Apache Caress (8 page)

“If she’s straitlaced, everyone says her old man and her brothers sure make up for it.” Trixie wondered if Otto knew that before she was his mistress, old Hiram Griswold and then one of the sons had been her patrons? She reached out to toss the cigarette into the spittoon.

“Trixie, please ... Do it. . . .” He put his sloppy wet mouth over hers again, one hand reaching to squeeze her breast, the other going to unbutton his pants.

“I need a little money, Otto.”

“Please . . . You’ll get it.”

She slid down his body until she was on her knees before him, doing what she’d done for him many times before. Then, suddenly she stopped and stood up.

“What the hell’s the matter?” Big beads of sweat stood out on Otto’s bald head, “God, don’t quit now. I was just about to–”

“I got no time.” Trixie smiled at his discomfort. “I’m leaving town, Otto. That’s what I came to tell you.”

“What? You can’t go now.” He tried to force her back down on her knees before him, but Trixie stumbled back against the desk. “I don’t want to lose you, Trixie. Remember, I told you I had big plans for your theatrical future–”

“All the future I got with you is calluses on my knees and rope burns on my wrists from being tied to bed posts so you can act out your sick–”

“It’s money you want, isn’t it, you little tart? I’ll give you money, just finish–”

“Your old lady would give me more, I’ll bet, to hear about your cheatin’.” Trixie taunted. “I’ll bet she’d love to have enough evidence to tell Papa.”

With a muttered curse, Otto grabbed her and they struggled by the desk as he tried to force her to her knees. Trixie lost her balance, and they fell backward on top of the pile of mail.

“So it’s blackmail, is it?” He had her down on the desktop, struggling to get his hands up under her skirt. “Okay, you little whore, I’m through fooling with you! I’m gonna take what I want right now and then kick you outa here! I doubt Julia cares whose bed I’m in, as long as it’s not hers!”

Isn’t that the truth?
“Otto, you’re hurting me!”

“I’ll show you ‘hurt,’ you clever little whore!” He was lying half on top of her now, his hand ripping her bodice, pulling at her breasts. “All the talent you got is between your legs, Trixie! You think you’re smart, don’t you? Getting me worked up and then laughing! You aren’t going anywhere until I say you can!”

“Otto, stop. You’ll regret this.” She looked up into his sweating face as he pulled at her breasts, forced himself between her legs. His eyes gleamed with an almost insane lust. When Otto Toombs came back to his senses, he would be afraid and regretful, and there was no telling what he would do to protect himself and his reputation. She had to make him stop. He was ramming and ramming into her, his slobbering mouth all over her nipples, as she lay helpless across the desktop.

She reached up and slapped him hard. “You old fool! Get off of me before I scream and bring everyone running!”

She saw the sudden gleam in his hand as he grabbed the sharp letter opener. “You tart, how dare you threaten me? Maybe I’ll kill you. Does that scare you, Trixie? Maybe I’ll just carve my initials–”

“No, Otto. I was just kiddin,’ honest!” Really scared, Trixie struggled to get away from him. He looked a little crazy. She had pushed and taunted him too far.

She suddenly dodged out from under him. He fell across the desk as she stood up, panting. “Now, Otto, quit acting crazy.” Trixie tried to straighten her torn bodice. “I won’t tell your old lady, I just need money, that’s all.”

Otto made a choking sound and struggled to his feet, his back still toward her.

“Otto?”

He turned around, gesturing wildly, gasping. Bloody foam covered his lips, and his shirt front was sticky with warm, scarlet blood.

“Oh, my God, Otto!”

The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the dark velvet drapes reflected off the handle of the small brass letter opener stuck at an angle in the banker’s thick neck. When he tried to make a sound, only scarlet froth bubbled from his lips as his own blood drowned his vain attempts to cry out. Trixie put her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream. Then she backed toward the door as Otto Toombs fell across his desk, leaving a river of red across the snowy white envelopes and papers piled there.

