

Studying him as Eddy brings the cordless phone over, I subconsciously place my glass against my lips and notice for the first time that I've finished my drink. Self-consciously, I set the empty tumbler on the floor and try hard to ignore it while feeling certain that Eddy and Larry are watching me. Their concern that I may have had too much to drink is touching.

"Tell them you took care of business and you want a meet," I order him.

"It's not a _them_ ," he replies. "It's just one man. If there are any others, I don't know about them. All my dealings have been with him."

It's irrelevant whether I believe him or not and decide to shrug it off. "What's his name?"

"I'm not sure," he says, his voice sounding slightly exasperated with the questions.

"You're not sure or you don't know?" I demand, growing as tired of having to ask the questions as he is of hearing them. "Never mind, just call _him_ and tell _him_ you want to meet with _him_ ," I bark, putting extra emphasis on the word him.

After giving me a cross-eyed glance, he turns his eyes to the receiver in his hand and dials the number. When the other party answers, he simply says, "Yeah, it's me. Job's done. I want a meet." The tell? "Yeah, that'll be fine," he says with finality and presses the disconnect button.

After asking for the meeting and while waiting for the answer, his right ear twitches, a nervous reaction to the betrayal he's planning for us. It was too easy simply because he's the bait that's intended to lead us into a trap.

### **54**

The real McCoy.

That's whom I intend on meeting. Not just another underling, but the real McCoy.

Stepping away from the coffee table, I turn toward the kitchen counter just as Larry comes around the end with the bottle in his hand. "Refill?" he asks, holding it out to me.

"Thanks," I gratefully reply, accepting the bottle of amber liquid. Turning to retrieve my glass from where I'd left it setting on the floor, I ask Hytrek when and where the meet with his boss is.

"He's not my boss," he retorts a bit angrily.

Reaching down, I keep talking while trying to appear casual. The act isn't all that easy when you know he's going to try and kill us, all of us! "Okay, he pays you, he gives you orders, but he's not your boss. So where are we going to meet this man that's not your boss and when?" I sarcastically repeat. If it weren't for the calming effects of the rum, I'd be ripping his head off.

But the situation calls for calm and that's what I am.

"The lab, two hours," he remarks a bit too casually. He's played it out in his head and he's come to terms with his part in it. The anxiety is gone and the killer is once again in control of his motor functions.

"The same place and time he set up with Eddy to make the exchange," I grumble knowingly.

"Why don't you take a shower and put some fresh clothes on, Mac," Larry suggests. "We have plenty of time."

The suggestion sounds good until I consider that Eddy won't be joining me and it suddenly doesn't seem important. The clothes I'm wearing might be a little soiled and wet, but they're dry enough and not terribly uncomfortable any longer.

"I'm fine," I remark, strolling toward the glass patio doors to check out the view. Although I stand quietly as if contemplating the city view, my mind is frantically racing ahead. Even if Hytrek isn't aware of our knowledge, we are quite certain that he is leading us into a trap. But unless we take advantage of this knowledge, it means nothing and has no value.

So how are we to use this to our advantage?

Of one thing, I am certain, I cannot allow Eddy to enter the lab with us. Larry and I can handle ourselves under fire, but not if we have to worry about Eddy at the same time. Somehow, without hurting her feelings, we have to include her in a manner that won't put her in imminent danger.

Lost in my thoughts, I am surprised when Eddy suddenly appears beside me, her voice instantly bringing me back to reality. "They're using this time to set up a trap for us," she says almost casually.

"I know," I reply equally casually while turning to meet her gaze.

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Go in as if we don't have a clue."

"That's insane, unless you want to get us all killed," she retorts unbelievingly.

Turning away from me to look out at the dreary city, I turn also, following her gaze. "Where do we go from here, Eddy?"

"I thought you just said we go into the labs as if we don't have a clue," she replies, feigning ignorance of the true meaning in my question.

"Us, you and me, Eddy," I continue, my voice soft so as not to be overheard.

When she doesn't respond immediately, I slowly continue, "No woman has ever made me feel the way you do, Eddy. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear I've fallen in love with you."

My words bring forth a long moment of silence between us and then in an almost timid voice, she says, "I thought when I first met you that I'd found the kindest, most caring man in the world. You treated me with respect, despite my obvious distaste bordering on animosity toward you. And when I was temporarily incapacitated, you didn't take advantage of me of my vulnerability. Though you teased me that you might," she adds with a smile. "Yet, you showed me a side of you that I'm not ready to accept. A cold, heartless brutality that I would only expect in a ruthless killer, such as the man sitting over there."

"Larry's not really all that bad," I joke.

Slapping me gently on the arm, she scolds, "You know whom I mean. And that's just the type of thing I expect from you. I can deal with that childish and immature side of your nature, but I'm not sure I can handle that side of you that lets you brutally beat up an unarmed man."

"He had it coming, Eddy. And if I didn't do something drastic, he'd only continue doing the bad things he did." I pause for a moment, choosing my words carefully. It wasn't easy for her to approach me and I realize that I might not get another chance to explain myself. "If you think I did what I did simply because I was trying to make it easier for my friend to score with a woman, then you're sadly mistaken. I did what I did because I know the type of man that can beat up a defenseless woman. And unless someone grabs his attention and grabs it hard, he will continue beating up those that are weaker than he is and that goes against my nature. No man has that right and if I ever hear that he is tormenting another woman in any way shape or form, I will hunt him down and do even worse to him. I'm sorry if that offends you, Eddy. But that is me, pure and simple."

Now it's her turn to choose her words carefully before she speaks. "I guess I just wish there was another way. I understand the reasoning behind your actions, but that doesn't mean I condone your actions." She pauses for a long moment before continuing. "You know that I have feelings for you, Mac. That hasn't changed. I just don't know if they're strong enough to move past the side of you that I don't like."

On that note, she turns and retreats back into the main room and takes up a seat by the kitchen counter. I watch her for a moment, acutely aware of a strong pull on my heartstrings. I almost give in and go to her though I realize she is not ready to accept me. Confused, I turn and study the leaden sky out the patio doors as my mind races even faster than before she came and spoke with me.

With the understanding that we're possibly going into a firefight, I should be on the phone calling in favors, maybe even getting my contacts in the justice department to form up a swat team to hit the lab. Yet, the calls will be futile attempts to get them involved until we have something concrete, some hard evidence that will compel them to commit resources to the cause. By then, we might all be dead.

Another option I hadn't considered is calling in some of my old unit. But if I was going to do that, I should have called them days ago while there was still time. Although we all promised each other that if we were ever in need, all we had to do was call. But such a summons takes time. And with just over an hour till we have to be at the lab, there isn't enough time.

Turning away from the door, I notice Eddy has taken up a seat next to Larry, who is still facing Hytrek. They are exchanging few words while just staring at each other. Moving past them and toward the door, I pull up suddenly as I remember the unfinished bottle of rum. It seems like a shame to leave it behind for some housekeeping crew to find and throw out at some point in the future.

Amending my course and swinging around toward the counter, I ask the others, "Would anyone else care for a refresher before we go?"

"We've still got an hour," Hytrek quickly mouths. "If we show up early, he's liable to not be there and if he is, he might take offense. He can be a very exasperating individual when his instructions aren't followed to a 'T'."

Ignoring him, I refill my tumbler and then take the bottle over to Larry, where he is sitting holding out his glass. "Is that really a very good idea?" Eddy questions me, concerned that I might be over indulging when we have serious work ahead of us.

Ignoring her, I refill Larry's tumbler and take note of the look he gives me. Unlike Eddy, he knows my limitations as well as I know his. A bottle of rum might loosen me up a little and have a dampening effect on my reflexes and thought patterns. But a half bottle won't even get me started and Larry is the same. We've been very careful to consume just enough to take the edge off while Hytrek's glass is still almost full. He is being overly cautious and that is his second tell, making it blatantly obvious that he's up to something.

We also know each other well enough to read each other's thoughts with a simple glance and Larry knew the minute Hytrek showed concern about arriving at the lab early, we were on the same page. It was time to go!

