The sandwiches were hot, thick and delicious, stuffed with peppers, onions, mushrooms and a sauce that had to be homemade. Morgan had taken three bites before Felicity tasted hers. Frederico stared at her.
“Tell him to eat,” Morgan said between mouthfuls. Felicity handed Frederico the third plate. He hesitated, then took it and went to the writing table.
“Man that was good,” Morgan said, wiping the last bit of sauce from his plate with the final scrap of bread. “Guess I’ll head on over to my room. Open that window just in case. Closed it won’t keep anybody out, but open it might speed an escape. And plan to be up early. I think we ought to break camp around six. That will put us in Corpus Christi around three or four in the afternoon.” Answering Felicity’s bewildered look with a smile, he added “Have fun,” and left.
Next door, Morgan pulled off boots and shirt and plopped heavily on the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine their next move. Morgan believed in imaging, a technique his sensei taught him in Vietnam, where he first studied the Korean martial art called wharangdo. The concept was deceptively simple. He mentally created a plausible path down which future events could easily flow. In this way he controlled his destiny.
A ring from the old fashioned dial telephone next to the bed interrupted his meditations. He grabbed it, turned the bell down to minimum volume, and then answered it.
“Mister Stark?” Mary asked.
“Morgan, please, and what can I do for you?”
“I just wondered if you needed a wake up call,” she said, a little hesitant. “I’m the night girl. You know, eight at night to eight in the morning?”
“I see. Thanks, but I brought an alarm.” By which he meant Felicity. She was as reliable as any clock. Her mental time keeper would rouse her promptly at five-thirty. “It must get lonely though, up all night way out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Sometimes,” she said, welcoming the opening. “I saw you’re from California. Always wanted to move there.”
“Really? Well, I don’t need much sleep. If it gets too quiet tonight, stop up and we’ll talk a bit about it.” Morgan let the conversation lapse there, not wanting to push too hard. She would come up or she wouldn’t. Either way, having your hotel’s clerk on your side never hurt.
He had just hung up the phone and leaned back again when he heard Felicity scream.
-17-
Paul paid the taxi driver a little over a block away from his destination. He had no reason to expect trouble. He was simply a cautious man and chose to walk to his boss’ Corvette.
He had had a busy work day, but that was not the reason he waited for moonlight to retrieve Felicity’s car. It just made sense to make an enemy wait, grow bored and careless, on the off chance there was a reason Miss O’Brien and Mister Stark abandoned their vehicle across the street from a used car lot.
The city kept a quiet distance while Paul crouched behind the car and reached under the rear bumper. He felt along the cold metal until his fingers pressed against a small lozenge shape. Rather than pull the box loose he slid it open, dropping a key into his hand. When he stood, he neither saw nor heard anything in his environment react. Still, he chose to circle the car once, before opening the door.
Unfortunately, it was too dark to see inside the car, but he did not need to. He could see the shocks were slightly depressed in the front, on the passenger side. Moving only two steps away from the vehicle, he pulled his pistol out of its side draw holster and slid it under his waist band in the small of his back.
Then, maintaining his bored expression, he slid the key into the driver’s side door lock and turned it. As he pulled the door open, the interior light came on and a man on the floor stabbed a revolver at him. There was an uncomfortable moment when the two men just stared at each other, neither quite sure what to expect next. Paul was not surprised, but the other man appeared to be.
“You are not the black man.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” Paul answered, watching the man’s eyes. “Nor are you. Not Mexican either. I’d say Colombian or perhaps Panamanian. Paul,” he said, pointing to himself.
“Very good.” The gunman shifted himself up onto the seat. “Alejandro. Now, where are the black man and the red haired woman? And where is Frederico?” Paul decided he knew those eyes. They were the cold eyes of a killer.
