by Rob Buckman
"In that case we need to arrange a little party for Grainger. If he comes to us this weekend, all well and good. If not, we will have to go looking for him and arrange a sudden disappearance."
"Very good sir. We do have capable men on hand who can handle that."
"See to it then."
"Yes Sir."
"They will ask for a bonus to do this, how high should I go?" He could see the thought of having to spend more money on this was repugnant to his boss. But there was no way round it. These men weren't about to do the job for free.
"Go as high as five thousand each, lower if you can, but no higher." Roland Hawkins looked as if he had a bad smell under his nose. It was these small moments that Edward enjoyed the most.
"Now then, what about the rest of the arrangements for the party."
"Miss Ballard has accepted our invitation, and so have our associates from Las Vegas. Three gentleman from Washington will also be arriving this evening. The remainder of the equipment and supplies have arrived and are in the process of being installed."
"And our shipment?" There was a note of glee in Roland Hawkins voice now, like that of a small child about to receive a new toy.
"All safely tucked away from inquisitive eyes."
"Excellent. Excellent. We should be able to entertain our guests in style this weekend, don't you think?"
"Indeed, we can sir. I just hope we can remove Mr. Grainger's irritating presence as soon as possible."
"So do I, Edward, so do I."
CHAPTER TEN:
For Kat Ballard Friday came all too soon, the time flying past faster than she wanted, and having to leave a hundred and one matters undone. Such as dissolving the partnership with Jim Crossman for one. But go she did, flying the De Havilland ‘Twin Otter’ aircraft herself. Jim usually did the flying, but those days were over. There was also the question of who'd get the aircraft, Kat betting it would be her. It was an uneventful trip and Kat sat back, leaving the aircraft on autopilot, enjoying the view. The Rocky Mountain spread before her like a carpet; here and there covered with snow. It looked like it was going to be a good year for winter sports. Touching down at 'Peregrine Creek', she noticed the limousine waiting for her. A smile of approval touched her lips. This was going to be a superb weekend if the stories she heard about the parties Roland Hawkins gave were true. Pulling into the driveway of the ranch, Kat was a little disappointed. The place was a city person’s idea of what a ranch should look like. All show and no substance. As she exited the car, a distinguished looking man stepped out of the ranch house to greet her.
"Welcome to the ranch Ms. Ballard, I'm Roland Hawkins." He held out his hand, taken somewhat aback by her beauty. He hadn't expected it. Kat was in her element. She knew and understood this kind of man and knew how to handle him.
"Thank you Mr. Hawkins. And thank you for asking me up this weekend."
"You're more than welcome. Edward will show you to your room and introduce you to your maid. I'll see you at dinner, eight o'clock sharp." He gave her a slight bow, shaking hands again. She thought for a second that he was going to kiss it instead of shake it, but the moment passed.
After seeing her room and the maid, Kat prowled around the giant ranch house, comparing it with her father’s place up on Thunder Mountain, finding it pretentious for her taste—too 'Hollywood', too fake. She met and introduced herself to other guests as she met them, feeling at ease and confident. She wished she'd felt this way when she'd encountered Mike Grainger. The senator and two congressmen were like putty in her hands, as were the three businessmen. Within moments of their meeting, she had the captains of industry eating out of her hand. At six, she decided that it was time to start getting ready, wanting to look flawless. This could be a profitable evening in more ways than one, if she played her cards right. Now that she had broken up the partnership it might not be a bad idea to start drumming up some new business.
Kat's maid laid out the cocktail dress, first stripping off the creamy white plastic cleaning bag, the green velvet of the gown feeling smooth, silky to the touch. Tonight was a special night and she wanted to look her finest, counting herself fortunate in having picked up this particular dress from the dry cleaners before coming. She had other dresses, but this one in particular made her feel more alive, more alluring, showing her body off to perfection. Her friend and dressmaker fitting it time and again until both were satisfied. Taking her clothes off she told the girl to stuff them into a laundry bag as she walked into the bathroom naked and turned on the shower.
