Grace Deloney, struggling to master her annoyance, eyed the individual who sat across the desk from her. A brute of a man, she thought, even if the comparison wasn't wholly apt. A handsome brute of a man, with blond, curly hair and hard, almost ruthless brown eyes. Grace leaned forward-and sniffed. She really didn't need to. She knew her once-eager new-accounts salesman was pickled again-for the second time in a week. "You're drunk, Darby," she accused. "At ten o'clock in the morning. For heaven's sake, man, what's bothering you? Please tell me before I take steps. I implore you." She waited for blood-shot eyes to lift from the front of her dress..
Darby Upton hiccupped and loudly denied the intoxication charge.
"Has Lee Ellen thrown you out of the house again? Has she?"
"Goddamn it, my private life is none of your business!" Upton flared.
Grace was appalled, both at the language and the heat. She decided not to take offense. "But it is the firm's business. You're one of our better salesmen, Darby. I hate to see you destroy yourself like this."
Upton's head wobbled a bit. He strove to conceal it. "Who's destroyin'? I tell you, I can hold my liquor. I hadda coupla wee ones on my way in, that's all. You prob'ly hadda pair yourself."
"I never drink on my way to work!" Grace snapped. "I save he booze for relaxing. Listen, Darby, if you'd like a few days off to dry out, maybe to take care of your personal problems, why, I'll give them to you. J t ask like a man."
"Fuck you!" Upton snarled, flushing. He said it low, but Grace's 'secretary, Jocelyn, heard, anyway. The girl whitened.
"Watch it, Darby," Grace warned. "I'm a patient woman, but I am a woman. We operate an investment service inside these walls, not a poolroom. If you can't act the gentleman, get out."
"I just may... and stay."
Grace cocked her head to one side. "Oh? Has Snyder, Locke, and Pendergrass made you a better offer? If so, we can always review-"
"No one's made me any offer," Upton said wearily. "I'm just fed up, that's all. Up to here. I think I'll quit it. Go out West or something. Shit, a man only trips through once."
Now Grace was concerned. These weren't the idle ramblings of a drunken man. Darby did sound frustrated. He had marriage trouble, yes, but there seemed to be more to it than Lee Ellen. "We'll give you a week off to think-it over. Even loan you one of the company cars. Get your fishing gear together and--"
"No. I'm splittin'. Yeah. Just made up my mind." Upton's jaw tightened, as if he had, indeed, decided on a certain course of action. His eyes suddenly cleared, too, by a mysterious act of will.
Grace admired the man for his stubbornness. Darby, if only he weren't prey to certain defects of character, possessed unlimited potential. As it was, he literally canceled himself out. Sad. Very sad. "Are you sure? We never rehire people, you know, once they resign. We'll find a new man to take your place."
"I know. If you'll call Personnel about my severance check, I'll go pick it up." Upton rose as if to go. He seemed steadier now, more certain of himself.
"Darby, are you sure we can't--"
"I'm sure." Upton's tone was flat, final.
Grace threw it in. She picked up the phone to dial the personnel office. "Okay. And let me say it's been a pleasure working with you... most of the time. Whatever you turn to, you have my best wishes. Shake?"
Upton hesitated, then shook his former boss' hand. He went out without another word. And with-out staggering, too, Grace noted.
She wondered.
* * *
Darby Upton, the $500 severance check in his hand, fled the premises of Coulter & Deloney, In-vestment Services. He found his three-year-old Chrysler and burned rubber streaking it out of the lot. He needed a drink. No, he needed to call Lee Ellen and arrange a meeting. A final meeting, to discuss their impending divorce and a fair disposal of their jointly owned assets.
He didn't feel up to confronting Lee, though. Not this morning. Anyway, she worked somewhere on the other side of town. He'd have to call her from the building and take her to lunch. Things might get awkward, especially if he hinted about a wish to enjoy her one final time. Lee would probably slap his face.
Fortunately, he had another outlet, another receptacle, for the forces tormenting him. Christ, a man could only go so long without it. The outlet's name .was Gerry, and with a little luck, he'd catch her home.
Upton rapped once on Gerry's door, and thought he heard stirrings from within. He wanted the red-head badly, so he knocked harder. Someone parted a curtain to see who it was, then came to open the door.
"Darby! What are you doing away from the office?"
"Let me in. I need you." He reached out for the girl.
"Uh-uh." Gerry backed away. "We said it was all over. You're a married man, you don't love me, and-Mr. Upton!"
He'd trapped her against the door. He forced her head back with his own, pressed his lips to hers. When the kiss concluded, he maneuvered her inside to a chair, plopping her down the way he once plopped his secretary, Nancy, before she tired of the game and moved on. His hands began roving up and down the outsides of Gerry's legs. Then they moved higher, to her hips, and he knew the alcohol would slow him down not at all. When his hands came down again, they brought her skirt with them. Gerry's buttocks relaxed on the chair edge. Her legs spread out around him. Upton, not normally given to variations, lowered his head and gently buried his face in her cunt. She shuddered.
"Want me to stop?" He knew what the answer would be.
"No!"
Gently, he kissed all around the area-the inner sides of her legs, down between her thighs, and then her cunt proper. Gerry's cunt hair was soft, almost downy. There was the faint smell of cologne, as if she'd dabbed a favorite fragrance over the area. Upton placed his mouth at the vestibule and began moving his tongue from side to side, working it into her. Gerry moaned a little and spread her legs wider, both. hands moving to his head. He crushed his face against her cunt and buried his tongue deeper, moving it now in circles around the moist inner-lining.
"If you keep that up, Darby, I'll die!"
Still using his mouth on her, he began to stroke her legs and hips, her stomach. His hands moved up and found her breasts, began to play with them. His fingers drew the nipples to hardness, to where they were like two little pricks projecting from the end of each breast. He put his hands over both and massaged. Gerry yelped in pleasure. When Upton made his tongue stiffen and caused it to work her clit more roughly, she brought her legs up to and over his shoulders. Her hips tensed. She whimpered, and he tasted the proof of her orgasm.
He brought his face away and removed her legs from his shoulders, kissing his way up her smooth belly to her breasts. He ran his mouth over both, moving his tongue in circular motions, raking it across each turgid nipple in turn, nuzzling. He felt her hand fumble with his zipper, find his hard-on, seize it. A groan escaped her lips, as if she couldn't, with her woman's strength, free him. He had to help her. He reached back and opened his pants, drop-ping them to the floor, displaying a stiff cock for her to see.
Gerry wrapped her fingers around it, squeezed several times. "Do you want me to?"
"What?" He knew he had to have relief soon, or else he'd burst.
"Suck you."
"If you wish." Upton stood up so that he was between her legs. She leaned forward, coming to her knees as she pushed the chair back. He felt her hand grasp the base and her mouth accept the swollen head. She lashed a tongue around it several times, then took just the head into her mouth, biting it lightly. Finally she moved her compressed lips down over it, taking the whole shaft into her mouth. Upton felt the head encounter the back of her mouth and force its way partly down her throat. Gerry faltered a moment, but she bravely took it all.
Her hands, meanwhile, had divested him of his shorts. Her free hand came up to cup his testicles and fondle them gently as she continued to suck. She closed her eyes and gave herself up wholly to the task.
About then, he made her stop. He knew he couldn't take much more of that. He pointed to the divan against the wall. She shook her head.
"Fuck me here. I want you to fuck me here. And hurry."
She meant the rug. The invitation excited him. He finished undressing and laid his clothes across the chair. Starkly erect, he loomed over her. Even with the curtains drawn, he could see. And admire. He saw Gerry's oval face framed in her dark-auburn hair, the girl-sized breasts, the narrow waist and flaring hips, and at the juncture of legs and torso, that soft mound with its red-copper forest. Lee Ellen, Upton thought, could take the house and be damned. He straddled his own love of the moment, positioned his cock at her entrance, leaned forward and slid it into her. His chest touched her breasts and his mouth opened over hers. One tongue met a welcoming tongue as her arms went around his neck. Her hips began to move as soon as his did.
With each stroke, he sent his prick deep into her, pressing it against her warmest innermost parts. The sliding out was a happening in itself, 'the next thrust another almost unendurable thrill. Gerry's cunt, un-like some girls', worked with him. It helped to swallow, it drew away, it raised back up to receive. They were ascending a hill together and finally they reached the top. Gerry cried out and came up off the rug. He gasped and shoved more vigorously against her. Upton's prick quivered and his sperm flooded out. They collapsed together.
Because he'd needed her so desperately, the experience emblazoned itself on his mind. But Gerry wasn't Katie Tryant. She wasn't even Lee Ellen.
Upton recalled the last night he'd spent with Lee. A night in hell... or heaven, depending on how you looked at it. A night to forget.
Lee had met him at the door, a tired, almost haggard look on her face. From an afternoon spent cheating? He'd never know. The kiss she gave him seemed a little forced.
That and the long day he'd put in soliciting new accounts had burned Upton's fuse low. He grabbed her arms, in plain view of passing cars, and brought her up roughly against him. "What's with you? Afraid I might want a little action?"
"Please, Darby. I have a headache."
"You, too? Again? Fix me a tonic."
"All right. Only let go of me first." Lee Ellen rubbed her arms as she went to fix the drinks.
He stared after her. A lucky man. A lucky, lucky man. Lee had the kind of ass ordinary mortals just dreamed about. And it was his, all his. No other man was supposed to have it. Gerry or someone like her could warm him up, but only Lee Ellen could set him off.
Sex was important in every marriage, but it was probably the raison de'etre in his. The attraction between himself and Lee had always been physical, to the exclusion of other, perhaps more cohesive factors. Hadn't she held him off until the ceremony? Hadn't she? After the nuptials, he'd made up for the deprivation. He'd balled her until she was so sore she cried when he touched her.
He smiled now as she returned with the drinks. "I'm not hungry tonight. So don't fix anything."
"You will be. There's meatloaf in the stove and cold cuts in the refrigerator."
"You know what I mean, damn it!" He felt like cuffing her. He'd tried to tell her without saying it, but she wouldn't let him. He wanted some. Now. This evening. Not in six nights had they been in bed together. Before that? Another six nights. Their sex life was falling apart right before his eyes. Lee, damn her, was marvelously inventive in her excuses for not being interested. Fatigue, usually. Or a head-ache. He might, just for spite, make a doctor's appointment for her.
"Darby, please. Not tonight. I'm just not in the mood."
"Not in the mood?" His face contorted in fury. "What does it take? Champagne and roses? God-damn it, I'm sitting here with a hard-on, and you don't even care? What kind of wife are you, for Christ's sake?"
She placed her drink on the floor and looked hurt. "Do you have to talk like that?"
Upton, unmollified, tasted the tonic. At least the drink was well mixed. "What's wrong with a little honesty once in a while? We seem to have so much of that these days."
"Nothing," she agreed. "And you're right. We could be more honest with the other."
He looked narrowly at her. "Now what does that mean? Or am I supposed to figure that out for my-self?"
She colored. "Not a great deal. Just that we should say what we really think... and not what we want each other to think."
"Splendid," he approved. "Let's start now. Look at me. See the way my pants are rising? Realize the significance? When you love a man, baby, you give it to him when he wants it-and the quay he wants it. Otherwise, he knows. You don't care for him. You want the other things that go with him, but not the man himself. What's wrong with you,. for God's sake? You were never like this before. How do you live without it? Who's giving it to you.
She looked at him, then looked away, taking a quick gulp of her drink.
"Well?"
"Oh, shut up. Quit badgering me. I'm sorry if you've had a hard day, but so have I."
Upton threw the empty glass on the rug. The ice cubes spilled out and began melting into the wool. "You don't tell me to shut up in my own home!"
"It's mine, too."
"I'm paying for it. Trying to. Staggering under the goddamn mortgage, anyway. What do you do around here? Keep house? Cook? Hell, I could hire a maid and a cook. Professionals, too. So come over here and do something else. Something nice. Some-thing to make me feel better. Before I come over there and.... Please, honey, be like you were be-fore. Give me some pussy."
Lee shocked him. She tossed her own glass on the rug beside his. And she flung the word at him: "No!"
"Why?" he roared.
"Because you relate it to hard-ons and pussy!" she retorted, bursting into tears. "Where's love?"
Upton was on his.. beautiful blond wife in one bound. He slapped her across the face. "Act the bitch, will you! Then I'll treat you like one'. "
Shocking-no, outraging-him further, she slapped him back. "You will not treat me like one! There are laws, Darby, and I know about them! If you want sex, animal sex, go find it somewhere else. With one of your whores. That slut who worked in your office, for example."
"Slut? Nancy? She was only a kid. Didn't know a pecker from a space bar." Not true. Not true at all."
Lee threw up her hands.
"Anyway, we're talking about us, not her. Us and sex. It's different for a man, you know. He has to have it, or he turns into a mean son of a bitch. like now. See how I'm acting?"
"You always act this way when you've had too much to drink and want someone to walk over."
Lee!
"Well, you can't go around putting it into other holes and come home to me expecting a hug and a kiss! You can't! Someday you'll walk in and find I'm not here." Lee Ellen's face whitened as she saw from the expression on his that she'd gone too far. "Darby, don't!"
He swore and seized the embroidered blouse she wore, ripping it down the middle. "You're talking like a man tonight, Lee. And a man you aren't. I'll prove it. Get undressed or I'll undress you. Take your choice."
"You'll have to-animal!" she spat at him. "I wouldn't undress for you if you held a knife on me." But Lee's lips trembled. She knew he could kill her if he wanted to. Kill her with one snap of his hands.
He held her against him and rubbed vigorously. "Feel that. Damn you, feel it! Know what it is? It's a rod. A hot rod. I've never driven it around the world, just to the places that mattered. I want to drive it now. You're going to help me!"
"Beast!"
Somehow he'd unhooked her bra while talking to her. Now he yanked it away and dropped it behind him. Then, as if she were a child, he swept her off her feet and threw her onto the sofa, almost tearing his pants in his haste to expose himself.
She stared at him, sure that she was about to be violated against her wishes. Not raped. A husband couldn't do that. Not technically.
Upton glared back, face flushed as much from anger as the alcohol. Something was wrong. Tragically wrong. Never in six years of marriage had she been so disrespectful, so-so insubordinate. No, that wasn't right. This was a marriage, not boot camp. Anyway, if she didn't, couldn't respond to the sight of his manhood, his shaft, so passionately thirsty for what she could give him, the stays had parted. And the end couldn't be far away.
"Please, Darby," she breathed. "Let's act like civilized human beings. I'll fix you a nice steak and--"
"Steak!" He waggled his thing at her. "I have all the meat I need, honey. All the meat you need!"
"With onions and a sauce you've never tried before."
"God, Lee, look at me. Look at it: Have you ever in your life seen anything to match it?" He snatched her up, forced her face to encounter the eight that mattered.
"Darby, stop it!" she wailed. "Don't you think I have feelings, too? I'm sorry if I've hurt you. Just don't hurt me back."
"You aren't! If you were, you'd do something!"
"May God damn you to hell!" she blazed, and opened her mouth wide to say it.
Upton amazed even himself. He inserted himself between her lips. And braced for a biting that would leave him no choice but to beat the life out of her. It never came. Before his startled gaze, Lee went wild, hugging his hips and beginning to feed like some deranged whore. Part of his mind was aghast, an-other overwhelmingly pleased. He'd conquered her. Lee Ellen. He'd made her, for once, helpless, unable to control her own emotions. At the same time, he saw something he didn't like. Lee had gone down on him before, but never under these circumstances. And never with such a savage, hating expression on her face.
Then, abruptly, she stopped and pushed him away.
"More!" he thundered.
"If you want a degenerate, find one! But don't call itlove!"
Furious, he shoved her back onto the sofa, tore her skirt away, exposed immaculate white panties. He seized the panties by their elastic top and ripped them off her shivering legs. All the fight was gone now, or most of it. She saw the futility. He was stronger and not afraid to use it.
He pulled her legs apart and fell between them, let his erection almost tear into her. He got halfway, paused, then finished savagely, not caring how he might hurt her. The excitement of battle had sped him along. Three lunges were sufficient to bring him to fruition. The climax, as climaxes go, was mediocre. The spasms cleared away most of the alcohol fumes from his brain, but little else.
And then, staring down at her, he realized what he'd done. He'd ravished her. Lee Ellen. His wife. The woman he loved, respected. And now he'd say the words: "I'm sorry. God, but I'm sorry." Only they'd just be words. They couldn't take away the hurt, the shame, the indignity.
So he didn't say them. He waited until her lids fluttered open and she looked at him again. She said nothing, just looked at him in the strangest way. The look disturbed him. "Well? Well?"
"If you ever do anything like that again, Darby, I'll leave you. And I won't come back... ever. So help me God." With that, she dressed and left the room.
He gazed after her, absorbing the threat in silence. Yes, she would. She meant it. And she had every justification. Lee, damn her, simply didn't understand him, his love for her and how he needed to express it. Most of all, she didn't understand how hard it was to make it in the world. She'd never had to. She'd been protected, sheltered, never exposed to the harsh realities of the market place. If she lost him.. . .
Upton slumped to the sofa where he'd just perpetrated his deed. He fought the twin emotions of self-loathing and anger. Anger at Lee. Why couldn't she have class like... like Katie Tryant! Jeez, but there was a woman. A man could forgive Katie her coolness, her haughtiness, for the sake of touching the tanned perfection which rippled underneath her high-fashion togs. Forgive and scheme to overcome.
He recalled now that her name wasn't Tryant any-more. At long last, Katie had finally married. Four years before. A big-shot doctor in Dallas by the name of Thornbill. Well, Thornbill probably-Upton saw Lee trying to slip past him. "Where do you think you're going? I'm not through with you."
"Out. Out where the air is clean. Out where I'm treated like a woman, not a-a cockrack!"
Upton jumped to his feet, victim of a premonition. There was someone else. There had to be. "To meet a guy?"
She laughed. "Maybe. If I am, he's certain to be kind and gentle. The way you'll never be."
"God! Lee, what are you talking about?"
Hand on the door, she whirled to face him. "You've been cheating for years, Darby. Don't deny it. I know. Why shouldn't IT'
"Because you can't, that's why! I'll break your goddamn neck if you even suggest it again!"
Lee's laugh was defiant this time. "Can't I? Maybe I already have!"
"What!"
She exited and slammed the door behind her be-fore he could stop her. He ran after her, anyway. Ran too slowly. By the time he wrenched open the door, she'd started her Capri and was moving down the street. Twilight had set in, however. No one else could witness his humiliation.
Fists clenched, Upton stood by the poinsettias lining the drive.. Maybe I already have! What kind of talk was that? She couldn't be serious. Not his Lee Ellen. Still....
He'd put a tail on her, he decided. Not a private detective, but someone he knew. Someone he could trust. Someone named Tanner Carlisle, a lifeguard at the indoor YMCA pool. Very little happened in town that Tanner didn't know about. Then he, Darby Upton, would have the truth. Lee wouldn't bluff him into thinking she'd strayed when she hadn't. No woman used her body to run his life.
"Hello, stud," Upton greeted. He eyed Tanner's magnificent build in near-envy. God, but I bet he gets his share. Good thing he's only eighteen. Other-wise, I'd have competition. "Come back in the office and unload, huh? If you have anything, that is."
"Well, I-"
Nancy was trying to get her boss' attention. "Mr. Harkness said to buzz him as soon as you were back."
Upton waved a hand at her. "Later. I have a private matter to take care of."
Behind closed doors, Tanner's discomfiture deepened. He wouldn't look Upton in the eye.
"Well? Spill it!"
"Are you... ready for this, Mr. Upton? I mean, can you handle a shocker?"
"Handle it?" Upton's heart lurched. "Of course I can handle it. I can handle anything. Damn it, tell me what's going on!"
"Okay. Here goes." Tanner brushed back his long black hair and took a deep breath. "I staked out your house this morning as soon as you left, just like you wanted. She never went anywhere, though. Mrs. Upton, that is. About half-past ten, however, a green Caddy came along, slowly, like the guy wanted to stop, only wasn't sure he should. The car went out of sight around the corner. Neat thing I knew he'd passed me again. This time he stopped beside the florist's a block away. I thought he'd get out and go inside, but I drove up, anyway, gave him the eye." Tanner gulped.
"And what happened?"
"The strangest damn thing. He didn't see me because he was busy pulling some coveralls on over a business suit. It jolted me. I parked a block farther up, watched through binoculars as he left the car and went through the hedge. With a meterman's notebook. A meterman's notebook!"
Upton was desperately thinking. Green Caddy. He didn't know anyone who drove a green Caddy. So at least she hadn't picked a friend. Goddamn her cheating soul!
"Are you listening, Mr. Upton?"
"Yeah, I'm listening. Tell me the rest."
"On a hunch, I left the car and walked back. Looked for him all along the hedge, just to be sure. No sign of him. I figured I'd better circle the block and wait on the other side, where I could watch both doors. An hour went by. I decided I'd missed my mark, was about to shove off. Then the back door opened and out he came-the dude with the meter-man's notebook. Only now his shirt was open at the neck and he carried the coveralls over one arm. He--"
"That's, enough." Upton reached for his wallet, peeled off a twenty for the kid. Tanner needed the money. He had no parents.
"Thanks, Mr. Upton." The boy pocketed the money and turned to go. He hesitated at the door. "What do you plan to do, Mr. Upton?"
"I don't know. I just don't know. Get out, will you!" Upton almost shouted this last. He felt sick to his stomach over this ultimate betrayal, this final and absolute proof that no woman could be trusted, not even Lee Ellen.
It was then that an idea came, a plan. An idea so reckless, so certain of eventual failure, that he would have laughed at it only an hour before. Now he didn't laugh.
Kidnapping Katie Tryant Thornbill was no laughing matter.
* * *
Gerry gasped. "No, Darby, no! You're drunk again. You can't be serious."
Upton took her hand in his and squeezed until she winced. "I'm not drunk. And I am serious. We can do it. The money's there, and they'll pay it."
"We?" Gerry looked incredulously at him. "Surely you don't think I'd-"
"Of course you will. For a hundred thousand dollars. That's a lot of bread, doll. Think about it." Up-ton's eyes glittered. He was thinking about it, him-self. Yes, indeed. About something else, too. Something he wouldn't mention to Gerry.
"A hundred thousand? Just my share alone?" Gerry sucked in her breath.
Upton nodded. "She's good for $500,000. Believe me, I know. They're rich, those Tryants. They don't live like it, but they are. A hundred grand for you and the kid, the rest for myself."
"The kid? Who-"
"Tanner's his name. Tanner Carlisle. He's young, but he's solid. We need him to make the ransom pick-up, to drive the cars and run the errands."
