Whirlpool

by Elizabeth Lowell

  Hearing her, he smiled recklessly. Despite the brace he wore, he felt every soft motion of her breasts against his back. He was even more violently aware of her hands linked in his lap, causing an ache that competed with the one from his ribs.

  With a wolfish grin he kicked up the speed a notch more. He was rewarded by her laughter and by the closely matched movements of their bodies as the ATV hurtled over the land.

  When the way finally got easier, Laurel realized that her cheek was snuggled between Cruz’s shoulder blades and her breasts were pressed fully against him. Each adjustment he made to the steering caused the sleek muscles of his back to flex and slide beneath his shirt and her cheek to nuzzle against him. He caressed her with every breath he took, every movement he made, everything.

  She stiffened as heat cascaded through her from nape to knees, tightening her nipples in a rush that was almost painful. Abruptly she sat up.

  “Don’t lose your nerve,” he said. “We’re not there yet.”

  Teeth clenched, she hung on to him, wondering how far there was.

  And what it was.

  A few moments later Cruz braked to a stop. Nearby a shovel stood up straight in a pile of stony rubble. The mouth of the slot canyon was just beyond the pile.

  When Laurel got off, solid ground felt oddly uncertain to her. She’d become so attuned to the dune ATV’s motion—and to his body—that moving alone felt strange.

  It was an unsettling sensation.

  Cruz’s eyes followed each of her steps like blue radar. Her movements were lithe and graceful, as feminine as the sway of her breasts beneath the loose tunic top. The sun was at her shoulder, a light so powerful that her breasts were silhouetted in perfect detail through the veil of cloth.

  Slowly he drew a breath and let it out, trying to loosen the tension in the center of his body. He hadn’t had this uncontrolled a response to a woman since he was sixteen and found out firsthand just where a girl was softest. He’d been wildly excited then.

  Right now he was damned annoyed.

  Part of his intense response to Laurel was simple and physical. He understood that. He could even ignore it. What he couldn’t ignore was the growing suspicion that with her, he was balanced on the edge between chaos and structure, adrenaline and boredom, darkness and light. He’d never felt that kind of seething anticipation for anything but his job.

  Until now.

  Gradually Cruz realized that Laurel was looking at him as intently as he was looking at her. Silence stretched tightly between them while heat welled up from the desert below. A hot breeze lifted a tendril of her hair from beneath the cap he’d put on her. She caught the hair and tucked it away, but her eyes never left him.

  Gillespie was right, Cruz told himself grimly. Being close to Laurel turns my brain to bean dip.

  But all Cruz said was, “Feel up to a little walk?”

  She nodded eagerly—walk, jump, skip, anything to break the spell of silence and a man’s fiercely restrained desire.

  “Follow me,” he said, heading for the narrow slot canyon.

  The canyon was dry, radiating savage waves of heat from its cracked stone walls. It was like walking into an oven, so hot that sweat evaporated before it dampened skin or clothing.

  Laurel thought of the bottles strapped to the ATV. “Shouldn’t we go back for water?”

  “Relax. Let somebody take care of you for a change.”

  “That just makes it worse when the somebody goes away.”

  Her matter-of-fact words told Cruz more than he wanted to know about Jamie Swann, Swann’s daughter, and trust. But Cruz kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t time to talk about her daddy yet. Laurel still believed it was her duty to protect the son of a bitch rather than herself. Somehow Cruz had to change her mind.

  And he had to do it soon.

  40

  Los Angeles

  Tuesday afternoon

  Aleksy Novikov pushed away from the bar, leaving Gapan with another round of drinks to stare at. Looking like one of the hotel’s wealthy guests, Novikov walked confidently across the lobby to the elevator. When he stepped off at the fifth floor, the setting sun was filtering into the hallway through sheer, very expensive curtains. The Karastan carpet on the floor was the color of cranberries.

  What a country, Novikov thought, to afford such opulence in what is merely a good hotel, not a great one.