Trixie hurried out the side door of the bank. She started to run, then realized she must be calm or she would attract attention. In a few minutes, someone would find Otto Toomb’s still-warm body. No one would believe it had been an accident. It was important to old Hiram Griswold that he maintain a clean and scandal-free appearance, for both the bank and his family; never mind what went on behind closed doors. He was powerful enough to make Trixie simply disappear if this created a scandal, and a death in the office of the vice president of the bank would certainly raise some eyebrows. Other members of Griswold’s family wouldn’t want Papa Hiram digging around too deeply in Trixie’s secret involvements. She paused, collected her wits, straightened her mussed clothing, and walked down the deserted street without looking back.

They would find Otto soon enough when the bank closed. And if anyone had seen her leaving, she would deny everything. She forced herself to walk instead of run. It seemed like a hundred miles back to her hotel. As she started for the stairs, she looked down the street, saw the patrol still on the bridge and began to tremble.
Gill
. Maybe Gill would know what to do.

Trixie went to the bridge. “Gill, I need to see you.”

“Blast it, can’t it wait? Ill be off duty soon.”

“No, it really can’t.” She managed to hold back her hysteria. What she needed was a big slug of that cocaine syrup and a cigarette.

He started to argue with her, then took a look at her face and threw up his hands. “Okay, boys, I’ll leave you with it. We’re being transferred out in the morning anyhow. I told you looking for that Injun here was pointless.”

He took Trixie’s elbow, and she let him guide her around the corner of a building. “Now, blast it all, what is it that’s so damned important it can’t wait?”

She hadn’t expected him to be so hard and unsympathetic. “Oh, Gill ... honey . . . don’t use that tone of voice. I thought you loved me.” She dug around in her purse for a handkerchief, and when she retrieved it, the silver medallion Otto had given her came out too and hit the paving stones with a sharp, ringing sound.

Gill leaned over slowly and picked the silver thing up, whistled low. “Where in the hell did you get this?”

“Gill honey, ain’t you listening to me?” Trixie sobbed and wiped her eyes. “I think I’m in trouble–”

“Well, that ain’t my problem, sister. I haven’t been in town long enough!” He caught her arm, shook her. “Tell me where you got this.”

“In Otto’s office,” she sobbed. “He gave it to me and he had that red headband, too.”

“What? Who the hell is Otto?”

“I been tryin’ to tell you.” Trixie gulped, then quickly filled him in on the details.

Gill didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stood there, turning the silver thing over and over in his hand.

“Gill honey, don’t you understand? He’s dead, and by now they’ve probably found him. You was goin’ to take me away, and now it’s real important–”

“I just can’t quite put the pieces together,” Gill mused as if he hadn’t heard her. “What was the banker doing with this thing!”

“Who gives a damn?” Trixie had lost her patience. “It ain’t important–”

“Yes, it is, Trixie.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me how he got it. Believe me, it’s important.”

She hesitated, baffled by his interest.

“Look, Trixie, this belongs to the man I’m hunting,” he explained patiently as if dealing with a child. “If I catch the man, I may get a promotion and the brass may overlook the fact that I let him get away in the first place. Besides, there might be a reward . . . especially since he just killed a leading citizen like Otto Tombs.”

“But he didn’t kill Otto. That was an accident. I told you about him and me strugglin’ and how he fell on the letter opener.... Reward?” Gill’s last words got through to her. A reward meant money.

“Yes, sweet, a reward.” Gill patted her rear. “Think of money, a lot of money that the bank might put up to catch this killer. Now tell me the whole thing again right quick so I can get over to the bank.”

“Bank?” Trixie lit a cigarette with shaky hands. “Why do you want to go to the bank? You gonna turn me in?”

“Blast it all, Trixie, don’t you understand? The Injun sneaked in there and tried to rob the banker. In the struggle before Cholla stabbed him, Toombs managed to pull the headband off him. That’s a distinctive headband. All the Army’s Apache scouts wear them so the soldiers can tell ’em from the hostiles and not shoot one of ours accidentally during a battle.”

“Oh, now I see. Gill honey, you’re wonderful!” She tried to kiss him, but he brushed her aside.

“Go back to your place and wait. I got to get to the bank and drop off this silver concho from Cholla’s moccasin. Then I got to make sure the policemen find the things and know what they are. Whatever the reward for that escaped Apache is now, it ought to be double by tomorrow!”