"I don't think-I can't-"
"Think, woman, think!" Upton glanced around the cheaply furnished apartment. "Do you want to live this way all your life? Do you?"
"We wouldn't hurt her? If they decided not to pay, you wouldn't... wouldn't--?
"We'd let her go." Upton kept his gaze fastened on a blue-crystal vase. He crossed two fingers behind his back. "We won't harm a hair on her head, I swear it."
"Then I'll help you." Gerry fell into her caller's arms and buried her face in his shoulder. "But, God, Darby, let's be careful. Let's take our time and plan every detail until nothing can go wrong. Promise?"
He laughed. "You know me."
2
The action at the country club wasn't; so Arthur Thornhill shouldered his bag, trudged back to his Mark III, and pointed the car homeward. Dallas' traffic-choked streets , simmered with April's first heat wave, so he was glad to see the winding drive of his English-styled townhouse come into view. He eased the Mark in quietly, left it between Katie's Grand Ville and the moldering Thunderbird he'd owned since his successful attempt at Southwestern Medical School to convince the profs there that he could be entrusted with a degree. He hated the idea of parting with the Bird.
Thornbill alighted silently and peeked over the redwood fence that surrounded the swimming pool. He saw what he hoped to see: Katie. Katie on her back beside the pool, dark glasses protecting her eyes, nothing protecting her succulent breasts. He wondered why she didn't dispense with the bikini bottom, too. The gate was locked. No one could see.
Thornhill lusted. He saw other men's wives every day, examined them to a degree which only the law and medical custom permitted, yet he desired only this one. Just this one. Almost any man could have told him why. From her short black hair to her small feet, her slightly roundish face to her flat tummy, Katie Tryant Thornhill rated. Her beauty alone would have assured her second glances. Beauty combined with a rare kind of serenity, of sangfroid, that men tried, unsuccessfully, to put into words. He, Arthur Thornhill, had no need to. He simply congratulated himself each time he saw her again.
How had he done it? Not, heaven knew, on his own physical appeal. He was tall and gangling, with a too-large nose and hair he'd never found the right style for. Charm and determination, perhaps, but not looks. But maybe she'd chosen him because he wasn't handsome. After all, how could any man hope to top her brother, Peter, who could draw stares just by clearing his throat?
She desired him, too. Katie. Didn't she whisper as much each time he embraced her? This afternoon, for instance. They weren't expecting callers, so he figured he'd make up for last night, when he'd been too drunk and too tired from dancing to do a man's thing. Katie hadn't said anything. She never criticized.
He found a key to the gate and let himself inside, remembering to lock it again.
She opened one eye to see who it was. Smiled. "Back so soon? Don't tell me the hotpants corps takes Sundays off."
Thornbill chuckled. "I saw three, and so did everyone else. No one could 'pry them off clubhouse stools." He admired the golden way her breasts caught the sun. "Come inside for a drink?"
Katie yawned the way she did when she wanted to vex him. "No. Unless there's more than just a drink involved. Is there?"
"There is."
* * *
He handed hers across, eyed the negligee but failed to notice the distended nipples. Touched her glass solemnly with his own. "To us."
"To your future," she corrected.
He made a face. "There you go again." I
"Oh, darling, why not? I want the best possible life for us. Don't you?"
"Yeah, but I want to live a little while we're getting there," he returned. "Enjoy myself. Keep my blood pressure down. Dig?"
"I'm sorry." Katie sucked thirstily on her drink. Sometimes she hated the way he copped out, the way he rationalized not driving vigorously for the top. The top? At least a dozen gynecologists in Dallas made more than Arthur. He didn't really want to give her all the wonderful things. He'd sell himself short. What would he use for transportation if she didn't bear down? That ten-year-old relic of a Thunderbird, that's what. Or a Volkswagen. Arthur, even when he loved his patients, didn't have the ambition to match. He was easily the best-known gyno in Texas, thanks to his efforts on behalf of abortion reform, but the books didn't show it. His accounting books. A practice which should have been netting $200,000-plus was doing just half that well.
She thought about the four years they'd spent together, and how, in the beginning, she'd had such great hopes-though in many ways they'd already surpassed them. She hadn't realized then how prosperous the great bulk of people would be by 1973, the number of twoand three-car families, the luxury items cluttering every closet. Now, as always, money was the name of the game.
Another thing she hadn't known: the more a per-son, or couple, has, the more he, or they, want to have. And the more in debt they become. Once, in her naive past, she'd assumed that financial security would follow her wherever she went. Now she knew better. A high standard of living, for her and Arthur as well as everyone else, frequently meant a high level of indebtedness-a mortgage that snowballed into thousands of dollars, insurance premiums which quickly totalled four-figure sums.
Everything had its price. And she really wanted so little. Not a fortune, just enough to make a good life possible, enough to make it easy for both of them. If only Arthur would wake up. Damn him.
He read her mind and grinned crookedly at her. "Never stop trying, do you, baby?"
Katie was annoyed that she should feel defensive. "Is it so despicable to want more?"
"No, unless.. . . "
"Unless?"
He shrugged. "We have a truce on. Remember?"
She nodded, and tried not to be bitter. Always a detente. He didn't persuade her, and she couldn't persuade him.
They were silent. She remembered how exciting sex had been between them once, especially on their honeymoon. She'd been a virgin, of course. Arthur hadn't insisted, but she'd sensed he wanted it that way. But sometimes she wondered... wondered if perhaps she hadn't missed something. There'd been, God knew, enough chances. Chances every day. She knew men even who'd love to have her. Darby Upton, for example, whom she hadn't seen in more years than she could remember.
Darby had always kept his distance from her-and not because her family was wealthy and his wasn't. Oh, he'd converse and once had even danced with her, but he seemed slightly in awe, as if he'd had little or no experience with women who didn't flirt, didn't tease, didn't tantalize for the sake of tantalizing. And yet... he'd had a way of looking at her-when he had looked at her-that sent shivers up her spine. Arthur, she hoped, never dreamed another man could make her feel so alive, so vibrant. She wasn't sure, moreover, that Darby did do this to her. If he ever showed and made a serious pass, she was positive that she'd send him on his way empty-handed. But would she? Where Darby was now, she hadn't the vaguest idea. He was her age, though, with a college degree and the usual ambition. She was sure he'd made a success of himself.
Katie saw that Arthur had put down his glass. While his guard was still down, she slipped into his arms. "Kiss me."
He kissed her. His mouth opened and she thrust deeply, inviting similar thrusting on his part. She felt his hand slip over the negligee's top and fondle a breast. The nipple, thanks partly to the alcohol's effects, responded instantly. Knowing how he liked it, she reached between his legs. And was dismayed. He wasn't half-hard. Not even half-hard.
"Do that some more," he mumbled between clenched teeth.
She obliged, and was finally rewarded by a thickening shaft.
"Yeah and double-yeah. Rah-rah-rah."
She continued to caress, and soon made him rock hard.
"If you don't stop, you'll have more than either of us can handle," Arthur kidded.
She flushed, stung at the implication that she didn't welcome his arousal. She did. She wanted to give him a good time this afternoon, while the house was quiet and they were alone. And all, afternoons to come. She might even inspire him to-no, she wouldn't think about that. Arthur was Arthur, and she probably couldn't change him. "I don't intend to stop, darling. I'm going all the way."
"Do tell."
She parted his pants and peeled. down his shorts, really excited now by the hard shaft she'd been fondling. It was red and swollen, six and a half inches of turgid maleness. She touched it again and he jumped.
"Let's go into the bedroom." He pushed her hands away.
She was chagrined. She'd wanted to go at him right here, without waiting. Sometimes Arthur could be so unkind, so carelessly cruel, without really in-tending to be. But without a word, she followed him into the bedroom and went into his arms. They kissed warmly, allowing their tongues free play. Showing he actually was interested, he caressed her back through the negligee, squeezing and fondling the cheeks of her buttocks. She quivered, happy to see-and feel-the proof.
Suddenly he picked her up and laid her across the bed. He raised the negligee as if he'd take it off.
Katie closed her eyes, hoping he'd take her roughly, peremptorily. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the carpet and began to kiss her legs, the insides of her thighs, even her pussy. His tongue moved excitingly along the lips, parted the folds, searched for her clitoris. Found what it sought.
She gasped. "You... shouldn't!"
He stopped, as if he really wasn't enjoying this highly personal act of love. "And why not?"
She was unspeakably hurt. She loved it when he ate her, and he knew it. He'd chosen, out of pique, to take the objection literally.
"Just love me, Arthur," she moaned. "Please love me." She kept her eyes tightly shut, savoring the sensations he'd aroused in her.
"Have to get in shape for it, first." He seemed to force a smile, then began to undress. He took his time about it, she noticed.
A flash of intuition hit her. Arthur was seeing someone else. It had to be. A man so young... so strong... acting this way. But then he'd never been the kind to overwhelm her. He was a storybook lover-gentle and tender, asking when he should presume. Sometimes she wished he'd come at her like alike a what? She wasn't experienced enough herself to know what other men were like, Katie reminded herself. How did she know they were better?
At least his erection hadn't left him. As his pants and shorts fell away, she saw it: a hard staff of a shaft, so big and stiff it would have frightened a younger girl. Katie wasn't frightened. She actually longed for it. Wished she could tell or show him. Only, what would he think of her? And if she ever ventured to take it in her mouth, wouldn't he be ashamed of her-medically trained or not? Heartily ashamed?
So she lay on the bed and waited. Arthur moved beside her. Rough hands began caressing her legs and thighs. She thrilled, before she remembered: the alcohol. When he kissed her breasts, she almost slapped him. She wanted, for once, to be brutally, violently taken, and here he was giving her the same namby-pamby loving. It was enough to make her scream.
Why, oh, why did she have to live up to Arthur's stilted image of her? Most of the time, she could hardly control herself. It was difficult to hold back, to make him ache and squirm until he promised anything she asked. But her mother had drilled one thing into her head: Rich or poor, the only asset a woman has is her body. The only asset. Use it well, use it wisely. She'd used it wisely, hadn't she? Brought him to heel when he might have wrecked their lives, his career, their marriage, by some selfish act, some willful urge of the moment?
Yes, she had. She-Katie drew in her breath sharply. Arthur was fingering her clitoris while tonguing vigorously on a nipple. Thank heaven he could do this well. A man had to pick up something in four years of marriage. Four years of marriage and four years of medical school.
She was ready for him now, but couldn't tell him. Oh, how she was ready for him. If only he'd take her, for once, with authority. With determination. Assault her body savagely, now, while she pounded encouragement-obscenities and all the rest on his bare back. She wished she dared shout it at him: Fuck me, damn you, fuck me! What a marvelous thing to say to your man. A marvelous, terrible thing.
But she didn't dare. So she kept quiet, remained submissive to Arthur's slow, uninspired lovemaking. His lips moved doggedly from one breast to the other, tonguing, tenderly sucking. A little boy of a lover, that's how she saw him. When she wanted a man. A real man. A rapist, even. Someone who'd simply put it in and get on with it. Without the damn build-up.
Maddening, utterly maddening. Katie licked her lips, tormented herself with a wild desire: filling her mouth with Arthur's swollen meat, sucking deeply upon its thickness, letting her tongue taste the strange thing. Bite and play and taste. And swallow. Yes, swallow. The hot semen might scald her tongue and turn her stomach, but she'd make herself swallow.
She crimsoned under his gaze at the thought of doing this for him, wondered if he could tell. Arthur looked away and returned to her breasts, still fingering monotonously on her clit. The finger was driving her crazy. Who does he think he is? A new groom? Damn you, Arthur Thombill, damn you!
Finally, he removed his hand. She could have hugged him in relief. Now he'd do it-jam his thing in and make her glad she was a woman. But still he dawdled, rolling between her legs and proceeding to eat her once more. Monster! She felt orgasm, shallow, fleeting orgasm, almost burst from her. Arthur would cheat her yet.
Then he loomed above her, smiled, knelt to make an entrance. He eased the crown teasingly along the crevice to her outer lips. He almost made her sob for him to stop playing around and get on with it.
She wanted to say the words:
Fill me with that big thing! Fill me, before I die! Use it like a battering ram! You can't hurt me! I won't break! I won't, I won't! I want to be fucked until the sheet's a mess, until you can't fuck me anymore! Do you hear me, Arthur, do you hear?
The harangue stuck in her throat.
How many times, at how many bridge sessions, had she heard other wives look bleakly at one an-other and complain, in hushed tones, of husbands who jumped into bed, sent the covers flying, and otherwise acted like impatient brutes? If only Arthur would be a brute.
Again the warm head of his penis withdrew, tantalizing the hot lips she offered so pantingly. "Put it back! Put it back!" Damn you, doctor! Stop treating me like one of your patients!
His hands fondled, squeezed, circled on her breasts, drove her further toward insanity. He made another entry, but reluctantly, as if he'd much rather play at sexing, or think about it, rather than carry it out.
She'd give almost anything to just once experience all-out sexual ecstasy. Anything but this: the same dull routine she'd endured five hundred times be-fore, would have to endure-God help her-five hundred times again. She clutched at him, kneaded his shoulders, writhed to show him her need. Still he ignored, or pretended not to see, the signs, the markers, she set out for him.
When he at last took her, at last penetrated as far as possible and began to move, she couldn't keep from surging about him, from taking all of him as though she'd never have enough. As she hoped she wouldn't. Arthur was big. Big, but not big enough: Long, too, but not long enough. She needed more than he had to give her. And she wanted, this once, to be more than the submissive wife. She wanted to go at him like a whore, a fallen woman.
The thrusts became faster and faster. Katie took up the rhythm and rode it for all she was worth, shuddering each time his shaft crunched against her clit. She held back the budding orgasm until she was sure he'd come at the very same instant. Inflating almost to bursting proportions, Arthur swelled harder and larger in her. He panted out an exclamation he couldn't, for the moment, verbalize.
The eruption came, the geyser. She was bathed in it, in a shower of molten sperm, which drummed against her cervix for nearly half a minute, a crescendo of pleasure which sky-rocketed through her body in wavelet after wavelet of soothing release.
But Arthur slipped out of her, turned away and began to dress again.
And she knew something was missing. Something essential. Something crucial. The descriptions she'd read in books of multiple orgasms, the whispered confidences of her friends.. . . Yes, something was missing. And Arthur didn't care. Didn't care that she still ached for him. So she'd tell him. This once she'd tell him.
"Arthur. Darling."
He turned back to look at her. "Yes?"
"Can you... I mean-" Katie stopped, confused, unable to say it. She made herself say it. "Go seconds?"
"Are you kidding?" He looked at her strangely, so strangely her heart chilled. Now he'd know she was too strongly sexed. She'd fall in his estimation.
"No. Can you?" Katie, who wasn't used to begging, who'd never begged for anything in her life, begged him with her eyes. Arthur wasn't a hand-some man, not with the nose and the rumpled hair, but there was an air of virile maleness about him that women liked. When they'd first met, she'd noticed something else, too: a peculiar way he had, when he wasn't tired, of looking at her. Right now he wasn't looking at her that way.
"Let's call it a day, baby. It's been a scorcher. Ninety-four at the links. You don't realize what you're asking."
"Yes, I do. You can-"
"No." He rolled onto his side, a man who'd had enough.
You bastard! Katie wept inside, almost let it show. Instead, she shrugged back into the negligee, finished the drink which was still beside her bed, then lay down beside him. "Arthur?"
He was a long time answering. "Um?"
"I don't know what came over me," she said quietly. "Just forget I asked. From now on I'll put our marriage, our happiness, ahead of everything else. I'll do exactly what you want. No less. I promise. Do you forgive me for acting like this?"
There was no reply. Her beloved husband, friend and confidant to scores of women, was asleep.
3
Peter Tryant, private investigator, rubbed his sleep-swollen eyes and wondered why he seemed to need so much more of it these days. After all, he'd barely passed thirty. If he didn't watch his weekend partying, Tryant mused, he might soon find himself dubbed the world's youngest forty-year-old. Exciting prospect, that.
Tryant, a stocky man of medium height, was usually described as handsome, often described as very handsome, meaning his dark hair and eyes reminded everyone of his sister Katie's and frequently made him conspicuous to men and women alike when he entered a case. Katie was two years younger, however.
His eyes fell upon Jean Chappell, his secretary. Jean, a slender, brown-haired woman with large, expressive eyes, sat at her desk in the far corner, typing his notes on the Arnswell murder.
"Miss Chappell, when you have a minute, please stop and lock the door," he requested.
Jean's glare evoked outrage, exasperation, and interest-the usual mixture. "Go to blazes, Mr. Tryant." She emphasized the Mr. in a manner de-signed to convey her revulsion and total disinterest in ever being Mrs.
Tryant chuckled. She wanted to be his Mrs., all right. Both of them knew it. "Then I'll lock it my-self." He left his own desk long enough to lock the door and draw a shade. When he turned back, Jean had stopped typing and was daring him with a look. Tryant, who needed no daring, reached out for her, sweeping her from the chair and carrying her to a couch on the other side. Their mouths locked together in a long kiss that bespoke, if not intimate past acquaintance, then soon-to-be intimate present acquaintance.
Jean's only sound was a sigh of reluctant pleasure when he cupped her breasts in his hands. Tryant kneaded them and had the satisfaction of feeling one hard-up secretary press herself against him. He massaged the twin lovelies for a moment, thumbing the nipples through the thin cloth of her blouse until they were stiff and erect, pulsing with life.
"The case," she panted, pulling away from him and inadvertently stretching the blouse fabric tight. The shape revealed was almost too perfect to be true.
"What case?" he chuckled, kicking his pants to the floor and sending the shorts after them. Now a long, hard joint jutted up from the hairy tangle at his crotch. "Have we any case more urgent than this?"
Jean seemed to lose the last of her inhibitions at sight of him. Nimble fingers flew over the buttons of her blouse and the zipper at her side. She tossed them aside. "No. But what if the phone rings before we finish?"
"Let it," he retorted, losing some inhibitions of his own at sight of her smooth, untanned body. White skin always excited him. "Eat me," he coaxed, be-cause she'd done it for him in the past, and whatever a woman did for a man once, she'd do for him twice.
Jean shook her head.
"Then I'll call that personnel agency about a re-placement;" he threatened, scowling at her. He knew he wouldn't, and so did she.
Nonetheless, .she began kissing his straining penis. She nibbled at the rigid column of throbbing muscle as if it were a choice delicacy, going clear down to where it was rooted and nuzzling her face in his scrotum. Tryant's erection became more so. In fact, he feared it might burst, and confirm a long-standing boyhood dread that a woman, through some process that only she understood, could do serious harm to a man. The prick didn't burst, though.
Tryant stood there, fascinated, watching Jean's beautiful face rolling around in his private patch. Delicately, her lips ate their way back up the cock's length until they reached its tip, at which point she opened her mouth and engulfed the organ al-together. Her head rose and fell in a steady bobbing motion that threatened to draw him off. She sucked in short, rapid strokes that nearly curled his toes.
She knew when to stop. Her head lifted just short of bringing him off. "Now, Peter, if it isn't asking too much, I want you to fuck me," she said sweetly, obviously relishing the turn-about in their usual roles. "I want to be fucked and fucked and fucked-for as long as you can keep it up."
"Where?" he asked. There were a number of choices. The couch, the rug, the chair, even the desk. But Jean preferred the couch. A real lady, that was Chappell.
"On the couch, silly. I'll never stand up with you again."
He laughed, recalling the difficulty they'd once had in completing a vertical union-and in separating once they finished. He'd had to lift her off bodily, when his erection refused to subside right away. With memories like that in his head, a man could be forever spoiled for marriage.
Once on the couch, both of them forgot about the Arnswell trial coming up soon. Jean began behaving as though she'd been without sex for a very long time-say, a day. Squirming into the woman-below position, she locked Tryant between her thighs so tightly he couldn't have escaped even had he wanted to. He didn't want to. She lifted her buttocks and offered herself to him, all the woman a healthy man could want and more.
"I want you inside me, Peter. I want your beautiful, long, hard thing inside me. Don't you dare waste yourself with anything else. Just stab me in the pussy with your big cock. Get it inside me!"
Tryant left off with what he'd begun with her breasts. He settled himself between her thighs and made a hurried entry, supporting himself precariously on the narrow couch. Now he'd learn whether or not the weekend had taken anything out of him. Him or his lasting power.
He launched into a steady series of thrusts that brought the come seething to the end of his shaft in less than a minute. Jean, not to be done away with so easily, came at the very same instant. He heard her shrill cries of pleasure fade away to the ceiling, felt her fists drumming a tattoo on his back. Then he felt nothing except his own orgasm: delicious sensations of release as he shot off once, twice, three times into her nether regions.
They slumped apart in momentary exhaustion when the last spasms ebbed away.
"If there's a better way to fight Monday boredom, for God's sake, don't tell me what it is," Tryant panted. "Just let me wonder."
"You're marvelous, Peter," Jean murmured in his ear. "Better meat than that a girl couldn't ask for. This girl certainly couldn't."
Tryant raised his weary head and eyed the two-stool bar beside the door. He couldn't remember whether he'd restocked the scotch or not. If he hadn't, there was always the vermouth. "Care to fix us a drink? Nothing imagine, just something over the rocks."
Jean reached out for him. "Frankly-no. Anyway, we're out of scotch. And you let me take the rest of the vermouth home. Remember?"
"Well, if you-Christ!" Tryant, mildly concerned, realized that he was to have no rest. She'd grabbed him by the phallus and brought him to life again, the resurrection accomplished in less than a second. He groaned and raised his guard for another joust, giving a short thrust which coupled them once more. This time she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, brought herself up so far her cunt-hole swallowed his cock with each violent rise. He buried himself inside her with each stroke. Their breaths became sweatily in common.
The phone rang. Or rather, both phones-the phone on his desk and hers, which were on the same line and connected to the same recorder.
Tryant swore and shrugged free of Jean. He went to answer it. "Hello? Tryant Services-investigation, tracing, and related functions."
The caller had hung up, apparently having dialed the agency's number by mistake. To prevent this nuisance from reoccurring, even if it meant a lost client or two, Tryant left the phone off its cradle. Jean's, too.
He ambled back to the couch. "Now where were we.
"You were telling me about the reaction time of cyanimide poison under conditions of stress," she said tartly. "In some individuals, fifteen minutes or less."
He chuckled. "So I was." He placed the top of his prick between her cunt lips and, with a single push, went plunging back in again. As he slid in as far as a man could go, Jean shuddered, either from anticipation or passion. Tryant, for his part, merely lay there, gathering himself for another depletion of his already scant supply of blood sugar.
