Hannibal Rising tt-340

by Jon Sharpe

  Fargo had rarely misjudged anyone as badly as he had this snip of a well-endowed girl. “All this is leading up to something.”

  Charlotte came across the room and stood in front of him. “I’m being honest with you because I want you on my side and no one else’s.”

  “Your sister hired me,” Fargo reminded her.

  “Why not work for her and for me, both?” Charlotte proposed. “I’d make it worth your while. Help me win the hunt and I’ll give you ten times what she’s offered you. Twenty thousand dollars. How does that sound?”

  “Like a lot of money.”

  “Think of all the things you could spend it on. The poker games. The wenches. The drinking you could do.”

  Fargo had to smile. She had him pegged.

  “That’s not all I’m offering.” Charlotte stepped so close that her bosom pressed his chest and her legs were against his. Her warm breath fanned his cheek. “I’m offering myself, as well. Ravish me. Do with me as you will. All I require is that you agree to side with me against Sam.”

  A cold feeling grew in the pit of Fargo’s stomach, and spread. “It was all an act? In the clearing today?”

  “My pretending to be shocked when you compared me to a ripe cherry?” Charlotte laughed. “Yes, I was having fun with you. I do that a lot. Have fun with people. Especially my family.”

  “Hell,” Fargo said.

  “What’s the matter? You sound disappointed. Or are your feelings hurt, me playing you for a fool? Don’t be offended. Be glad I’ve confided the truth. Be thrilled about the twenty thousand dollars. Most of all, be excited that I’m offering myself to you.”

  “Is that what you’re doing?”

  For an answer Charlotte pressed flush and raised her soft lips to his. The tip of her tongue rimmed his lips. When she drew back she made a clucking sound. “You can do better than that. The stories I’ve heard make you out to be the best lover who ever lived. Prove it. Show me you’re worth baring myself to you.”

  The cold in Fargo changed to hot anger. He stared at her, and without any hint of what he was going to do, thrust his hand between her legs.

  Charlotte gasped and threw her head back, her red lips parted in a “O” of surprise. “You get right to it, don’t you?”

  Fargo cupped a breast and squeezed hard through the fabric of her riding outfit. She moaned, and color crept up her face.

  “Not so rough. That almost hurt.”

  “Did it?” Fargo said, and cupped her other mound. He squeezed just as hard and pulled her close, mashing his mouth against hers, delving his tongue into her mouth.

  Cooing softly in her throat, Charlotte melted against him. Her hands rose and linked behind his neck. Her knee rose up and down. “Do me,” she breathed into his ear.

  Fargo had every intention. Bending, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the four-poster bed. He didn’t set her down; he threw her onto her back hard enough to cause the canopy to shake.

  “I’m not a sack of flour, you know.”

  Fargo got on the bed on his knees and pushed her legs apart and hitched at his belt.

  “Hold on. I like to work up to it. Aren’t we going to kiss and fondle some first?”

  Taking her hand, Fargo placed it on his hardening manhood. “You need something to fondle, fondle this.”

  “Oh my.” Charlotte’s eyes widened and acquired a hungry cast. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?” She ran her palm up and down. “Goodness. No wonder the ladies like you so much.”

  Fargo kissed her to shut her up. He pried at her buttons and stays and soon had her jacket undone and her blouse opened, exposing her mounds. They were full and firm, her nipples like tacks. He pinched one and then the other and she squirmed under him.

  “I said not to be so rough.”

  Fargo inhaled a nipple. He nipped it then bit it and he wasn’t gentle, neither. She squirmed and sucked in her breath, then pushed on his chest and hiked her hand as if to slap him.

  “Damn it. I won’t tell you again. You’re making me mad. Be gentle or get out.”

  Gripping her wrists, Fargo pinned them on the quilt. He kissed her lips, her throat, her ear. He bit the lobe and she stifled an outcry and tried to pull free.

  “That was the last straw! Let go of me.”