When Gill returned to Trixie’s room, he was so happy, he was whistling. In fact, he was in such good spirits, he stopped on the way and bought a big bottle of patent medicine for her and a bag of cinnamon drops for himself. That dumb tart had dropped a windfall into his lap.

“Trixie gal, how would you like to be seen on the arm of
Captain
Gillen?” He set the bottles on the table, picked her up and whirled her around.

“What?” she blinked at him.

“You heard me!” He set her on her feet, plopped down on the sofa, put his boots up on the arm. “I also leaked it to a reporter who showed up. By tomorrow, all the newspapers and the citizens will be outraged over that savage killin’ a leading, upstanding citizen. They’re talking reward. Word has gone out on all the telegraph wires. Cholla is big news.”

“So now what?” She sat down on the sofa, took his head in her lap.

It had been a long time since he had been in such a good mood. Gillen reached up and opened Trixie’s robe, stroked her freckled breasts. “So the Army’s assigning me to track him down, no matter where the trail leads. I’ll leave you some money, and you meet me out in Arizona in time for the holidays.”

“Oh, ain’t that grand!” Trixie lit a cigarette, giggled, then sobered. “But what was the Injun doin’ at the farm?”

“Good point, Trixie.” Gill stroked Trixie’s breasts absently while he considered. “If Cholla was on Forester’s place, do you suppose he went there lookin’ for revenge?” The next thought that occurred to him made him sit bolt upright. “Or is there a chance that in that arroyo at the last minute, Robert told that damned scout something he didn’t tell me? Could that lying Robert have known where the money was buried on that farm all along?”

“Then why did he ask to be transferred to Arizona?” Trixie trailed blue smoke from her nostrils, like a lazy dragon.

Gill thought about it a minute. “Makes sense. But he got a couple of letters from his wife he never bothered to answer. He just tore them up. Maybe she told him in a letter, trying to get him to come back to her.”

Trixie giggled. “Fat chance! She was the shy and mousy type.”

What type was Mrs. Robert Forester? Gill had never met her. He searched his memory for an image of the woman they were discussing. In his mind’s eye, he saw the photo thrown carelessly in Robert’s top drawer in their quarters at Fort Bowie. A man who was in love with a woman carried her photo on his person.

For a long moment, Gill stroked Trixie’s freckled breasts as he wondered what had happened to the photo. No doubt Sergeant Mooney had gathered it up along with the rest of Robert’s personal things and had returned it to his widow along with the medals and letters of commendation.

In his mind, Gillen saw the photo again: the ebony hair in a prim bun, the dark eyes, the exotic look of the Hungarian face. “I’ll be goddamned!” he sat up with a groan.

“What’s the matter, Gill honey?”

“No wonder that girl looked so familiar to me.”

“What girl?”

“The girl driving the wagon toward the bridge. I didn’t realize who she was but I should have since I had seen the photo.” He stood up.

“Gill, would you please talk sense!” She rose, reached for her bottle of medicine, took a big swig.

Gill swore and paced the floor. “Blast it all! Escaped right under our noses, I’ll wager! Who would suspect a widow in a little wagon? From what Robert said of her, she ain’t the type to get mixed up with a wild stud like that one; no, he must be holding her captive. Yeah, that’s it; he’s using her for a hostage . . . or for revenge.”

“What the hell you talkin’ about, Gill?”

“And while we look on this side of the river, they’ve crossed and he’s maybe killed her by now; drove that wagon off in the Mississippi. That bastard is probably already on a train across Kansas, laughing his fool head off at how stupid we are!”

Gill ran for the door and took off down the stairs.

Cholla came awake suddenly in the early dawn. Although the morning air was chill, his shirt was soaked with sweat. He still dreamed of that fateful July day. He wondered if the other survivors had nightmares too? But it had been Cholla who had made the other four agree to remain silent about the events. Considering what had happened, there was nothing else he could have done. Tom, old traditional Army man that he was, was the only one who had hesitated about going along, but the scout had made the sergeant see the sense of it.

