by Sandra Brown
"It's true," she averred."I thought that he was far too attractive to be
holy."
"I'm not holy."
"But I didn't know that at the time. I thought he had incredible sex
appeal."
"Really?"
"Yes. And that was before I knew he had freckles on his shoulders."
He laughed, enjoying her attention, her flirting."No I don't." Laughing
with him, she said, "Yes you do." They spent the next several hours
nuzzling and kissing and exploring each other's bodies with the sweet
curiosity reserved for new lovers, delighting over each discovery.
They bought into the fantasy that they had met at another time and
place, and that they were free to laugh and indulge themselves for the
sheer pleasure of it. They teased lavishly, but there were also long
stretches of time when they did nothing except gaze at each other.
"You're so beautiful," he said at one point."I can't believe I'm with
you like this."
"I like your face," she whispered back."It's very honest, but..."
"But what?"
"It's very dark behind your eyes, Basile." She stared into them.
"What do you keep hidden back there in the dark?"
"All my sins and shortcomings."
"There can't be that many."
"You'd be surprised. Or maybe you wouldn't," he added with a soft laugh.
She traced his lips with her fingertip."You smile here, but not with
your eyes. Why is that? What's made you so unhappy?"
It was unnerving that she could read him so well, but at the same time
he was touched by her ability to do so, and by her desire to know the
whole man. He wanted to tell her how much her caring meant to him.
"Remy ..." He searched her face, the depths of her eyes, and words
failed him. So he kissed her instead, and held her close and reluctantly
told her that they probably should try to get some sleep.
He turned her to face away from him, but placed his arm across her waist
and drew her against him, fitting her butt into the curve of his belly.
He had honestly thought that that intimacy would be sufficient.
But it took very little for him to become inflamed again.
Soon his erection was probing her cleft. He reached for her breast and
stroked the nipple to full hardness. Kissing the back of her neck, he
pushed his hips forward, found her soft and open, pressed, and murmured
her name when her wet heat surrounded him again.
He began to thrust into her, and was almost lost in the rhythm when a
small sound from her yanked him from the erotic daze.
He disengaged himself and turned her onto her back. She was crying.
He wiped the tears off her cheeks."I'm sorry, Remy. I'll stop. It's
okay."
"I didn't want you to stop."
He swallowed hard."Then what?"
She took his face between her hands."You know what my life with Pinkie
has been like. You know why he took me for his own, and what he made of
me, and what I've been to him all these years."
There was no mistaking her meaning. He nodded somberly.
"I've performed for him on command," she said, insistent that he
understand.
"I know that."
She drew in a shuddering breath."And you still want me?"
"Want you?" he repeated with dismay."Want you?"
He covered her and entered her again, all in one fluid motion.
Sliding his fingers up through her hair, he held her head in place while
speaking to her in a low, urgent voice.
'"I may die before this thing is finished. Or I may spend the rest of my
life behind bars. In either case, it's okay."
Subtly he pressed himself deeper inside her."But I couldn't stand you
going back to him. Anything but that I deserve and I'm willing to
accept." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pressed his forehead
against hers."But you can't go back to Duvall. You can't.
Anything, anything but that."
,{,/r. Duvall?" Jse
"Who's this?"
"Doug Pat. Your wife's been found."
Roman had brought the cordless telephone to Pinkie, who was having
breakfast at the dining table."Where?" he asked brusquely.
"Dredd's Mercantile. Deputy sheriffs are with her. I'm on my way there
now."
"What about Basile?"
He sensed Pat's reluctance to tell him."He dropped Mrs. Duvall there and
took off."
"How is she?"
"According to Mr. Michoud, she's fine. Eager to get home."
"I want Basile found, Pat. I want every goddamn inch of Louisiana
searched until he's found and brought to justice."
"I seriously doubt it's justice you're seeking," Pat said with
infuriating placidity."You never considered it a kidnapping, or you
would have had the director of the FBI himself down here searching for
your wife. But, if you insist, I'll call the feds in now to question
Mrs. Duvall."
Pinkie was gripping the telephone so tightly his knuckles were white.
The diamond ring was digging painful rims into his small finger.
But he couldn't counter Pat's statements, and he was certain Pat was
aware of that.