"You feel wonderful inside me, Peter," Jean re-marked, and dug her nails into his back to prove it. "I hope you never take it out again. Never."
"A biological impossibility," he grunted, and con-ceded to himself that he wasn't sorry. A cunt-hole was a nice place to visit, but a man would be crazy to want to live there.
He began moving in and out, making each stroke as deliberate as possible. No cinch, that, what with the come raging up through his hose. He was barely able to hold the stuff back. He restrained himself by pausing every few seconds to think about something else. His sister, Katie, for instance. He hadn't heard from her in a month. You'd think she'd call, or at least write. They'd always been close, he and Katie. Even after she married. Lately, it seemed, an unaccountable silence had developed between them. He supposed Kate was wrapped up in her husband, Arthur, and the two children. Maybe there was an-other one on the way.
"Don't stop!" Jean groaned. "My God, don't stop!"
Tryant figured he'd better go ahead and come. It would take the edge off her and enable him to have better control the neat time around, assuming there was a neat time. He suspected there'd be more than just two this morning, judging from Jean's reaction to him. He even wondered if he'd be able to satisfy her at all. In a few more years, she might be more woman than he could handle.
He lunged downward and inward, vigorously slamming himself inside the cleft between her legs. He and Chappell again went over the falls together, crashing their barrels at the very same instant. This time she gouged bloody trails across his shoulders, raking him so cruelly he almost hurt her in return.
"Remember the axe we found behind the dresser at the Pittfield place? Do that again, and I'll use it on you," he promised.
"Sorry," she smiled. "But what's a girl to do when the feeling's so strong?"
"Try biting your tongue. Or mine."
"Hush, and give me another one."
"Another one?" Tryant winced. "You'll soon have us both abstaining."
She pinched him on the flank. "Do it."
For the finale, he was able to hold off until she'd gone bananas three or four times. And what bananas. Jean sobbed and whimpered like a wild woman who'd been shut out of her cage. Tryant marveled at her stamina and his own. Then he had to ride along helplessly with the floodtide of his excitement to the cresting fury of another peak. He feared at one point that he'd pass out from his exertions.
Finally she released him and let him crawl away, a physically whipped man. He got a long rest and a drink.
Later, he took her to lunch, her treat.
* * *
At three in the afternoon, the phone rang again. Tryant picked up the one on his desk, Jean the one on hers. The caller's first words made Tryant motion fiercely at her: he wanted the recorder connected and a transcript made of the conversation.
"Mr. Tryant? Mr. Peter Tryant?"
"Yes. Who is--? "'
"You may call me X. That will be sufficient. I have some news for you. One, we are holding your sister, Katie, as hostage. Two, we will release her unharmed upon payment of $500,000 in fives, tens, and twenties-unmarked, of course. Three, we will kill her if you attempt to trace this call or reach us in any way. Do you understand perfectly?"
"No! Why are you negotiating with me? I'm not her husband. I don't even have my share of the family-hello? Hello?"
He was addressing the dial tone.
Tryant smacked the top of his desk with an open palm. "Great God! It must be a joke! Katie can't be missing! There'd be a wire report. Play that back for me, quick. There's something about it...."
Jean pressed a button on her desk. The recorded call came back through a speaker mounted on Tryant's desk. He listened carefully as X repeated his threat.
"Again."
She pressed more buttons. After rewinding, the message once again filled the hushed office.
Tryant passed a hand across his forehead. The air conditioning was turned up high, but he found that he was perspiring in . rivulets. "That crap shoveling...." He clenched both hands into fists. "If I could get these around that yellow-striped throat, I'd-I'd-"
"How do we know it's for real?" Jean asked. She appeared to be calmer than he was.
Tryant seized his phone. There was only one way to find out. "Turn on the radio, will you? We never know what's going on when we're shut away like this." He dialed the number his father used for a private business phone. It was unlisted and known to only a few friends and business associates.
The call was a couple of minutes in going through, because Tryant Packing Company, a multi-million dollar concern with a twenty-year history of rapid growth, was several hundred miles and two state lines away. Someone finally picked up the phone at the other end, however, and a wary voice said, "Yes?"
"Dad, this is Peter. What-"
"It's true, son. Katie's missing. The kidnapers want $500,000 in cash and a promise to keep hands off. Otherwise, they'll kill her. They're criminals and they're desperate. They've already killed Arthur."
Peter Tryant was shocked. "Art? Art Thornbill? The best goddamn gynecologist in the state of Texas?"
"They had no choice, it appears. He was around this morning when he shouldn't have been. He tried to defend her, and they shot him down. They mean what they say, son, so promise me you won't endanger Katie's life by flying down and opening your own investigation. The police and FBI in Dallas are doing everything they can, believe me." .
Tryant swiftly considered his options. He knew now why the kidnapers had called him. They were aware of his private detective agency-his growing reputation for efficiency and stubbornness. "I can't promise that, Dad."
"You must!" Trevor Tryant, for once in his life, raised his voice. "Don't be a fool, Peter. Play it their way-until Katie's back safe. Then you may delve away to your heart's content."
"You're going to pay?" Peter Tryant's voice cracked. Five hundred thousand was a lot of dollars. Tryant Packing Company's sales might total $25,000,000 this year, but he, Peter, could remember nights in college when he counted his change like anyone else.
"Of course I'm going to pay. We have it, Katie's in danger, the money will get her home again. To me the choice is simple. Do I have your promise to cooperate?"
Peter Tryant silently groaned. "You have it. But how do you know they won't kill her, anyway?"
"That's a chance we'll have to take."
Peter Tryant forced himself to ask reasonable questions rather than make angry interjections. "How many are there?"
"No one seems sure. The police think two, the FBI three or more."
Peter pictured his father, white-haired and clad in a rumpled Kuppenheimer, slumped behind his desk, haggard with worry and hours behind in the decisions he had to make as president and board chair-man of TPC-The Finest Meats in the South. "Okay, Dad, I'll hang up. But I'm flying down right away. I'll-wait. Did anything about the ransom call strike you as odd... or familiar?"
Trevor Tryant had to think. "No. But then every voice is strange over the phone. And I was too-"
"Yeah. You can expect me on the night flight. Goodbye." Peter Tryant hung up and fretted with the phone for a minute. His thoughts were confused, his plans muddled. Christ, but Katie had picked a hell of a time to be snatched. He, Peter, was due in court in less than a week to testify on behalf of a client. He had a case coming up on Wednesday, the fee for which might come to $4,000 or more. Tuesday he'd planned to devote-to bringing his books into order. Now the schedule would fly out the window: Katie came first.
"I'll want to take. that tape along."
Jean's dimpled face lengthened. "But not me?"
"Don't be a ninny," he advised. "Someone has to stay here. I can't, so that leaves the other half of the organization. Question settled?"
She slowly inclined her head.
He glanced at the couch. "And we'll move that out to the hall. Superstition, you know."
His secretary's gloom deepened. "I know."
* * *
A missing piece of the day's bewildering kaleidoscope fell into place as he boarded the plane. "That voice!" Tryant muttered, fumbling with his seat belt. "It belonged to... Darby Upton! Who else?"
"I beg your pardon, sir?" a stewardess asked.
"Nothing," Tryant shrugged. "It's nothing."
But the clue might prove to be everything. It was all he had to go on.
4
Darby Upton stared into the back seat. Jesus in a handcart! They'd done it! Katie Thornbill, nee Tryant, was back there under a blanket, and she was theirs, all theirs. Movement under the blanket had long since ceased. Apparently Katie realized the futility of struggling with three assailants.
Gerry began to cry. Quiet sobs racked her body. "I'm scared, Darby. Really scared. You didn't say anyone would get hurt. That man you shot-he may be dead!"
Upton licked his lips. In the excitement of the snatch, his mouth had turned dry. He needed a drink. "Shut up. He got in the way, and there was no help for it. We couldn't hide two people. They might have overpowered us. Anyway, we're already up for a capital offense. One more won't make any difference."
Tanner, who was driving, swerved to avoid a parked car.
"Watch that shit, kid!" Upton snarled. "We're cutting you in for a hundred grand. Don't screw it with something stupid."
Carlisle nodded tautly, never taking his eyes off the road. The tension, or perhaps the shooting of Arthur Thornbill as he came charging from his bed-room, gun in hand, had gotten to him.
Tanner needed a drink, too, Upton thought. So did Gerry. She was a pasty white around the mouth, and her lips trembled. When he spotted a liquor store, Upton ordered their driver to pull over. He went inside and bought three fifths of scotch. Usually one fifth was a sizeable purchase for him. Today's circumstances, however, weren't of the usual variety. He hoped life would be bigger and better for him from here on out.
They drove on in silence, each taking tiny nips from his or her bottle. Tanner began to relax, and Upton supposed that Gerry's head was humming pleasantly as well. They were in South Dallas now. He had to instruct Carlisle in a change he wished to make in their southbound escape route from the city. There was a farmhouse about twenty miles away where they could hide out until the ransom was ready and the money collected, counted, and divided up. After that....
Upton smiled to himself. He tipped back the bottle for another shot. Katie knew her family would pay. He knew it, too. What Katie and her family didn't know was that their problems might be only beginning.
He felt Gerry's knee press warmly against his own. He pressed back. Tonight, when the horror had left them, he'd give her a good time. He might-and Darby found this idea amusing-even let Tanner himself have a go at her. Wouldn't the kid love that! He'd had tail before, but nothing like Gerry.
Upton frowned. On second thought, maybe he'd better keep the two apart. They might hit it off too well together, even conspire to cut him out of the operation altogether. Fantastic, but possible. And if he went ahead with his plans for Katie, Tanner, damn him, would want some of that, too.
Problems, problems. Upton ran a hand through his hair, checked the rented car's outside minor for signs of pursuit. There were none. They'd been lucky as hell so far. Or he was a better planner, much better, than anyone gave him credit for. He began to go over in his mind all the remaining details, the sequence of events that had to occur in a certain order if they were to obtain the $500,000, keep out of custody, and hang onto Katie.
First they'd need to make the ransom call to Ka-tie's father, Trevor Tryant. They'd assure him that she was all right and point to Arthur Thombill's fate-whatever it might be-as proof they meant what they said. He, Upton, would inform Tryant of when he might expect the next call-the one pertaining to when and how the ransom package was to be delivered.
This particular detail was still up in the air. Gerry had suggested that they have Tryant send the money by parcel post to a fictitious address. Police and FBI agents would follow, of course, but they wouldn't expect the mail truck to be robbed en route. Upton felt this course was much too risky. He favored having the money placed in a steel foot-locker, deposited near an interchange for bluffing purposes, and picked up from the air by helicopter. He knew how to fly one, and had even designed a magnet apparatus powerful enough to lift the foot-locker and the money inside. The possible complications in such a pick-up had daunted him-namely, the-likelihood of being fired upon by FBI agents in another chopper.
So they'd probably settle for Tanner's alternative, even at the risk of even more serious complications. Carlisle knew of a public lake with a large, deep drainage ditch into the Trinity River. He proposed to lie flat in the lake's shallow end, by means of a scuba outfit and a snorkel tube to breathe from until he was ready to use it, while Tryant dropped the weighted ransom package into the water. Then, as FBI agents watched for someone to make the pick-up, Tanner would switch to tank breathing, stealthily latch onto the waterproof package, and tow it through the drainage ditch to the Trinity, where Upton, complete with a fisherman's slouch hat and a bait-casting outfit, would be waiting with a boat.
Hairy, but workable. They'd already checked it out, even to the point of using a package of the same approximate size and weight filled with newspaper. Tanner had complained of dizziness, but he was willing to do it again, this time under the unwitting eyes of a hundred police, sheriffs' deputies, and the entire staff of the Dallas FBI office.
But the actual pick-up was three days away. Three days and almost six hours. They'd need to get Katie away from the city and securely settled before then. Gerry would have to take the car and drive back into town for the various personal items Katie would need. Upton intended, in these initial stages, to treat the girl well. He even hoped to win her admiration, possibly even her respect, something he felt he'd never had from Katie or any of the Tryants when they were growing up together.
Yes, there were a thousand and one details. A kid-napping, even for reasons over and beyond the usual one, was a frightfully complex affair. Each step-and its possible consequences-had to be carefully weighed. One miscalculation meant disaster.
"Take the next exit," Upton instructed Tanner. "And watch your signals," he added, spotting some-thing the boy hadn't seen. "There's a state police car across the way."
The plot's fomenter experienced a rising excitement, a headiness which had little to do with the scotch he'd consumed. For the first time in his life, he had power, real power, over a human life.
* * *
Upton sighed and stretched his aching limbs out further on the cool sheet. He heard the door open softly, and raised, cat-like, to see who it was. Gerry. "Tie her up well?"
Gerry nodded. "I used both the nylons and the cord, like you told me. And I rubbed lotion underneath, so she wouldn't chafe.
"Good girl." Upton chuckled. "Between us, baby, we think of everything. Tanner asleep?"
"like a log."
"That's good." Upton reached for a tumbler, an ice shaker, and his unfinished bottle of scotch. He poured himself and the woman one.
"Darby."
"Yeah?"
"You mean to kill her, don't you?"
He laughed into his drink. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"I can see it in the way you look at her," Gerry insisted. "In your mouth, too. There's something new and terrifying about you, Darby. I-I'm not sure I like it."
He looked hard at her in the lamp's mellow glow. "Stow it, honey. I'm the same me you knew yesterday. But you're right. There may be a new wrinkle. We may keep her and the money, too. Take her out of the country. Know what I mean?"
"No!"
"Yes. To Argentina. The Andes. You can breathe the fresh mountain air while the kid and I . " Upton smiled.". . . amuse ourselves."
Gerry's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"Figure it," he said softly. "Figure it." He watched the light leave her eyes. She'd know now that he'd never love her, never feel the way she felt about him. He hated himself for having deceived her, but he was tired of pretending. As he looked at her, ready to give herself to him once again, Upton wondered about his own motives. Regardless of the physical ache at the base of his groin, she had her rights. He should be through with using people. But he kissed her. Predictably, she tasted of scotch.
She came into his arms, body pressing close, hips and stomach snuggling nearer. His semi-hard-on be-came a real, throbbing hard-on. She couldn't keep from feeling it. "I know it won't be any-thing... but sex, Darby," she sighed. "But let it."
He was ready to. He pulled her over him and reached for the lamp switch, plunging the room into darkness. For a minute they just held one another, letting their eyes grow accustomed to the gloom. Then, just as he was about to tell her to forget it, she went inside his pajamas and felt for his phallus. The warm hands around him were too much for Upton. He relaxed and forgot his misgivings, the knot of tension in his belly. "Squeeze it."
"like this?" She squeezed like a shy young bride who's never touched a hard-on before.
"God, but you're turning into a tease. I may have to hand you over to Tanner." Upton waited for Gerry's reaction.
She hooted. "That juvenile?" She squeezed again, this time like a young woman who's interested in her man's sexual powers. He immediately forgot about Tanner. They kissed more warmly, using their tongues. Nothing else mattered right now, certainly not the woman bound and gagged in a bedroom at the back of the house.
The next twenty minutes were blurred. The liquor and sudden physical need overwhelmed all sanity, dispelled all judgment. To him the night's prime purpose was pinning Gerry's body against the sheets. He hadn't entered yet, just planned to. When he did make her body his own, the feel of her love-lips sliding up and down on him was almost too much. Panting in the eighty-degree heat, aware of nothing except their mutual need, they clung to one another, their hips moving in slowly grinding movements that worked his shaft in and out of her moist grip. The caressing became more rapid and more eager as they neared the point of climax.
He tried to hold off. The insistent need of a hungry woman beneath him wouldn't allow it. She drove him past the bursting stage. He had control, then he didn't. He was gripped in the vise of her legs, his shaft rammed deep, his sexual fluids convulsively spurting. Gerry cried out in ecstasy. Upton groaned in near-agony. She'd never told him before that she had this kind of muscle control. Most women went a lifetime without knowing about it, much less mastering it for their own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.
A short time later, they parted, to lie side by side and catch their breaths. Their heart rhythms and blood pressures were a long time returning to normal. When Upton felt like talking again, he whispered something in her ear. She didn't understand. He had to repeat it.
"Go to Tanner."
She stiffened. "I told you. He's asleep."
"Then wake him."
"Darby!"
"It's time the kid learned the difference. You can teach him."
"I don't want to teach him!" Gerry retorted. "I don't."
He seized her arm roughly. "Do it! I still give the orders."
Gerry went.
Upton placed both hands behind his head and smiled up at the darkened ceiling. He was thinking even now about Katie. Thinking....
* * *
Upton shoved the calculator away and rubbed his burning eyes. He looked at his watch, saw in amazement that it was almost midnight. They'd been counting without a pause since eight. "It's all there. Five hundred G's. We'll split it tomorrow, before packing for the flight. Any questions?"
Tanner Carlisle jerked a thumb in the direction of the back bedroom. "And we take her back into town, first thing in the morning. Right?"
Upton smiled and shook his head. "Wrong. She's going with us. All the way."
"How do we--"
"I told you!" Upton shouted at him, betraying the toll this operation had taken on him during the past week. "It's an air freight flight. We kick in ten per cent of the haul and they put us down in South America, no questions asked and no customs to go through. Understand? Understand?"
Tanner nodded. "The passports, then? What do we need them for?"
"They're fakes. Now get to bed. You need the sleep."
So did he, Upton reflected, and began replacing the ransom money under a loose board in the floor.
5
Katie Thornbill looked around, desperately, for help. She saw none. She was being taken directly from the back of a light delivery van into the gaping
! hold of a giant cargo plane, and there was nothing she could do about it. If she broke away, Darby Upton or one of the four rough-looking men manning the craft would tackle her long before she reached the edge of the runway or the tower. If she screamed, Darby would kill her. He'd already threatened as much.
There was a woman and a boy with Darby, but they avoided her gaze. She was glad at least that they'd taken away her blindfold. She hated not knowing where she was or where they were going. Katie heard one of the crewmen say, "Argentina," and her heart sank. She realized now, if she hadn't before, that they had no intentions of letting her go. Certainly not alive.
"Up the ramp," Darby ordered, whirling her way. He prodded her with a stiff finger. "Move!"
She moved, clambering awkwardly up the ramp. She also turned left, toward the plane's cockpit.
"Not that way," he rasped. "To the crew quarters. And stay there."
Uncertain, she felt her way along a passageway to a bulkhead. She wasn't sure how to open it, so she just stood there. In half an hour, the plane began to quiver. The ramp was being drawn inside. Hatches were slamming. Apparently they were about to take off. Katie glanced at her watch. They hadn't taken her diamond Hamilton. It read a quarter past two.
A minute later, Darby appeared with the four crewmen. One, the oldest, had pilot's wings sewn on the shoulders of his faded flight suit. It was he that Darby addressed. "I want her back here for the du-ration. Away from the radios and anything else she might use to put out an SOS. Dig?"
The pilot, who spoke with a Sicilian accent, nodded. "And I want the rest of you up front with me. We got a load of mining stuff in the hold-dynamite and the caps to go with it. One stinking smoke could land us on the evening news. My people wouldn't like that."
Another crewman, a younger, more handsome man, winked. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of her back here."
Darby seemed satisfied. He and the pilot left for the front.
Katie felt her flesh crawl and her body grow weak as she was pushed into a wall seat and a seat-belt strapped around her middle. The man who did the strapping-someone dark the others called Frank-used the occasion to eye her closely, as if for flaws. He was obviously impressed, and made a remark to the others in Italian. She wondered if they worked for the eastern syndicate or a legitimate air freight operation.
The plane, a sparkling new jet, whined with sudden life. After a warm-up, they began to move, taxiing for what seemed like hours before suddenly lifting off. Katie watched a window at her side for an indication of their direction. After the plane circled Love Field and leveled, they flew south.
Another of the men, who was addressed as Antonio, left the cabin briefly, to return with a mat. He placed it on the floor, smiled at Katie, and told her, in husky English, that she could lie on it if she wanted to. Katie shook her head. Antonio scowled fiercely. Katie unbuckled her seat belt and lay down on the mat. Now all the men smiled at one another, even the youngest, a boy who was called Roberto.
Katie began to be afraid. But she assumed there was some kind of understanding between Darby and the men that she would not be harmed.
Frankie said something in Italian. It sounded to the woman like, "Let's have a look at them."
She cringed. "No!" She tried to push away Frankie's hands as he came toward her. But Antonio, who was quite strong, grabbed her shoulders and pinioned her to the mat. Roberto, dashing her first impression of him, straddled her legs so she couldn't kick.
"Your friend told us that he planned to kill you," Frankie warned. "If you are nice to us, we may let you escape when we reach Mendoza. How about it?"
Katie closed her eyes and began to pray. She knew they had no plans to help her escape, either before or after they reached Mendoza-wherever that might be. They were hirelings pure and simple, subject to terrible punishment if they disobeyed an order given them by someone higher up in their "family."
Frankie interpreted her silence as consent. He nodded a go-ahead to Antonio. The latter reached out and felt around her breasts outside her dress for a moment. Then he hooked brown fingers into the lowcut neckline and tore the dress down the front, shredding it from her trembling body as though it were tissue paper. The elastic band of Katie's bra parted instantly under Antonio's rough hands. She was now naked from the waist up.
"They are magnificent!" Roberto gasped.
In silence the three men eyed the twin beauties-two white mounds topped with cherry-red nipples that, to their eyes, anyway, must have seemed expressly made for play. They began chuckling among themselves as she lay helpless under their gaze. She tried to tune out their crude words and ignore the touch of their hands as they massaged her breasts and plucked and toyed with the points, making her quiver with revulsion.
Antonio lapsed into Italian so florid she couldn't make it out.
Roberto, still sitting on her legs, had his fill of her breasts, then ran his hands slowly up her thighs, under her skirt and over her silk panties. Despite her pleadings and protests, Katie's body began to react. Roberto wasn't at all gentle and showed little finesse in his caresses. Yet under his active fingers, she could feel herself responding, coming alive. Her labia grew moist in spite of her fear, and her loins began to move involuntarily.
"Please leave me alone!" she begged.
Frankie laughed and dared Antonio to kiss her quivering breasts.
Before Katie could stop him, the heavy wetness of Antonio's tongue skimmed over her breasts, halting to lap up each nipple in turn. So stimulating was the mouth on her that she was unaware of Roberto strip-ping down her panties until they were off. She screamed then, and Frankie cuffed her across the mouth.
"Little fool!" he hissed. "No one can hear you. The cockpit is sound-proofed. Either you will give us what you gave your friend, or we will take it."