  The stairwell at the end of the hall was more spare and businesslike than the rest of the decor. Most guests of the Beverly Wilshire never saw the stairwell, because the elevators always worked.

  Novikov climbed the stairs and carefully opened the sixth-floor entry door. The hall was empty. He found room 612 and knocked softly, surprised that such a costly hotel didn’t afford the basic security of a fish-eye viewer in the center of the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  Ah, my lovely Claire de Noir.

  “Valet,” Novikov replied, disguising his voice to sound like a youngster.

  The door opened to the end of the security chain.

  Novikov’s foot lashed out in a swift, precise kick. Wood splintered as one end of the security chain jerked free of the frame. A second later he was inside. With one hand he grabbed Toth by the throat, shutting off any chance for her to scream. With the other hand he slashed down on her right wrist. A gun dropped from her suddenly numb fingers.

  Pushed by Novikov’s foot, the door shut softly behind them.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, doing his Bogart imitation. “Long time no see.”

  Toth’s eyes were as dark and cold as the gun lying on the floor.

  “I will not kill you unless you force me to,” he added calmly. “Where is the egg? Think carefully, my beautiful black angel. I have no patience today.”

  Despite the hand gripping her throat, Toth took her time choosing her response. She wanted to make sure she didn’t tell him any more than he already knew.

  “Can’t…breathe,” she said hoarsely.

  “I doubt that.” But Novikov loosened his fingers somewhat.

  She gasped as though starved for air.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  “I don’t know where the egg is,” she said huskily. “I’m just bait in this, like I was for you. I didn’t want to help him steal it, Aleksy. You know that. He forced me to. Now I have to help him sell it. Somehow he got files that prove I worked for the Soviets, and if that gets out nobody would hire me and—”

  “Shut up,” Novikov murmured, flexing his fingers against her throat.

  She shut up.

  He thought rapidly, watching her dark eyes, unmoved by her fear or her calculation or her beauty.

  “You’re just trying to sell it?” he asked after a moment.

  She nodded quickly.

  “Who’s the lucky buyer?”

  “Damon Hudson,” she whispered past the steely fingers gripping her throat.

  “How much?”

  “Six.”

  “Million?”

  She nodded.

  Novikov’s fingers relaxed somewhat. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud. She hadn’t figured out the true value of the Ruby Surprise, or the asking price would have been sixty million, not six.

  He doubted that her partner was so stupid.

  With deadly grace Novikov released Toth, scooped up her gun, and flipped on the safety. Then he pressed the security chain screws back into the wood. They wouldn’t hold against much more than a tap, but if anyone should happen to get past Gapan and surprise Novikov, the lock wouldn’t appear to be obviously broken.

  Satisfied, he turned back to her. She had one hand around her neck and was trembling slightly. The random shivers rippled visibly through the clinging silk of her blouse. He deliberately let his attention rove over Toth’s body.

  Her nipples tightened as if he had stroked her.

  “You are one of the only two adult females I have ever found sexually attractive,” he said idly.

  “I know.” Her vo
ice was husky. “Who’s the other?”

  “A woman twice your age, a quarter your looks, and possessing one of the finest political minds of this or any century.”

  “You can’t screw her mind.”

  Novikov smiled slightly. The curve of his lips was both hard and deceptively vulnerable, that of a recently fallen angel who might still be capable of redemption.

  Toth licked her lips and ran her hands over her slacks. The gesture could have been unconscious, but he doubted it.

  “Poor mongrel bitch,” he said softly. “You have a pathological need to attract men sexually. You feel safe only when you can control a man’s cock. That is why I was chosen to run you as an agent. They knew my taste ran to boys.”

  “And little girls,” she said, smiling maliciously. “Don’t forget them.”

  “Sometimes,” he agreed. “But you are not a little girl anymore. Did you feel frightened when you grew breasts and your father started spending nights with your little sister?”