Cholla looked around. For a split second, he wasn’t sure where he was or why. A woman lay curled against the warmth of his chest. For a second, he blinked at the sleeping, dark-haired white girl whose hands were tied behind her back, and then everything that had happened in the last several days came back to him. Reality was as horrible as his nightmare had been. It was both ironic and insane that Cholla was using Robert Forester’s widow as a hostage. Cholla was living on borrowed time, he knew that. The girl was right, he had no chance of betting back to the wild, desolate country that he loved. And yet he must try. Freedom meant more to him than life itself.

Revenge. At least he would have his revenge. No wonder she had tried to keep him out of that trunk so he wouldn’t find the photo. What would be the perfect vengeance? To kill her? No, that was too simple.

Delzhinne. The beautiful Apache girl who had meant more to Cholla than life itself had been raped and then shot between the eyes. Tom had found her and had taken his friend out to the spot where she lay. Yes, he should pay Robert Forester back in his own coin. Cholla frowned. He had no stomach for killing women. He smiled to himself, thinking he knew of an even better revenge. He considered it only just that he put his baby in the lieutenant’s woman.

Yet there was an old Apache taboo against rape. He must seduce Forester’s woman, make her want him enough to surrender to him. Then when her belly swelled with his child, he would dump her off at some white fort to live disgraced by the brown baby sucking at her breast. Maybe he would even try to take her to Austin, to Forester’s haughty mother, and leave her there. If the Foresters were as important and rich as the lieutenant boasted, the disgrace would be complete.

Gently, Cholla brushed Sierra’s hair away from her face. “Are you awake?”

Sierra woke with a start, looked up into her captor’s dark eyes. There was no mistaking the desire she saw reflected there. For a moment, she almost pulled away. Then it occurred to her that as long as she exhibited fear and distrust of him, he would never let down his guard. To escape–or kill him–Sierra needed to be trusted so he no longer guarded her closely, tied her at night. For her purposes, she was going to have to make him want her even more. She would have to seduce him.

She hesitated only a moment. How different could it be with him from what it had been with Robert? If she closed her eyes . . .

Taking a deep breath for courage, she opened her lips slightly, looking up at him. He paused as if unsure whether she was offering them to him, and then he bent his head and brushed his lips across hers.

Robert had never kissed her that tenderly. The Apache’s gentleness surprised her. After all, she lay bound and helpless, he could use her body for his needs as hurriedly and roughly as Robert had done.

She willed herself not to pull away as warm lips caressed hers and hands went to her shoulders, drawing her up to his mouth. His tongue felt like a flame as it flickered across her lips, and when she opened them, it slipped inside.

She felt an unaccustomed warmth stirring deep in her. Robert had never aroused her so. But then Robert’s kisses had been quick; with him, everything about the act had been rushed as if he couldn’t wait to finish with her. In contrast, Cholla kissed her so leisurely it seemed he planned to spend hours doing nothing else. Sierra suddenly felt guilty. Her husband had only been dead a few weeks, yet here she was letting one of the tribe that had killed him put dark hands on her. The end justifies the means, she told herself. She would have to endure this until she could kill him or escape.

His arms went around her, and she felt him fumbling with the ropes that bound her. “I like a woman to hold me when I make love to her,” he whispered.

Her arms were cramped, but when he freed them, she dutifully slipped them around his neck, in awe of the powerful, corded muscles there. At any moment, he would untie her ankles, rip away her lace drawers, and ram into her, coming in a quick, hot rush as her husband had always done.

But the Indian made no move to untie her legs. They lay there in the gray dawn on the blanket, with him stroking and kissing her.

I must not know the proper things to do, Sierra thought. Robert had always said she was lousy in bed when he’d taunted her with his whore. When Sierra had responded that all she knew was what her husband had taught her since he’d been her only man, he had slapped her.

She must make this savage desire her enough to let down his guard. How else could she kill him or escape?

Shyly, Sierra slipped her tongue between his lips, probing deeply as she clung to him, pulling his bare chest to her. Even though the cloth of her prim dress was between them, she rubbed her nipples up against him. She felt his sharp intake of breath, and for a long moment, he kissed her with abandon, his hands on her shoulders, drawing her to him.