Beachcomber (46 page)

“I love the way you taste,” she whispered, and ran her lips down the throbbing cord at the side of his throat.

“God, I want you,” he said, his voice thick. “I think I’ve wanted you for years.”

“Luke …” But whatever she was going to say was lost forever as he put her down on the bed. It was still made, and the bedspread smelled faintly of something vaguely floral as she sank into it, pulling him down on top of her, loving the fact that he was heavy, that he was pressing her deep into the mattress, that his body was hard, that his arms were trembling with need.

“Look what you do to me. I think the last time my arms shook like this I was about sixteen,” he said with
the faintest touch of rueful humor, and then his mouth, hot and wet and hungry, took hers again. His hand found her breast, tightened over it, squeezed. She gasped into his mouth and slid her hands up his back under his shirt, pushing it up, trying to push it off.

“I want you naked,” she pulled her mouth from his to repeat the words he’d once said to her.

His mouth curved.

“Naked’s good,” he said, his eyes hot, and sat up to pull his shirt over his head. Christy lay where he had left her, her nails digging into the bedspread as she watched him hook his thumbs in his waistband and slide his trunks down his legs. She had just a moment to admire the sheer golden splendor of him, the bronzed skin and firm muscles, the wide shoulders and narrow hips and powerful legs. Her fascinated gaze was focused on the hard evidence of his desire for her, huge and swollen as it jutted out from his body, when he reached for her, unfastening her pants with quick efficiency and pulling them and her panties down her legs in a single quick movement. Christy kicked to help him get them off, and was sitting up to pull her T-shirt over her head when he pulled it off for her, then reached around behind her back to unfasten her bra. When that came off he dropped it to the floor, then stood for a moment looking down at her. She was sitting in the middle of the bed, leaning back on her hands, naked, and as his gaze swept her she felt a rush of desire so intense that she shivered.

“Now look who’s shaking,” he said, his eyes hot and tender at the same time. Then he came down on top of
her, pushing her into the mattress, his body hard and urgent as he found her mouth with his.

Christy met his kiss with her own, sliding her tongue inside his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, parting her legs for him. His legs slid between hers at the same time as his hand found her breast, and her need for him was suddenly so strong that she was reaching for him with both hands, on fire for him, melting, her bones turning to liquid as she guided him to her.

“Christy …” He tried to pull back, tried to slow it down, to make it last, but she couldn’t wait, she needed him inside her, she was so hungry for him, so ready for him that her hips were coming up off the bed in a wordless plea.

“Now. Please.”

He groaned and surrendered, pushing inside her, his body thick and hard and scalding hot, and suddenly she was coming, crying out, clinging to him, and he was thrusting deep and hard and fast, taking her with a fierceness that was exactly what she wanted, what she craved.

“Luke, Luke,
Luke,
” she cried at the end, straining up against him.

“Christy,” he groaned in answer, and buried himself inside her one last time, holding himself there as he found his own release.

Then it was over, and Christy simply lay there, drained, breathing hard, feeling the hot heavy warmth of him lying atop her with every nerve ending she possessed.

“You fucking whore.” The voice came out of nowhere, out of her worst nightmare, paralyzing, terrifying, freezing her in place while an instantaneous explosion of cold sweat poured over her.

Michael.

Even as she put a name to the voice Luke moved, thrusting her away from him so that she fell off the far side of the bed, diving in the opposite direction himself while men shouted and gunshots exploded:
boom, boom, boom!

Luke yelped and there was a heavy thud like a body hitting the floor and Christy couldn’t see, couldn’t get up, because the bedspread had come off the bed with her and it was heavy and she was tangled in it.

“Luke,” she screamed, arms and legs flailing, finally managing to get to her knees and look across the bed, across the room, at Luke lying facedown on the carpet while Michael, flanked by two other men, stood over him with a gun.

“Michael, no!” Christy cried, and would have scrambled to her feet except the cover was heavy, way too heavy to allow her to move that easily. She was tangled in it. Realizing that it was all that kept her from being naked in front of Michael, in front of the strangers with him, she quit trying to lose it and instead clamped one arm across her bosom to hold it in place as she tried again to get to her feet.

