“I'm not,” she whispered and tried to kiss him.
He held her firmly, his tone level. “You should. It could be dangerous.”
“You're not dangerous.”
He sighed, wondering how much he should tell her, wondering if she'd accept all his other escapades as benignly. Should he say, “I have my own private physician who runs blood tests weekly, and I'm healthy.” How would that play on the same stage with bliss?
“No, I'm not dangerous,” he said, humbled by her utter faith in him. “And I'm going to kiss you. Don't move.”
She held her breath until his mouth touched hers, and then exhaled a small sigh matched by his own gentle moan. Pulling her atop him, her slight weight effortless to lift, he held her tightly while they both felt the magic of warm daydreams come true.
After long minutes, he softly murmured against her mouth, “I'd like to-” he nibbled the sweetness of her upper lip, “take all night to please you.” His mouth trailed over her cheek to her ear.
“But…” she teased, feeling him hard against her, hearing the husky rasp of his voice.
“But,” he softly said, amusement in his eyes, “it's not going to work out… the pleasing.”
“Until next time?” she finished with a seductive wiggle of her bottom.
“Which won't be all that long,” he said with a sharp inhalation as she began to unzip his slacks. “Promise,” he whispered, her hand stroking his rigid arousal.
He was proficient at undressing women, and her Air France uniform was discarded swiftly along with her lacy underclothes and nylons. She smiled when he brushed her hands away as she attempted to undress him. “You'll be way too slow.” He grinned, kissed her straight small nose, and proceeded to shrug out of his clothes in record time.
She lay on his large soft bed, heated by his fierce desire, intoxicated by his impassioned need, feeling a sense of power and utter abandon. She would always remember the sweet tenderness in his beautiful eyes as he took her face in his hands and kissed her. “Hello,” he breathed only inches from her mouth, and his smile held the promise of pleasure. “Welcome to Le Retour.”
He was shaking when he entered her, touched by both passion and tenderness after a lifetime of pursuing only dalliance. But at least in his idle pursuit of pleasure he'd gained a flawless expertise, and he conscientiously set out to satisfy her. He moved with impeccable finesse.
As Mariel felt him glide inside her gently, she could almost anticipate each movement upward, and she trembled to feel him deeply and intensely.
He wanted more time, but knew that wish was useless in his present state. And rather than leave her unsated and possibly unhappy-something he rarely considered with the predatory glittering butterflies so often in his bed-he decided to discard thought of a leisurely lovemaking.
Egon concentrated on the readily roused portions of the female anatomy and proceeded to bring the lady to climax. It was a sensible action by a man known for his intemperance, for he wouldn't have been able to withhold his own intense orgasm much longer.
He felt as though he were drowning as he poured into her, his breath in sharp abeyance as acute pleasure washed over him.
And the small, soft woman in his arms wept with the intensity of her passion.
“Don't cry… I've hurt you. I'm sorry… don't cry,” Egon murmured, bereft at his incompetence.
“No… no, it was beautiful. I've never-” She hesitated at the clinical word, translating it into the more lyrical French. “I've never experienced le petite morte…”
Oh Lord, he thought and damned his own selfishness. He could have made it so much better. Enfolding her in his arms, he held her close. “I think I love you,” he gently said. He found the words infinitely easy to say, though he spoke them for the first time in his life.
“I think I like that,” she whispered shyly in return.
And he knew he'd found his elusive paradise.
CHAPTER 37
W ith every room at Le Retour lighted, Carey knew Egon had finally arrived. Without discretion he and Molly entered the house. Standing in the center of the entrance hall, he shouted, “Egon! Goddammit, get dressed!”
Then, grabbing Molly's hand, he swiftly moved toward the stairway leading to the third floor. “Pretty polite guy,” Molly said, taking the stairs two at a time to keep up to him.
“No time for etiquette. Besides, Egon's used to me.”
And that casual statement made Molly wonder how many times they'd shared the intimacy of amorous escapades. When Carey pushed open the door into Egon's room without so much as a knock, Molly hung back, uncomfortable with the idea of barging into someone's bedroom.