With a nod and salutary clink of our glasses, we down the liquor in one long swallow. Taking Larry's glass, I set them on the counter and indicate to Eddy that it's time to get started.

Hytrek instantly becomes visibly anxious. "He won't negotiate with us if we upset him," he blurts, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

There suddenly didn't seem any point in prolonging his time with us and I turn to him. "He wasn't going to negotiate with us from the start," I state matter-of-factly, my voice tinged with anger and impatience at having him try to play us for fools.

Stepping toward him at the same time that he rises from the chair, I swing hard from my hip and clip him beneath the chin with a slight uppercut. The force of my blow catches him off guard as the sound of my fist connecting with his chin echoes in the confines of the room and drives him backwards into his seat.

Though I intended to knock him unconscious, the hit barely stuns him and he pivots to the right as he tries going over the armrest in an attempt to put himself out of my reach. What he hadn't anticipated was Eddy standing just behind him. As he spins over the armrest and lands lithely on his two feet, Eddy swings the empty bottle of rum and strikes a solid blow to the side of his head. For the second time today, he drops like a sack of spuds.

"Nice shot," I smile at her.

Larry, who is halfway between the counter and the door is looking back at the action that has just transpired. "And I thought you'd picked that bottle up to use on Mac," he jokes, smiling at Eddy.

"I had," she breathes softly, standing over the unconscious form of Hytrek.

"Get the ropes from the blinds," Larry orders, sliding seamlessly into the role of commando.

Within a matter of seconds, Hytrek is bound and gagged. Within a few days at most, housekeeping will enter the room and find him. Or the police will find him first, depending on the outcome at the lab. In either case, he's probably going to have a hard time answering all their questions.

When we get down to the SUV, I reach under the rear seat and pull out a large canvas gym bag. Inside is a variety of incendiary devices, small arms, ammunition and other assorted paraphernalia. While I'm laying out the items on the rear seat, Larry goes around to the back and flips up the rear hatch to get to the spare tire compartment. Reaching in, he extracts two fully automatic nine millimeter Uzi's with double hung hundred round clips and a twelve gauge Remington pump that is more commonly referred to as the riot stopper. It has a modified barrel for close work and the plug removed from the magazine to allow extra cartridges. Not exactly legal, but very necessary in our line of work.

"Do you have a preference, Eddy?" Larry asks, looking past me at her.

"She'll be good with a handgun, Larry. She's not going inside," I firmly state, making it clear that the topic is closed to discussion.

"Speak for yourself!" she defiantly protests behind me. Then, looking back at Larry, says in a very calm voice, "I'll take an Uzi and one of the SIGs with a couple of extra clips."

Without a word, he hands her one of the Uzi's over the back seat and right past me. Though I'm tempted to take it from him before she can, I restrain myself. This is the first time that I can remember Larry going against my obvious wishes and for that reason alone, I back down.

Stepping back, I watch her with the sub-machine gun and am only slightly surprised by her adeptness with it. The way she holds it, works the slide to chamber a round and snugs it to her waist to reaffirm the feel of it all tells me this isn't the first time she's handled one of the dirty little bastard weapons. "Just don't shoot one of us in the back," I mouth softly in defeat.

She smiles coyly in response to her little victory as she accepts the 9 MM auto and extra clips as Larry says from the back of the SUV, "Mac and I will carry the grenades."

Still smiling, and obviously quite content with her victory, she says simply, "Fine."

Taking the shotgun, a couple of grenades, and my magnum, I stuff my pockets with extra rounds and climb into the passenger's seat, leaving the back door open for Eddy. Because I think she thought that I was going to argue harder against her entering the lab with Larry and me, she is satisfying herself with the victory and not pushing me. What she doesn't know is that when we reach the lab warehouse, I still intend on insisting that she hang back with the vehicle. If Larry won't agree to that, she can bring up the rear.

The rear door slams shut at the same time Larry drops the hatch and after sliding into the driver's seat, turns to us and says, "Game time."

Turning the key, the engine fires up and we leave the hotel behind as we pull out into traffic and head toward the defunct lab. Within minutes, the real excitement will start.

### **55**

As we enter the street running in front of the lab, Larry slows to a crawl. Our first reaction is one of surprise as we immediately notice the street is devoid of all traffic. It's almost as if someone has set up a roadblock preventing both pedestrian and motorized traffic from entering this little corner of Hell. Without realizing that I'm doing so, my hand goes to the heavy bulk of the magnum tucked away in the holster riding just beneath my left armpit while the shotgun is held loosely in my left hand and resting lightly across my lap with the barrel aimed toward the door.

Larry also subconsciously checks the placement of the Uzi resting on his lap and I'm certain that Eddy is doing pretty much the same in the rear seat. The desolation of the street, despite the rain and overcast sky, seems unnatural bordering on surreal. The tension in the SUV becomes thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Maybe we should go on foot from here," I suggest, the confinement of the SUV suddenly bringing on a claustrophobic sensation while my eyes scan the further rooftops for movement and potential snipers.

Glancing over my shoulder, I notice Eddy with the Uzi held at the ready, her gaze darting from first one dust covered window to a vacant stoop and then quickly across to the other side of the street before twisting her head back again for fear of having overlooked something. She is rightfully nervous. Because of the lack of other vehicles on the street, we feel overly exposed and vulnerable in the SUV.

Pulling over to the curb, we sit in silence for a long moment and breathe deeply to instill a sense of calm as we ready ourselves for the next leg of the journey. Nothing moves on the street. No one comes or goes from the other buildings even though they still appear to be in use.

"Eddy, you wait here..." I start to say, when she abruptly cuts me off.

"I knew this was coming," she angrily cries out. "Well, for your information, I have no intention of sitting here idly in this car while you two go out and play _Action Super Hero's_. If it wasn't for me, neither of you would even be here." Sitting back in a huff of determination, she adds, "I go with or I go on my own."

"You said she can take care of herself," Larry says with a knowing smirk.

Begrudgingly, I admit, "She can. But she's our client, Larry, and we don't put our clients in danger."

Looking back at Eddy in the rear seat, Larry winks conspiratorially and then turns back toward the front. "Technically, she's not our client, Mac. If anything, we owe her a finder's fee for turning us on to this potential global threat. Our real client is the American people."

"Don't start playing games, Larry," I protest, even though I'm determined that if he isn't backing me on this, it's not going to change the fact that Eddy isn't going in alone.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling loudly, I slump back in the seat in resignation. "Okay. I give up. I can't fight the both of you. You can come with, but only as backup. Larry and I go in alone. You remain outside by the front door and protect our rear. It'll be your job to call the police if all Hell breaks loose." Turning in the seat to face her, I determinedly add, "You will do whatever I say without hesitation, no matter how stupid it might sound at the time. No questions, just complete subservience. Do you understand?"

Smiling coyly, she replies, "I knew there was something of a domination complex going on in your head from the first time we made love." While Larry chuckles softly, she leans forward in the seat until her face is within mere inches of mine and says, "Any way you like it, Big Fella."

Though I should have felt my anger rise at her teasing humiliation, it takes all of my willpower not to reach over the seat and pull her face the last couple of inches to mine and grind our lips together. Even in this last moment of peace before we go to war, I feel a strong desire for her growing low in my stomach and with it, an aching longing to be with her.

Her blonde tresses are pushed up under a black knit stocking cap with just a few loose tendrils dangling teasingly down her right cheek. Her skin is flushed with the excitement and anxiety of what we are about to undertake while her lips are full and moist. Despite the circumstances or because of them, she appears on the verge of thrilling ecstasy. It is almost more than I can do to restrain myself.

Larry's voice brings us back to the moment. "If you two lovebirds are done bantering, we do have a job to take care of."

With almost physical pain, I tear my eyes from hers and turn back to face the building looming before us.

"Did he say where in the building you were to meet him?" Larry asks of Eddy.

"Yeah," she starts and then clears her throat before she can go on. "On the second floor, room 208, near the rear. He said to use the elevators to the right when I enter."