  Rage showed for a second in Toth’s eyes, but she knew better than to act on it. The Russian was a man of impressive cruelty.

  “Who is acting as your father now?” Novikov asked.

  She’d been expecting the question and answered immediately. “Jamie Swann.”

  Novikov frowned. “I do not recognize the name.”

  “He’s not one of ours.”

  “How did he get to you?”

  “I don’t know. He just showed up with a fistful of proof that I was working for you.”

  Novikov waited.

  So did she. Silently.

  “What did he want you to do?” Novikov asked.

  “Like I said. Bait. I can get past all the dragons and whisper Fabergé into some very rich ears. The bids keep coming in.”

  “This Swann fellow…is he a computer man?”

  She laughed. “Jamie? Babe, he would barely know where to plug it in. He’s contract muscle.”

  “Shrewd muscle, to take the egg out from under my nose.”

  “I’ll bet he had some help in good old Russia,” she said with smiling malice. “Not everyone is sure the new government will stick. People are looking out for themselves.”

  “Why don’t you write an opinion piece about Russian uncertainty for the Los Angeles Times?” Novikov said smoothly. “One thousand words of wisdom from a traitor dressed as a journalist.”

  “Is that a suggestion or an order?”

  He smiled. He really did enjoy teasing the beautiful bitch kitty.

  With outward calm she turned away and sat on the edge of the bed. Bracing her hands on the bed behind her hips, spreading her legs a bit, she leaned back. The pose had the effect of lifting her breasts, making them strain a little against the silk of her shirt.

  Female breasts were a matter of sexual indifference to Novikov, but there was something undeniably stimulating about Toth’s large nipples. Like a boy’s penis, her nipples had a life of their own. He watched them pucker gently and begin to harden. It was an effective little trick, somewhat akin to the stunts he had seen bottomless dancers perform in sex shows all over the world.

  He went to the bed and stood between Toth’s thighs. Her knees closed, caressing the outside of his legs.

  “I am disappointed in you,” he said gently as he watched her nipples. “You should have come to me when Swann started blackmailing you.”

  “My loyalty is about as strong as yours.”

  “It is not your loyalty I mourn, it is your lack of foresight. If you had come to me, you could have had a hand in reestablishing a power that once ruled half of the world.”

  “Once, but no more.” Both of her knees moved subtly, rhythmically, stroking Novikov. “That’s not good enough, babe. We have to live in the world as it is, not as it was.”

  “What was, will be again. Soon.”

  “Too late for me. You’ll never trust me, and all because someone in Russia gave Swann my files.”

  “You are wrong, my dark angel. I will trust you. All you have to do is bring me the egg.”

  “I don’t have it,” she snarled.

  The anger and frustration in Toth’s voice were real. Novikov almost laughed.

  “Get it,” he said softly. “Bring it to me. All will be well. I take very, very good care of my friends.”

  As though to prove his words, he reached over with a long, elegant finger and gently circled one of her nipples. Her breath came in hard, either artifice or true desire.

  He didn’t care which. He had to make her believe that he might be seduced by her. If she believed that, she would feel confident of her ability to control him. Sexual power was the only kind she trusted.

  “Do not worry about my loyalty,” he said. “I do not worry about yours. Trust, like love, is much overrated. Mutual benefit is all that really holds people together. Once you realize that, life becomes much simpler. You can take your pleasures, and give your pleasures, without ever surrendering control.”

  Novikov slid his hands up Toth’s thigh an inch at a time.

  “For instance,” he said softly, “we could have the pleasure of one another at just this moment and not surrender a bit of control. At least, one of us would not. Which one, dark angel?”

  Smiling, she licked her lower lip and caught it between her teeth. She bit down gently, as though savoring the sensations of pleasure and pain at the same instant.

  “What if I still had the gun?” she asked. “What if the barrel was in your mouth?”

  “I would suck on it.”