"I never gave him anything," Katie sobbed, trying to hide her nakedness.
Roberto ran a hand down over her satin-smooth belly and then through the luxurious crop of curly, dark pubic hair to the entrance of her femininity. "She may be right. She hasn't been done recently. Not well, anyway." He grinned at Frankie. "We will be the first in quite some while."
Frankie jumped up to unbuckle his trousers. "I will be the first. You will be last."
"Darby, please help me!" Katie moaned. She thought she'd die instantly if one of the men even exposed himself to her, much less attempted to make entrance. She closed her eyes and wished that she could make them go away.
"Look at me," Frankie commanded.
She looked. The sight of him paralyzed her. She was unable to move or look away. She just lay there shaking, staring up in horror that she was unable to conceal at his thick, muscular body, a body closely covered with coarse black hair which made him more nearly resemble a gorilla than a man. Katie's eyes fastened on his phallus as he unsnapped his shorts and let them drop to the cabin floor. The organ's hugeness both appalled and astonished her. In her wildest imagination, she'd never dreamed that a man could be so large, so-so awesome.
She felt the mat flatten under his knee as he started to get onto it. With a dread fascination, she watched the flow of clear fluid drip in long strings from the slit in the tip of his arrogant weapon. She drew back from him as far as the plane wall would allow. "No!" she whimpered. "Please don't!"
"Open your legs," Frankie ordered. He motioned Antonio and Roberto away. They drew back to watch.
Katie saw how scarred Frankie's fists were, and remembered the cuff he'd given her. She knew better than to disobey him now. Slowly she parted her thighs.
Frankie studied her pink-lipped genitalia in its rich setting of black hair. "Nice. Real nice. I think your friend's wits are addled."
She tried to ignore his fingers as they parted her moist flesh and worked their way inside. For all the revulsion she might have felt toward him, she shivered with anticipation. like a lighted taper placed to a bundle of dry kindling, her body burst into flame. She had all she could do to lie still and control her rate of breathing. All she could do....
Frankie sighed with disappointment. "You'll need some stretching." He removed his hands and placed his two knees solidly on the mat between her wide-spread thighs. He leaned forward.
Katie saw his enormous erection waving above her like a menacing, purple-headed monster. She closed her eyes, stricken once more by fear. "Please...." The entreaty died on her lips. She saw the hopelessness.
"I won't-hurt you," Frankie panted, inching in-side.
The first brush of his swollen flesh against her labia made her limbs stiffen and her body grow taut. She held her breath as he began to force his way in-side her, pushing back the tight, greased walls which gripped his straining prick. Katie gulped and tears welled up in her eyes. He quieted her with a hand over her mouth and kept pressing relentlessly into her-a giant wedge that promised to split her in two for his solitary pleasure.
She endured an eternity of excruciating pain before finally feeling his entire weight bearing down on her, smothering her. Even though she may have found a certain, strange satisfaction out of realizing that she'd accepted all of him, it was many more tense, agonizing minutes before she could properly adjust to his size and respond, distasteful or not, to his movements. She tried to lose herself in the knowledge that they were nearing the Gulf, that they'd soon be far from land, but nothing could help her escape the reality, the certainty, of what was happening. As Frankie's knob-and-a-half beat a steady tattoo against her quaking womb, she began to move with him. Despising herself all the while, she fell into his rhythm. Arthur was no longer alive to be faithful to, that was the one thought which consoled her. She would allow herself to seek relief that, at this unfortunate moment, only Frankie and the others could bring her.
As big as it was, his prodigious apparatus seemed to grow even bigger, wrenching another gasp from her as he distended the inner walls of her vagina to frightening proportions. For a fraction of a second, she thought she'd black out. The roaring flood of seminal fire that he poured into her brought her sharply back to her senses. As the lavalike fluid in-undated her innermost regions, Katie felt her own orgasm take hold. She became a creature of unbridled passion, forgetting who or what Frankie and the others were, caring even less. She wrapped both legs around him and pulled his madly throbbing meat into her cunt as deeply as it would go, clinging to his shaft as her own juices flowed in never-ending rivulets down it.
Frankie promptly withdrew after ejaculation. To Katie's dismay, he was replaced at once by Antonio. And after the latter finished with her, by Roberto. The tears streamed down her face at the shame, the degradation of being so casually used. She'd never before felt so soiled, so trampled upon by brutish men.
She raged at Darby for deliberately placing her in such a situation. Surely he must have known what would happen. Or did he? Perhaps the money had gone, already, to his head. He considered himself rich now, Katie reminded herself. Rich and important. Above the banalities of ordinary men. He considered her his property, too. Darby probably thought the crewmen feared him, when in fact they were laughing at him.
So her only weapon lay in deceiving her captor, in repairing her ravaged clothing and making him think, as soon as they landed, that all was well. She needed time. Days and days of it. To have Darby angry at her would help neither her chance to escape nor her chance for vengeance. She wanted both.
To prove they hadn't broken her spirit, she smiled as she found her torn dress, repaired it as best she could, and put it on again. Her manner defied them to come at her again, although she couldn't have prevented it if they had.
She returned to her seat and buckled her seat belt. The hours swept by, and still they didn't land. Darkness descended. One of the men-she thought it was Antonio-went to the cockpit for sandwiches and coffee. She accepted her share and ate it stoically, even though the bread tasted wooden and the coffee scorched her tongue.
At half-past ten, the intercom came on. A Sicilian-American voice informed them, in weary tones, "We. will land in five minutes."
Katie called upon another reservoir of strength, one she didn't know she had.
6
Peter Tryant compared the address on the door with the one in his hand. They were the same. He stuffed the scrap of paper deep into his pocket, and knocked. Darby Upton's wife-ex-wife, really, since uncontested divorce proceedings were reportedly underway-might not tell him much, but she could probably tell him something.
The door opened at once. A handsome blonde with level gray eyes and a firm chin looked out at him. She seemed to start. "Yes?"
Tryant inclined his head once. "Good morning, ma'am. I'm Peter Tryant, a private investigator. I want to talk to you about your-"
"No! I'm not involved in Darby's wild schemes'. I have nothing to tell you!" Lee Ellen Upton tried to slam the door in her caller's face.
Tryant, with a foot, prevented it. "You know about Darby's activities, then?"
"I told you. I don't know anything. Now please go away and quit bothering me." Mrs. Upton's lips began to tremble.
"I can't do that," Tryant told her. "You can help me... if you will. Tell me where Darby is, or where you think he is. Nothing will happen to you, I promise. He paused. "I can even pay you, if that will help refresh your memory."
Mrs. Upton had taken a closer look at him, and now she seemed less afraid. "I don't want your money. Are you with the police?"
"I'm with no one," Tryant assured her. "I'm working alone. Katie, you see, was my sister. Is my sister," he corrected, flushing. It was too soon, much too soon, to be assuming the worst.
"Your sister?" Mrs. Upton appeared to be both ashamed and relieved. "Then you may come in, Mr. Tryant. And I'm truly sorry about your sister. I didn't know... believe me, I had nothing to do with it. But when I heard the news stories, I began to wonder. Darby-"
"I know. He flipped. Went off the deep end." Tryant came inside and .closed the door. Darby, he believed now, really was crazy. Why would he leave a winsome armful like this for a doubtful life of crime? Or had Lee Ellen Upton left him?
"Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
While she went after it, he referred to a small notebook for points he wanted to ask about. Every-thing from Darby's financial problems, if any, to where he might have taken Katie. Financial problems? Darby had all or most of half a million dollars now, Tryant recalled. Problems he might have aplenty, but not financial problems, provided he could hang onto it.
Lee Ellen returned with a tray containing two cups of coffee and a creamer. She handed one cup to her guest, who declined cream.
"When did Darby first seem to get such an idea in his head?" Tryant asked for a starter. "If that isn't too difficult to answer." He saw the woman's breasts thrusting through the fabric of her blouse, and wished he might call again sometime under more pleasant circumstances.
Mrs. Upton's head tilted to one side. "I told you, Mr. Tryant. He never told me anything. That's how he was. Anything that could hurt him, he kept to himself. In some ways, Darby wasn't-wasn't-"
"Wasn't human?"
She nodded. "That's right. He was warm when he wanted to be and cold-blooded when he had to be, which, lately at least, was often."
Which really made him little different from other men, Tryant thought. "Then when did he start to act more strangely than usual? More irritable, for instance? Touchier? You knew him. You must have some idea."
Mrs. Upton twisted her hands in her lap. The cup of coffee she ignored. "For the past month... since the first of the year, really...."
"Yes?"
"He was out of the house at every opportunity. Out at night until all hours. I think he was seeing another woman. In fact..." Lee Ellen leaned for-ward. "I think the woman he was seeing is helping him now. She may even have planned the whole thing."
Tryant wrote rapidly in his notebook. Interesting, interesting. So Darby had a girlfriend. A demanding girlfriend. She hadn't planned the kidnapping, though. Tryant was sure of that. Not one woman in a hundred possessed the brains or the audacity for this, the most glamorous of all crimes. "Please go on. Much of this is new information. And I repeat once more: I'm not with the police. My investigation is proceeding separately. I want just one thing: to see my sister safe again."
Mrs. Upton seemed to hesitate before imparting her next information. "He loved her... in his own way."
An expression somewhere between rage and suffering appeared in Lee Ellen's eyes. "More than he ever loved me. Much more."
"What makes you say that?"
"Intuition, partly. And a little poem of his that I found one day when I went through his pants. It was rolled inside the barrel of a pen."
Tryant put down his notebook. "You still have it; I hope. I'd like to read it."
Mrs. Upton looked away. She took a sip of her coffee. "I threw it out."
Tryant shook his head. "You'd hardly throw away something with such strong emotional implications." He smiled. "Please remember that I'm a private investigator first, a brother second. Much of what I know, which actually isn't a great deal, I learned the hard way. Now will you fetch me the poem?"
Lee Ellen put down her cup and went into her bedroom. "Give me a minute." She returned in less than a minute, so Tryant surmised that she had it in a jewelry case or in a locked drawer. It was written in longhand, an elegant, spidery longhand, on the back of a card calendar.
"Was he talented this way?" the caller inquired.
"My husband had many talents, Mr. Tryant," the woman assured him. She couldn't conceal her pride.
Tryant pitied her. She'd been viciously used by a man who didn't deserve her, yet she could still appreciate his better qualities.
He held the card calendar to the light, and read:
K.
Ebony hair flowing in a night zephyr,
Coal-bright eyes framed in a caramel setting,
She comes to him softly, sweetly begging,
Only to be spurned outright by one long spurned,
Her warm blood co-mingled with his.
Tryant felt the hair rise slightly at the back of his neck. So he'd been right all along. There was a sex angle to Katie's disappearance. Darby still had the hots for her. And sooner or later, he'd kill her, too, or this bit of free verse was a hoax. That's why Darby had had no compunction about revealing his identity to Katie. Arthur Thornbill, of course, had added murder to Darby's growing list of crimes by being around when he wasn't supposed to be. The money, it appeared, might very well have been secondary.
The investigator passed the poem back to its owner. His face, he feared, revealed the dread he felt, the apprehension. "He'll kill her. I'm sure of it. Unless I can find them first. If the police move in unexpectedly on them, why...."
Tears filled Mrs. Upton's eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tryant. I never dreamed he'd do something like this. Never."
Tryant leaned forward to take her hands in his. "Tell me where you think they are."
"I don't... I can't-"
"Try"
Lee Ellen Upton hesitated, face working. "Darby always loved the Andes. He went there once as a child... a birthday gift from his grandparents. He always told me how much he wanted to go back again. This time with enough money to enjoy it. But I don't think...."
Tryant was skeptical, too. The FBI agent who'd briefed him on the bureau's findings had mentioned the possibility of Katie's being taken out of the country-there were dozens of practical, little-known ways-but the Andes? "What part of the Andes?"
"Argentina. The western border with Chile. He told me the name of the town where he stayed, but I can't...."
"You must. What city was it near?"
"A city called..." Mrs. Upton bit her lip. "Mendoza. And the town's name was... Uspallata. Yes, I'm sure that's what he called it: U-s-p-a-l-l-a-t-a. But is there any reason to think--? "
"Yes." Tryant wrote rapidly. He had so much in-formation now that he was considering excusing himself and coming back the next day for another session. He could reduce what he had to a code which would mean. something to just one person: Peter Tryant. "Thank you, Mrs. Upton. You've been the single most important-what's the matter?" She'd begun to cry-great, silent tears that trickled down her cheeks and fell, unwiped, to the rug.
"Him. Darby. I couldn't have taken another night. Not another night."
Tryant, ready to be a sympathetic listener or a functioning mean, whichever she preferred, snapped his notebook shut. "Tell me." He moved closer to her, the better to comfort her if she should seem to ask him. He also checked quickly for healing bruises that Darby might have left. Found none.
"The last night he came in... he was in the most terrible mood I've ever seen him." Lee Ellen's voice was low and halting. She clung to the man beside her as if to life itself. "He raped me. My own husband."
Tryant relaxed. "You mean he forced you to have sexual relations with him when you would have preferred not to."
"He forced me, Mr. Tryant," Lee Ellen insisted. "Physically forced me. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever endured."
"You're making too much of it," he soothed, stroking her hair. "You're getting a divorce, aren't you? Everything you endured with Darby is over and done. You can start a new life for yourself."
"I hate him! Hate him, hate him, hate him!"
Tryant shook his head. "But I don't. Even after what he's done." He saw the scorn in Lee Ellen's eyes, and hastily added, "That's not to say I can't hate him. I can. If he murders Katie, abuses her in any way...."
"Make love to me, Mr. Tryant."
He sat up straighter. The notebook tumbled, unnoticed, from his lap. "I beg your pardon?"
"I need to-" Her lips covered his, smothered the words. A lithe body strained to meet him. When the kiss broke, he knew he'd stay.
"Make wild, crazy love to me-or I'll find some-one who will."
He had no plans to let her. He slipped a hand beneath her blouse and pressed the swell of breast, confirming what he'd only suspected before: she wasn't wearing a bra. She really didn't need one.
Lee Ellen began to breathe harder. Both nipples had raised to tight little points. Tryant thought about Jean then, and made the thought go away by rolling Mrs. Upton's blouse upward until both high-flung mounds were exposed to sight and touch.
Looking down at them, he had difficulty remembering why he'd come here, what he'd expected to accomplish. He'd already achieved more than he'd hoped. He felt a sharp, tingling spasm jerk the hard stabbing through his slacks. He began to tongue one of the nipples while rolling the other between his fingers. His free hand slipped inside the skirt's band and found the warmth between her legs.
She arched against his lips and hands, describing little circles with her hips as he continued gently caressing, insistently probing. "Oh, that feels good," she sighed. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." She seized the back of his head and squeezed, as if she'd make him proceed faster. "I helped you, now you must help me."
He wanted to. Skillfully, while moving from one breast to the other, he ran exploring fingers along her outer lips. They seemed to swell under his touch. When he found the vestibule and the tiny projection above, Tryant massaged vigorously. Lee Ellen moaned in his ear.
"like that! Never stop doing that!"
He inserted another finger into her moist confines and twisted them from left to right, in and out. Lee Ellen began to respirate in rhythm with the movement. As she opened more fully for him, he felt his own need building to a point where only the sight of Darby Upton himself could stop him. Darby Upton, standing in the doorway with a fistful of dollars.
Tryant discarded his coat, prepared to do the same with his pants. His erection was so stiff that he could scarcely manage. She helped by locking the door, gathering her skirt up about her hips. He realized with a shock that she wanted to be taken on her feet, standing up. Not in years....
As he started the business of making entrance, of coaxing his throbbing shaft inside, she almost propelled him upwards. When he touched her with the tip, she tensed, probably because she remembered he was a stranger. He'd never been there before, might never come back again. But then she moved, expertly, to allow him inside, consuming his entire length.
He'd all but forgotten how stimulating this position could be. A man could reach almost any place, touch whatever he desired. Tryant touched, and made her wriggle on his staff-a speckled trout who'd been hooked at her own request, could leave whenever she wished. Only he hoped she'd stay.
She was like a perspiring vise about him, a constricting band of warm ligaments that knew how to hold him, how to squeeze him, how to make him glad he was here. He felt orgasm approaching and tried to hold back. Couldn't. She took charge of them both, jerking her hips so vigorously that he went over the rapids in spite of himself. Lee Ellen strained upward and shuddered as he shot off into her. She gasped, sobbed, then collapsed, white flesh shining in a thin layer of exudation.
Before she could break him off at the groin, he lifted her from the object of her impalement and carried her through the living room to a bed. She'd want more in a few minutes. So would he.
7
"We will have to stop here, senor," the guide announced. "The horses can go no further."
"This is far enough." Darby Upton mopped his brow and glanced around. They were miles from the last road now, at least ten from Uspallata itself. Upton squinted up the boulder-strewn trail which they'd have to surmount by foot, their supplies and camping equipment on their backs. "We'll meet snakes, I suppose."
"Si. Be careful. Some are very poisonous."
Upton grimaced. "As if we didn't have enough problems."
"You will pay me now, senor?"
Upton clawed out his wallet and raked off two twenties from the thick roll he carried. He tossed them to the rotund guide, who was obliged to dismount and pick them up. The rest of the party dismounted, too, and began unloading packs. When everything-tents, camp stove and cots, together with a small mountain of canned goods-lay on the ground, everyone, including the guide, was amazed at how much there was.
Upton dismissed the man and waited until he and the horses were out of earshot. "Tanner and I will make another trip-two, if we have to-for the heavy stuff," he said. "Right now we take up the tents and cots. The women carry whatever they can." Upton's eyes lighted upon Katie. He didn't appear to notice the rent in her dress. "And I want you up front, where we can watch :.you."
"Where?" she managed.
He pointed far up the mountain. "There's a glen with a fresh-water stream three miles up. That's where we're going."
* * *
Katie hugged the cot and its blanket to her and tried to stop crying. She couldn't. She'd never felt so helpless before, so completely at the mercy of forces both strange and hostile. She wondered what her chances of escape were. Of rescue. She feared they were slight. Even if she darted away with a water bottle and a small amount of food, she'd never find her way down the maze of trails alone. And by sunup, Darby and the boy would be after her. They wouldn't hesitate to shoot, not if it meant staying free.
She still ached from her ordeal on the plane. But the memory of the three grinning mafiosi was rapidly fading. She-Katie heard a sound at the front of the tent. She sprang up to defend herself. "Who is it?"
Darby Upton struck a match to light the kerosene lamp that swung from the tent pole. "Only me," he said calmly. "From now on, it'll always be me. There's no one else within five miles of us. I'd get used to it if I were you."
"You're a-a coward!"
He laughed. "A bad hombre, maybe, but no coward. Ever think you'd have me this way?"
She was astounded at the way he put it. "I... have you? Don't you mean--? "
"No." He came close to her and locked his hands in her hair.
Katie began to tingle, and hated herself for it. Once this man had been able to excite her with just a glance. She feared he'd do so again, and this time fellow through, soiling her forever.
"Kiss me," he commanded.
"No!" she flung back.
He stooped and swept her off the cot into his arms. For a man supposedly softened by years of office work, he was quite strong. "Do it."
She hesitated for only a moment, then slipped her arms around his neck and put her mouth to his. Darby's lips were hard and authoritative. When he urged her lips apart to accept his tongue, she readily opened. It was the first time in days that she'd been kissed this way. The kiss sparked her loins and turned her whole body to jelly.
He dropped her on the cot. The occasion meant something to him, too, because his breathing became heavy with passion as he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of her panties and yanked them down below her knees. He fingered her lips and clitoris more roughly than she would have liked, but she knew better than to resist. As he raised her skirt to her waist and moved his lips slowly up her thigh toward the slit of dewy pink flesh hidden in the nest of black foliage, however, she brought up her hands and pushed his face away.
"Not that way!" she gasped, her own breathing more coarse and ragged than his.
He began taking off his own clothes, then went about removing the rest of hers until she was naked. She stretched expectantly, trying to ease the ache that filled her body, offering herself up to the eyes which feasted so hungrily on her white flesh. A strange thing had happened. She no longer felt embarrassment, shame, or timidity in front of him. She was conscious only of how terribly much she wanted and needed him.
She was shocked to hear herself say the words: "Hurry! Please hurry!"
Darby pulled at the rest of his clothing without answering.
Katie's senses whirled as she watched the lines of his trim, almost athletic body become bared. She hadn't realized he was all hard, tanned masculinity. Suddenly she felt no uneasiness, no misgivings about being with him like this.
She gazed at his cock as he removed his shorts. Intriguing and exciting, it curved out rigidly from his belly like a huge, velvet-headed snake, swaying invitingly before her face and sending a hot stab of feeling through her body. For a moment, she thought he'd ask her to kiss or suck it. She'd never performed fellatio before in her life and wondered if she could now. Instead, he put one knee upon the cot, spread apart her legs, and prepared to take her the conventional way. She knew she was wet and open, her thighs warm and sticky with juice, her cunt eager to make contact with the bulging rod between his legs.
The next moment he was on top of her, maneuvering his hands beneath her bottom, gripping. the cheeks tightly. Katie conquered the last of her aversion and steered the head of his penis to the mouth of her cunt, wincing a little as he encountered the soreness left by Frankie. With a sigh of relief and pleasure, she felt Darby's spear sink gloriously to the hilt, cramming its way up the tight, liquid passageway to her womb itself.
"Darby, Darby," she moaned, forgetting, for this instant, their roles of captor and captive. "If you only knew... knew how long I've wanted you. How long...."
"Shoulda told me that before," he panted. "'s too late now. Too damned late."
She didn't know what he meant. She wasn't even sure if it mattered. She felt as if she were impaled on a long, red-hot spike that pained through every nerve of her body. But it was a delicious pain to which she very quickly adjusted. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensations. She could feel the very tip of Darby's rod just barely touching the evasive little spot that Frankie, with all his size and power, had practically mauled to insensitivity. Darby was reaching it subtly, and she was loving it.
It was then that she realized what a fool she'd been to marry Arthur and make status and professional "arrival" her one criterion for success. She'd been wrong, so wrong. A woman's best reason for being, her only reason for being, was to pleasure her man, and in so doing, herself. The most prestigious position in the world could never compare with a man's full-blown erection inside her most sensitive orifice. And the best, for her and Darby, was yet to come.