"You've been in there before," I start, wanting to turn around and look at her again just to take one last memorable look at the beauty of her so I can brand the imprint of her face in my mind for all time. Yet, I am too fearful of the emotions that are threatening to overwhelm me. Instead, I continue staring straight ahead as if studying the interior of the building through the walls with my mind. "Is there a stairwell and where is it in relation to the elevator?"

"The stairwell is to the left as you enter," she easily replies, no longer any hint of the prior anguish in her voice, such as what I'm experiencing.

"Where is room 208 in relation to the elevators and the stairwell?" Larry asks her, his own demeanor relaxed and comfortable. "I'm assuming he picked a room near the rear so he can set up multiple traps on the chance you come with help. It's going to be like working our way through a maze, Mac."

The tension between Eddy and I is little more than entertainment to him. The seriousness of the business we are about to attend to has his attention over everything else. At his heart and soul, he is a warrior first and foremost. I've watched him slip into this casual appearing mood many times before and I suddenly realize that I should be doing the same-this is no time for distractions!

As my attention refocuses on the mission at hand, I grow aware of Eddy's voice behind me. Like Larry, she too sounds cool and relaxed. "To get to room 208 from where the elevator lets you out, you go right approximately fifty feet along a narrow hallway following the exterior wall of the building. There aren't any windows facing outside, but on your left you'll see a large, open room with windows facing out along the entire length of the hallway."

"What's the room used for?" Larry questions her, drawing a mental image of the place in his mind.

"It's individual work stations separated by clear Plexi-glass dividers. They're really nothing more than small counters with sinks, faucets and gas hookups for Bunsen burners. Beneath each workstation is an open shelf stocked with your garden variety of flasks, test tubes and Petri dishes. You won't find any chemicals or storage of such at the workstations. These are for the under-undergrads, if you know what I mean," she says, understanding that we need these little details if we're to be prepared for any contingency once we get inside.

"Where did Mark work?" I quietly mouth, acutely aware of feeling jealous of a dead man.

"The real chemists and biologists work on the third and fourth floors. They assigned the simple and routine procedures to the workers on the second floor." She hesitates a moment, struck by a poignant memory of the man that she once shared her life with. For the briefest of moments, I regret having dredged up his memory. When she continues, her voice is calm and deliberate. "All the serious chemicals and bio agents are stored in the basement in proper conditions and containers dependant on the individual items' needs."

"We shouldn't have to go into the basement," Larry states, his plan of operation already formed in his mind. "Fifty feet down the hall to the right. Then what?"

"There is an emergency exit to the right and a hall leading off to the left as it follows along the exterior of the lab room. This section of hallway is windowless. Except for the overhead fluorescents, it's a drab white hall. Fifty feet more and you'll come to another branch in the hall. The branch to the right takes you into the next wing of labs, offices and maintenance quarters."

"What's on the left?" Larry presses, sensing the burning of time.

"To the left is the rear door to the lab room. Just inside the door is a portable emergency shower and eyewash station. It's nothing as sophisticated as the decontamination cubicles on the upper floors," she quickly clarifies. "Just a simple walkthrough shower station. The ones at all the lab entrances on the upper floors have doors and vacuum systems to prevent the transfer of bio-agents in the air as well as cleaning off contaminated workers. Moreover, the doors can be remotely locked if needed to quarantine off areas in case of an emergency," she adds, her mind walking through the familiar halls and corridors of the large warehouse type structure.

"Room 208? Off to the right, I presume," Larry presses her, his voice gradually growing impatient as he fidgets in the seat, his eyes first on the building before us and then darting to the rearview mirrors.

"Not quite there yet. Continue past this junction until you reach the end of the hall. The left leads to the stairs in the main lobby while on the right is another hallway. Three doors down this hallway on the right is room 208." Anticipating his next question, she starts, "If you go up the stairs, you'll come to a short catwalk that's exposed to the left overlooking that open loading dock that you see right there." Glancing over my left shoulder, I see her pointing to the loading dock located to the left of the main entrance. "If you squint against the darker interior, you can just make out the floor and railing of the catwalk from here."

If she hadn't pointed it out, I wouldn't have realized what I was looking at. At the same moment that I do, so does Larry. Simultaneously, we duck down in the front seat, acutely aware of either a sniper scope or a spotting scope studying us from the left hand corner of the catwalk.

"What is it?" Eddy nervously inquires from her crouching position in the back seat.

"They've already made us," I murmur.

"If they wanted to kill us in broad daylight, they already would have," Larry begrudgingly admits. "We've really let our guard down on this one," he reprimands both of us for our carelessness. "Of course, they don't know for sure yet if we're alone or not."

"They know now that we're aware of them and you're definitely not going in there, Eddy," I state firmly.

"What are we going to do then?" she anxiously asks of us.

"What we always do," Larry states with bravado. "We go and introduce ourselves as your emissary.

"But they know we're not here to make a deal now," she says incredulously.

"No, not really," I calmly offer. "They only know that you're not alone. They have no idea what our role in this is yet. At least, not until we make it apparent. And to do that, we have to go inside and introduce ourselves."

"You can't be serious?" she blurts unbelievingly. "What's to stop them from killing you?"

"You forget, we still have something they want or need," I flippantly reply.

"And you forget that Hytrek guy was sent to kill me, not to take me out to dinner and wine and dine me on their behalf!" she cries out.

A small part of me suspects that her concern for my safety is selfish on her part and not just from being a nice person. "We don't really know that for certain," I suggest. "He might have been sent to follow you in order to find out where you stashed the vaccine. And then, he would have killed you."

"Unless we're willing to run with our tails between our legs, we're going ahead with this operation as planned," Larry determinedly professes. "There's just one minor change we need to make and that's these," he says with an exaggerated drawl as he reaches down beneath the driver's seat and pulls out a brown paper bag. Inside the bag are two tin soup cans with their labels removed. On one end of the cans is a fitting with internal threads. On the other end of the cans is an opening with a few loose yellow threads protruding.

Handing one to Eddy, he says, "Screw this over the barrel of the Uzi. And set the auto to off. There aren't any sights, not that they would be much good on these inaccurate things anyway, so you'll just have to point and squeeze. One shot at a time. Don't fire a burst unless you absolutely have to. Make your shots count and don't waste ammo," he adds in a kindly tone.

"Aside from the use of ammo aspect, why not full auto?" she innocently inquires.

"You'll see why real quick if you go to full auto," Larry simply remarks. And then with a lopsided grin, adds, "Let's hope you don't need the full auto and then when we're all done here, Mac can explain it to you. Meanwhile, let's go. I believe they're waiting for us."

### **56**

Going on the assumption that if they wanted to kill us, they already would have, we step out of the SUV while being careful to keep our weapons concealed behind the cover of the open doors until we get them beneath our winter coats. The Uzi's aren't much of a problem, but the shotgun, even with the modified barrel, still protrudes beyond the hem of my coat. For a moment, I consider leaving it behind. After all, I still have the magnum tucked securely beneath my left armpit.

Opting to keep the shotgun, we start off toward the front of the building. "Eddy, you remain out front of the doors. Larry, you got the stairwell on the left. I'm going up the elevator," I state softly.

"If we don't see anyone else, I'm taking out the eyes on the catwalk," Larry boldly remarks.

"We need to verify the bad guys before we start killing," I disagree.

"What? Let them kill us first?" he angrily retorts. "We haven't survived this long by always being the good guys in white hats. We either take the fight to them or we turn tail and back out of here now!"

He made a good point, though I couldn't quite agree with him. Beating someone up and killing them are two very different things. "No! Unless they fire on us, we hold off. There's a good chance they really do want to deal and our opportunity to take them down with the goods will present itself. Without the backing of the justice department on this, we can't risk collateral damage," I commandingly state, stopping in my tracks.

"All right, have it your way," he concedes and we start walking again. "But bear this in mind, if I have to die today, I'm going to hang around and make your life hell!"

"Nothing new there," I smirk.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Eddy studying me anew. During the brief exchange with Larry, she didn't say a word one way or the other. Yet, knowing her as intimately as I now do, I can't help but feel she approves of my stand on not being the first to draw blood.