"May I be frank?" Without waiting for permission, Pat continued: "All
indications are that this is a domestic matter. The solution to it
doesn't rest with law enforcement authorities, but with you and your
wife. And perhaps Basile. I suggest you work it out among yourselves."
Later, Pinkie wasn't sure how he'd managed to control his temper, but it
had taken tremendous restraint. Pat's sanctimonious remarks tested it to
the limit.
"Thank you for the advice, Pat, but I don't need any lessons from you on
how to handle my wife. You'd like to think the matter is closed,
wouldn't you? You'd like to tie it up in a neat bow and consider it over
and done with. Because through this whole ordeal, you've protected your
boy, Basile, and you'd be relieved if he came through it without too
many dents and dings."
Constantly paranoid that his telephones were bugged, Pinkie was too
smart to outline his plans for Basile via fiber optics. He'd already
told Pat, perhaps ill-advisedly, that he planned to eliminate the former
narc. He saw no reason to reiterate those plans now.
He did, however, want Pat to know that his attitude and lack of
cooperation would be remembered."You can kiss goodbye your ambitions for
the number-one spot in the N.O.P.D, Pat. From this minute forward,
enemies are going to be charging you from all sides. You can count on
it."
To Pat's credit, he kept his cool."I've dispatched a police helicopter
to take me to Jefferson Parish. I'll personally escort Mrs. Duvall home.
We should arrive in a couple of hours." Then the cordless phone went
dead in Pinkie's hand.
Roman approached, asking tentatively, "Is Mrs. Duvall returning home
today, sir?"
"That's right, Roman."
"Praise Jesus."
"Hmm. Yes." Deep in thought, Pinkie rapidly drummed his fingers on the
tablecloth. After a moment, he looked up at the butler and smiled.
"I think this calls for a blow-out celebration, don't you?"
"Then you haven't forgotten, sir, that today is Mardi
Gras? Our last day
to party for a while."
"No, Roman, I hadn't forgotten. I've just been preoccupied. I had every
intention of hosting a party. Here. Tonight. Will you see to it that
preparations are made?"
"Already done, sir."
Roman rushed out to share the happy news with the rest of the staff.
Pinkie punched in Bardo's telephone number."Remy's been found."
"Where?"
"I'll give you the details later. Pat is delivering her."
"Basile?"
"Presently unaccounted for."
"So what do you want me to do now?"
"What we discussed last night."
"Even though Mrs. Duvall is coming home?"
Pinkie stared at the empty dining chair in which Remy usually sat.
"Especially since Mrs. Duvall is coming home."
Sister Beatrice's lips were pursed with stern disapproval."This is
highly irregular."
"Yeah, well, it might be irregular, but that's what Mr. Duvall wants."
Wayne Bardo's arrogance communicated that he wasn't impressed either by
her nun's habit or her reverent base of operation. Far as he was
concerned, she was just another broad giving him a hassle. He could go
over, around, or through her, but she wasn't going to keep him from
doing what Duvall was paying him to do.
"I'm calling Mr. Duvall and speaking with him personally."
"Fine. You do that, sister."
Bardo slid her telephone across her desk toward her, then, with a
notable lack of respect, sat down without an invitation to do so and
propped his ankle on his opposite knee. He whistled tunelessly through
his teeth as she placed a call to the Duvall residence.
"Mr. Duvall, please. This is Sister Beatrice at the Blessed Heart
Academy. It's imperative that I speak with him."
Smirking, Wayne Bardo listened to her side of the conversation as she
verified that Duvall had sent him to the school to pick up his
sister-in-law.
"And Mrs. Duvall approves of these arrangements?" she asked. After a
moment, she murmured, "I see. Very well, Mr. Duvall. Forgive me for
troubling you, but please understand that I'm concerned for Flarra's
safety." At that, she glared at Bardo, who flashed her his most
beguiling smile.
When she hung up, he said, "Everything cool?"
"Yes, everything's cool."
She was so cool she was downright icy as she stood and rounded her desk,
her traditional habit rustling and her rosary beads clacking.
"I'll notify Flarra to gather her things. She'll be with you shortly."
"Shortly" turned out to be twenty minutes. By that time, the place was
beginning to get on Bardo's nerves, what with the painting of a bloody,
crucified Christ staring at him with soulful eyes that seemed to follow
him as he meandered around her office. Saints and angels floating around
on pink clouds condemned him from their ornate gilt frames. He could
swear the statue of some soldier saint standing in the corner raised his
righteous sword against him. All that religious shit was enough to give
anybody the creeps.