She was no longer aware of her actions when she brought her arms forward and placed them on his muscled shoulders, working them up and down along his sides and back, digging her nails frantically into the base of his spine. As Darby's huge tool began its fierce drilling in and out of her vagina, it filled the tent with obscene slurpings that mingled with their pants and grunts of wild, uninhibited carnality. He pumped relentlessly into her, at the same time opening her buttocks and digging a rude forefinger into her anus.
No one had ever done such a thing before, and she flinched, stiffening her haunches. But as Darby's finger worked past the first tightness, she relaxed, discovering that the finger-play, possibly by stimulating her from both sides, added to her enjoyment and fanned her passion to a new high. She wound her legs around his middle and let him thrust himself forward, the better to dig deeper into her.
After endless minutes, she felt his orgasm welling. She found his lips with her own and plunged her tongue into his mouth the way his prick was plunged between her legs. Darby tried desperately to hold back, but Katie didn't want him to hold back. She goaded him into a state of overpowering voluptuousness, meshing her loins so firmly against his that he found it impossible to delay the inevitable for more than a few seconds.
His eyes glazed helplessly, their pupils dilating under the kerosene lamp's flicker. "I'm... going... to... come. Can't... stop... now."
"Then don't," she whispered, and tightened the muscles at the gateway of her cunt, holding him deep inside her. At precisely the right moment, she used the soft inner flesh of her sex to draw in the swollen head of his penis.
With a groan, Darby gave himself up to the forces which racked them both in equal measure. A manturned-geyser, he thundered his seed into Katie's farthest reaches, sending his hot juices gushing up the tightness encompassing him.
She came a second later, gluing her body to his. She strained every muscle, every nerve in her body in throbbing out her orgasm in rhythm with her new-found sexual mate.
The ecstasy passed. They lay sweatily entwined in one another's arms while the spasms subsided. Awareness returned-harsh reality. She'd been brought against her will to an alien land, restricted by this man to the tent and its clearing, deprived of control of her own body. Of her husband, too, although that was a doubtful loss. She had reason enough to hate Darby, reason, even, to kill him... if she could. She pulled away.
He yanked her back and held her hard against him, let her feel, if she'd doubted its existence, the rage bubbling inside him. "What's the matter? Didn't you like it? Be honest-for once in your life."
She looked away. "No. Is a woman supposed to like animal rape?"
"Animal rape!" Darby's face flamed. He seemed disposed to shake her, but thought better of it. He snorted. "You loved every minute of it. Another day, and I'll make you admit it."
Another day. She sagged back down on the cot "How long do you intend--? "
"That's not for you to know." He looked around for his clothes.
Katie closed her eyes so he wouldn't see the tears She almost despaired of ever escaping him with he body, or even her mind, intact. He was like a plague who'd descended on her-alone. "You're going to kill me, aren't you? You've gotten everything you wan from me, so now you'll take my life, too."
"Maybe." He drew on his shorts, then his trousers, staring insolently at her. "That's not for you to know, either."
She looked around for her own clothes, but he was faster, snatching them out of her reach and rolling them into a ball.
"You won't need these just yet. Tanner's coming as soon as I leave. I want you to treat him well-al least as well as you've treated me."
Katie's lip trembled. "Have you no trace of decency? No honor? I won't give myself to a mere boy. I won't!"
Darby laughed. "Tanner's no ordinary boy. HE collected your ransom for us. Didn't you know' Right under the noses of sixty police, twenty sheriffs deputies, and forty FBI men."
"Please tell me." She was curious as to how they'd accomplished the actual pick-up. No one had told her anything yet.
Darby hesitated, then began relating the details of the ransom's collection. The narrative required all o1 fifteen minutes. "The only tricky part was getting him into the boat after he crawled through the drainage ditch. The FBI people had a chopper overhead, you see. They might have seen into the water, or noticed us both in the boat when previously there'd been just one. We took care of Item I by dumping dye into the water upstream, Item 2 by staying close to the bank until we were far enough away to-Christ, I shouldn't be telling you this." He turned away, taking her clothing and shoes with him.
She shuddered. "Don't send Tanner in here. I beg you."
He glanced back and grinned. "Relax. He can't go all night. No man can. Here he comes... ready or not."
8
"For the last time, Peter, take me with you!" Jean begged. "You need me down there. How will you keep your notes without me? Who's going to get you up in the morning?"
Tryant shook his head. "I'll manage. Where's my passport? Did you can the Chilean Embassy about my visitor's permit, like I told you?"
Jean glared at him in mingled despair and exasperation. "Yea, but I still don't understand. Why a Chilean permit? Mendoza's in Argentina."
"Because I'll fly straight to Santiago, that's why," he replied, his mind already there. "Mendoza's just a short hop by plane. I can get an Argentine visitor's permit when I land."
"And after that?"
He looked at his hands. "I don't know. I may be off-base. A million miles off-base. If I am, I'll come back and admit it. The next flight. Satisfied?"
Jean's eyes narrowed. "No. I'm still worried. All you have to go on is what that woman told you. What if she's trying to get you out of the way? Or set you up for something? It wouldn't be-excuse me, Peter-it wouldn't be the first time."
Tryant grimaced. "Or the last. Remember what those two 'insurance adjusters' nearly did to me last year? I do. No, I think she's really trying to help. Either that, or she's the best goddamn actress you ever saw." He recalled the tears in Lee Ellen Upton's eyes. Also, the nail marks she'd clawed in his back. He couldn't take a chance on Jean's seeing those.
"At least go to the authorities," his secretary urged. "Tell them where you're going and why. Promise to call in every day."
"No." Tryant clipped the word, and with good reason. Neither local, state, or federal officials had been of much use to him in this one. The ransom had been paid, no one had been arrested, Katie was still held captive. The South American lead was the only one he had. He couldn't afford to blow it.
She sighed. "At least let me give you a proper send-off." She dropped what she was doing, which was cleaning out one of his old attache cases, and came to sit in his lap. "Want to know something? I'm not wearing any you-know-whats."
Tryant, even under the pressure of his imminent departure, found this news interesting. He checked to make sure. "You're right, love. Remind me to give you a raise when I come back. If I come back."
She winced. "Do you mind?"
He poked a finger between her cunt's satiny lips, caressing her there for a few seconds before inserting the finger entirely. Jean twitched in appreciation, sinking back farther on the couch as the finger wriggled deeper. "I have a hunch this time."
"A hunch?"
"I'm on to it. I can't tell you why, it's just a feeling."
"Bully. And I still want to go."
"You'll do no such thing. Now kindly shut up and let me enjoy my send-off." Tryant moved on top of her, settling between her unresisting thighs. When she realized what he was about to do, Jean became all cooperation, lifting her legs high and keeping them there, snug around his waist.
"Oh, I want you, lover," she breathed.
Her hand, still clutching his prick, guided the end of it into a hole well lubed. Tryant swiveled his hips, letting the stiff hose sink slowly, into her. Jean's pretty face worked with pleasure. She murmured something unintelligible as his cock went in clear to the base. They lay belly to belly for a minute on the rug in front of his desk while Tryant savored the moment. He'd be without decent pussy for days to come, so he might as well enjoy himself. The specter of deprivation was so severe that he had to lie still for several seconds to keep from coming at once. Finally, he began moving very slowly, bringing his shaft out until only its head was inserted, then letting it slip, inch by inch, back in again.
Each time he did that, Jean emitted a shuddering sigh of bliss, wrapping her legs more tightly around his waist and lifting to meet him. By carefully timing each thrust and counter-thrust, he was able to stay just this side of disaster. But from the way his testicles were aching, he knew he couldn't hold off much longer.
Jean gasped as he smacked her dead center. "God, Peter, it's been ages since you gave me that kind of spiking! Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up! If you stop, I'll never give you any again!"
He had no plans to stop. To the contrary, he began lunging at her with more force and speed, ramming his cock in and out of her with enough verve to wear them both out. He became a machine, slamming away at the object that kept the machinery going of its own accord, without his having to think or make it go.
She began making guttural sounds of animal pleasure, grunting each time he drove the cock into her body, groaning as it was hauled out again, making a rhythmic chant of sound as he bent over her. Tryant sent his prick steaming in and out of her with savage stabs that made them both dizzy with excitement.
Jean's fingernails scraped at his back, digging new trails in his bare skin as she raked them over his shoulder blades and through the tenderness left by Lee Ellen Upton. He was obliged to seize her upper body for leverage when his movements and hers temporarily parted. He continued to pound his meat into her with brutal jabs that topped the one before. At last he could only hang on. The come was surging crazily to the bursting head of his tool, the sharp spasms of release dimming his awareness of everything except the warm cavern into which he pumped his exploding prick while it spewed semen in a wild series of rocket firings that ebbed into total satisfaction, total exhaustion.
Chappell, as if to prove she hadn't gotten the worst of it, screamed a climax he feared would reach the suite next door, fetching the police or the building super. Her orgasm lasted nearly a minute, its lessening plateaus dropping off finally and leaving her gasping and spent, too wrung-out to ask again to be taken along.
When they slumped apart in complete and quaking weariness, Tryant had just enough strength left to glance at his watch. "Let me go, please," he muttered in her ear. "I have a plane to catch."
"Come back to me, Peter," Jean instructed. "That's an order."
He intended to.
* * *
Mendoza was easily the largest city in western Argentina. Tryant stumbled down the plane steps and almost fell on . his face on the sun-baked landing strip. He was slightly ill from the turbulence they'd encountered during the one-hour hop over the Andes from Santiago, but he felt it would pass. He dodged one of the aging DC-7's props and went to look for his luggage.
Customs was a perfunctory affair. He asked for and was given a visitor's permit, spied a hack which wasn't being used, and took it into town. Then he had a decision to make: should he sign for a hotel room and rest for a day, or should he strike out at once for Uspallata, on the theory that Darby Upton had too much of an advantage already?
His state of mind wouldn't permit a rest, so he decided to leave at once, after a hot meal. The only question was transportation. He hadn't noticed a car rental agency at the airport, so he asked his cabbie about plane service.
"To Uspallata, senor?" The mustachioed driver shook his head. "There is none. Uspallata doesn't have a paved runway."
Tryant's long face grew longer. He mentally scratched the two most desirable alternatives. He also checked his watch. A quarter past two. Still a lot of the day left. "How about busses?"
The driver's brown lips parted in a grin. "There are two. And they have both left."
Tryant sighed and squeezed the revolver under his coat. So well-fitted was the shoulder holster that the customs people hadn't even noticed it. "No train, either, I suppose."
"No, senor."
"Would you consider--? "
"No, never. I would lose too many fares and get home too late. Besides, my license doesn't permit. The authorities are very strict."
"I see." They'd reached a hotel, so Tryant paid and stepped out on a tree-lined boulevard. He went inside and signed for a room, a pleasant single on the third floor. He also reconciled himself to, a day's agonizing wait while Darby Upton and associates committed unspeakable indignities upon poor Katie-possibly up to and including murder.
"Goddamn it!" he swore at the wall, and kicked his weekender under the bed. He sat down and counted the money he still had. It wasn't a great deal: $549 in American currency and less than a hundred dollars in Argentine pesos. He needed more money fast, and there was only one way to get it. Safely, that is.
He went back downstairs to find a phone. Then he called his father and told him where he was and why-something he hadn't had the courage to do before boarding his plane nine hours before.
"Peter, you fool, come home at once!" Trevor Tryant exploded. "There is no reason in the world to think your sister's being held down there! I've never even heard of it!"
"It's a large city, governor," Tryant explained. "Maybe a quarter million people or more. But I need to get to a town called Uspallata. Unless I've been misled, that's where she's being held. Or somewhere near there, probably in the mountains."
"Peter, have you gone mad?"
"No, Dad. And I need at least two thousand now, at once. Or I may not even get home. Can you wire it within the hour?"
Trevor Tryant made fuming sounds. "Why not? Everyone else is taking me, too. You may as well. But promise you'll come home soon, if you don't find some trace."
He took a cab to the Mendoza branch of Western Union. The elder Tryant, as if to vex him, made him wait until four o'clock for his money. Peter Tryant cashed the check at the nearest bank, stuffed most of it into a secret compartment of his coat, and went into a bar to solace himself. He still didn't feel like eating.
He hadn't been there five minutes when a friendly hand dropped on his shoulder. Tryant, startled, looked around. He knew no one in Mendoza.
A man in a baggy white suit and with twinkling brown eyes to go with thinning hair was appraising the barfly's coat with an appreciative eye. "The newest Hart Schaffner. The Buenos Aires stores won't have it till Christmas. Makes a man want to cry. Gosset's my name. Ben Gosset. I work for the State Department, only they don't own up to it. And you're--? "
"Peter Tryant," the younger man supplied, after first considering the odds. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Gosset. I just flew in, in case it doesn't show. You're the first American I've seen who didn't pull his hat over his eyes and walk the other way." He smiled. He was only half-joking. Only half.
"Ha-ha," Gosset laughed. "I can't go the other way, Tryant. Everyone knows who I am. Are you here on business?"
Tryant shook his head, and quickly made up a reason for being in Mendoza. "I'm a naturalist on leave. I hope to get into the mountains for a few days. Nothing extended, you know, just a few specimens for my own collection. I'll be relaxing, mostly."
"Yeah? Any special place you're interested in?" Gosset snapped his fingers for the bartender's attention and held up two fingers. "Traiganos eato, por favor."
"Well, uh, I like the mountains around the town of Uspallata. The fauna and flora, they say, compares with east Tennessee."
"Beautiful country, beautiful country. You'll love it up that way." Gosset had his eyes fixed on the preparing drinks. "How are you fixed for transportation?"
Tryant sighed. "The fact is, I'm not. I'll be sitting it out until tomorrow, when they tell me a bus leaves at half-past ten. There's another one two hours later, in case the first one breaks down."
Gosset looked interested. "It just happens that my partner and I are going toward Uspallata at sundown. We'll stop at a trout stream halfway, however. Our car's equipped with a two-way, though. We could call you a cab. You'd get there about eight. Interested?"
Tryant was, to the neglect of his drink. "Where can I meet you?"
"Be at the Bolivar monument at six. We'll pick you up there."
The two men shook on the arrangement.
Tryant downed his drink in a couple of gulps, and excused himself. "I'll need to break a date first," he lied, winking. He really needed to buy a rough clothing, boots, a back pack, and other accoutrements of a naturalist's trade. A knife, too.
Gosset smiled. "Be gentle. The women down here aren't used to the low stuff."
9
An hour after Tanner left, Katie still couldn't sleep. Her aching body throbbed from the effects of a six-thousand-mile flight and the abuse of no fewer than five men. She could hear snoring in the other tent, however, so she assumed the men were happy enough. Escape? She couldn't even think of it.
She wondered if this was part of Darby's strategy-to keep her so sated, so exhausted in mind and body, that she couldn't plan a break for freedom, much less carry it out. If so, it was working, for now, anyway. Katie closed her eyes. At least she could rest them. She left off trying to see the tent ceiling, and felt her remaining senses sharpen.
A shiver laced its way up her spine. Someone else had entered the tent. She couldn't see or hear anyone, just sense their presence. "Who's there?" she demanded, sitting up.
The someone came to place a cool hand on her forehead. "It's me-Gerry. I won't hurt you."
"What do you want?"
"I came to say I'm sorry... about what happened. About killing your husband and bringing you here. You'll never know how sorry."
Katie sat up in relief. She could have cried all over again, this time in gladness. "Then you'll help me escape?"
Gerry gasped. "Oh, my heavens, no! Darby would kill me, too. I'll just try... to make things easier for you. Know what I mean?"
Katie sagged to the bed again, disappointed. "No. I watlt to go home. I hate it here. I hate all of you. You're the most heartless people I've ever known. If I have to stay, I'll lose my mind. I know I will."
Gerry chuckled. "You won't. You're tougher than you think you are. To survive, you'll do things that you never dreamed of before. It's even possible.. . . "
"Yes?"
"That Darby won't-won't-"
"Kill me?"
"Yes."
Katie flung her blanket to the tent floor in fury. "For that I'm supposed to be grateful! I could be home safe, I could have my husband-"
"Shh," Gerry warned. "Darby may hear. He'll beat us both if he does."
"Then why did you-"
"I told you! I really am sorry." Gerry raised her voice to a strident whisper.
Katie was skeptical. "Sorry enough to give the money back? Your share?"
Gerry laughed shakily. "Not that sorry. I just want to talk to you. Can we turn on a light?"
Katie shrugged. "I can't sleep, so it doesn't matter one way or the other."
Gerry struck a match to see where the lantern hung, then applied the match. She also drew the flap inside and zipped it securely shut. From the handbag slung over her arm, she produced an unopened bottle of scotch and two small tumblers. She smiled. "Care for a drink?"
Katie thought that one in the morning was an unusual time for a wilderness drink, but she needed the scorching warmth the scotch would bring to the pit of her stomach. She nodded yes. And she began to see why Darby found Gerry attractive. The flickering kerosene light did strange things, marvelous things, to the other woman's red-auburn hair.
Gerry filled both the tumblers and handed one across. "Did you love him?"
Katie froze in the act of lifting the scotch to her lips. "Darby?"
"No, no. Your husband. The man Darby killed."
Katie's hand began to tremble. She was confused. She didn't know now whether she'd loved Arthur or not. She only knew that she hadn't found him sexually exciting. Not, in any event, the way Darby was. Or even Frankie. "I thought so." She took a deep draught of the scotch, was glad she had. It was one of the better brands.
"Did you know that just a week ago, I was like you? I'd never hurt anyone before in my life. I'd never even gotten a traffic citation." Gerry's brown eyes burned with sudden fire, as if she wanted, desperately, for the younger woman to believe her.
Katie didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
"Darby has a way about him... he made me believe no one would be harmed, that we'd take you home safe and everything would be all right." Gerry placed a hand to her head. "None of it came true. Now we have the money, but I'm sick already of running. I'd rather be dead than to have to run for the rest of my life." She lapped eagerly at the scotch.
"If you sent the money home, you could go home yourself," Katie suggested.
Gerry shook her head. "I'd never get away from Darby. You won't either, unless you use your head... and everything else you have."
Katie began to suspect that she was being offered the hope of escape in order to further some aim of the other woman's. But she couldn't decide what that aim might be.
Whatever her faults, Gerry was an interesting conversationalist. She seemed able to talk on every imaginable subject, including sex. Whether it was the excitement of arriving in the mountains or the alcohol freeing her of her inhibitions, she began to tell Katie how she felt about love and men and all the things that went with them. From what she said, it was clear that her estimate of the male gender had recently plummeted.
As she talked, she grew less and less inhibited, occasionally pulling up the long skirt of her sleeping gown and assuming positions that showed Katie more and more of her legs and thighs. She caught the younger woman looking a few times, and smiled. Then, quite unexpectedly, she lifted her skirt high enough to expose her thighs to the border of her panties-if she'd been wearing any. "Do you think I have nice legs, honey?" she inquired.
Katie put down her glass, made her eyes focus, and looked more closely. Gerry's legs were long and beautifully tapered. Most men would probably have considered them flawless. Women, too. The limbs were round and firm and very nicely shaped. Katie was surprised that looking at another girl's legs could stir her so. "I suppose they're very lovely," she replied.
Gerry let the skirt drop into place, then ran both hands down the front of her gown, smoothing the fabric so that it stretched tighter. "Do you like me just a little?"
Katie colored, and gave an honest answer. "You helped kidnap. me, and yet... yes, I like you... a little."
Gerry crossed to the cot and sat down beside her. She held her almost empty glass in one hand and gently stroked Katie's short, dark hair with the other. "I'm glad you like me, darling. Because I like you... very much."
Katie felt a strange constriction inside her stomach at the way Gerry breathed the words-low and meaningful. She watched as Gerry drained her glass, set it on the wooden packing crate which passed for a table, then turned to face her again. Gerry's eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips moist and parted. Katie could see just a hint of her perfectly matched white teeth.
"Yes, I can see... why Darby would want you, would scheme to get you. You've class."
Katie tensed. She'd never known a woman to look at her this way before, to speak in the soft, caressing tones Gerry was using. Through the thinness of the gown the older woman wore, she detected the sweetness of a strange perfume-a subtle and exotic bouquet which blended perfectly with heated woman-scent.
Cupping a hand behind Katie's head and placing the other lightly on her shoulders, Gerry gently lowered Katie backwards onto the cot.
The latter felt very small and helpless lying there with her breasts partly in and partly out of her built-in bra and her skirt hiked up nearly to her waist. Her nylon-clad legs and abbreviated white panties were exposed. She stared up and saw Gerry, eyes akindle, breath ragged, hovering over her. A terrible weakness assailed Katie as she watched Gerry's face come closer.
"Have you ever had a girl make love to you, honey?"
"No!"
"Would you like me to make love to you?"
"No. I want you to leave."
"Why not?"
"It's-indecent!"
"How do you know, darling, if you've never tried it before?"
Before Katie could reply, she felt the other woman's lips on hers. The lips were soft, warm, and tasted of scotch. Katie tried to resist, but she felt her own lips softening, opening to accept the eager tongue, savor the honey moistness of another woman's mouth.
She moaned. Beneath her dress, she felt her breasts swell, engorge with a fearful urgency. Gerry's tongue was like nothing she'd ever known before, flaying her senses, exciting her to a frightening degree. She found the strength, somehow, to tear her mouth free and fill her lungs with much needed air. Her mind was quaking and the insides of her thighs were moist with awakening desire. She watched as Gerry lowered her head and, with the merest flick of a finger, brushed aside the straps from Katie's shoulders, working the dress down until the younger woman's breasts were bared.
Katie felt the heat of Gerry's lips scorch the flesh of her throat and shoulders and burn their way to her breasts. She stiffened for an instant, then relaxed as Gerry's tongue brushed. over her nipples, gobbling one of the aroused points and pulling hard at it. "What are you doing! No, you mustn't!" She put her hands on the redhead's shoulders and tried to push her away.
"Don't fight it, love. Don't fight me," Gerry said quietly. "You need this. I know. I know the horrors your poor body has endured this day-and there's more in store. This will help soothe the hurt."
Katie blinked up into Gerry's almost hypnotic gaze, fighting both fear and desire. She began shaking her head from side to side, trying to wriggle free of the other woman. But Gerry was in complete control now, as she lowered her head again to fasten her lips on one of Katie's straining nipples.
Katie had no recollection later as to when Gerry peeled her panties down her legs and tossed them aside. She knew only that she was being swept along by a powerful current of emotion against which she was waging a hopeless battle. She felt Gerry's fingers stealing slowly up her stockinged thighs onto the smooth, satiny flesh. Moving through the heavy, silk brush that covered her cunt, the hands began to knead the sensitive flesh with knowing care.