It's a calculated risk and as we trudge along the deserted road with the rain softly pelting us and our feet splashing in the flow of water as it heads toward the storm drains set along the sidewalk's edge, I worry that I made the right stand. At any moment, a hot streaming slug could tear through our fragile clothing and embed itself in our vulnerable flesh, easily killing one or all of us before we even get the opportunity to raise our weapons in defense.

Yet, I feel strongly that the men watching us would prefer doing their killing in private and not out on the open street where an unexpected witness is always a liability. Moreover, my gut is telling me that they want what Eddy took from them. After they get what they want, then and only then will they try to kill us.

"Rooftop, two o'clock, sniper," Larry softly mouths. When Eddy's eyes dart upward, he quickly scolds her, "Don't make it so obvious that we've spotted them. Just remember when we make our retreat, they're going to be waiting to pick us off."

In her defense, I gently remark, "They know that we already know this is a trap. Maybe if they suspect we've marked their positions, it'll make them nervous. They may suspect that we're wired and are relaying their positions to SWAT as we walk. Why else would we be so bold as to stroll right into the mouth of the tiger."

"They may just assume we're idiots," Larry mumbles softly.

We are over half way between the SUV and the front door of the building, a little less distance to the open catwalk above the loading dock, when Eddy says, "There are three of them on the catwalk above the dock and I saw a shadow move through the lobby toward the elevator doors."

"Good eyes," Larry praises her. It didn't warrant telling her that we'd already made these notations. "Unless they follow us into the interior of the building, you're going to have your hands full covering our backs, sweetheart. And don't forget, if you hear even a single shot from inside, don't hesitate to take them out first. Our lives may depend on it."

Although his words sound dramatic even to my ears, they are spoken in a deadly serious tone. If we get into a firefight within the confines of the building, it's going to depend on her ability to clear a safe path back to the exit that will determine whether we live to fight another day or not.

Less than fifty feet from the front doors now and two of the men on the catwalk suddenly rise to their feet and expose themselves before turning and walking off into the interior of the building. It was their way of acknowledging to us that they are going to allow us clear access to room 208. A meeting is going to take place. The outcome of which is yet to be determined.

The third man still in cover on the catwalk is sporting a bolt-action, high-powered sniper rifle with a large scope mounted above the action. His weapon will be virtually useless in close combat. And even though he is probably packing a concealed handgun, his purpose is very specific-no one leaves alive.

To the untrained eye, he appears at first glance to be a government agent, just like the train of SUVs that trailed us back on the coast. There is without a doubt some serious money behind this operation because I have no reservations anymore that this force is ex-black ops. They're all government trained, outfitted with the best gear and in their comfort zone.

The main problem dealing with ex-government commandos that have gone mercenary is their individual lack of morals. They made a conscious decision to take the road of greedy self-fulfillment while throwing over the high road of doing what is best for the country and their fellow man. Having come from the same background, Larry and I can relate even if we don't agree. Just because we make a dollar now and again through the use of our training, we still believe we are fighting the good fight and not for selfish reasons.

Moving past the loading dock and stepping up on the sidewalk in front of the main entrance, we all notice a flurry of shadows fading down the hall next to the stairwell. Pausing before the doors, I ask Eddy, "Where does that hallway lead?"

"The main warehouse. The doors of the loading dock and that hallway lead to the same place. All shipments coming and going are sorted back there and then they are either elevated up to the labs or down to the storage area in the basement," she answers, her voice relatively calm, all things considered. This is the Eddy I met way back when at the pub, cool, calm and all business. The emotionally vulnerable, soft and sexy woman of the casino was gone. She'd been replaced by this cold and calculating machine of efficiency. And yet, glancing at her, I can feel the blood rushing to my groin and uncomfortable pressure against the tight denim of my jeans. She brings out the desire in me without even realizing it or even trying.

As if reading my thoughts, Larry asks, "Are you ready?"

Putting the memories of her in my bed aside, I take a deep breath and say, "Eddy, this is as far as you go."

Her head turns slightly as her gaze meets mine. Looking into her eyes, I see the frigid depths of her character. Depths that she seldom reaches. But are always there, ready to protect her fragile soul against pain and loss of both a physical and emotional nature.

Continuing to gaze into her eyes, I witness a change take place and I realize that she is torn between her cold and calculating persona that she wears when the situation demands it and the softer, more vulnerable woman that loves me.

This gaze lasts only a tenth of a second before the ice freezes over and I'm suddenly standing out in the cold looking in once again with my own emotions on the verge of chaos. It physically pains me to see her inner self shut off to me. For an instant, I almost reach out to her in a feeble attempt to offer her succor. But then I remember where I am and what is about to go down and I force myself to put it out of my mind and turn away. She is a tough woman. When this is over, maybe I can make it up to her and prove to her somehow that I'm not the bad person she seems to have come to believe I am.

The front doors are set at an acute angle from the loading dock that hides her from view of the man with the sniper rifle on the catwalk. And if someone approaches from either side of the building, Eddy will see them coming with enough time to seek cover or take offensive action. In fact, if the attack comes from any front excepting that from within the building, Eddy will have time to take action of either an evasive or offensive type. If the attack comes from within the building it will mean Larry and mine's escape route has been compromised.

Of course, that is assuming she remains at her post outside the front doors. And what woman has ever done what she was told? In fact, I think I would have been a little disappointed in her if she had. Because she is willing to risk her life to achieve what she started out to do so many days ago only further exemplifies her spiritedness-the wild side of her that I find so appealing and irresistible. Yet, while Larry and I enter through the doors, she remains at her post like an obedient child.

Going through the doors first, I move cautiously yet steadily in the direction of the elevator while Larry slips in behind me and moves with much more speed and stealth toward the stairs, his objective the sniper up on the catwalk. Using all of his training and expertise, he will attempt to take out the sniper without the use of deadly force if such is possible. It isn't our intention to upset our hosts any sooner than necessary. As players in this game, everyone understands the unspoken rule. Until we meet and discuss possibilities with the air of honorable gentlemen, no one opens fire. We are in the United States, after all and not some third world country!

Although my concerns are for Eddy's safety, I realize even now as I head toward the elevator that she is going to blow off my instructions and enter the building the moment Larry and I are out of sight. I really don't expect any less of her and yet, I couldn't openly allow myself to admit it. She has proven that she is capable of taking care of herself on more than one occasion and we need someone with her abilities to bring up the rear and keep an escape route open.

Stopping in front of the elevator, I glance back toward Larry just in time to see him crest the top step and push open the fire door. Through the opening, I see the sniper rise from behind his concealment to face him while leaving the high-powered rifle resting on its miniature tripod and reaching within his flak jacket for a handgun. My heart jumps into my throat as I watch in silence, waiting for Larry's weapon to belch a silent round of death and willing an alternative outcome.

It never dawns on me that Larry isn't going to shoot in self-defense until he lunges the remaining twelve feet separating him from the sniper. Even as the handgun clears the flak jacket and turns toward Larry's extended body sailing through the air, his fists lash out, striking the sniper a stunning blow to the side of the head that knocks him unconscious. Together, they land in a heap on the floor of the catwalk.

Larry agilely rolls to his feet and spins back toward the sniper to verify the outcome of the blow while the sniper remains in an unconscious heap where he fell. Glancing over the railing to survey the area before the warehouse in the direction of the SUV and not seeing anything of concern, he then turns around and sees me watching up at him. Smiling, he gives me the high sign of victory.

It's during moments such as these that remind us we're alive. When the adrenaline is flowing wide open and our senses are heightened by the risk and extreme danger. Our very lives are dependant on our skills, reflexes and most importantly, our survival instincts. This is what we live for!

Nodding my approval, I glance toward the entrance and note that Eddy is still outside. She looks first one way and then the other before pressing her face up against the glass in the door in an attempt to see what's happening. When she sees me looking back at her, she quickly turns away and again studiously studies the street in first one direction and then the other.