  Fargo nuzzled her neck and roved the tip of his tongue over one breast and then the other.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  Letting go of her left wrist, Fargo dipped his hand low over her skirt. She pushed against his shoulders, although not with much force. He looked at her and smiled. “You little bitch.”

  “What did you just call me?”

  By then Fargo’s hand was up and under. Her cotton drawers had a tie. A flick, and he was where he wanted to be. “I called you what you are,” he said, and cupped her nether mound.

  “Oh! Oh God.”

  Fargo parted her nether lips with the tip of his finger and rubbed her tiny knob, eliciting a moan. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders so deep it hurt.

  “Like that, do you?” Fargo said, and lanced a finger up into her.

  Charlotte arched up off the bed, then slowly sank back. She ground her hips to meet this thrusts and uttered tiny bleats of pleasure.

  Fargo inserted a second finger. The bed was moving under them, the quilt bunching about their legs. With his other hand he undid his belt buckle and tugged at his pants.

  “God, I love that. Don’t stop.”

  Spreading her legs, Fargo positioned himself. In a deft move he slid his fingers out, aligned his pole, and impaled her to the hilt. He thrust deep and thrust hard, his knees rocking like steam engine pistons, his mouth on her throat and her breasts.

  “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Charlotte cried out, and bit her lip. She gripped his sides and said, “Slower. Go slower.”

  Fargo did the opposite. He went faster, ramming into her again and again.

  Breathing noisily through her nose, Charlotte raised her legs and locked her ankles behind his back.

  “Damn you.”

  “Not much longer,” Fargo said.

  “No. Don’t you dare. Let me first. If you do and peter out on me I might not.”

  Fargo almost said it would serve her right. Gripping her hips, he shut everything from his mind except the exquisite feel of her velvet tunnel. Usually he liked to take longer. Not this time. She clawed and bucked and the next thing Fargo knew he was on the cusp. He shivered and shook and exploded.

  His set off hers. Charlotte’s mouth gaped wide and she levered up, and it was a wonder the canopy didn’t crash down on their heads. “Yes! Yes! Oh, God, Yes!” She spurted and spurted.

  Gradually Fargo slowed. He pulled out and eased onto his side with his head on his arm.

  “Damn you to hell,” Charlotte said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You did that on purpose. I wanted to take our time. We have the rest of the afternoon.”

  Fargo rolled onto his back and his hat came off. He put it back on, tugged his pants up, and buckled his belt.

  “Say something, damn you.”

  “You should have been honest with me.”

  Charlotte rose on an elbow and poked him in the chest. “You’re acting awful high and mighty. I had to keep up my act. Sam and the others think I’m a saint and they need to go on thinking that. It’s the only advantage I have.”

  “You want the inheritance for yourself.”

  “What a stupid thing to say. Of course I do. Anyone with any brains would want the same. You don’t think Sam wants it? Or Tom? Or Charles? They’d kill to get it, the same as me.”

  Fargo took note of that. “You didn’t mention Roland.”

  “He’s not as greedy as the rest of us. All he’s ever cared about is being out in the woods hunting and whatnot.”

  Sitting up, Fargo swung his legs over the side of the bed. “See you around.”

  “Wait a minute.” Charlotte grabbed at his buckskins. “Let’s get a few things s
ettled first. Now that you’re working for me I want you to—”

  “Sam,” Fargo said.

  “What?”

  “Samantha hired me, not you.” Fargo stood and adjusted his Colt so it rode on his hip.

  “We have an agreement, you and I. Twenty thousand dollars, remember? More money than you’ve probably ever had in your entire life.”

  “I never said I’d take it.”

  Charlotte sat erect, her breasts jiggling with the movement. “Now, you just hold on. You never said you wouldn’t, either. I took it for granted you accepted. Why else do you think I let you make love to me?”

  Fargo cupped himself low down. “You did it for this.” He smiled and made for the door. As he came around the foot of the bed she flew at him, growling like a wildcat. He caught her wrists as she went to rake his face and held firm. She kicked at his knee and he sidestepped. “Enough.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Charlotte was nearly beside herself. She drove a knee at his manhood and he twisted so his thigh took the blow. “No one does this to me. Do you hear me? No one.”