She waited a moment, feeling the water until it reached the perfect temperature, then got in. Stepping under the cascade she let it play over her body, enjoying the sensation of the needle jets as they struck her skin. First came her hair, shampooed twice, rinsed and conditioned, feeling squeaky clean, smelling of wild flowers. Using a soap with the same scent she lathered herself all over until she was satisfied, feeling somewhat wicked in what she was doing. Giant hot towels from a warmer came next enveloping her in their clean smelling folds, caressing her skin.
"If you would lay down here I will give you your massage."
"Thank you Mary." Kat lay down and relaxed. It was funny to have someone at your beck and call like this, but with Roland Hawkins money, it was to be expected.
The girl's hands were soft and hard, inch-by-inch working the kinks out of each muscle. Starting at the shoulders, she worked her way down Kat's back, slowly relaxing her. Then it came to the point that the towel covering her bottom was removed it didn't bother her. The lightly oiled hands moved down, first one leg then the other, and all the way back up. Almost asleep, she turned over when told to do so. No longer caring that she was naked. Those gentle hands hypnotized her into obedience. Somewhere along the line, she drifted into the twilight dream zone between sleep and awareness. Images of her dream man came, touching her, loving her, possessing her, his soft/hard loving hands caressing her body. She almost saw his face this time, but it faded as she came awake to the insistent call from the maid.
"Miss. Miss! Time to wake up."
"What! What."
"I said it was time to wake up." Sitting up Kat found she had been covered with a soft blanket, Mary smiling at her.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing Miss!" she said with a blush.
"Come on Mary, you can tell me."
"It's nothing, really Miss. Only you were having some dream."
"Dream? I don't understand."
"I've had those kinds of dreams myself. Whoever he is he must be quite a man!" Kat blushed. Deep red spreading over her face and neck.
"I don't know what you mean. I wasn't dreaming of a man."
"No Miss, of course not. But if I loved a man as much as you do, I wouldn't be hanging around here!" Kat blushed again.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about. Right now there is no man in my life."
"Then he must be some dream lover. Will you sit down over here so I can do your hair?" Slipping on a short robe she did as asked, sitting down in a chair in front of the dressing table, still feeling a little disturbed by her remark.
The switch in the conversation was just what she needed to end this line of talk. For some reason Mary's last statement made her feel uncomfortable. It hadn't been the truth. She knew that, but not why. There was no man in her life at the moment, was there? Blow-drying her hair, Mary brushed it to a high sheen, bringing out the gold highlight in the chestnut color, letting it fall in natural waves around her shoulders. That done Mary helped her with make-up, first plucking and re-shaping the eyebrows. Next, a touch of dark eyeliner and a faint trace of silver-green eye shadow went on. This was followed by rose blush, to heighten her cheekbones. Lastly, a soft, rose gloss lipstick enlivened her lips, giving them a slight pouting look, as if demanding to be kissed. Her eyes said no, but her lips said yes.
"Thank you Mary. I can do the rest myself."
"Very well Miss, good night."
"Good night Mary." Mary depart
ed, gently closing the door behind her.
Kat took a small pouch and a pair of white gloves from her bag, pulling the gloves on before opening the pouch. First, she put on a white lace garter belt, then one by one, she pulled out a pair of jet-black stockings with lace tops. Carefully, she placed each over a foot, drawing them up her legs and hooking them in place. The combination of freshly shaved legs and black nylon sent a shiver of delight up her spine. This was going to a wicked evening. Next, she pulled on a pair of french-cut white lace panties, smoothing them over her bottom. After that, she checked her appearance in the mirror.
"Perfect." She muttered.
Lastly, she stepped into the dress, working it up over her hips and settling the cups in place. Reaching back, she breathed in, holding it while she zipped it up, feeling it tighten around her body, holding the dress in place.