The last bulwark of Katie's resistance broke. She let her thighs open a fraction, giving Gerry clear access to the intimate flesh between them. The older girl drew back and moved a little lower, the better to coax apart the tip of Katie's vulva. like a delicate flower wet with heavy dew, the intricate fold of inner lip burst into bloom, the long, deep divide sighing into view under the artful petting of Gerry's fingers.
Through eyes that were half-shut and glazed with passion, Katie watched Gerry's head, a disheveled fireball, dip between her legs. Her own body went taut as a bow string. "No!"
Gerry ignored the protest. She delicately parted the labia and pressed gently inside.
Katie stiffened. Possibly because it was her first lesbian experience, possibly because she had been cruelly used by careless men, she thrilled to sensations she'd never known before, an indescribable rapture as Gerry's tongue moved back and forth the whole shuddering length of her labia. Only Darby himself had come close to duplicating these wonderful sensations.
Because saying no was unthinkable now, she spread her legs wide, closed her eyes, and threw back her head. Gerry found and began tonguing her clitoris, sending violent waves of ecstasy surging through her. Katie, even though she'd never given herself to another woman before, knew she was being done by an expert. Gerry, despite her apparently close relationship with Darby Upton, was a bisexual.
As the waves grew stronger, Katie knew her climax couldn't be far distant. She lay there, gulping the thin mountain air, flailing futilely, reaching down now and then to seize Gerry's red hair and force the devouring mouth into an even deeper embrace. As Gerry lapped faster and faster on her, Katie went completely limp. Her body was hers and then it wasn't, because a time-bomb had gone off inside her belly. A thousand and one living fragments sprayed through her body, almost bursting her clitoris, filling Gerry's mouth with a flood of thick, hot juices.
The redhead stayed with her mouth pressed tightly to Katie's labia until the orgasm began to abate. Then she drew back and moved up so that she could lie side by side with the younger woman. "Now wasn't that better than anything Darby could give you? Wasn't it?"
Katie realized then how she'd been used. Gerry wanted the two men to herself, just to herself. She would pleasure the captive for the sole purpose of attaining that end. "Leave," she groaned, turning away. "Please leave."
10
"Twenty-six pounds, mounted," Ben Gosset insisted. He took both hands from the car's steering wheel to indicate the fish's size. "That's with the guts missing, mind you. Twenty-six pounds." The Ford, its headlights bravely stabbing the darkness, wandered toward a ditch. Gosset yanked it back.
"A fuckin' whopper," opined Wallace Roberts, and giggled at the double meaning. He drank some more wine from a bottle he held in a brown paper bag.
Peter Tryant, sitting silently on the Ford's rear seat, wished, for the tenth time in as many minutes, that he'd stayed at the hotel and arranged another means of getting to Uspallata. He had indigestion from the strange cooking and a backache from having to handle his own luggage. By Sunday, if he left ;he other two and struck out alone, he'd be a mass of pumps and bruises, a throbbing lump of misery. Tryant remembered he hadn't brought any insect repellent. He wondered what else could go wrong.
A great deal. Roberts passed the bottle to Gosset, who tipped it back, after first navigating them around a curve, and drank greedily. Tryant winced, but said nothing. Gosset was first secretary at the American Embassy in Buenos Aires, wasn't he? And Roberts was a senior trade official in the same embassy. Substantial men, both. Their widows would be well provided for.
Katie's fate was what concerned him now. He hoped her kidnappers hadn't harmed her. He hoped she was getting at least one good meal a day. He hoped Lee Ellen Upton hadn't sent him here with malice aforethought. And he wished, fervently for a helicopter, or at least the use of one. A chopper would have made a pack unnecessary.
The pack included extra ammunition, emergency flares-although he doubted that they'd be seen-salt, and enough food for three days. He intended to find the cabin where Katie was being held and free her, even if it cost him his life. If Darby Upton intervened, it might very well.
Tryant studied the two-way radio on the dash, and looked at his watch. Half-past nine. They'd reach a certain mountain stream in another twenty minutes, unless Gosset drove them through one of the spindly bridge railings that seemed to pop up every hundred yards. Then he'd call Uspallata for a cab. From Uspallata, he'd hike into the mountains, using the directions he'd been given and more luck than any man had a right to expect.
"Drink, Mr. Tryant?"
"Um, no. The stomach's acting up."
Gosset, a spreading career diplomat in his fifties, returned the wine to Roberts. "We'll give him a rollof Northern and toss him out, huh, Wally?"
Roberts, a taller man who seemed to have an unbelievable capacity for alcohol, cackled and began on the liquor Gosset had left him. It wasn't much.
Tryant felt twice as bad. He hated jokes at his own expense, especially when the perpetrators had no idea of the gravity of his mission. For his own sake as well as Katie's, he'd told no one except Trevor Tryant himself.
The Ford's suspension reminded him of almost everything unpleasant. Or maybe it was the road, a gravel secondary with more dips than the NYSE. To pass the time, he conjured up Jean Chappell's image: her face and her feet and all areas in between. Only a week had passed since he last saw her, last ran his hands over smooth curves, but already her features seemed dim, remote. As well they might, since he was six thousand miles away.
"You're not very good company, Mr. Tryant," Gosset complained, eyeing his passenger through the rear view.
Tryant sighed. "Would it be too much trouble for you to take me back to Mendoza?"
The two in front swore at him. "Back to Mendoza!" Roberts snorted. "When he practically begged-begged-to be brought along."
Gosset pulled the car over and turned on the ceiling light. He peered closely at Tryant. "You all right, buddy?"
Roberts, too, turned to stare. "He looks all right, just grim as hell."
"He should feel all right, too," Gosset chortled, sending them on their way once more. "If I had his hair and all, I'd be going anywhere but up in the hills. I'd be making wahoo with the local senori tas."
Tryant remembered the send-off Jean had given him, and honestly felt he could hold out until he got back to her.
The two men in front consulted as to whether or not they should spoil the trip by taking the third back to Mendoza. Gosset was agreeable, Roberts wasn't. "Back in town, he'll say he really wanted to stay," the latter argued. He'd finished the bottle of wine and tossed it out the window. "What we should do, for his sake and ours, is ignore His Contrariness."
Tryant, for a second, longed to get his hands on Robert's sunburned neck.
"He may really be ill," Gosset objected. "And after all, he's our countryman."
"Then call him an ambulance!" Roberts snapped.
Gosset snapped his fingers, as if he'd just remembered. "We'll call him a cab, like we planned. Nothing to it. Stretch the aerial to maximum, and we have a range of sixty miles. In an hour, Mr. Tryant has his taxi and we still have our fishing trip. Fair enough?"
"Yes," Tryant agreed, and was glad he had plenty of currency. He probably couldn't find a hotel room in Uspallata, but maybe a family there would like greenbacks enough to put him up for the night. At the very worst, he could sleep out. There was a blanket in his pack. This wasn't exactly Central Park, U.S.A., but maybe no one would bother him.
At a quarter till ten, Gosset turned onto a logging trace, stopped to open a gate, then drove them half a mile to their cabin. Tryant helped unload three hundred pounds of equipment and supplies, waited as Gosset revved up the two-way radio. The older man worked for five minutes before making an announcement: "She won't go."
Tryant dropped a sack of beans. "What?"
"The mobe's not working. Worked this afternoon, but not now."
Tryant, who felt trapped and was trapped, blistered the cool night air with profanity. "Damn it, man, make it work. I must get to either Uspallata or Mendoza. Don't ask me why. It's private and personal."
Roberts farted and disappeared around the cabin corner. Gosset found a screwdriver and proceeded to strip the two-way radio by flashlight. When he reassembled, the results were identical: nothing. Not even an occasional crackle of static.
"Maybe it's the antenna," Tryant said hopefully, and climbed into a small tree to tie a wire which Gosset passed up to him. They tried again. Again there was silence. "Shit and double-shit," Tryant mourned. He'd lost another day. Were he to lose still another, Katie's life might be the forfeit.
Roberts laughed from somewhere in the darkness.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tryant, truly I am," Gosset apologized. "If it's a family thing, you're probably worry-mg yourself over nothing. Why don't you turn in and use the weekend to advantage? These are mountains, too, aren't they? Won't they do?"
"No," Tryant said.
"I see. Then what--? "
"I'll start walking to Uspallata. Maybe I can get a ride."
"Walk? Christ, it's eighteen miles as the crow flies! More, on these roads. You don't know all the turns, all the crossroads, all the-"
"I have a map," Tryant said. He hadn't. All he had was a sketch he'd scrawled from a ten-year-old atlas.
"Well, if you're going to be that way, I'll take you. Just as soon as--"
"No!" Roberts bellowed. "I paid for my goddamn fishing trip, and no sissy pretty-boy named Tryant is going to beat me out of it! Walk, you mother, walk!"
Tryant started after him, was restrained by Gosset.
"He's half-pickled," the first secretary whispered. "Tomorrow he won't remember a thing. But he'll have my hide if I drive off without telling him. Can't you stay the night?"
"No. Lift my pack on my back." Tryant, when the pack was firmly tied, strode off in the direction from which they'd come. He'd reach the gate, he figured, and Gosset would be upon him with the Ford. Roberts? He could have the cabin-and the weekend-to himself.
He was wrong. He reached the main road, and still no bobbing headlights stabbed at him from behind. Tryant hesitated and almost went back. But he thought about Roberts and the sneers he'd get, and swung off in the direction of Uspallata. He wasn't going back.
He made a few calculations as he trudged along. Eighteen miles. Allowing for a torturously winding road, that probably meant thirty. He could walk, even with a forty-pound pack, five miles an hour. It was ten o'clock now. So he'd arrive in Uspallata at four in the morning, just in time for a real mountain breakfast.
An hour passed. He slogged onward. Two cars passed him going the other way. He learned how fortunate he'd been before they came: there'd been no dust to breathe. The hateful stuff settled in his hair, in his ears, even crept into his mouth. Tryant's eyes burned, his lungs choked. He made plans to look up Wallace Roberts on another day, and break his arm.
At a quarter past eleven, as his arches trembled beneath him, another car. This one was going his way. Tryant stepped to the side of the road and held up a thumb. He doubted that he was holding it Argentine-style, but he held it up, anyway. The car thundered on past but stopped a hundred yards farther on. Tryant, running clumsily in the loose gravel, was ready to turn over his wallet's contents to the driver. He slipped and fell. Picked himself up and ran some more. Slipped again. When he reached the car-and it was an old one, of unknown American vintage-both knees were bleeding and he had scratches from his thigh to his ankle. He yanked open the door on the coupe's passenger side, and in careful Spanish asked, "Can you give me a ride into the town of Uspallata?" He patted his wallet, which contained more than $700. There was more in his jacket lining if he needed it. "I can pay."
The driver, to Tryant's horror, began to make signs at him under the ceiling light. No words, just signs. A deaf mute. The hitchhiker produced a ten-spot and applied what little Braille he knew. The driver, a man also in his thirties, nodded agreement, accepted the tenner, and indicated that the gringo could get in.
The experience was one Tryant never forgot. Twenty miles at midnight in a 1953 Plymouth coupe with a deaf mute. He cleared his throat three times, almost said something twice, realized how foolish he'd feel if he did. They reached a large town Uspallata, apparently just as the hour hand on his Helbros crept to twelve. Tryant tapped his driver on the shoulder when they reached what appeared to be a hotel, thanked him with a gesture, and alighted stiffly, remembering to first drag his pack from out of the back.
"A room, senor?" The youthful desk clerk raked Tryant's dusty attire with a disdainful look. The pack, too. "We have no rooms."
Tryant, who wasn't usually reckless, emptied his wallet on the counter top. There was more American currency than the clerk would see in a year. The letter's eyes bulged. "I'll pay a week in advance," Tryant told him. "Two weeks, if I have to."
The clerk assured him that one week's payment was sufficient, assigned him an airless room on the second floor, even carried his pack up for him.
Tryant, who'd been on his feet for nineteen hours straight, tottered a little at the door but still remembered what he'd come here for. What and why. He seized the desk clerk by the sleeve. "You know everything that happens here, don't you?"
"Everything, senor?"
"New people who arrive and all the rest. Norteamericanos like myself, for instance. Have you seen any recently?"
The boy smiled. "I see them all the time. Rich gringos who want to-how do they say it?-get away from it all. Mostly from their wives. And bosses. Sometimes they go into the mountains and never return. A few even think they will find gold and silver. Piles of it." He shrugged. "They are the crazy ones."
Tryant wanted to push the kid back against the wall and force a straight answer from him to his next question. He restrained himself. "Have you noticed a group like that lately? Two men and two women?"
The clerk tried to pull free. "Why do you ask me this, senor?" he hedged.
"Because it's important. Did you? Was one of the women very dark... and very beautiful?"
The youth seemed to consider the consequences before nodding. "Four days ago it was. They bought supplies and camping equipment from the store across the street, and left on horseback for the north. With a guide. I think they were heading for an old-"
"Did she seem to be going against her will?"
"No, senor."
"Thank you." Tryant gave the boy another five. "That's for you. I'll want to talk to you again, so please give me your address." He wrote the address on a piece of brown paper, then went inside to lock himself in.
He feared the kidnappers had drugged his sister.
ll
For Katie, the days fell into a dreary pattern. She ate, slept, and bathed under the watchful eye of either Darby or Tanner. Gerry refused to come near her now. The captive passed each night with one of the two men, never with both. Although she disliked the notion, she supposed that she was in competition with Gerry for the favors of both. Katie honestly felt she had the edge.
Until one morning when Darby bounded upon her as she knelt at the stream edge to wash her face.
"Up!" he yelled at her. "Up!"
She looked at him in amazement, sure that she'd done nothing to offend. "What is it?"
"You know what! Tanner says you were cold to him last night! Didn't I warn you?"
"You didn't say--"
Darby slapped her. "Never mind what I didn't say! Go to him now and say you're sorry. Make it up to him. Do it now. Understand?" He glared at her in a way he never had before.
On leaden legs, Katie stumbled back to the tent Tanner used. Gerry, for some reason or another, had vanished for the moment. Katie entered the tent and found Tanner asleep-or pretending to be. She gazed at the broad expanse of bare skin, and gasped, discovering something she hadn't even noticed in the darkness last night. There were faint red lines, eight of them, running from Tanner's spine to his shoulders. Katie knew she hadn't caused them, so Gerry must have.
The captive's heart flipped in near-jealousy. She was barely able to resist the urge to turn on her heel and stalk out. She realized that Darby would beat her senseless if she did. So she began removing her clothing instead-and saw the boy's eyelids flutter. He wasn't asleep after all. Not Tanner.
There was nothing lewd about the striptease she performed. The unveiling was more nearly a pristine baring of maidenly loveliness. Katie turned sideways from Tanner's direct gaze as she removed the last of her garments. She heard him catch his breath. To further pique his interest, she used a hand to cup her breast. The touch of her own fingers sent a tingle down her spine. Katie toyed with the nipple, relishing the immediate response of engorgement. The other breast felt left out, so she covered it, too. The rounded flesh under her hands began to swell. She felt her groin begin to ache from her teasing manipulations, to ache and throb with awakened desire.
She hadn't forgotten Tanner, but need now drove her on. She released a breast and let one hand slide down her stomach. Pausing at the dark triangle of fur between her legs, she placed her feet wide apart in order that the hand might relieve the demand of her loins. Katie, so inured had she become by the surroundings, felt no embarrassment in displaying such open proof of arousal.
She reasoned that what she did wasn't masturbation, but preparation-preparation for the real satisfaction she'd get with Tanner, who was proficient enough in his own eager way. She crouched lower and let him see her fingers dip in serious play as she stoked her own fires. She glanced at the boy to find his curious eyes riveted on what she was doing. Katie gloated at the hungry need she'd kindled in him. Slowly, she inched toward the cot and stretched out beside him, without once halting her play. Tanner kicked the covers lower to make room for her. She noticed that he had a magnificent erection.
She ceased fondling her breasts and let a hand close over his organ. When he twitched involuntarily at the contact, a little smile played across her face. Maybe he was peeved with her, but she still had the power to ignite him. And this morning the fire would become a conflagration. She tightened her grasp.
Tanner reached for her.
* * *
Darby, for the first time since the kidnapping, was gentle with her that night. "The kid. You gave him a good loving. He's been quiet all day, so you must have. I'm proud of you." He smiled. "We'll make a debauchee out of you yet. See if we don't."
She was caught pondering the implications of his new mood when he rounded the cot and, in two strides, pounced upon her, forcing a hand under her skirt. Before she could prevent it, Katie felt his fingers close over the lips of her femininity. She instinctively tensed. Did he have some special sense that told him how to get her? She wondered. If he'd made the usual pass at her breasts, this would have given her time to prepare some kind of defense. As it was, she had no defense. She went weak and a surge of warmth flooded her loins. Darby's practiced hand seemed to know perfectly where to touch and where to tease, how to pain and how to pleasure.
He crooked an arm under her knees and tugged her to the cot edge. With his other hand, he casually raised the hem of her dress to bare her upper thighs. Katie thereupon dropped her guard and abandoned any pretext of resistance. Darby raised her knees to keep her unbalanced. She had to cling to the cot's lower railing to keep from falling to the tent floor. Darby's wide grin told her how much he was enjoying himself. He'd had her violently, without her consent, now he'd have her at his leisure... with her consent.
Katie closed her eyes in defeat and relaxed the muscles that held her legs against the invasion of her private parts. She fully expected him to jerk her panties off and plunge his manhood into her for a hasty and uncomplicated union. She was resigned to being aroused without receiving culmination, and was therefore unprepared for the slow reverence-tenderness, even-with which he caressed her.
She cast a long, worried look at the tent flap, afraid that Tanner was due in, too, for a variation on an old theme.
Darby laughed. "I zipped it when I came in. No one else is coming." He eyed her breasts, and requested, actually requested, that she take off her bra. "If you want me to play with those, you'll have to get out of the buckets yourself. I'm not about to waste myself with hooks and catches.. "
She shook her head. It really wasn't necessary. Hadn't he already learned about the rapid pace of her arousal system? All he had to do was pet her a little more, and she'd be ready.
His hands began pulling buttons and sliding zippers. Katie reflected, and was amused at the thought, that Darby was acting more like a groom than Arthur had on their honeymoon. He was calm, considerate, and relaxed-three traits Arthur hadn't had. The latter had paused on his way from the bathroom to consult a medical encyclopaedia. A medical encyclopaedia!
Katie's cheeks still burned from the memory. Darby's busy hands dispelled only part of the hurt.
Her under things, within a few seconds, made a neat little pile beside the cot. She never quite remembered when he removed them. Darby dragged the cot to a tent pole and hooked her knees over a cross-support so that her clitoris and adjacent organs gaped wide. Under the lamp's harsh glare, it was a bit more nakedness than she would have liked, having always heard that a woman's allure lessened with full exposure. But Darby didn't seem to mind. He removed the rough boots he'd bought for her,. and tickled the arch of her foot. Not the average man's idea of sex play, perhaps, but she found herself responding instantly, nonetheless.
He could probably make her come by touching her on the nose, she decided, although she hoped, for her own sake if not his, that he didn't. She'd come too far to be let down easy.
She wore no stockings, so there were none to remove. Still, she was surprised when he pressed a damp kiss above her knee. Darby's eyes were fastened, cobralike, on her groin. So intense was her arousal that she could find no embarrassment at being fully exposed to his gaze. Her excitement redoubled when all at once she realized that she was going to be kissed there. The knowledge ignited her fires to the boiling point. Darby's lightly bearded chin slid the length of her inner thigh. She was racked with shudders.
The kiss had been fleeting, but her hips rolled in fast-burgeoning need. She realized that she'd been totally aroused in the barest minimum of time. Darby, if she hadn't known it before, was no Tanner. She had the feeling that he'd put a great deal of thought and planning into this seduction, that he'd considered every touch for its probable effect on her. He knew a great deal about her and he had the audacity to put that knowledge to work. This very possibly was the high point of his life.
Leisurely, almost nonchalantly, he dropped his slacks. His body thrilled her now in a way it never had before, when she'd been exhausted and numbed by her double tragedy. Tanned and rippling with muscle, it complemented his gold-blond hair and the matching tangle of tawny goldness on his chest. He transmitted sex to her now as if she'd never been on any wave length but his. Whatever a man, an ordinary man, had in the way of physical appeal was overstated tonight in Darby Upton. Even the air she breathed seemed charged with electric excitement.
He stooped quickly and tucked her legs over his shoulders. There was no need for her to help him; she was already stretched wide and waiting. Even the pupils of her eyes, she was sure, were dilated far beyond their usual size. The feel of him inching his way inside her reminded Katie of a serpent devouring its prey. She was the serpent, and tonight Darby was her willing prey. She was almost ready to come then and there. Fortunately for the two of them, she didn't.
"Inside me!" she gasped, pulling him closer. "Get it inside me!"
He smiled, obviously delighted at having finally reached her. When he assumed a deliberate pace that featured intricate variations on simple in-and-out thrusting, she became the delighted one. He did things with her body and his that made them both behave as one. He made his cock writhe inside her like a live thing, recalling again the comparison with a serpent. She gave up trying to figure it out, even left off trying to anticipate his next move. She abandoned everything, including her hold on sanity, and just enjoyed.
Darby paused at one point to eat lightly at the tip of her ear. The nibble sent her whimpering over the chasm. The climax wasn't premature, although she did wonder how he'd been able to make her come so swiftly and so completely. It was unusual for her to have a minor release as a prelude to a larger one; the early stages of intercourse generally brought her little pleasure.
Darby made haste slowly. There was no other way to describe his sexual technique. It was apparent to Katie that his attitude toward her had undergone a drastic change. Before, he might have planned to kill her. Now, she wasn't sure. It made no sense to invest so much time and effort in humbling her. What did it all mean? What were the implications?
Her only regret was that she hadn't removed her blouse and bra. He'd asked her to, leaving the option to refuse, and she had. It would have been interesting to see what he did to her breasts. She had a thing about breast stimulation, as Tanner had discovered. Arthur had never taken the trouble to find it out. Arthur had never taken the trouble for anything.
"like-this?" Darby panted.
She closed her eyes, and nodded. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying the word. No matter what he did for her, she'd never love him.
He played with her legs and buttocks while maintaining a tempo of steady pounding, varied by sidewise maneuvers which brought staccato cries to her shivering lips. She was awed in spite of herself that he could do so many things at the same time, and gave up trying to sort out her feelings in the pure enjoyment of this wild embrace. He told her when he was ready by firming up his grip on her backside. At the last second, he left off his inside-outside-all-about-the-town gyrations in favor of simple, instinctive lunges. Katie was grateful, because she had all she could do to concentrate on the terrific orgasm that enveloped them both.