By the time the office door opened behind him, he was a bundle of
jitters. Spinning around, he exclaimed, "Jeer Louise!" The mild
profanity caused Sister What's-her-name's lips to pucker up even
tighter, but Bardo couldn't help himself. Pinkie had promised that, in
addition to being well compensated for this assignment, he was going to
enjoy it.
What an understatement! He was fucking going to love it! In a
nanosecond, he thought of a dozen different depravities to ply on baby
sister Flarra.
Her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she came across the room
toward him, her right hand extended."Hello, Mr. Bardo. A pleasure."
"Likewise, Miss Lambeth." It was probably the first time in his life
he'd ever shaken hands with a woman, but he welcomed the opportunity to
touch this creature who was almost too hot to be believed.
"Is it true what Sister Beatrice told me? Am I really getting to attend
the Mardi Gras party tonight?"
"True as can be. Mr. Duvall thinks you've been cooped up in here long
enough. No offense, sister," he said, addressing the nun over Flarra's
shoulder."Your brother-in-law wants you to live it up tonight. He said
he considered this your coming-out party."
"And Remy's okay with it?"
"Yeah. She wants you to be there tonight. In fact, she personally picked
out your costume."
Placing a hand on her chest, from which jutted two pert tits, she gasped
giddily."They're really letting me go! I can't believe it!"
Bardo picked up her suitcase and offered her his arm."Believe it
sweetheart."
Pinkie was waiting for them at the front door. He opened it before Pat
rang the bell. Even at this point in time, there was a sliver of a
chance that he would reverse the plans he had already in place, and that
he and Remy would carry on as though nothing had happened.
But even that slim possibility died the instant he looked into her eyes.
Because, although she gave him a weak smile and spoke his name in a
tremulous voice as she came into his arms, he knew that Basile had had
her.
The son of a bitch might just as well have poisoned his prizewinning
orchids, or pissed into a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild. Remy had
been defiled. The glorious girl he'd cultivated into a perfect courtesan
was ruined for him now.
Hiding his repugnance, he pulled her against him."My darling, thank God
you're back. When I think of what you've been through ..." He stopped,
pretending to choke up with emotion."Were you harmed in any way?"
He listened as she described the bird shot she'd taken in the back when
they fled the Crossroads."But those wounds have begun to heal. I'm just
very tired."
"Basile didn't ..."
Lying, she shook her head."He wanted to make his point with you, Pinkie.
That's all. He didn't mistreat me."
Doug Pat, who'd been standing in the background so as not to interfere
with their reunion, now stepped forward."Mrs. Duvall was reluctant to
discuss her ordeal on the way here. But now I'd like to hear her version
of what happened and ask her some pertinent questions, if you don't
mind."
"I do mind," Pinkie said curtly."You reminded me earlier today that this
is a private matter. I believe you're right." He closed the door in
Pat's face.
"Mr. Pat is afraid that you're planning a reprisal against Basile," Remy
said as he motioned her upstairs."You're not, are you, Pinkie?"
He merely smiled and patted her arm solicitously. Upstairs in their
bedroom, Roman brought her a plate of food, but she left it on the tray,
untouched. When they were again alone, Pinkie asked her more specific
questions about her abduction.
"I'd like to see this fishing shack where he kept you. Could you lead me
to it?"
"I'm afraid not. All parts of the swamp look the same to me."
"Why'd he let you go?"
"I don't know," she said thickly."He got me up very early this morning
and announced that he was releasing me.
All along, he said he was using
me as bait to draw you out, and that he didn't care how long it took.
"He offered no explanation for his sudden change of heart, except it had
something to do with a policeman who was killed yesterday.
And Dredd. He didn't want Dredd, or Pat, or any of his former
colleagues affected by his criminal actions. He said it was time to call
it off, before anyone else got hurt or killed."
"He should have thought of that before he started this. It's too late
now."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. Did you ever try and escape?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed. She told him about her neardrowning
experience."After that, he kept me handcuffed." Raising those incredibly
expressive eyes to his, she laid her hand on his arm, gripping it
hard."But I'm safely back with you and that's all that matters. I look
upon it as a bad dream that'll soon be forgotten."