  Her eyes half closed. She tipped her head back, then slowly rolled it from side to side, loosening the tension in her neck. The movement made her breasts shift invitingly.

  “Poor little girl,” he said, “so many enemies. So many choices. Choose me, dark angel. I will make you fly.”

  “I already know how to fly.”

  “That is what all baby birds think. They mistake their hops and flappings for real flight. Then one day they step out of the nest and know why they were born.”

  Toth looked into the smoky brilliance of Novikov’s eyes and wondered what sexual combat would be like with him. The thought was exciting and frightening in equal parts.

  “After me, you wouldn’t be satisfied with boys,” she said.

  “You are not the first woman to suggest that,” Novikov said, smiling with invitation and contempt.

  She drew a quick breath that was almost like a sigh and caught her lower lip between her teeth again. This time she bit down harder.

  “I’ll be the last, Aleksy. You can bet your balls on it.”

  “It is a deal, as the Americans say. We will see who is master and who is slave…after you bring me that egg.”

  His hands flexed and his thumbnails scored soft skin in promise or punishment.

  The phone rang.

  Novikov froze, waiting.

  It didn’t ring again.

  41

  Karroo

  Tuesday afternoon

  A small palo verde tree grew from the canyon floor where the walls closed in, narrowing the passage down to a slot. A pair of dark birds called to one another, their cries pure and musical in the silence. Until that moment, Laurel hadn’t realized how quiet the desert had been.

  “There’s water ahead,” Cruz said. “That’s why you’re seeing birds here.”

  His words reminded Laurel that Cruz knew her frighteningly well. He not only knew that she would notice the birds but that she would be curious about why they were here and not back at the mouth of the canyon.

  She gave him a swift glance, but he was walking along like nothing odd had happened—certainly nothing frightening. She shook her head and wondered how he’d feel if she read him like a first-grade book.

  Just beyond the palo verde, a tongue of rubble blocked the canyon. Cruz scrambled up the obstacle, then held down his right hand to Laurel. She ignored it, taking the rubble in a rush that left her breathless and slightly off balance. His hand closed over her elbow, stead
ying her.

  “I’m not a frail little flower,” he said, almost roughly. “Remember?”

  “Fine. I still don’t want to hurt you.”

  His mouth flattened as he thought of Laurel and her father and what had to be done. Trust created. Trust destroyed.

  And then the pain.

  “Sometimes hurt can’t be avoided,” he said.

  She knew without asking that Cruz had been hurt in the past, and by more than simple physical violence. What surprised her was that the pain in his eyes was still fresh, sharp, bleak, as if there wasn’t any end to the agony. She couldn’t bear what she saw in him without reaching out and trying to give him the only comfort she could. That would be stupid.

  So she looked away. For the first time she looked at the rest of the canyon. The hot rocky oven had become an oasis. A pond the size of a small swimming pool shimmered at the shady base of a rock wall. Lacy palo verde bushes provided fragile shade. Their green was so startling after the sterile rock that it almost hurt her eyes.

  “The oasis is too new to appear on maps,” Cruz said, answering Laurel’s questions as if she’d spoken them aloud. “The spring that feeds the pool only began to flow in the last decade or so.”

  “Water from rock,” she said softly. “A miracle.”

  “And earthquakes. Don’t forget them.”

  He went down the tongue of debris and knelt by the rocky pool. While he scooped up a double handful of water and drank, she slid down the slope to stand beside him.

  “The water is so clear,” she said, surprised.

  “Most plants haven’t gotten a foothold yet. Back here the canyon is too narrow to pick up dust from the desert winds and there’s nothing to eat. I’ve never seen tracks of anything but ravens by the water.”

  One edge of the pool was in sunlight. Ripples caused by Cruz’s hands glittered brightly in the light. He scooped up water and splashed it over his face. Great drops clung to his shirt and expanded darkly. Smaller drops gleamed in the black hair that showed in the opening of his shirt.