"Almost-there!" she sobbed, thrashing about to accept more of him.
"Worth-it!" Darby groaned. He appeared to mean her abduction.
The orgasm lasted and lasted, eventually tapering off to pleasant sensations that soon subsided into mere comfortable ones. They lay together for several minutes more before she felt him rise from her. She forced herself to join in his smile of triumph. Darby, before dressing, insisted on helping her put her panties back on. He took advantage of the courtesy to run his hands along the smooth flesh of her lower limbs.
Katie trembled. His touch at her groin had lost none of its tantalizing effect. Even when sex, for the moment, was over between them, she had to tingle in renewed anticipation. It gave her an illusion of being genuinely, ardently cared for to know that Darby still found her attractive enough to play with. She asked a question that was very much on her mind: "Will you let me go home soon?"
He made no reply, unless it was the zipper's harsh sliding as he stooped beneath the flap.
12
Tryant heard the splashing long before he could see what caused it. He eased the pack from his shoulders and concealed it under the nearest bush, in case he was a long time getting back to it. Then he crept toward the source of the splashing, checking first to make sure the .38 Special he carried in a shoulder holster was loose and ready for action.
A late-afternoon sun beat down on his face and arms. Autumn was approaching here in the Southern Hemisphere, but the days were still warm. He had no need right now for the jacket he'd don at dusk, nor for the fire-a small one-he'd start to make his coffee and warm his beans. It appeared that he'd have to spend another night in the mountains. He'd seen a number of cabins and camping parties, but no one who resembled Darby Upton or Katie.
He peeked around a clump of foliage and saw a sight that almost made him forget why he'd ventured into the Andes. A young girl was bathing in a pool formed by a cascading waterfall and a widening of the stream Tryant had been tracing to its source. The girl was young and beautiful. Judging from her face, she was around nineteen or twenty.
Tryant felt she wasn't alone, so he crouched lower to see who else might be around. After a minute, he still hadn't seen anyone, but he continued to watch, anyway, admiring the girl's shoulder-length black hair and high, uptilted breasts. Katie had once worn her hair this way. The bather's hair was more lustrous, however, although she wasn't an Indian. Tryant studied the pile of clothes she'd left on the stream bank, and tried to guess her status. She seemed to come from one of the many impoverished families that scratched out an existence in some secluded valley farther down. Still, she might be able to tell him something. It wouldn't hurt to ask.
He waited until she'd finished and had dried herself with a pullover, which she slowly drew on with the rest of her garments. Then, as if he'd just arrived, he rose from his cover and hailed her from the opposite bank. "Buenas tardes," he called.
The bather would have taken instant flight, only her footing vanished in a shower of sand.
Tryant smiled and waved. "Un senor quiere verle," he said, in his friendliest, most persuasive voice. "Por favor."
The girl scrambled to her feet and dashed into the thick growth behind her.
Tryant groaned. On an impulse, he snatched out his wallet. "Setenta y cinco dolares," he yelled. "Necesito un guia!"
The sounds of escape died away. The girl reappeared and stared shyly across the stream. "You need a guide, senor? A guide?"
"In the worst kind of way," he assured her. He'd penned a sketch of the turns he'd made and the streams he'd crossed since leaving Uspallata, but he wasn't sure he could follow it back. "Can you help me?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Posible. Do you have money?"
"I'll pay whatever you want. Can I come across?"
"Yes." She smiled. Her teeth were small and perfect.
She wasn't afraid of him now, he concluded, and took off his shoes for the fourth time that day. He splashed across and stepped out to meet her. She was even lovelier up close. "Do you have a name, or do they simply call you Little Deer?" he teased.
"I. am Teresa," she said. Her eyes brightened. She seemed to find him attractive, too. "Senor, did you see me? Tell me the truth."
"Yes," he admitted. "You are encantadora. I thought you were someone else. Someone I am looking for and must find. I stayed to see if you were alone. Do you find it in your heart to forgive me?"
Teresa laughed. "Of course. A handsome gringo who doesn't know his way around. How could he hurt anyone?"
"How, indeed?" Tryant agreed, and eyed her lush body. Jean had never seemed so far away. "Where do you live?"
She pointed vaguely down the trail. "Beyond the pass. I'm not supposed to be up here. My mother will be furious."
"Do you know the mountains well?" Tryant asked this only to flatter the girl. He could see, from her bare feet and the tangled state of her hair, that she knew the mountains, this stretch of them, anyway, very well, indeed.
She nodded. "like I know my own room. Have you strayed from your party?"
He shook his head. "I'm alone. And I don't want to be rescued or taken down. I want you to take me higher. As far as you can before dark."
"Alone?" Teresa tried not to show her puzzlement. "But you have no knife, no axe, not even a blanket. How can you stay?"
"It's all back there." He gestured over his shoulder. "But I want you to tell me something first. Have you seen strangers in the mountains recently? A blond one, perhaps? There would be four people in the party, possibly a guide as well."
"Information will cost you extra," Teresa demurred. "For twenty American dollars, I will guide you until sundown. For twenty dollars more, I will tell you what you want to know."
The price, Tryant thought, was more than reasonable in both instances. From the flicker in the girl's eyes when he said "blond," he suspected she knew something. Something he had to have if he expected to find Darby Upton and see Katie alive again. Maybe. He counted over two twenties. "Well?"
Teresa tucked the bills into a pocket of her pullover. "Four days ago...."
"Yes?"
"I see a man with a boy, and two women. The man has hair like the sun. But one of the women is dark, like I am."
Tryant's heart leaped. "That was Katie, my sister. The man you saw kidnapped her. I think he will soon try to kill her."
Teresa's eyes widened. "Kill her, senor? Why should they bring her here to kill her?"
"He's a very sick man," Tryant replied. "The others may not know yet. They probably think he's holding her for insurance against pursuit. What did they do when they saw you?"
The girl smiled proudly. "They do not see me. The gringo who can't find his way sees me, but they, they do not."
Tryant chuckled, admiring her all over again. "I suppose you trailed them, to find out what they were up to."
"Yes." Teresa's face turned from soft to hard. The light left her eyes. "But not too closely, because the man and the boy both have guns."
"I see. A good reason to keep out of sight. And where are they now? Have you any idea?"
She used a hand to shade her eyes, another to point. "On a ridge high above us. At least five miles by trail, and there are many turns."
Tryant wasn't surprised, either by the distance or by the fact that she knew. "Will you take me there?"
Teresa nodded. "But first you must take a swim with me. If we get there too early, they may see us." He checked his watch. Only a quarter past two. They'd need a couple of hours to get there if his day's experience meant anything, but that still left two hours more to kill. "You're on."
Soon they were horsing around in the water like two kids, all without overt sexual intent, of course. But every time he wrestled with her, every time he placed his hands on her body's firmness and felt the exciting curves underneath, it was all he could do to keep from making a real pass. A couple of times his hands cupped her breasts a bit too obviously, and Teresa paled. Once, as he was lifting her out of the water, he slipped his hand between gorgeous thighs and held her crotch in the palm of his hand, feeling the plumpness under the thin material of her chemise. It seemed to him that she excited almost at once, but he wasn't sure enough to go any further at that point.
Then they began to talk. He told her everything about the events which brought him there, and she told him about a life which would have seemed unbearable to most but which, to her, contained the essentialingredients for happiness: love and the right to rove the mountains until she tired of it.
After an hour, they reached the stage where they'd neck between conversation. She was an inexpert kisser, but he soon fixed that. She mastered his lessons quickly, and it wasn't long before she could really kiss the way a man wanted. Now he figured she was ready for an out-and-out sexual pass.
They sat on the bank and kissed for a few minutes before he made his first serious move. Tongue-kissing had heated her to the point where she was beginning to squirm around, so he placed a hand over one of her breasts and cupped, squeezing a bit. She twisted breathlessly for a few seconds, while he massaged with unhurried skill. Then she broke free of the kiss.
"We'd better stop, senor." she said shakily. "We wouldn't want to get carried away. I like you, but we can't do that."
His best course was to say nothing, so he continued to play with her breasts. He even slid his hand under the chemise top and felt for the first time the silky warmth of her flesh. Teresa panted as his fingers reached the erected nipple and began toying with it. But she didn't push his hand away.
"I'm glad you're excited," he said. "I want you to be excited. Very, very excited."
"No! It's wrong!"
"It's right," he murmured, nuzzling her throat and sharing her tremors. "We can do anything we want because we're alone and we like each other. And I want you. Don't you want me?"
"I've never done it, senor, believe me," the girl protested. "I have never let a man get on top of me before. Never."
"You're cherry, you mean," he smiled. "Which was okay up until now." He pulled the breast free of the chemise top and dandled it in the palm of his hand.
She gasped. "You mean--? "
"I want you to be the first to love you." Tryant remembered an item he'd tossed in his wallet before leaving. "Safely, of course." He bent his head and closed his lips around the engorged nipple in a kissing motion which quickly turned to sucking. Teresa moaned and began stroking the back of his head and neck. He realized that she'd consented, albeit without saying the words. He quit nursing on her breasts long enough to undress what little of her was still covered, dropping his own shorts at the same time. His prick stood up long and hard, a shaft to do business with. He lay down beside her and ran his hands over her nude body, marveling at the firmness and warmth of her. She began to tremble.
"What are you doing?" she quavered. "SenUor, what are you doing?"
"You'll see." He pushed her thighs apart and wormed his face between them. His tongue found the delicate lips slitting her pubic mound. He began wetly fondling. Teresa groaned deep in her chest, writhing around in response to sensations she'd probably never experienced before, certainly not with a gringo.
"Oh, my God, senor, that's driving me right out of my mind! Don't stop! Please don't stop!"
He increased the biting and the tonguing, heard her words dissolve into a babble of enjoyment-meaningless sounds expressing the sheer delight she felt as his darting tongue and urgent mouth opened new vistas for her.
They reached the stage where she was helplessly tossing and turning with pleasure. Tryant changed positions, placing himself between her opened legs and aiming his weapon straight into the moistened valley hidden beneath her forest of dark hair. Teresa had closed her eyes. She seemed only dimly aware of what he was doing now. But her legs lifted high and wide, in an instinctive gesture of surrender.
Gingerly, because he really was afraid he'd hurt her, he eased his cock against the velvety, slippery-wet lips, felt its stiffness slowly penetrate the oozing warmth. She cried out once as he forced his shaft past her hymen, breaking it for all time. Now he was in, and she was no longer a virgin. For a couple of minutes, Tryant lay perfectly still, giving her plenty of time in which to recover from the shock.
"I can feel you inside me," she whispered. "So big and hard, you're-you're-"
"That's the way it's supposed to be," he comforted. "Don't worry. You'll like it." He hoped so. Otherwise, he'd never get to that ridge, never find Darby Upton, Bever see Katie alive again.
She hadn't screamed at him yet to stop, so he began thrusting his stick into her depths and withdrawing it to its head, keeping the motions easy and regular. She grunted involuntarily every time he drove the cock inward, and she sighed each time he pulled it out again. He was fighting, by now, to maintain control. Teresa's cunny was tight and hot, as he'd expected, and his cock had been ready to go off days before. But he managed to hold himself in check. He wanted, if possible, to bring her off first, to insure that her first sexual experience would be a totally complete one. His motive, he would have been the first to confess, was a purely selfish one. If a man didn't make a girl happy the first time he got in her box, he'd have a hell of a time getting there again. And he didn't know how long he'd be in the mountains.
"I'm-dying!"
"No! It's-all right!"
She stiffened, her abrupt tension a sure sign that she was getting ready to come. Her gaspings became louder and more drawn out. Then she exploded in a frenzied convulsion of movement, wrapping her legs tightly around him, seizing him around the neck so that he could hardly breathe, uttering sharp cries of pleasure as she climaxed for the first time in her life. She slumped back, temporarily sated. Then and only then did Tryant dare let go, ramming his meat into her in a rapid series of thrusts that brought his come spurting in satisfying spasms of release until the load had been delivered. He collapsed, too, beside, sure that she hadn't been disappointed.
He found her ear with his mouth. "Now take me to that ridge."
13
On the fifth morning, Katie escaped. The escape lasted two hours. She'd awoke with the conviction that Darby no longer intended to kill her, just hold her there long enough to soil her for all time, thus exacting a strange kind of vengeance for a fancied rejection of many years' standing. She felt less soiled than humiliated, having to live intimately with three persons from whom she'd already endured enough.
So after breakfast, she began covertly assembling the many small items she'd need to walk out of the mountains: a knife, a compass-she'd seen Darby glance frequently toward the southeast, as if trouble, when it came, was-likely to come from that direction-a small quantity of food wrapped in a scarf, a canteen she'd have to fill at the first stream. She lacked only the opportunity: Gerry would have to absorb herself in preparation of their next meal, Tanner would have to trot off to the nearest pool for a cold dip, Darby would have to turn his back.
At a quarter to ten, all three conditions were met. Darby went inside the hunter's hut at the edge of the clearing. To inventory their canned goods, he said. Tanner had doffed his shirt and disappeared in the direction of the stream they drank from. Gerry was inside the kitchen tent cleaning the camp stove. She could see in only one direction.
Katie closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Then she tugged on the heavy outdoor boots Darby had given her, grabbed the scarf containing one, possibly two meals, looped the canteen over one wrist, and tiptoed from her tent, heart thudding in fear and exultation. She had only a few dollars in her purse-not nearly enough for a plane ticket home, not even enough for a tramp steamer, but enough to wire her father for more and to tell him she was all right. With a generous amount of luck-and a little panic on Darby's part-she could make it. She did remember the name of the town where salvation lay: Uspallata.
She dared take a deep breath again only after rounding the first curve in the trail down. Then she began to cry, whether in relief or hysteria, she didn't know. She knew only that Ieaving the place of her captivity was like being born anew. Darby could play so adroitly on the strings of her passion, play with consummate skill and, grace. But there was only hatred in his heart. She knew she could never accept him, much less love him.
She stooped, upon crossing the first stream, and filled her canteen. When she glanced back on the other side, however, she was dismayed. She'd left footprints that even Gerry could follow. Katie, frightened for the first time, began to run. She ranfor half an hour, until her side ached so dreadfully she had to lie down and rest. Then she hurried on, avoiding the dusty path wherever possible and step-ping only where no telltale boot prints would mark her passing.
The trail widened and split into two new trails. She took the southeasterly one, pausing after a minute to let some of the cooling water trickle down her dry throat. The autumn day had turned hot. Her bra itched and her blouse chafed, but there wasn't time to take either of them off.
Katie detected, before she'd gone another five hundred yards, tumbling rocks on the trail somewhere behind her. Darby! She dashed blindly on, even when she realized the utter hopelessness of it all. He probably had a gun. If she didn't stop when he hailed her, he'd have no qualms about killing her. He had the money. He'd already enjoyed her body, with and without her consent. Whether she lived or died, his triumph was complete.
A quick glance over her shoulder at the next bend revealed no one. She began to hope, and to scheme for a way to avoid him. Perhaps if she could run for a hundred yards, without leaving a track, then fade away into the forest and lie flat....
She ran. Where the rocks were thickest, she suddenly ducked and sprinted into the forest, ripping her dress on the first clump of briars. She didn't care. When she thought she'd run far enough, she flung herself on the ground near a log and waited, her heart pounding in her throat. But she wasn't afraid any longer. She wanted to live, and the desire made her savage.
Someone came into sight on the trail. Someone loping along with a rifle under his arm. Katie crouched lower. Tanner! Darby had sent the boy to fetch her back, because he was much the faster. Tanner, she hoped, was less expert a tracker. He could be fooled.
The youth slowed to a jog and studied the ground in front of him. He seemed puzzled, because the jog 'turned into a walk, and finally a halt. He looked carefully on both sides of the trail, doubled back a hundred feet, checked the rifle for something, then continued on his way, this time with less noise.
Katie shuddered. Tanner had checked to make certain the rifle was loaded. It had to be. Darby had given orders to shoot to kill. A monster. An ice-veined monster. To be shot down like a dog, that was her fate, unless she could avoid it.
Something rattled softly nearby, from the direction of the log. She paid it no mind. The rattle came again, so insistent it couldn't be ignored. Katie looked to see what it was. She screamed. She also froze. A snake's malevolent eyes held hers in a dread stare. The snake was coiled and ready to strike. "Tanner!" she sobbed. "Do something!"
Faster than she had a right to expect, Tanner was there. He fired once, twice, three times into the reptile. The rattling stopped.
Katie opened her eyes and looked at Tanner. The latter, face cold, eyes hard, stood staring down at her. He alternately tightened and relaxed his trigger finger, as if he'd been ordered to do something but wasn't sure now if he should. Because she had to play one emotion against the other, she smiled an invitation. And because he was a stalwart young man, with a sensitive mouth and a Greek god's build, the invitation wasn't wholly feigned.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the rifle's barrel. His gaze left her to light on the snake's bloodied carcass.
She moistened her lips. "Do you want some more of what I gave you Tuesday?"
Tanner's eyes narrowed. But he nodded.
"All right. But first tell me what you call it." She'd excite him verbally first, she thought, then he'd be hers.
He was silent.
"Go on," she encouraged. "You can say it to me. I'm a big girl."
His hands whitened on the rifle. His face worked. "Pussy," he said finally.
Pussy. Katie grimaced in spite of herself. Was there a more exasperating, a more irritating word in the language? But men had a way of stripping life to its basics, to its fundamentals. They called an ace an ace, even when their women didn't like it. Pussy might be unfit for breakfast conversation, but this once she'd force herself to say it. "Is my pussy good, Tanner? Is it?"
A muscle twitched in the boy's cheek. "Yeah. It's great."
"You must have had a girlfriend back in the States. Was her pussy good?"
Tanner reddened. He lifted the rifle again, clicked the safety.
Katie back-pedaled hastily. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "You don't have to tell me."
"I will, though. No, it wasn't as good as yours. She was scared stiff most of the time. Thought I'd hurt her. Or we'd get caught. Or...."
"She'd get pregnant?"
"Yeah."
"Didn't you use anything?"
"Rubbers, nothing else. And rhythm. She was Catholic."
Katie fingered the new rent in her dress, and imagined that she was Tanner's girlfriend. Poor girl. Sleeping with her boyfriend just to keep him, when she probably didn't enjoy it. What a waste. And how selfish of him. Her, too. Modern civilization, Katie reflected, had damned its youth. When the boys were ready, the girls weren't. When the girls were ready, the boys... were exchanging locker room confidences and wives. Tragic. "I seem to have torn my dress," she remarked.
Tanner smiled, and licked his lips. He'd forgotten, if his expression was any indication, about the rifle-and what he'd been ordered to do with it. "We can fix it... if you'll just take it off," he suggested.
Katie smiled back. "Do you think we'd be more comfortable if I took it off?" she asked roguishly.
"I'm sure of it," he replied, and took a step toward her, eyes aglint with purpose.
She bared her torso, realizing that this was the best way to conquer him. And conquer him she must, if she was to make him muster the courage to confront Darby and beg for her life.
Tanner used just one brown finger to trace the lines of blue veins that stood out on her skin. He carefully kissed a nipple. For him, it seemed to be almost a gesture of trying to atone for the hurt she'd suffered at their hands. She made no effort to stop him, so he loosened the last button at her waist and slowly drew the dress off her body. His eyes opened wider as he gazed at the loveliness now open to view. "like?" she inquired.
He nodded. "Yes."
His breath came faster when she pressed her lips against his forehead. His hands became bolder, and the trembling caused by nervousness was replaced with a tension of impending passion. He shifted slightly under her and they both knew that it was to ease the constriction of his erection.
To help him, she drew away and stepped out of her panties, assuming a position most-likely to excite an impressionable young man past the point of no return. "Before I forget, thank you for saving my life." She avoided looking at the rattlesnake's bullet-riddled remains.
"You're welcome." He dropped his trousers, almost tripping over them in his eagerness to cover her shining black bush. He touched the exposed structures with his fingertips, and grinned triumphantly when he saw her nipples rise. He pressed a kiss to her warm lips, trembling as her tongue entered his mouth. She reached out to take his phallus in both her hands and rub it gently, bringing the erection to greater heights.
She lay down to let him prove his power to possess her. He couldn't resist falling upon her at once. Katie gasped in delight as he entered. Her hips came up to envelope him in a response that made him the more eager. He followed her unvoiced suggestion and used his hands to cup her bottom and draw her even closer. She saw surprise and wonderment in his eyes at her total lack of inhibition.
"That's it, honey," she chuckled, fanning the flames. "Give me a wild screwing. One that Darby won't know about. Ever."
He faltered momentarily at mention of his leader's name, but quickly resumed the pace. like a well-oiled machine, he glided in and out of her, stopping now and then for breath. Then his hard young body tensed with a message of approaching orgasm.
He gazed into her eyes, and she nodded that she was ready. He gathered himself like a young colt and leaped, figuratively, for the beckoning reaches. Eighteen or not, he found virility to spare. The juice of youth flowed through both their veins as he brought them to an ecstatic finish. Because he sensed she wanted him to, Tanner strained to prolong the orgasm. Finally there was nothing else to prolong. They were both drained.
Katie, when her body had cooled, felt the chill. And it wasn't wholly in the air. Some of it was higher up the ridge, in a clearing under the trees. "You're taking me back to him? Now?"
The boy inclined his head. He was busy dressing again. "I have to. Only I... well--"
She understood. "I know. You were supposed to kill me. But you couldn't. Can't you let me go and say you did? Can't you? They must have heard the shots."
Tanner hesitated, then shook his head. "Gotta take you back. He's got my share of the money. I need it now. I need it bad."
Katie, for one wild moment, considered seizing the rifle and killing him. The urge passed, replaced by despair. She rose wearily and put on her clothes. "Then I'm ready to go."
Darby's sun-burned face was livid with anger. "You little ass! I told you to do it and you didn't! What kind of half-wit are you? She almost put a rope around your neck, and you drag her back here! Fool!" He sent Tanner sprawling with one shove, seemed tempted to use the rifle on his young lieutenant. "Now she'll have to be watched-tied up! She'll have to be fed-when we're running out of food already! What does it take? What does it take?"
"I'll watch her," Tanner mumbled. "I'll even go after more food."
"You bet your life you will!" Darby hissed, and stamped away to find some rope.
14
Tryant fidgeted under the mulberry bush where he lay. He reached to scratch an insect bite on his own leg and encountered the firmly muscled leg of Teresa. He murmured an apology... and then wondered why he had. Weren't they more than friends? But courtesy was a tradition in this part of the world.