“Get your ass out of bed Egon, pronto. Sorry,” he briefly apologized with a nod at Mariel who was clutching the bedsheet to her chest. “But we've got to get out of here-now!”
“They might not come.”
“And I'm the Virgin Mary. Get your clothes on.”
Carey's sudden appearance brought thoughts of Rifat flooding back to Egon's mind. “Have you seen them?”
“No, not yet. We might make it out. Meet you downstairs in three minutes. Here.” He tossed Egon's slacks to him and walked out of the room.
“Let's see what we can find for weapons,” Carey said, taking Molly's hand again and moving toward the stairway. “The study's downstairs.”
“What was the girl like?” Molly asked as they descended the stairs. “Did she seem frightened at your appearance?”
Carey glanced at Molly, his expression bewildered. His thoughts were focused on the need to protect themselves. “I didn't look at her. She'll be down in a minute.” He pointed toward a room at the base of the stairs.
“Can Egon handle a gun?” Molly asked.
“Yes,” Carey said, “if the damn things aren't rusted shut.” He was feeling extremely vulnerable at the moment with two women to protect and Egon's stability in question, though he'd seemed remarkably in control. One point for our side, Carey thought. When Egon was in command of his nerves, the man was prime. Like the time they were trap shooting in Austria, and he and Egon had both melted the bores on two shotguns, matching scores all afternoon. Egon had a good eye.
He glanced swiftly at Molly, as if to reassure himself. She smiled at him, and he squeezed her hand. She was so normal and rational, so fiercely lovable. Damn, she shouldn't be here. But then there shouldn't be brutality and injustice in the world, either… he couldn't control the universe.
After an inspection of the rifles and shotguns in the glass-doored cabinet, he found only two unusable. The others, while not modern assault weapons, were custom hunting rifles and shotguns capable of lethal damage. He was stacking ammunition on the large, polished desktop when Egon and Mariel appeared on the stairway. “In the study,” he shouted.
Egon held Mariel's hand when he introduced her, and none of the blasй indifference was in his voice. Carey looked at her with interest; she was fresh-faced and unpretentious, with innocent eyes. A decided change from the European models Egon normally chose to amuse himself. The ones who pretended so much and so often, they were no longer sure exactly who they were. This young woman apparently knew who she was.
“So you're Molly,” Egon remarked enigmatically when Carey introduced her.
“And you're Egon,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “We've been tracking you for hours.”
“I see why you married Sylvie,” Egon quietly said. It wasn't the boredom of location in Yugoslavia, after all. Although dissimilar in physical details, there was a distinct general similarity between his sister and the woman Carey had called for so often when he was sleeping off some overindulgence during his enfant terrible stage. Egon had heard the name “Molly” quite regularly in those days.
“I'd love to sit and discuss my marriage to your sister,” Carey said with a sardonic grin, “but with Rifat's gunmen close on our heels, I suggest we save our skins instead.”
At Mariel's frightened expression, Molly soothingly said, �
��Carey's pessimistic by nature. I'm sure everything will be fine.”
She should write messages for Hallmark cards, Carey thought, recalling Egon's sports car blown up on his doorstep. “Since there is a possibility of danger, the sooner we leave Le Retour, the better.”
Mariel looked to Egon for explanation. “We'd better leave now to be safe,” he said. “I'll explain on the way to the airport.”
“Are you in trouble with the law?” she queried. There was no reproof in her voice, only concern.
“No.”
“Which is why we have to hurry,” Carey interjected. “The law at least might offer some security. You take this rifle, Egon. I'll take the other, and let's hit the road.”
They were halfway down the outside staircase, the car no more than ten yards away when the AK-47 opened up and blasted the ornate balastrade a foot below them. Mariel screamed. Molly bit back her own cry as Carey whipped his rifle up and fired into the trees where the stream of red tracers originated. “Get back in the house,” he barked, swinging around for a second to see if anyone was hit. “I'll keep them down. Go!” he ordered, and Egon herded them back up the steps while Carey emptied both five cartridge magazines into the trees. He heard the door open and thanked the darkness for saving them. Although the moon was out, sufficient shadow remained to make a moving target hard to hit at that range.