It isn't necessary for me to look back in Larry's direction to know that he is already on the move. Pressing the elevator call button, I'm not surprised when the door immediately slides open. With a bit of trepidation, I enter the vacant cubicle and the door just as quickly slides closed behind me.

Although I suspected there were video cameras monitoring the main lobby and entrance, I hadn't figured on the entire building being wired. At this moment, Larry's progress through the back hallway is probably being closely observed by our hosts just as mine is in this elevator.

The realization is a bit unnerving even though we suspected as much before we ever entered the place. It's just one more reason why we can't use deadly force at this stage of the game. We can't let them know that we're capable of lethal action until it is absolutely necessary as doing such will only escalate the danger level.

When the elevator reaches the second floor, it comes to an abrupt halt and the door silently slides open. Because it doesn't close immediately and instead patiently waits for me to exit, I can't help but feel that it's a sentient being even though I know it's being remotely controlled.

Stepping through the opening, I fight the urge to search out the cameras that are watching my every move. Instead, I take only a preemptory glance to my right and then left before proceeding ahead as Eddy had been instructed to do back at the offices. Moving slower than normal, I am suddenly overcome by a feeling of desolation as one might feel when cut off from friends and family. I silently wish that we had wired ourselves for communication despite the risk of being eavesdropped on.

But we didn't and all I can do now is move forward and continue with the plan, such as it is.

The lab of individual workstations are dark and deserted on my left as Eddy had described. On my right is a solid wall of FRP paneling which, if Eddy is correct and my instincts lead me to believe her, is the exterior wall of the building. Behind the FRP is probably a layer of sheetrock followed by insulation between steel studs and an exterior of wood paneling covered with wire mesh and stucco. Blowing a hole with the grenades for a means of escape might be doable. But it might also be a waste of explosives that might be used for a better purpose elsewhere. Plus, while a second story leap might look cool in the movies, it can be very painful and even crippling if one lands wrong.

### **57**

Walking down the gloomy and desolate hallway, my thoughts turn to Eddy. Is she still waiting outside the front doors and keeping our escape route open? Or has she grown impatient already and ventured into the building and is right now searching through the lobby for anything that might be useful. If she finds the hidden cameras for the surveillance system and takes them out, her value will have been proven. And if this is a trap that we've strolled into as we expect it to be, she might just buy us enough time to get our asses back out.

So, when this is over, what happens to us? Do we go our separate ways? Or do we try to build some kind of future together? Except for a mutual lust that we have for each other, is there something more there to build on? And, more importantly, which one of us is willing to give up the lifestyle we've come to accept in this world of instability and chaos that we so frequently find ourselves? Because for us to live together, one or the other is going to have to make some serious sacrifices if it has any chance of lasting.

To my surprise, I find myself envisioning a life of sacrifice for her. Although I've been with many women and even thought I'd fallen in love with more than a few, none have ever made me feel the way she does. Without even realizing that she's doing it, she makes me feel complete as if all that is wrong with the world is insignificant so long as we're together. In all honesty, I think I might be able to change my bachelor lifestyle enough to accommodate her if she will meet me half way.

Halfway is just how far down the hallway I am when I suddenly remember that it was my character traits that caused her to distance herself from me. Until I can prove to her that I'm not really a callous and uncaring individual, she will never love me the way I love her.

Turning the corner, I continue on down the hallway until I'm standing outside a doorway on my left that leads into the open lab room. On my right is another long, empty corridor. However, this one has several doors along the right hand side near the far end. Moving forward till I reach the end of the hallway, I glance first to the left and a hallway that will take me to the catwalk. On the right is a hallway lined with doors. Behind these doors are offices and conference rooms. 208 should be the third door down on the right.

If Larry is on course and still moving forward, he should be approaching from the other end of the hall to my six.

I no sooner think the thought then I see him slip around the far corner and advance toward me. Instead of continuing on toward my destination, I move past the hallway to my right and go forward to tie up with Larry. We had anticipated needing support from one or the other at this point. But not having encountered any resistance in the halls, we decide to take another approach.

"Circle back and continue along there to your right. Come in from the far end of this hallway here," I suggest, indicating for him to retreat to the end of this hall and continue on the other hallway until he can work his way around the rear of the building and back from the far side. It's a move they can't be anticipating and will hopefully give us a small amount of surprise if we need it.

"Gotcha," he whispers before turning and retreating the way he'd come.

Although there aren't any signs of cameras in the halls, we can't be completely certain that they aren't following our every move. Larry's retreat and change of course might all be for naught.

But since we don't have any other options, I turn back toward the last hallway and follow it to room 208. Moving past the first door, I pause briefly and put my ear against the white plastic-coated wood and listen for movement within. When only silence assails me, I crouch down low and look along the lower edge. Not surprisingly, the bottom seal is tight and doesn't allow neither light nor air movement through. This is a lab building after all and the doors were probably built to seal tight in the case of an emergency.

Approaching the second door, I repeat the same thorough inspection and again find neither light nor sound escaping beyond the threshold.

When I come to the third door, room 208, I study it with an even more scrutinizing eye. Since I am certain that someone is waiting on the far side, I place my ear against the cold material and patiently listen. This time, I hear something very faint.

Voices! Although it's impossible to make out what is being said, I can hear two distinct voices on the far side of the door.

Listening intently, I sense more than actually hear something familiar in one of the voices. The pitch and timbre of the voice though barely distinguishable strikes a familiar chord in my memory.

Intent on the voices beyond the door, Eddy's voice suddenly startles me when she asks over my shoulder, "What is it?"

Angered and embarrassed at being caught off guard, I turn on her while hissing at her to be silent. Yet, when I turn back to the door, she whispers indignantly, "We were invited, after all."

Rising, I angrily whisper back, "Yes, we were."

"They already know we're here so why not just knock?" she continues, further infuriating me.

"You were supposed to watch our backs. What are you doing here?" I hiss softly, my anger evaporating as quickly as it rose. I can never tell her as much, but inside, I am grateful for her presence.

"Except for that other guy on the roof across the street, I didn't see anyone else. And besides," she coyly adds, her lips forming a pout, "I was worried about you."

"I should send you back. But shit, since you're already here, it might be safer for you to stay," I begrudgingly acknowledge. "Stand aside and wait here for me," I firmly command her. "Under no circumstances do you follow me in there. Are we clear?"

Sliding the action of the Uzi back just enough to visually verify a round in the chamber, she smiles at me and says, "Ready when you are."

I've never known a woman, or even a man for that matter, that could remain so calm and collected under such tense circumstances. Although we are about to enter the unknown, she isn't frightened in the least. Or if she is, she isn't letting it show, which takes almost as much bravado as facing the fear.

In this defining moment with our adrenaline levels soaring and we're about to risk our lives for a noble cause, I couldn't have been prouder of her.

With the butt of the shotgun, I thump loudly three times against the door and wait.

"Come in. The doors unlocked," someone yells from inside, their voice faint through the thick laminate door.

Looking at Eddy and nodding one last time for her to stay put, I reach for the knob and turn it, feeling the latch slide clear. Gently, yet firmly enough to send the door swinging inward, I push off the knob and grab the slide action of the shotgun. With my finger on the trigger, I step forward into the brightly lit room.

### **58**

When I am barely into the room, Eddy suddenly presses a firm hand against my back and forces me to step aside to make room for her to take a stand beside me. Glancing out of the corner of my eye for just the briefest of seconds, I see her standing spread legged with the Uzi waist high and poised for action before her. The thought that she might make an equal partner in Larry and mine's business passes fleetingly across my mind.

"What the Hell," she mutters, her eyes looking straight ahead.

The room is empty except for a bright array of fluorescent lights overhead. The walls to our left and right at approximately eight feet distant in either direction are bare. No furniture, no pictures, no desk, nothing.

Directly ahead of us is another door. Only this one is clear as well as the walls to either side of it. It looks like a glass box set in a much larger room, yet the walls are the same walls as in this room. However, the far wall is opaque white with yet another door which is slowly closing as someone has just gone through it.

Without giving thought to her actions, Eddy charges after the fleeing individual or individuals.