Teresa's young-female scent tantalized his nostrils, distracting him from the potentially murderous business he was about. They reclined, the girl and he, just a hundred feet above tragedy, underneath a many-hued shrub. The sun was a half-hour away from setting. Below them were two large tents and a hunter's hut, the latter crumbling but still fit for habitation.
"I'm beginning to have doubts," Tryant confessed. He saw no man with "hair like the sun," nor did he glimpse anyone who even vaguely resembled his sister, Katie. What he did see was a boy-a handsome, long-haired boy whose bare shoulders strained with muscle-chopping wood, and a red-haired woman, her hair bound up against the heat, preparing an evening meal. The woman was intermittently visible through the door flap of the nearest tent. An aroma of frying ham wafted up on the evening breeze.
"You will see him soon," Teresa promised. Her voice was hoarse with excitement. "He is probably with the other one."
Tryant stiffened and almost reached for the gun he'd brought. "Did you have to say that?"
The girl was contrite. "I'm sorry, senor. I forget that she is your sister."
"Well, I haven't." Tryant realized that Teresa was possibly distracted herself. The kid down below, under other circumstances, might have been her meat. He could understand it. He could also feel a twinge or two of jealousy, American style.
"There! Don't you see him?"
"Where?" Tryant looked toward the tents, saw nothing, then spied the man lounging in the doorway of the hut. Darby Upton! Lee Ellen hadn't lied. Katie was somewhere inside the hut, too. He was sure of it. Tryant eased the .38 from its holster, checked the cylinder, and prepared to go down.
Teresa grabbed his arm. "Please, senor! You said you would do nothing until darkness came! You gave me your word!"
He sank back down and holstered the weapon. "So I did. Only it's so hard... I could almost do it from here." He longed for a rifle. He'd heard one this morning-three shots from somewhere higher up. The reports had sent him scurrying for cover, although he couldn't have explained why. It was just a feeling.
He watched Darby casually light a cigarette and smoke it. He felt Teresa shiver beside him. Tryant flung a comforting arm around the girl's shoulder. "Don't you think I can do it?"
"He is so big, senor. And he has a gun, too. You will be careful?"
Tryant chuckled. "Will I ever. I want to get home in one piece, too. And without someone paying my express bill."
"Do you have a sweetheart in the States, senor?"
He squeezed her hand. "Sort of. The name escapes me, though. She's not nearly as pretty as--"
"Shh," Teresa shushed. She pointed below.
The kid had stopped chopping wood. Head cocked to one side, he stood looking up at them. Tryant held his breath. Darby Upton, he noticed, was scanning the ridge bush by bush. A minute passed. Then the kid relaxed and threw down the axe. Darby dropped his cigarette on the ground and heeled it into the dust.
Tryant saw why. The redhead had called them both to dinner. The man and the boy went inside the kitchen tent and sat down. A folding table was set for three. Tryant knew this meant one of two things. Katie was either dead already-and he'd have to kill the three who'd murdered her-or she was tied up or otherwise restrained in the hunter's hut. He assumed the latter, because as soon as Darby finished eating, he took a plate of food and a cup of coffee into the hut. Upton stayed there, himself.
The sun had slipped over the western rim of the mountains now. Darkness was fast fallingWhen Tryant saw the kid saunter from the tent and walk from the clearing with a towel around his neck, he realized that he'd been presented with his first opportunity to free his sister. He'd have to start with the woman.
"I must go now, senor," Teresa said, and sighed, as if the prospect displeased her, too.
Tryant took her in his arms and hugged. "I'll never forget you. You know that, don't you? If I hadn't met Little Deer, I would still be wandering around somewhere below. I might never have found them."
"I'm afraid you'll be killed," she said, returning the embrace with one of her own. "And it will be my fault for bringing you here."
"I won't," he assured her, and covered her lips with his.
She placed both hands on his head, murmured a prayer, then vanished, stepping out of his life as suddenly as she'd entered.
Tryant doubted that he'd ever see her again-she hadn't told him her last name-and he cursed the vagaries of a cruel fate. But there was work to be done. He gave her a minute to get safely away before rising from the mulberry bush. In the gathering darkness, he glided down the slope, intending to take the redhead captive, march her out of earshot, and pump her for everything she knew.
He was inside the tent before she realized who he was. He'd drawn the .38 but had no intentions of using it, yet.
"Did she eat it?" the redhead asked, without looking up from the camp stove she was cleaning.
"No," Tryant replied, and clamped a hand over the woman's mouth. He poked the gun in her ribs. "If you scream, I'll kill you," he warned. "Walk out that flap and do exactly as I tell you."
She began to tremble violently, but she did as he told her. Tryant trembled, too. They were less than thirty feet from the hut's walls. One slip, and Darby might come charging out, guns blazing. Or he might panic and kill Katie at once. Or the kid might finish his bath before he was supposed to. Or... there were a dozen frightful possibilities.
"Up there!" he whispered, prodding her away from the clearing.
Somehow they stumbled up the ridge, over a ravine and into a wash, where Tryant had left his pack. He let the woman feel the Special's cold steel on her temple. "Who in hell are you?" he grated.
"Wh-ho are you?" she quavered.
"Peter Tryant." He fingered the trigger. "I'm Katie's brother."
Even in the darkness, the woman's incredulity was obvious. "Katie's brother!" She would have screamed now, warning or no warning, but he prevented it with a palm.
"A name! Give me a name!"
"Gerry," she whimpered. "Gerry Street."
"Where is my sister? What have you and the rest of this pack of scum done with her?"
"Please, mister!" the woman breathed. "I don't know what you're talking about! My husband and I are on vacation with his nephew. There are just the three of us. I don't know anyone named-"
"You're lying!" He slapped her across the mouth. Too hard, because the report probably carried to the clearing. "Tell me the truth, or I'll use this on you! I saw the plate your friend took inside the hut! And he isn't your husband. His name is Darby Upton and he has a wife-an ex-wife, by now-back home in the States. Admit it!" He jabbed the gun into Gerry's ear.
"Yes!" she sobbed. "It's true! We kidnapped her, but she's all right. I mean, Darby and Tanner-" The redhead stopped, as if she'd been about to say too much.
Tryant wanted to kill her then. With an effort, he caught himself. "Tanner? Tanner who?"
"Carlisle. The boy. What are you going to do with me?"
"I haven't decided," he snapped, and made her lie down on the ground. He bound and gagged her with rope he had in the pack. Hastily, however. He wasn't sure the knots would hold till morning, but they'd hold until he could take care of Darby and Carlisle.
He wound another length of rope over his shoulder and crept back the way he'd come. The rope he planned to use on Tanner, the .38 on Darby. Tryant's teeth began chattering. Autumn nights were cold in the mountains, but the chill was just part of it. He froze at one point to listen, thinking he heard rustling from somewhere further down, in the direction of the trail. He hoped Teresa hadn't come back to help him. She couldn't help now, only hinder. Tryant waited for a minute, but the rustling had stopped, He circled the clearing and picked up the trail on the other side. The sound of running water told him where to go. He stole along on noiseless feet, findinghimself after a minute on a stream bank. Tryant used each bush and shrub for cover until he found what he sought: a long-haired shadow noisily splashing water on itself. He saw the pile of clothing on the bank, and realized he'd have an easy go of it this time.
"Come out or I shoot," he warned in a low voice.
"Wha-at?" Carlisle leaped for the bank.
"This is Peter Tryant, Tanner. One more word, and I'll have to kill you."
The youth, who seemed more puzzled than cowed, came out with his hands up.
Tryant allowed him to dress, then bound and gagged him with the rope. He felt relieved. Exhilarated, too. He'd disposed, single-handedly, of two of his three protagonists in this deadly charade. But the pit viper, Darby himself, was yet to come.
He would be dangerous.
The detective listened a moment longer for sounds from the clearing, indications that Darby had missed the other two and was searching. He heard none, so he started back. He'd almost reached the clearing when he saw Upton open the hut's door and come out. Tryant promptly faded into the nearest thicket, from where he could see without being seen.
Upton went into the kitchen tent. A kerosene lantern hung over the door flap. Tryant had been afraid to blow it out. "Gerry?" Upton saw no one was there, and rushed out again. "Gerry!"
Tryant pressed himself flat on the ground. He no longer felt the chill. What happened after this depended as much on luck as himself. Without it, he'd die here in the wilderness, and so would Katie. With it, he'd take three prisoners and the rest of the ransom money down to the policia.
"Gerry, where are you?" No one answered, so Upton lunged into the other tent and emerged with a rifle. He patted another weapon-a knife or a revolver-at his belt, then set out at a dead run for the stream, flashlight in hand.
Tryant remembered in dismay that he'd neglected to drag Tanner Carlisle away from the bank and under a bush. Darby had a light. He'd be certain to find him. But if he, Tryant, could reach Katie now and free her...
When Upton passed out of earshot, Tryant sprinted for the hut. He had a flashlight, too. And a knife. They had a chance. In fact, this was probably their only chance. There'd be no others.
He burst inside the hut and switched on the flashlight. The light's thin beam speared the gloom. "Katie! Are you there? It's me! Peter!"
"Peter! Oh, my God, it can't be! Over here, please, and hurry!"
He saw her, finally, on a cot in the corner. She was lashed, hand and foot, to the bed legs. "Those beasts! They did this to you?"
"Yes. Peter, please get me out of here." Katie's voice shook.
He slashed at her bonds until she was free. She was unable to move right away, however. He rubbed her wrists and ankles until the circulation returned. She showed her appreciation by hugging him harder than anyone had ever hugged him before.
"They were going takill me in another day or so," she sobbed. "The others tried to talk him out of it, but he meant to do it."
"Darby?"
"Yes. And, Peter, they still have the money. Most of it. We could-"
"No! I've got to get you out of here. Come on." He grabbed her wrists and hurried her out the door. They hurried too slowly. A rifle slug slammed into the wood above them as they ran out. Katie screamed and dove for the ground. Tryant let go of her hand and grabbed for the .38. At the same instant, he glimpsed a moving blur at the clearing's edge.
"Darby!"
"Tryant, you bastard!"
Tryant fired blindly. Almost in reply, he felt a searing pain high over his groin.
Blackness pummeled him from all sides.
15
Katie Thornbill felt herself being carried in someone's arms. A large someone's arms. She relaxed so that he felt her full weight, but still he didn't falter. She began to be afraid again. If this wasn't Peter, and it wasn't, then she hadn't been rescued.
She tried to peer up at the strange face, but the night blackness prevented it. They seemed to be descending a trail, moreover, so she dared not start a struggle. They might end up, both of them, at the bottom of some rocky gorge, the life battered out of their bodies. After what she'd endured, she wanted desperately to live.
The movement soon lulled her to sleep. She lost consciousness. When she awoke again, a bright sun was floating over an eastern rampart. The man who carried her was placing her gently underneath a small pine.
Katie looked... and was afraid all over again. The man was huge. Darkly handsome, but huge. "Who-are you?" she faltered.
"We will rest here for an hour," he said, in perfect English. He smiled. "I am Ramon. Ramon Garcia Roca, from the town of Uspallata."
"You-saved my life?" Katie looked about her, remembering. Darby had been about to kill her. He would have killed her, only a gigantic form had come hurtling from the darkness. Shots had been fired. Someone had screamed, then there was silence. "Where is--? "
"The man who tried to kill you?" Ramon's expression tightened. "I kill him. Now there is no one to bother you. I am taking you to the village, where a doctor will examine you. Then you are free to go home." He smiled, sharp eyes taking in the expensive cut of her clothes. "Wherever that might be."
Katie jumped up. Peter! Where was her brother now? Had he been the one who screamed? "No! You must help me find Peter. My brother. I need to know. We'll have to go back at once."
Ramon, as easily as if she were a child, restrained her from scrambling back up the rocky trail they were descending. "He is badly hurt, senor. He may die. I ordered him taken down a shorter, steeper trail by litter. He will arrive at the hospital before us., , Katie, because she didn't know whether to believe him or not, fought to free herself. "Let go of me! I don't need a doctor! I feel fine! Please let go of me!"
Ramon laughed. He picked her up in his arms again. "In that case, everything is fine. And we will be friends. No?"
She had little choice, it appeared, so she nodded yes. Again she was carried along the winding trails for what seemed, like hours. Ramon's loping stride made her fear as much for her own safety as Peter's. One slip, and they'd land hundreds of feet below. Katie closed her eyes and tried to pray. No prayer came. She remembered that she hadn't even thanked her savior, if in fact he was. "Why did you do it?"
He never missed a step. "Do what?"
"Risk your life. Darby-the man you killed-was very good with guns. He might have.. . . "
Ramon shrugged. Tried to. With his burden, he couldn't. "I like you. Four days ago, I see you and I say to myself: there is one lovely gringo lady. I will come to her aid, and then, perhaps, she will come to mine." He chuckled, as if he'd just made a very subtle, very delicious joke.
Katie thrilled. She realized that there was nothing to prevent her from giving herself to this stalwart mountaineer, this lean Latin. Arthur was dead, so she wasn't bound by vows any longer. So was Darby, who, until he'd turned vicious, had cast such a spell on her. "Thank you," she retorted. "I'm giving it serious thought."
Ramon glanced sideways at her and continued to carry them both down the rocky trail. "I jest," he muttered.
"But I don't!" she assured him, and waited for the invitation to sink in.
Ramon stopped abruptly and placed her on the ground. He mopped his brow, although there was still a tang to the morning air. The trail briefly widened at this point, and Katie saw why. A side-trail meandered out of sight along a ridge that dipped into a thick forest of ancient pines. "Down there... is a goatherd's shelter."
"Take me there." Katie was surprised, even astounded, at her own boldness. An hour before, she might have run screaming from him.
"You realize, I hope, that I-that we-"
She reached to kiss him. "I realize nothing. I haven't yet come to my senses."
Ramon smiled and picked her up again. He said nothing until they'd inched their way down the ridge, nothing until he'd gotten her inside the shelter, nothing until he'd locked the door and started a fire. Then he pulled her into his arms. Katie experienced a thrill that even a wedding ceremony hadn't brought, a thrill that neither Arthur nor Darby ever gave her.
Ramon's groin pressed against her stomach. He was, to her eyes, fantastically large. The feel of him was strange and a little overwhelming. He thrust a tongue deep into her mouth and she responded at once. His shaft began rubbing her stomach. The sheer size of it almost frightened her.
He tongued the roof of her mouth more expertly than any one ever had before. Katie found herself growing weaker and weaker as every nerve vibrated in answer to Ramon's big shaft and thick tongue.
While she winced in pleasure-pain, he manipulated her buttocks with powerful hands, holding her tight against a hard which became, to her consternation, more so. Much more so.
When the kiss broke, he chuckled. "You are-how do the North Americans say it?-turned on."
Katie couldn't deny it. "Yes... because you have just a wonderfully large... cock!" She heard herself say the word, and for once wasn't embarrassed. She looked closely at Ramon, to see if the expression meant anything. It did. She moved against him and felt the largeness swelling between his legs.
She glanced at the bed.
He laughed. "That's where we are going, you and me." He stepped away and opened his pants, began to get out of them. Katie watched, fascinated, as his shorts came away to expose a huge, swollen cock. She gaped. The head was swollen and thick. The length and circumference of the phallus amazed her. It must be true, then, she thought, what they said about Latin men.
"Has the gringo lady never seen one of these before?" he teased.
"Never one so large," she admitted, and added daringly, "It makes me almost... come in my pussy!"
Ramon's brows raised in mock horror. "I have never heard a lady talk that way before. Never." He tossed the pants and shorts to a rough chair.
"I've never said things like that before... even when I wanted to." Katie's eyes were fiery. She began slipping out of her own clothes.
"Then perhaps your coming to Uspallata wasn't a quirk of providence after all," he suggested, smiling.
She flushed in pleasure and excitement. Almost tore her panties getting them off. Under Ramon's hot gaze, she felt congested, near a bursting point. They stood there before one another, just looking. She made the first move, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his thick prick, even moving the foreskin back and forth a few times.
Ramon sighed and placed a strong hand between her thighs. He found her cunt and applied a finger to her clitoris a few times. She jumped. "You are wet," he remarked, as if he'd expected to find her tense and dry.
She supposed that she was. Before she had time to think about it, he'd pressed her back against the rude bed, and was about to enter. The thick red crown touched her cunt and she went limp inside. But her hips surged upward in spite of herself, opening, surrendering.
Ramon, who had lost some of his own cool, breathed something in Spanish.
"It's-huge!" Katie gasped.
He laughed, gripping her thighs and driving himself on inside her.
Katie cried out, almost suffering in the ecstasy of that thick male muscle stretching the insides of her. She felt as though she were being stretched beyond her physical limits. The sensations, at the same time, were deliciously thrilling. "Oh, it's wonderful," she groaned. "I've never felt this way before."
"You are wonderful," he assured her, very much the Latin romantic.
Katie closed her eyes. He was so thick and hard, she-likened him to a spear of flesh attached to a knight-rider artfully practiced in its use. An errant out to right all her wrongs, Ramon jousted with such skill and abandon that she forgot she was a widow of exactly two weeks' standing. She forgot.. . .
Something burst inside her. She strained against him, climaxing in a way she never had with Darby, certainly not with Arthur.
There was something wild, strong, and manly about the shaft inside her. Savage and lusting, Ramon was like an animal. For the first time in her life, Katie felt like a whole woman. And she realized in awe that he hadn't even gone off yet.
Ramon withdrew, drawing her legs up against her chest. Then he dipped down, re-entering. In this position he seemed to plumb her innermost depths, to her cervix and beyond. Never in her twenty-eight years had she been penetrated so deeply.
She moaned, rotating on that shaft of his, clamping down on the thickness filling her. He made little quick motions, finally withdrawing all the way out. "Please-give it back to me!" she sobbed.
Ramon laughed, then dipped the meaty head between her love-lips again. He began to thrust rapidly against her clit, began to drive her wild. She tried to lift, to get more of him inside her, but he controlled totally what was taking place, and continued to flagellate the most sensitive nerves in her body.
Katie gulped great lungfuls of air and still felt as though she were suffocating. It was the altitude, she decided. She gasped when he suddenly surged forward, burying himself inside her. Another, more violent explosion ripped her. Ramon yanked himself out, then rammed in again. Katie whispered curses she hadn't known she knew, and clutched at the one thin bed cover.
This time she felt the thickness of him swell, stretching her with its gigantic size. The next vigorous thrust brought an ejaculatory flood from his cock. She tingled from head to toe as the hot juices of his come cascaded deep inside her. His orgasm seemed endless. When it was over, he began moving in and out once more, without even pausing to rest.
"You-aren't finished!"
"No, senora," Ramon panted. "You like?"
"I love it!"
"You are the first gringo pussy I have ever had," he declared.
She shivered in pleasure at his words. "Say something like that again. I like to hear you talk that way."
"Unless you count the young one from the Peace Corps. I find out too late that she does not fuck! She is just a-a-"
"A tease," Katie supplied.
"A trifler." Ramon gave an especially spirited lunge, to bring both their attentions back to the business at hand.
"Yes, yes... keep on fucking me until I scream!" She could use the words, too, and did. She was completely mastered now, completely in his power. This is it! she told herself. This is the way it's supposed to be!
The next moments were blurry. She recalled little of it later, because no sooner did she experience one climax than she was swept on to the next one. Ramon never stopped pumping her. When he came again, a mountain torrent of white-hot semen, the spasms racked him and her. She felt her secret muscles responding involuntarily, squeezing out yet another frantic climax. She was overwhelmed, with pleasure and gratitude at what he'd done for her.
Ramon withdrew to catch his breath. "Marauilloso, " he wheezed.
She looked at him, marveling all over again at the size of his limbs and sexual organ. She hadn't dreamed that men in this part of the world came so big. Shyly, she reached out and cupped his testicles, wished she could give him everything he desired. "Thank you... again."
His glance was sympathetic. "Didn't your husband give you enough?"
"Enough," she admitted. "He was just so-so unassertive. I never experienced anything like this before. You take a woman like you mean it. You-oh, I don't know how to say it." On an impulse, she leaned and kissed his relaxing phallus, even drew the end into her mouth. The prick was warm and smooth; its texture sent a shiver through her. She tongued the crown experimentally. It began to swell.
Now she knew why women wanted to do such a thing-to worship the object that gave them so much pleasure: She ate more avidly until he was thick and pulsing, his shaft rock hard, a swollen stick between her teeth. When she nipped lightly, a small emission came out.
Startled, she drew away. But she returned when she saw the look of hurt on his face. The taste of him, after she tried it, offended her not at all. She'd brought him to full erection again. He clamped big hands on the back of her neck as she accepted more of him. Then he jerked his hips up and down so that the thickness was pulled out and rapidly thrust back into captivity. She was almost near a climax of her own when he lifted, gasped, and disgorged into her mouth. Katie closed her eyes and swallowed every drop-something she'd never even thought about doing before.
They rested awhile, then were at it again. This time they went through the foreplay slowly, as if they were bride and groom. Ramon worried and sucked her nipples until she almost went insane, then she mounted him and brought them both to orgasm while he bounced her from side to side.
Afterwards, they lay together and smoked in silence. Katie thought that she'd never felt so sated, so free at last of the fears and inhibitions once shackling her to convention. She'd been liberated, that was her feeling. And her liberator cradled her now in the hollow of his shoulder.
"You will fly home to the U.S.? "
"And then?"
She had to shake her head. "I don't know. I'm so confused... I'll have to think."
But she'd already made one decision. The decision had to do with Ramon, himself.
EPILOGUE
The U.S. Marshall at Dallas, Texas, holds arrest warrants for both Gerry Yvonne Street and Tanner Carlisle, charging each with kidnapping, extortion, and international flight to avoid prosecution. Miss Street is believed to have left Argentina, however, and may be living in Brazil or Uruguay under another name. None of her share of the ransom money has been recovered to date.
Tanner Carlisle, reportedly robbed, of all or most of his share on the Buenos Aires waterfront a month after Darby Upton's death, was last seen getting into a cab outside the headquarters of the Argentine Seamen's Union. Authorities there believe he may have forged naturalization papers in his possession which allow him to pass as a ship's steward or purser's mate.
Katie Thornbill, who flew home briefly to be reunited with her children and to settle Arthur Thorn-bill's estate, soon returned to marry Ramon Garcia Roca. With Darby Upton's share of the ransom money, they started a vineyard and winery which even her father admits could someday make them wealthier than he and his packing company.
Katie's brother, Peter, recovered from his wounds and returned home to finish the Arnswell case.