The familiar sound of gunfire had called all of Carey's old reflexes into action. He'd fired into the vortex of the red tracers-dйjа vu, like a vivid movie in his mind. Even the warm, sultry night was the same, only the hordes of mosquitoes were missing. Where the hell were Ant and Luger when he needed them? he thought, crouching down behind the shattered stone railing to load the cartridges he'd stuffed into his pockets.
Reloaded, he scanned the tree line beyond the lawn, watching for movement in the suddenly quiet night. And he knew they were waiting to see what he'd do. For one thing, he'd better change out of this white T-shirt. He gauged the distance up the stairs to the door, slightly ajar now, with a portion of Egon's blond hair visible in the narrow aperture.
Sighting over the warm sandstone, he squeezed off five rapid shots, and then sprinted for the doorway. Egon fired across the lawn into the concealing shrubbery as Carey raced up the stairs in a crouching run, followed by a bursting explosion of flying sandstone as Rifat's men opened fire. Ricocheting bits of stone accompanied Carey's dash inside, and Egon slammed the door shut against the barrage.
“I hope she was worth it,” Carey muttered, pulling Egon away from the door. Even the six solid inches of teak wouldn't stop the AK rounds at close range.
“She was,” Egon replied, his smile brilliant for a man under attack by bloodthirsty brutes who'd kill a man and eat a good breakfast five minutes later.
“It might be your fucking last fuck,” Carey growled, frustrated by the damn timing. Another few minutes and they'd have been gone. “How the hell can you smile like that?”
“I have found bliss,” Egon said. “I recommend it.”
“Great. Glad to hear it. But I don't think the others in this crowd empathize with your current mood.”
Mariel and Molly were huddled against the wall under the stairway, their faces ashen.
“But if some bloody miracle occurs, we might be able to blast our way out of here. How many did you see?”
Egon sobered immediately when he detected Mariel's fear. “I fucked up again, didn't I?” he said, the familiar pain back in his eyes.
Carey was immediately contrite. “Look,” he said with a quick shrug, “maybe it's not so bad. I only saw three I think. How about you?”
Egon sighed. “Three. It's always the same… you have to come and save my ass. I'm sorry, Carey.”
“Hey, hey,” Carey said, taking his arm, “don't bum out on me now. We might manage if there's only three.” Only three, he thought, am I the world's biggest optimist or what? They're fucking Rifat's front line. But he needed Egon functioning, not tripping out in his own little world. “Remember the shoot at Erhard's outside Linz? We paced each other all afternoon. Maybe we can keep them pinned down and pick them off. These custom rifles of your dad's are good for long distances with these full-size cartridges. Hell these are special competition rifles. Can you follow me?”
“Sure, Carey.”
“With conviction now. I want to waste these suckers.”
Egon's smile was faint, but hopeful. “I'll follow you, boss.”
“Good, now let's get the women upstairs and we'll go stalking. Our great advantage is we know this place and they don't. I want to find their car.”
After a swift detour into the study, the women were escorted upstairs past the bedroom floor into the attic. Handing Molly a shotgun and a rifle, Carey said, “These are for protection if you need them. But,” he went on quickly, seeing the apprehension appear in her eyes, “you shouldn't. Just maybe.”
“I can't stand waiting for a footstep on the stairs. Let me come with you.”
Carey's first impulse was to brusquely refuse but that approach never worked with Molly. “Darling,” he said, holding her lightly with one arm around her shoulder, “Mariel's about to lose it over there.” And they both glanced at Mariel shivering in Egon's embrace. “I'm not saying you're not a great shot and we couldn't use you, but we need you here with her.”
“I don't suppose she'll stay here alone.”
“From the looks of it, she's going to fall apart pretty soon, and then Egon's going to get all emotional and I'd prefer that not happen. He can help me flush those guys out of cover; he knows this place inside out. Come on, Honeybear, be a dear and whip that female into shape… Please?”