"Wait!" I command her, stopping her just short of the glass door. "I don't like this."

"They obviously want us to follow them," she argues, torn between heeding my order and continuing pell-mell ahead.

"Why? Why couldn't they just talk to us in here?" I question her, further troubling her thoughts with indecision. "Larry will be here shortly. We'll wait for him and then decide what to do."

"They'll be gone by then," she pleads anxiously, her body hyped on adrenaline. "He can bail us out if we get into trouble," she hurriedly adds.

"We'll check out the next room only and no farther," I relinquish, moving to inspect the clear door before going beyond it.

With reckless abandon, Eddy slips past me and swiftly combs through the small cubicle. "It's an isolation chamber," she excitedly calls out.

"What's an isolation chamber?" I ask, noticing the toilet bowl and sink off to the right with a shower nozzle next to them protruding from the ceiling.

"If you become contaminated in the lab which is probably beyond that door," she starts, indicating the door through which the men previously in this room went. "You get in here and shower down. This room is hermetically sealed and vacuum drafted to prevent anything biological escaping into the rest of the building."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," she mimics. "See the slots in the wall. That's where they feed you during your stay in here. Vacuum pressure keeps everything airborne contained in here."

"You seem to know a lot about this place," I murmur, studying the different features as I notice them for the first time.

"I used to work for this company, remember. All employs are trained in the event of an emergency. That's an OSHA requirement."

Without warning, the door suddenly shuts behind us and a humming noise fills the air. From what sounds like a far distance, we hear a siren wailing. Just then the door to the hallway opens and two men walk in. My first instinct is to shoot out the glass separating us from them. But when I raise the butt of the shotgun, the man on the right raises his right hand, indicating for me to stop.

Not understanding my own actions, but sensing it's the right thing to do, I heed his silent command and slowly lower the weapon, though not entirely. "Hold your fire, Eddy," I softly advise, concerned that she might fire a burst through the glass door. "What's going on, Mick? I thought we had a deal."

"We did, Mac," he nervously replies.

His skin is pale and he doesn't look like his usual confident self. Studying him closer, I notice a heavy bead of sweat lining his forehead and the collar of his white business shirt is dark with perspiration.

"You don't look so well, Mick. Who's the gentleman with you?" I ask, trying to sound cordial and relaxed. I can't shake the feeling that Eddy and I are the equivalent of a pair of goldfish in a fishbowl, literally.

Eddy whispers beside me, "That's the man that wants the vaccine."

"That's right, young lady," the older, more distinguished looking man acknowledges. "I want the vaccine you stole from me. But now, I'm not willing to pay for it. You will turn it over to me, or you will die. It's as simple as that," he says with a twisted smile.

"We don't have it," I quickly advise him. "You didn't really think we would be stupid enough to bring it with us?"

"You hear that Mick. Your friend there says he doesn't have it. That's too bad now isn't it?"

"Mac. I'm begging you. You have to give him the vaccine," Mick suddenly cries out, his voice on the verge of hysterics.

Ignoring Mick's pleas, I look at the older man and ask of him, "Who are you? And why is it so important to Mick that I give you the vaccine?"

"My name is unimportant. But let it suffice to say, I am the real McCoy," he replies with a knowing wink. Moving slowly, his joints seeming to pain him, the old man approaches the glass. I've looked into the eyes of victims and I've looked into the eyes of psychopath killers and I can see clearly that he is unafraid of us. "Let me bring you up to date, Mr. McClain."

"Please, just call me Mac," I interrupt him.

"Okay, if you say so, Mac. So as not to confuse you, I will start at the beginning, if you don't mind."

"No, not at all," I agree, pretending I have a choice.

"Oh, lest I forget, your dear friend has been detained," he says, watching for our reaction.

"I could kill you both right now," I hiss. "We didn't kill anyone coming in here and we expected the same of you."

"Oh, I assure you, he is not dead. No, no. He will be brought around soon enough. In fact, after I tell you my story, your lives will depend entirely on his actions." When I grizzle up and step toward the glass door separating us, he pauses and raises his hand as if directing traffic in an intersection. "Calm, calm, Mr., excuse me, Mac. Trust me, you do not want to break that protective barrier." When I start to protest, he raises his hand again and says, "Let me tell you my story, Mac, and then you will understand completely."

"Just make it quick, I ain't got all night," I mumble irritably.

"That's better," he smiles. Meanwhile, Mick has sidled over to a wall and is using it to support himself. His condition seems to be worsening by the minute. "For many years, Mac, and you too, Miss Lotto, my pharmaceutical company manufactured drugs to combat the effects of the common cold while using many of the profits for research. We worked nobly to find cures for everything from cancer to migraines. Research is very expensive and unless you discover something saleable, a drain on a company. When the cure for the common cold was developed many years ago it was determined by several key players in the industry to hold it back from the public for financial reasons. It seemed harmless enough since very few people ever die from the common cold. It's more of an aggravating nuisance than anything else."

"Hell of an inconvenience to the poor saps that are sick," I grumble.

"Yes, that may be true," he actually agrees. "If you'll let me continue, we still have a lot of ground to cover here."

"By all means," I reply with a slight bow for effect.

Ignoring my sarcasm, he quickly continues. "The pharmaceutical companies upped the stakes when we started offering flu shots for viruses that we were responsible for breeding and disseminating."

"You got really cheeky, when you started charging for the damn flu shots to boot," I quip with ire amusement. So far, he wasn't telling me anything that most people didn't already suspect. Or at least, most people with a mild case of paranoia.

Still ignoring me, he goes on in his monotone lecturing voice. It would be easy to envision him standing before a podium with a group of college students and faculty hanging on his every word.

"Between the monies spent by the public on cold remedies, allergies and all the other paraphernalia associated with alleviating the symptoms of colds and flues, the pharmaceutical companies were doing quite well. But when that upstart went against the establishment and made the cure for the common cold available to the general public, he had no idea what a catastrophic chain of events he was setting off. Monies were drying up left and right and research quickly became a luxury. Just to remain a viable business, it became imperative that company's cut their research budget, many of them completely eliminating research altogether. However, that alone wasn't enough. With only sales from real drugs, we couldn't remain in business. By then, knock-offs were running away with what little market was left."

"Don't blame me if I can't find it within my soul to feel sorry for you," I softly grumble.

"Generic drugs should never have been allowed on the market!" he suddenly vents, his composure momentarily fractured. But as quickly as he appears disturbed, his calm returns.

"Yeah, forget the poor folks that refuse to buy insurance," I remark.

"Facing dwindling revenues, a select few of us banded together and came up with a plan. We all realized that facing a lack of research monies it was only a matter of time before some super bug surfaced and millions of innocent people were going to die." He pauses to take a breath and my glance slews over to Mick. His skin is a pasty shade of grey looking like death warmed over and he has started shaking with a cold sweat. With perspiration running down his forehead and seeping clear through his outer jacket, he slowly turns his head in my direction. Following my gaze, the distinguished fellow that refers to himself simply as the real McCoy, turns slowly toward Mick and says, "Pay close attention, Mac, Miss Lotto. What you are witnessing here is the latter stages of _Toxic Rain_. We hadn't done enough research prior to things getting out of hand to know whether or not the vaccine will be of any value to Mr. Vercelli at this stage. Personally, I think he is beyond saving and his usefulness to me is finished anyway. But it will be a good test of the vaccine, don't you think?"

"You infected him with the virus?" Eddy cries out, her voice on the verge of hysterics.

"Oh no, we didn't infect him. He did that all on his own." Turning back to face Eddy and me, he continues in his monotone. "Mr. Vercelli thought he could do better than what I was paying him so he tried to steal enough _Toxic Rain_ to become a threat. All he succeeded in doing was contaminating himself and now he's paying the consequences of his greedy actions."

"If he's infected than what about you?" I inquire with new interest.

"Fortunately for me the vaccine is a winning success. But since you two haven't been vaccinated, you're still very vulnerable and that's why I highly recommend you don't break the glass separating us," he adds with a smirk. "Oh, and I know you're thinking it, but there is no back way out of that room."