The dress was backless, the zip ending just above her pelvis, being all that was holding it in place, that and the dress designer’s proficiency. The dress molded itself to her figure perfectly. From the hips downward, the dress flared out, giving her legs total freedom of movement for dancing and walking. She did remind herself to restrict her walking pace to that which is considered respectable for a young lady. Instead of her normal man stride, which she had when walking about in Jeans. Changing gloves, she pulled on an elbow length pair of white ones made of satin to complete the picture. And what a picture she made, stunning was the only word to describe her appearance. She knew she was about to drive the men wild and the women green with envy. She felt sexy and alive, her dreams and the dress making her ready for love and romance should it come along this evening. Her last act was to step into a pair of low-heeled evening shoes, both comfortable and easy to dance in. High heels would be deadly, as nine times out of ten she ended up taller than the men. With these on, she was about the same height, therefore an equal, able to talk on the same level as them. Now she was ready for anything, almost. Her grand entrance down the main staircase was perfect, pure poetry in motion. Roland Hawkins himself was there to take her arm and walk her into the dining room, introducing her to each of his guests in turn. She charmed each, the women and the men, her passage regal, feeling confident and sure of herself. She was in seventh heaven. The last few men stood at the far end of the room chatting. All except one, a man slightly taller than her, dressed in a tailor-made tuxedo. He stood with his back towards them, looking out the window, appearing uninteresting in what was going on around him.
"May I introduce you to Ms. Ballard." Roland Hawkins said, walking up to the man. "Ms. Ballard, this is Mr. Michael Grainger."
It was like a double thunderbolt hitting them both, slowly he turned, eyes meeting eyes, again. She felt her legs go weak, blood started pounding in her temples, cheeks flushed, her movement stiff and awkward, her tongue tied into knots. Her mind filled with disjointed fragments of her personality. Unable to utter a coherent word. Outwardly she looked unaffected, cool, calm and in total control.
"We've met." Was all he could think to say, yet wanting to say volumes.
Again, it was as if someone had hit him with a sledgehammer and given him an electric shock at the same time. He couldn't stop himself falling into her blue/green eyes and drowning in their depths, not caring if he came up or not. His body knew what it wanted. It wanted her, all of her. He felt as if he could kill every man in the room who even looked at her, and take her for himself. He felt himself stupidly putting his hand out to shake, his skin tingling as they touched. Her perfume re-imprinting itself on his mind like a hot branding iron.
She walked away on Roland's arm in a daze, the last five men making no impression on her at all. She was driven by an almost uncontrollable desire to turn her head and look at him again, to drink in his power, his face. But she didn't, forcing herself to look straight ahead. Roland escorted her to a place at the table unaware of the conflict going on inside her, seating her and then taking his place beside her at the head of the table. At that point, all the guests sat down and the dinner commenced. Looking carefully around, Kat located Grainger at the other end of the table and, the moment she did, their eyes met again and she blushed. Something she hadn't done since high school. The meal went by as something half remembered, her mind elsewhere.
'What is it about him that turns me into jelly? Damn it!' She chided herself. 'He's a thief, yet he makes me feel like a school girl on her first date.' She did make a vain attempt to pay attention, drawing her mind back to what Roland Hawkins was saying.
"You know my dear, Mr. Grainger might have had something to do with your father’s death. Nothing we can prove at this point. But I have some people trying to re-open the investigation."
"That's very interesting" she said, only half-listening, the impact of what he'd said not hitting her until later, "If he did, he might have had something to do with fixing the sale of the land."
"That is also a possibility" Roland Hawkins muttered.
"I know my father paid off that tax lien, I just can't prove it."
"Why is that my dear?"
"Well, I was going to search the county assessor’s office to see if there was an original of the payment, but unfortunately the court house records office burned."
"That is unfortunate to say the least" he said with mock sadness, smiling inside.
"Yes, it is. But I know my father kept a copy of the receipt." That shook Roland Hawkins. It was not something he was glad to heard, in a few hours it wouldn't matter. For appearance sake, he kept up the pretense of interest.