“They're not going to just go away, are they?” Her words were mild despite their significant content, and she wondered for a moment if she was in shock. Is this normal when being stalked by killers, this unearthly calm?
She must be in shock, Carey decided, she was taking this much too serenely. He'd seen it before, when men started talking about their favorite songs or their girlfriend back home as shells started exploding. Shit. “Are you going to be all right? I've got to drag Egon out of here.”
“I'm fine.”
Oh Christ, he thought, looking at her standing there with a weapon in each hand, a pleasant smile on her face and that damn placid voice. He loved her more than anything, and he had to leave her here whether she could handle it or not; if he didn't move real fast, it was going to be over. “Thanks,” he said in lieu of dragging her into his arms and never letting her go.
It took another few moments to persuade Egon to loosen his embrace. With an imploring glance over Egon's head, he silently asked Molly for help. Setting down the guns, she walked over and put a hand on Mariel's shoulder. “Egon, Mariel and I will be safe here.”
“We'd better go,” Carey declared, placing a heavy hand on Egon's arm. “We won't be long,” he added with theatrical confidence. “Let's hit it.” He felt like a goddamn coach at halftime, but the conclusion of this game was slightly more terminal, especially if he didn't pry Egon loose soon.
At last, Egon slowly relinquished his hold.
“Hurry back,” Molly said with a bracing smile. Now she knew how the eternal female felt sending her man off to war.
“Take care,” Carey murmured so only she could hear, “and don't let anyone in that door.” The intensity of his tone was steel hard.
“Don't worry,” Molly replied, warring impulses battling within her. “Good luck,” she softly added as the door closed behind the men.
While she didn't consider herself some Amazon warrior, neither did she relish the idea of passively waiting to see whether Carey and Egon were killed. Certainly with three enemies outside they could use another weapon on their side. Although life and death situations were distinctly foreign to Molly's repertoire, she'd always prided herself on responding well to crises. She could help; she knew she could. And she was going to.
“Mariel, I'm going with them. They could use another rifle.
Can you shoot this if you have to?” Surprised at her solid conviction, Mariel's answer was unimportant. She was going.
When Mariel nodded, it was as though the movement confirmed Molly's resolution. “If it will help Egon, I'll do it,” she said in a very small voice. “They're after him, aren't they?”
“Only because he owns a munitions factory,” Molly clarified. “Otherwise he wouldn't be involved with men like those. Here, now look, this is all you have to do.” And she placed the semi-automatic gun in her hands. “If a stranger comes through that door, pull the trigger.”
Straightening her shoulders, she called on all her reserves of strength. “I'll manage. Now go, before you lose them.” And, pulling up a dust-covered chair, she sat down and aimed the gun barrel at the door.
Molly glanced back once before she left and gave her an encouraging smile. Mariel was rigid as a mannequin, but the determination on her face was resolute.
With her adrenaline and heart pumping at maximum speed, Molly ran down the attic stairs, hoping Carey and Egon hadn't gotten too far ahead of her. But if they had, she'd already decided to exit the house through the study doors facing the veranda. Maybe she could serve as backup if Carey and Egon flushed the men out of hiding. The rifle felt solid in her hand as she paused on the second floor to listen for sounds. Nothing. The silence held an ominous quality; she knew that predators could be closing in, and were perhaps already in the house.
She was more careful descending the staircase to the main floor, keeping close to the wall. Her ears were alert to any noise. At the last step she paused before leaving the protection of the wall. Her approach to the study across the open area of the entrance hall was not conducive to stealth. With the shiny black-and-white marble of the floor, her footsteps would be audible. Certainly she'd be an easy target once she stepped out into the open foyer.
Apprehensively she took her first step away from the wall and listened, her rifle held defensively, her finger on the trigger. Utter silence. Even the outdoor night sounds of frogs and crickets were muted by the thick stone walls. Just as she was about to make her dash across the large expanse of marble to the study, she heard a man's voice, and she moved back one step to the protection of the wall. She waited another slow count of twenty, but the sound was not repeated.
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