"The thought of escape never crossed my mind," I lie with a grin.

Ignoring my snide remark, he continues in his monotone voice, intent on explaining himself and his logic. "We determined that if we fabricated the super bug before one appeared naturally, we would have the vaccine and the power would be within our reach to set things right. If a covert group held the world hostage, they would find the monies for research grants to prevent this ever happening again." He pauses for a second and when he continues, his voice sounds even graver than it had previously. "Unfortunately, it's going to take a widespread outbreak that crosses international borders and a dramatic loss of life before we'll be taken seriously. However, if we don't have the only control of the vaccine, it will all be for naught. And when the upstart, self-righteous lab tech took it upon himself to save the world, he set us back further than he realized. But it is only a temporary setback and soon, we will be back on track."

"So, what happens now? We obviously don't have the vaccine with us or we'd be using it and shooting our way out of here."

"I didn't expect you to have it with you. That's why I had my men capture your good friend, whom I'm told on good authority, would sacrifice his life for you."

At just that moment, the door behind our real McCoy opens and two men dressed in full SWAT gear enter while dragging a semi-conscious Larry between them. Dropping Larry on the floor at their feet, they step back and stand at the ready, their flat black sub-machine guns trained on their prisoner.

Concerned, Eddy moves closer to the glass to get a better look at him and study his more obvious injuries. It isn't necessary for me to realize that Larry is only suffering from a mild concussion, the bruise having caused more injury to his pride than his body. He is much more alert than he appears.

"This is the deal, Mac. If the three of you intend on getting out of here alive, your friend is going to bring back the vaccine for me. If anyone but he returns, you will die," he says almost casually.

"He hasn't been vaccinated," I suddenly mouth, realizing that the air outside the chamber is contaminated by Mick's breathing.

"No, he hasn't been. That means he must get to the vaccine and use it on himself if he intends on living long enough to help his friends." Looking down at Larry's prostrate form, he says in a commanding voice, "You can get up now."

Realizing that no one has fallen for his act, Larry slowly raises his head and plants his hands on the floor before pushing himself upright. As he rises to his full stature, he throws me an embarrassing wink. For the first time I get a true respect for the old man's height and status. He is even taller, though considerably slenderer than Larry.

"What about your goons, have they been vaccinated?" I ask of him, studying the two men in flat black combat garb.

"We took precautions to vaccinate an elite group of men that are specially trained in weapons and assault tactics. When the outbreak begins, they will be our army, our international police force," he adds with pride.

Shaking himself off, Larry turns slightly and assesses the two men behind him. I immediately recognize a flare of confidence in his stature and feel that I must warn him. But then, just as quickly, I restrain myself. Larry isn't a novice-in-training and I have to believe he will do the right thing at the right time.

"If you desire not to die the same horrible death as that traitor," he starts, indicating Mick, whom has silently slumped down into a dejected pile of human waste on the floor, his body still convulsing as it fights in vain against the voracious virus. "You will do precisely as I instruct."

"You're going to kill us either way," I protest.

"That is yet to be determined. Many of my fellow conspirators do not take killing lightly. They would just as soon have you join our ranks then see you silenced," he replies and then quickly checks himself. "But as I said that is yet to be determined. First, your friend must return here with the vaccine so that it cannot fall into the wrong hands and undermine our entire plan. We cannot have gone through all of this trouble for nothing."

Under my breath, I whisper just loudly enough for Eddy to hear, "If I take out the old fellow can you get the other two without hitting Larry?"

"Give me the word," she whispers back through gritted teeth.

"Before you do something stupid," he starts as if reading our lips. "I'm going to do one better. I'm going to inject your friend here with the vaccine so that he doesn't infect the wrong people before we turn him loose." With a barely perceptible nod, one of the men lowers his weapon and extracts a hypodermic syringe from a sleeve pocket. Taking a step forward, he jabs Larry in the upper left shoulder with unnecessary viciousness.

Wincing, and then smiling off the pain, Larry casually remarks, "What's to stop me now from taking down the whole lot of you?"

"Don't ride the euphoric high too long. You are still vulnerable to lead and in case you've forgotten, we have your friends. One stray bullet and well, you know the rest. When you leave here, we will give them a shot also, but not the same one you just got. We will be infecting them with _Toxic Rain_ just as soon as we verify that you are following my instructions. So, if you decide not to return on schedule or return with others or do anything to jeopardize our plans, they will die a horrible death."

"Just do what he asks, Larry. We'll find another solution," I encouragingly remark through the clear layer of glass.

"That is sage advice. I suggest you heed it. Now go and return here within three hours or your friends will be beyond saving. Do you understand?"

"Clearly." Turning to face Eddy and me, he says with bravado, "I'll be back. Just be sure you're ready for me."

One of the men gives him a jab in the back with the snub barrel of the sub-machine gun that causes him to spin on him. But before he can do anything, the other draws a threatening bead on his chest with his weapon as if trying to coax him into doing something that will give him cause to kill him. But it's just a dance and neither will push it any further than that.

With Larry leading the way, they escort him out of the building and into the street where he is observed through several high-powered riflescopes until reaching the SUV and driving away.

No sooner than Larry is escorted out, two men in biohazard suits enter the room and approach the glass enclosure. They pause momentarily to press a few buttons at the console next to the now deceased appearing Mick that set off a series of exhaust and ventilation fans and then stoop down and drag the body toward the door.

"You're not going to put that in here with us, I hope," I call out, alarmed by their actions.

"You should be thankful. If these men gave you the shots, you would be dead long before your friend could return. However, by being exposed to the virus naturally which is airborne, it may take days before you feel any ill effects," the tall man casually remarks, watching with interest from across the room.

"You're a sadistic bastard," Eddy hisses at him. "You're actually enjoying watching us squirm."

"I must admit, watching the two of you armed with weapons that under normal circumstances would have made you feel invincible and not being able to do a thing in your defense has been much more intriguing than studying lab rats," he says with a smile.

"Before this is over, I'm going to watch you die," I mouth with determination.

In answer, he nods toward the lab technicians and the door slides open. Out of habit, I cover them with the shotgun even though I realize he is right-there is no satisfaction from the comfortable weight of the weapon in my grasp.

With the body just inside the door, they hurriedly step out and it slides shut behind them. "For what it's worth, Mac, Miss Eddy, you were contaminated the moment the seal was broken on the door. If you had killed my men it wouldn't have helped you in any manner what so ever." Turning to follow the men out of the room, he pauses at the door just long enough to say, "I will return before the deadline, unless your friend returns earlier than expected. While I am gone, you will consider my offer of employment, I hope."

### **59**

Watching in silence as the door swiftly shuts him off from view, I am surprised when Eddy suddenly leans against me, the Uzi hanging limply in her left hand while her right snakes around my waist and she presses against me for comfort.

"It'll be alright," I reaffirm, glancing around the small room with renewed interest.

There is a bed with a bare mattress in the far corner setting next to a single commode and separated by a matching porcelain sink that is attached to an opaque portion of wall. Anyone in the outer vestibule can observe the inhabitants of the glass enclosure with an unobstructed view, whether they are sleeping or taking care of personal hygiene.

On the far side of the room at a distance of less than twenty feet is an array of dials and knobs, all of which appear to control thermostats to keep the inhabitants of the room comfortable. Directly within the door is an overhead shower nozzle with a drain below it. In case of contamination, the shower is supposed to take off the initial exposure. Covering the drain is Mick's wasted body.

"I'd suggest a shower, but I think it's a little late," I quip, noting that Mick's body is lying over the drain.

Unable to look at Mick's body, Eddy weakly asks, "Is there anything we can do with him. Do we have to leave him there?"

"Even if we could open the door, it's probably not a good idea. Right now, we're keeping the virus contained. If we open the door, we might be the ones responsible for releasing _Toxic Rain_ on the rest of humanity. We can't afford to take that risk, Eddy," I sympathize.

"I know. But it still gives me the creeps," she says, her voice a little stronger.