  Fargo pushed her onto the bed. She immediately began to get back up but he wagged a finger and said, “I wouldn’t.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Bitch.”

  “You don’t dare hurt me!” Charlotte hissed. “I’ll have you arrested.” Her face lit with vicious guile. “That’s it! I’ll tell everyone you raped me. I’ll have you thrown behind bars so you can’t take part in the hunt. All it will take is a scream loud enough to raise the roof.” She opened her mouth wide.

  “Go right ahead,” Fargo said. “And while the sheriff is arresting me I’ll tell him about the killers you hired.”

  Charlotte froze.

  “You’ll have to scream louder than that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Fargo turned and walked to the bedroom door. She called his name and he paused with his hand on the latch.

  “I did no such thing. You’re making that up.”

  “Am I?” Fargo opened the door.

  “You think you’re clever but you’re not. You trust Sam and you shouldn’t. There’s more to this than you can imagine. The truth is, you’re a bumpkin in over his head and it’s going to get you planted six feet under.”

  “And you’re a money whore with her tits hanging out.” Fargo shut the door and heard something thud against it. He grinned as he walked down the hall. He’d enjoyed that. But she was right about one thing: he hadbeen only guessing about her hiring killers.

  He could only hope she was wrong about that last part.

  10

  Samantha sat at one end of the long mahogany table, Tom at the other end. Fargo was on Sam’s right, Cletus Brun on Tom’s left. There were plenty of empty chairs; the table could seat forty people. Clockwise after Fargo, a few chairs away, sat Roland, then Theodore Pickleman. On the other side of the table were Charles and his friend from the Hannibal Men’s Club, a man by the name of Bruce Harmon. Charlotte and her cousin Amanda sat across from Fargo and Charlotte glared at him every chance she got.

  The meal started with a choice of soup, potato or vegetable. A salad bowl was passed around. Roast venison, beef and ham were the meats. Carrots and green beans the vegetables. In addition, the cook’s staff had prepared simmering hot rolls. Fargo smeared his thick with butter. The coffee was a rich blend from Italy, he was told. The taste was too bitter for his liking so he spooned in enough sugar to sink a canoe. For dessert there was apple pie, cherry pie, or pudding. Fargo chose the pudding.

  By six everyone was done eating and they were sitting around making small talk.

  Fargo was on his fourth cup of coffee. No one said much to him, which was fine, as he got to eat in peace.

  Then Samantha caught his eye. “I trust the meal was to your liking?”

  “Kings should eat this well.”

  Sam grinned. “For all our father’s faults, he was a stickler for family meals. We were required to eat together. No exceptions. Charles always had to wait to go to his club until after we ate. Roland stayed away more than a few times when he was off hunting, which always made Father furious.”

  Charlotte was being her sweet self around the others. She sighed and said with only slight resentment, “Our father always had to do everything his way. He never allowed for our personal wishes.”

  “Did you cry at his funeral?” Fargo asked.

  “Why, of course I did,” Charlotte answered, sounding shocked. “I loved my father even though he was always mean to me.”

  “Maybe he saw you for how you truly are.”

  Charlotte forgot herself and bristled. “What exactly is that supposed to mean? I was always the nicest of all of us.”

  “Emmett was nice, too,” Samantha said sadly.

  “Yes, he was,” Charlotte quickly corrected herself. “I miss him terribly. It’s a shame we can’t give him a proper burial until after the hunt.”

  As if that were a cue, Theodore Pickleman rose and tapped his wineglass with a butter knife. The ting-ting-ting got everyone’s attention. They all fell silent save for Tom, who loudly declared, “Finally!”

  “We all know why we’re here,” the lawyer began. “It’s yet another condition of your father’s will. He was quite explicit in how this was to be arranged and I have followed his instructions to the letter.”

  “Yes, yes, get on with it,” Tom said.

  Charles leaned on his elbows. “How is this silly hunt to be handled?”