“You won’t believe this,” Paul said, taking a small step backward, “but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“We will see. You have a gun?” Paul frowned bitterly and slowly raised the right side of his jacket, revealing his empty holster. Alejandro flashed a broad, hateful grin and waved his gun, indicating that Paul should back away. Paul took one more step back. The gunman moved up on the seat, pivoted to face outward and slid forward.
An instant before Alejandro’s foot touched the pavement, Paul moved. His body dropped to his left, his right hand darted to his back, and his left foot rose to kick out against the door.
Alejandro cried out as the door slammed on his ankle but his voice was drowned out by the blast of his pistol. The car’s driver side window exploded outward, showering Paul with shattered glass. He stayed on the ground, his left arm supporting him, waiting for the door to snap open again.
Alejandro jumped out of the car as quickly as he could, waving his gun in Paul’s general direction, but his night vision was gone, destroyed in the flash of his first shot. He hesitated, only a moment, unsure of the location of his target.
On the pavement, Paul squeezed his trigger once. His automatic jumped, and Alejandro’s head snapped backward. By the time his body hit the ground Paul was up and climbing into the car.
The violent action had taken place in the space of half a dozen heartbeats. Paul took a deep calming breath and dropped into the Corvette’s driver’s seat. He slammed the sports car into gear and pulled away, quickly reaching the speed limit but not exceeding it.
Away from the city, out on the highway, the high half moon washed the color out of the world. Paul was sure no one had witnessed the shooting or his departure. Once he reached the office he would park the Corvette in the parking garage, throw a plastic sheet over it, and wait for further instructions. He would have to get a new barrel for his Sig Sauer P229. The bullet he left in his assailant could be traced to the present one. His biggest disappointment was that he had not learned anything.
He wondered just what kind of trouble his bosses had gotten themselves into this time.
-18-
Morgan burst into Felicity’s room, his left arm forward, his right fist at his waist holding his boot dagger. Felicity stood before him, mouth and eyes wide. Frederico sat on the floor to Morgan’s right, hugging himself and rocking. His teeth chattered and his entire body shivered spastically.
“My God, he’s having a fit,” Felicity shouted.
“Hold him,” Morgan said, springing for the bathroom. Felicity knelt in front of Frederico, gripping his shoulders. Seconds later Morgan crouched beside his partner. His left hand gripped Frederico’s hair and tipped his head back, allowing him to shove a rolled up hand towel between the boy’s teeth. Frederico’s head snapped back and forth. Morgan moved behind the boy, replaced Felicity’s hands with his own. She moved her hands to grip Frederico’s balled fists.
“Relax,” she said, her voice soft and smooth. “Don’t fight it. Relax your muscles. Calm your mind.” She made eye contact and held it, speaking in the soothing tones of a first class con artist. She had removed all doubt from a dozen marks in just that way years ago. She repeated those same three short sentences, until they combined to become an almost hypnotic chant. Frederico seemed to merge with her mantra. Slowly his spasms gentled, finally stopping. The boy sat, soaked with sweat, breathing like he had just finished a marathon.
“Grand mal seizure,” Morgan said, standing. “What a life he must have had.” When Felicity looked at him in confusion he added, “Your boy’s an epileptic, Red, and a bad one.”
�
�I am fine,” Frederico said, pulling the towel from his mouth. “It never comes more than once in two days. I knew you could bring me out of it. Your eyes have the power.”
“Red, do you want me to…”
“No, you go on,” Felicity said, looking up. “You need to get some rest, and I think he’s more relaxed with you next door.”
Morgan looked at Frederico, shook his head, muttered “Your call. You’re a big girl,” and returned to his own room. Frederico stood up as if nothing unusual had happened and waved a hand at the bathroom.
“Mistress, your bath is getting cold.”
“My bath?” Felicity asked, startled. Frederico’s reaction, or non-reaction to having a seizure tilted her off balance.
“I made your bath before we ate. I couldn’t find any oil.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Felicity said. She did need a good soak in a tub, and he looked like he would be all right. With a final glance backward, she went into the bathroom, securely closing the door.
Dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor, Felicity stared into the small mirror over the sink. She made herself look at the angry red line down her left breast, crusting where her flesh was starting to knit together. Her teeth tingled, like when she looked at bird tracks in snow, although she did not know why. She knew she should have had a doctor look at it right away, but she could not yet bear for another person to see it. Or was it that she just did not want to think about it?
Their whiteness further accented her breasts. The rest of her body was tanning smoothly for a change, without the usual peeling. Her normally pale skin had taken on a slightly golden cast, smoothly covering her face and neck. Then she noticed her arms. A line separated her dark brown right arm from the utterly white shoulder above it. During their long drive eastward her arm had hung out the window almost the whole way. This resulted in a line showing where her tee shirt sleeve ended.
Silently laughing at herself, Felicity turned and stepped into the deep, claw footed tub. The water was still pleasingly hot as she climbed in. Raising her knees let her sink almost chin deep. Leaning back, she could feel muscles unknotting all over her body. Total relaxation. Her body unwound completely.
Then, adrenaline flooded her system when Frederico walked in. Felicity snapped forward, her arms crossing to cover her breasts.
“Get out of here,” she snapped.
“You need your bath,” Frederico said, as if that explained everything.
“Sure and I do, but you can’t come walking into the room when I’m sitting here starkers.” Her eyes blazed and her brogue came through.
“Starkers?” Frederico asked.
“I’m naked, you twit.”
“Yes,” Frederico said, kneeling beside the tub. “To be bathed.” As if it were the most natural thing, he wet a cloth, soaped it, and began washing her back in a smooth circular motion. Against her will, Felicity began to calm down.
“Look. Frederico. I’m sure this is what you were taught, but I’m a big girl and I can wash myself.”
Frederico’s hand froze in place. “Have I displeased you?” he asked. Looking over, Felicity saw fear cross his eyes.
“It’s okay, Frederico, really it is, but you’ll have to be going now,” she said firmly. “I need to be having some time to myself.” The boy dropped the cloth, bowed his head, and hurried out.
Felicity sat back and blew air upward. She could not remember ever feeling so very naked, perhaps because she thought of him as a boy, despite the obvious fact that he was a man.
She remembered Morgan saying something about a master-slave relationship. She had heard the word “dominatrix” often in California, but thought of the whole idea as a joke. Women in leather with whips and so on. But this was not funny at all. Anaconda had apparently used Frederico, not just for his supposed psychic talent, but as a body slave. How much more was there to it? she wondered.
Felicity stayed in the tub just long enough to get clean. Standing, she found all her personal items in the bathroom, arranged very neatly. After powder and cologne, she pulled on a white terry cloth robe Morgan picked up for her. She had not thought of it, but he did. Expecting all three of them to share one room, he had anticipated her needs. As usual.
When Felicity went into the bedroom, Frederico stood up where he had been sitting, on the floor next to her bed. Felicity rushed to speak, to preempt any further nonsense.
“We have an early day tomorrow. We’re needing to get some sleep. Your bed is there.” So saying, she tightened her robe belt and got under her own bed’s covers, face down. She pushed her face into the pillow as if she wanted to escape her discomforting situation.
“But mistress,” Frederico said, undaunted. “Your massage.” Before Felicity could react, strong, sure fingers were kneading her shoulders and neck. She started to snap at him but it felt so good it disarmed her completely. She lapsed into stillness, not even protesting when he pulled her robe down to her waist. As he worked slowly down her back, she forced herself to speak, trying to maintain some control.
“Frederico, how did you get involved with Anaconda and the Escorpionistas?”
“My former mistress came to visit my father in the village three years ago,” Frederico said, probing for tight muscles in her back. “She had heard that Anthony my brother, and I, we had visions.”
“Visions?” Felicity choked back a moan of pleasure as Frederico’s sure fingers probed her lower back.