"Hold on, maybe there is something we can do," I offer, moving toward the bed. It seems logical that there must be sheets and bedding if there's a bed.

Sure enough! Drawing closer, I see an outline in the wall next to the bed where a drawer is. Running my hands over it, I find the slightest indentation and a finger grip. Within a minute, I have the bedding out and a crisp white sheet stretched over Mick's corpse. Although it is still within the room, covering it gives Eddy peace of mind and she visibly relaxes.

While she sits on the edge of the bed, I wander around the room, visibly scanning its every surface for more drawers and cubbyholes. Before I'm finished, I discover a source of food and beverages. Unfortunately, there isn't any rum among the beverages. However, there is bottled beer and after withdrawing a couple, I head over to the bed where Eddy is silently watching me.

"Here, drink up," I offer her.

Taking the proffered bottle, she eagerly drinks of the cold beverage. After a moment of silence, she asks, "Will Larry get back in time?"

"He won't let us die, Eddy. He's gotten me out of worst binds in the past. I'm sure he'll get us out of this one too."

"I hope you're right, Mac," she softly remarks. "But if I have to die, I couldn't have picked a better partner to die with," she quickly adds while smiling at me over her beer.

### **60**

We are still sitting on the edge of the bed when the old man returns, his expression appearing less confident than the last time we saw him. But it might just be wishful thinking on my part.

"It appears that your friend is running a little late," he says, allowing the door behind him to stand ajar.

"We hadn't noticed," I flippantly remark, holding up the beer and then indicating the empties we'd put on top of the sheet covering Mick's body so it didn't look so corpse-like.

"Glad to see that you've made yourself at home. You might be here awhile, after all," he replies with disingenuous interest.

"Something bothering you?" Eddy asks, making me wonder if the alcohol wasn't loosening her tongue.

Instead of replying, he simply stares at her like a disinterested child at a circus, if there is such a being.

The building is suddenly rocked by a thunderous explosion, the floor beneath us shaking violently. Were we not sitting on the bed, we would have fallen to the floor, which is what happens to the old man.

The first explosion is followed almost immediately by an eruption of small arms fire and then another more violent explosion. "They're drawing nearer," I yell at Eddy.

Rising gingerly off the bed, I notice the old man crawling toward us with the clear intention of shattering the glass that is keeping _Toxic Rain_ in check. "You do," I shout through the glass and getting his attention so that he looks up at me. "You do and you'll be the first to die."

"I'm immune!" he shouts back, suddenly on the verge of hysterics. "The virus can't hurt me."

Jamming the action on the shotgun for effect, I calmly and yet loudly state, "I'm not talking about _Toxic Rain_ , Old Man."

For a long moment, he weighs the outcome against the benefit and then slumps down on the floor in defeat. Another explosion rocks the building and I realize they've worked their way into this wing of the structure. As the sound of automatic weapons on full-auto rips through the hallway outside the vestibule, Eddy and I take a step backwards and crouch down near the bed with our weapons leveled at the door. Although it's imperative that the glass remain intact, there is nothing to be gained by being shot first.

A concussion grenade echoes through the walls and sending a ripple of vibration through the floor. I worry for a moment that the glass won't stand up to much more, but my concerns aren't founded as Larry suddenly appears in the doorway with a lopsided grin highlighting his rakish features. His pullover is torn and mottled as if by destructive moths, but he appears uninjured and the Uzi has been replaced by an M-16 with taped together banana clips.

Seeing the old man on the floor, he steps in behind him and drops the butt of the rifle against the base of his skull just hard enough to send him into unconscious oblivion. He will live to stand trial for treason, genocide and whatever else they find in his files.

Stepping toward the glass enclosure, Larry proudly states, "I have a package for you guys, if you're interested."

At that moment, two men in white biohazard suits enter the vestibule and quickly assess the situation. Behind them, two more in matching suits enter; these two carrying what are obviously spare suits. Their intentions are immediately clear and I feel my pulse rise at the thought of getting out of here when one of the first men puts his hand out and stops the second two from getting closer.

"What's wrong?" Larry immediately demands.

"The quarantine room has been compromised by the explosions. We can't safely open it without risk of escaping air," he hurriedly explains.

"We have to open it to give them the vaccine!" Larry shouts, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"There is a tray in the side wall that is part of the wall structure," the second man in biohazard gear suddenly exclaims. "It hasn't been compromised." And then his voice drops dramatically as he adds, "But it is only large enough to get small items to them. It isn't large enough for a suit with head piece to fit through."

"Then get the vaccine through, at least," Larry orders, his voice carrying enough threat to make them jump.

Within moments, the vaccine is through and Eddy and I quickly inoculate each other. The man in charge for the moment wearing a bio-suit lifts his mask off his head and smiles at us encouragingly. "You should be alright now. The vaccine appears effective if given within twenty-four hours of inoculation."

"Thanks," I nod. "So, now what do we do?"

"You wait. Until we can repair this structure or find a means of isolating it and containing any air in the vicinity, you stay in there," he says, quite pleased with himself.

"How long are we talking?" I ask of him, only slightly concerned.

"Oh," he starts, mentally calculating everything that needs doing in his head. "I wouldn't think it would take more than a week, two on the outside."

As my jaw drops and Eddy leans against me for support, Larry breaks out in a raucous upheaval, his laughter getting the best of him. When he sees me glaring at him, he quickly regains his composure and asks, "Is there anything I can get you?" And then before I can answer, he breaks out in laughter again, still unable to contain himself.

Distracted by his display, I am unaware of Eddy having regained her own composure until she is snuggly up against my side, her right breast pressed firmly against the side of my chest as she lifts my arm over her head to get in closer. Looking down at her, she smiles back at me, her eyes filled with mischief.

With a growing tightness in my groin, I smile back at Larry and say, "Would you mind giving us a couple of hours alone. And take these micro hunters with you."

Smiling back with understanding, he turns toward the door, saying, "Come on guys, they have some catching up to do. Let's give them a couple, huh?"

When the last one is through the door and it closes tightly behind them, I turn to Eddy and say, "Do you think there might be cameras on us?"

She doesn't immediately answer my question, but instead, pulls her sweatshirt up and over her head, revealing two rock-hard nipples standing out proudly on her firm, full breasts. In the silence, I notice a quickening of her breath as she reaches down and undoes the waist of her jeans and letting them slide to the floor before stepping out of them. Her lips reaching for mine, she whispers softly, "Ask me if I give a damn."

With increasing passion, I undo my jeans as she pulls my shirt off me.

Standing naked before her, my erection pressing firmly against her naval, she takes it in her hands and forces me backwards to the single mattress. Feeling the firmness of the mattress pressing into the backs of my knees, I let myself go and fall slowly backwards. Coming to rest on my back, she gracefully mounts my proud manhood.

With a soft moan of joy slipping through her lips, she slowly lowers herself onto my swollen shaft. Our eyes are locked together as her facial expressions belie the intense pleasure that she's feeling. Slowly, sensually, sensations of wild abandon lead to ecstasy.

Pulling her down and pressing my lips to hers while cupping my hands over her full breasts, I grow increasingly aware of her body quivering atop me. With increasing intensity the rhythm of her body tightening and then releasing itself on my blood-engorged manhood increases in frequency until I feel myself exploding within her as her body shares the sensation and we reach our orgasms simultaneously.

If this is her way of apologizing or forgiving me for my bad-boy attitude on life, I'm going to be a very very bad boy for an awful long time to come!

### THE END

More Awesome Stories by Will Decker:

DRIVEN

UNREQUITED LOVE

FIRE BABY

HYBRID KILLERS

The 'HEÄLF' Collection:

MORTALITY REVISITED

CLONE WARS

DAY OF NIGHT

REGENERATIONS

HORSPAW

The 'Mac" Collection:

THE WITNESS

TOXIC RAIN

BETRAYAL

RECORD KEEPER

DEATH IN THE DUNES

WIT-SEC FAIL

SIMPLY PERFECT BINDING 2ND Ed.

If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review.

Authors starve or eat based on reviews. Thanking you from the pit of my stomach,

 WILL DECKER