  “I’ll get to that in a moment.” Pickleman hooked his thumbs in his vest. “First I am required to make one thing perfectly clear. Whoever wins the hunt inherits everything. All of your father’s money. All of his many properties. All of his holdings in everything. We are talking millions of dollars.”

  “We know that,” Tom said.

  “Yes. But what you don’t know is that in your father’s will, he left it up to the winner to decide whether he or she will share any of the inheritance. Whoever prevails can either keep it all or offer the others equal shares.”

  “Equal?” Charlotte said.

  Pickleman nodded. “It’s a condition of the will. Either the winner shares everything equally or he or she can’t share anything at all.”

  Roland said, “How peculiar.”

  “Not at all,” Samantha said. “It’s just like Father to force us to be generous whether we want to be or not. Don’t you see? If Tom were to win, for instance, he can’t keep ninety percent of the inheritance for himself and give the rest of us a pittance.”

  Tom took exception. “Why use me as your example? The rest of you would do the same.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Samantha responded. “A moot point since Father doesn’t give us the choice.”

  “Even from the grave he controls our lives,” Charles remarked.

  “I can’t wait for this to be over with,” Charlotte said. “It’s so morbid.”

  Theodore Pickleman cleared his throat. “May I get on with the details, please?” He paused. “The conditions are these. Tomorrow morning at six a.m. the hunt is to begin. You will have twenty-four hours in which to succeed. No more and no less. By six a.m. Monday morning, if none of you have claimed the prize, all of you forfeit any right to the inheritance.”

  Tom started to come out of his chair. “What the hell? You never said anything about this.”

  “I was required not to.”

  “Forfeit?” Charles repeated in stunned amazement. “Father would deny us everything?”

  Samantha gestured to get the lawyer’s attention. “What happens to the inheritance? Who gets it if we don’t?”

  “All your father’s properties are to be sold off. All the money from the proceeds and all the money in his bank accounts are to be administered to the poor and the needy.”

  Now Tom did come out of his chair. He was so incensed, he pounded the table. “We’re to be deprived of what is rightfully ours to feed some dirt farmers? By God, I won’t stand for
this.”

  “The will is ironclad,” Pickleman told him. “You can fight it in court but I can promise you that you’ll lose.”

  “A bunch of poor riffraff,” Tom said in disgust. “What have they done to earn it? Nothing.”

  Roland asked the question uppermost on Fargo’s own mind. “What are we to hunt? All this talk of the inheritance and you still haven’t said whether it’s a bear or an elk or some other animal.”

  “Your father calls it a hunt in his will. Given what’s at stake, and what you are to find, I’d call it a treasure hunt.”

  “Find?” Roland echoed. “We’re not to track and kill game?”

  “No. I’m afraid your hunting skills won’t give you an edge. You see”—the lawyer gazed at each of them in turn—“the object of your hunt is a small wooden chest. In it is the last page of the will, bequeathing everything to whoever finds it.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Charles said.

  “A treasure chest?” Tom swore lustily. “We’re to decide our fate with some silly child’s game?”

  Pickleman answered, “Believe it or not, your father was trying to be fair. He buried the chest himself. I am permitted to tell you that it is within half a mile of the lodge, but in which direction, not even I know.”

  “That’s a lot of ground to cover,” Charlotte said.

  “Which is why your father gave you twenty-four hours. He provided no other clues. There’s no mention of landmarks or anything else that would help you. All I know is that he told me he had buried it in a shallow hole and that whoever found it would have no cause to weep.”

  “An understatement if ever I heard one,” Tom spat. “And so like our father. God, I hate him as much now as I did when he was alive.” He glanced at Cletus Brun. “As for you, your hunting skills are of no use whatsoever.”

  “I can still be of help,” the big Missourian said. “Four eyes are better than two and my eyes are sharp.”

  Samantha smiled ruefully at Fargo. “I had you come all this way thinking you were the best hunter my money could buy.”

  “You don’t want me now?”

  “To the contrary. Mr. Brun is right. Four eyes are better than one. Besides, it’s too late to find someone else.”