“The spirits come, take us over, show us things. Anthony’s ability is not so great as mine, though. Sometimes, if I think about a thing, or a person, my vision will be about that person or thing. Anaconda gave Father a great deal of money, I think, and she took us away. She has great power. She was able to control the spirits, so I was not hurt so much as I used to be during the visions. Mostly I protected her from enemies. By knowing who might cause her trouble, she has risen quickly to take over the Escorpionistas. But they are all very bad people.”
“I know,” Felicity said. “And while you protected her, she taught you to do these things?”
“She taught me how to treat a mistress,” he answered, pressing a thumb down to free a knotted muscle in her right thigh. “I had to please her. I…she was my mistress. But the people around her were bad and they used my visions to hurt others. I did not like that. Then, when I saw you, and the spirits told me you would stop my former mistress, I saw a chance to escape. Anthony said this was my chance and encouraged me to go.”
“Frederico.” Felicity took a deep breath, prepared to tread delicate ground. After a moment, she decided to be direct. “Were you her lover? Did you have sex?”
“No,” he answered simply, squeezing her calves. “Only the…my English fails.” He gave the Spanish term for oral sex. “I pleased her with my hands, and my mouth. Shall I…?”
“No! Thank you. We will not be as you and Anaconda were. Understand?”
“Yes, mistress,” he replied, massaging her left foot.
“How long have you been epileptic?” When he looked at her quizzically she said “The fits, how long? The shaking.”
“The visions?” he asked. “The spirits have visited me since I was ten years old. There is hair.”
Felicity looked around after that seeming non sequitur. Across the room, Frederico rummaged in his small bag.
“I have what I need, here,” Frederico said. “Razor and slave creme.” Now she saw. He meant her legs. As he massaged her he noticed her legs needed shaving. A lazy smile touched her lips.
“No, son, you mean shave…” she stopped, realizing he probably said exactly what he meant. Anaconda had conditioned him to be a slave, even used him for her personal hygiene and her selfish sexual satisfaction. Well, she had to admit he gave an excellent massage. Carefully pulling her robe up around herself, she turned over and leaned up. She was about to protest and put a halt to his attentions when he again startled her.
“The man, Chuck, he really loves you.”
“What?” she was to
o startled to stop him from spreading white foam on one leg below her knee.
“That was my vision tonight,” he said, his voice calm as he drew a straight razor smoothly down her leg. “He is very worried about you. And he is jealous.”
“What, of you?”
“Oh no, mistress,” he said, turning her foot to reach her inner calf. “Of Mister Stark. He fears he can never be as close to you as Mister Stark is. Shall I shave here?” To Felicity’s surprise Frederico pointed up her robe at her crotch.
“No! No, thank you. That can…leave that part alone.” She wanted to be shocked and offended. But secretly, she did not know if she could stand it. Having a man shave her legs was, to her surprise, a very sensuous experience. It may have been fine in a different context, but she did not want that kind of relationship with this boy. Once it was clear that it would go no further she decided she would just lay back and enjoy it.
While her body floated in some physical pleasure zone, she played back Frederico’s words. She was beginning to believe he really was psychic, somehow in connection with his epileptic seizures. She thought he might really be able to predict future events, so it unnerved her when he spoke again.
“Your Chuck, he searches for a way to prove he is as worthy of your trust as Mister Stark. His search will have a bad end.”
-19-
Manuel Alvarez did not know exactly why he woke up. Was it a sound? A vibration in the room? Or maybe just a feeling. The feeling of being watched.
“Hello, Manny.” The voice chilled him, coming out of the darkness in his hotel room. The voice was neither high nor low, and it carried no accent at all. His first impulse was to reach for his gun, but he doubted he would make it to the closet alive. Something about that voice.
“Who are you?” Alvarez tried to harden his own voice. “What do you want? How did you get in here?”
“First, understand that you are in no danger,” The voice said from across the room. “My name is Paul. I’m visiting this way because you clearly want to maintain a certain distance from a friend of mine. I need to know where Morgan Stark is.”
Ice Woman Assignment Page 8