"He did. How do you know that?"
"Oh, I saw it.”
“You did… where?”
“He showed it to me one day, saying how he'd almost lost the property, thanks to the United States Army. It was only the fact that the County assessor was a friend of his that the place wasn't sold before he returned from service in Korea."
"That was fortunate. I hope you have the document in a safe place?" Please tell me where you silly girl, he thought.
"Oh yes. It’s up at the house."
"The house?"
"Yes. The house on Thunder Mountain."
"Good heavens, then Mr. Grainger has it."
"No way. I'm the only one who knows where it is."
"What if the house should catch fire or something?"
"It wouldn't matter if it did. The last I heard rock doesn’t burn." That told Roland Hawkins at lot. When the time came, he would have to ensure that the house was blown up, then have the remains pushed off the mountain with a bulldozer. It was the only way he could be sure that any documents secreted in the house were destroyed completely.
Brandy and cocktails were served in a large room that doubled as a ballroom for this evening, a five-piece band playing in one corner providing the music. For Kat all went well for an hour, dancing with first one and then another of the gentleman. After a break, the bandleader started another set with a gentleman's ‘excuse’ me dance. No sooner, she started dancing with one, when someone tapped her partner on the shoulder. She automatically moved into the arms of her new partner and began to dance. Only realizing who she was dancing with after she looked up, finding Mike Grainger's emerald green eyes looking down into hers. At that moment, it was as if a spell had come over her. She was unable to, or wanted to, move away, only dance. And dance she did, fitting herself to his lead, her body moving closer as they danced, until it fitted his. They didn't dance—they floated, moving around the room as if they were the only ones there. It was as if an impenetrable barrier had been forged around them, other men finding it impossible to tap him on the shoulder and break in. They danced the whole set, fox trot, samba, quickstep, tango, and finally the waltz. Being a romantic, the bandleader decided to make it a long one, having the light turned down and a spot turned on the mirror ball in the ceiling. It was too much. Slowly, their heads turned inch by inch, Kat first dreading what was about to happen. Knowing he was going to kiss her, her head saying no, her heart yes. Her heart won. Now she wanted it, her
lips opening in anticipation. He looked deep into her eyes, searching her soul for something, slowly lowering his lips to hers. It was if an electric shock shot thought her. Destroying her will power, her ability to resist. Slowly, she opened her mouth, wanting him more than she wanted life. Without him, she didn't have a life. Her whole body tingled, from head to foot and she pushed her body against his. Wantonly demanding he take her, she was his. At last, she understood the hold this man had over her. She was in love. Her head immediately rejected the notion. People don’t fall in love at first sight, that was just schoolgirl nonsense, but her heart wasn’t listening.
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
Ten men in combat gear sat, or lounged around the security room watching a video monitor. The monitors showed various parts of the house and grounds, but only one had their undivided attention. This showed a view of the ballroom, and the people dancing. The camera moved slowly back and forth over the group until it locked on to one particular couple. It then zoomed in, locking on, tracked them as they moved around the room. It was easy to see that these two weren't just going through the motions of dancing with each other, much as the remainder of the couples were. They moved with easy grace to the music, oblivious to the rest of the room, or the world for that matter.
"Gentleman. That is your target." Edward injected into the gathering silence. Puzzled why these men should suddenly stop talking. Being gay, he was repelled by the whole scene.
"Boy I wouldn't mind ripping a piece of that off myself!" A cadaver of a man interjected, following it with a dirty chuckle. A large chunky man standing next to him turned his head.
"Shut Up Karl! Keep you dirty remarks to yourself!"
The man was built like the south end of a Dutch barn, about as wide as he was tall. His granite face showed little or no emotion as he spoke, giving no indication of the feelings warring inside of him.
"How come you’re getting so high and mighty all of a sudden, you didn't mind ripping a little bit off that girl in Mozambique!"