Michael looked around at her. His face could have been carved from stone. He wasn’t as tall as Luke but he was handsome in a dark Italian way, with short black hair that was thinning on top, a hawkish nose and
square jaw, and eyes so dark they were almost black. Those eyes snapped with fury as they ran over her, and she realized with a little thrill of terror that his pride had been outraged, that to his way of thinking he had caught her, his woman, his property, in flagrante delicto with another man.

“You fucking whore,” he said to her. Then, to his men, “Keep him covered,” as he stepped away from Luke and came around the bed toward her.

“Michael,” she said, trying to think of some way out, some way to reason with him, to save herself and Luke because this was bad, Michael meant to kill them, she could see it in the taut fury with which he moved, in the jut of his jaw, in his eyes. Gary was gone and there was no one manning the monitors and they were caught, trapped, at Michael’s mercy, his to do with as he would. He walked right up to her and slapped her in the face, slapped her so hard that she fell back, one hand flying to her face where her cheek burned and throbbed and stung.

“You want your diamonds?” Luke asked. His voice sounded strained, but Christy was so glad to hear it she barely noticed until she was on her knees again and looking across the bed toward him. He was sitting up, one hand pressed to his thigh, and she saw bright red blood oozing between his fingers. Oh God, he’d been shot.

“Damned right I want my diamonds,” Michael said, pivoting to face Luke. His gun was pointed down now, but it didn’t matter because the other two men had their weapons trained on Luke. Like Michael, they
were wearing dark dress slacks and pale short-sleeved shirts, but unlike him they were nondescript goon types, one dark-haired, the other bald. “Where are my diamonds?” Michael asked Luke.

Christy tried again to get to her feet, bringing the cover up with her. It was still impossibly heavy, but a barely audible snarl and the faintest of movements beneath the tangled folds made her freeze. Marvin …

“Let Christy go and I’ll give them to you.”

Michael laughed. It was a chilling sound that made Christy’s blood run cold. It told her as plainly as if he’d said it aloud that he was going to kill her as soon as he got what he wanted: the diamonds.

Oh, why, why, why hadn’t they stayed on guard?

“You want me to shoot him in the knee, boss?” the bald goon asked, and Christy gasped. She recognized that voice: the man on the phone. Her heart slammed against her chest, and she went cold all over as her gaze swept him. Stocky, about five-ten, dark-complected. Bald, but he could have worn a cap. Was this her attacker? It was possible; probable …

“Hey, little girl,” he said, glancing over at her in response to her gasp, and waggled his fingers at her. As she met those dark eyes, Christy went light-headed with terror. For an instant the room seemed to spin.

“I’m not playing games here. I want my diamonds.” Michael turned and leveled his gun at Christy. Staring down the mouth of that pistol, she knew despair. She had tried so hard to live, worked so hard to live, done everything she could to live, and she was going to die anyway. It wasn’t fair.

Marvin growled again, and pressed against her leg. She could feel his warm slick fur just above her knee.

“Oh God, Michael, please. Please don’t hurt me.” Cowering, Christy bent double, her hands clasped together pleadingly as she abased herself on the carpet, her eyes huge and teary as they fastened on Michael’s face. “I’ll do anything. Please. Please.”

“Give me my fucking diamonds.” It was a furious growl. Christy knew the signs: Michael was losing his cool. Once the slide started, it didn’t take him long. A few more minutes, and he’d be raging mad—and she and Luke would die.

“I’ll get them. Just don’t hurt me. Please.”

Breathless with eagerness to get him what he wanted and thus, possibly, save her own life, Christy got clumsily to her feet, clutching the bedspread around her, trying to juggle the tangled folds so that she had her hands on what she needed when she needed it.

“Hurry up.”

Clearly not considering her a threat, Michael’s gaze swept back to Luke. Christy took advantage of his momentary lack of attention to fire her weapon: Marvin. She released her grip on the bedspread and hurled the cat toward Michael. Marvin hit the target, and Michael screamed and dropped his gun.

As Christy dove after it, from the corner of her eye she watched Michael and Marvin engage in an epic battle complete with curses, shouts, and yowls. Nearer the door, Luke was in motion, too, lashing out with his feet and hands, sending guns somersaulting through the air and bringing the goons crashing to the floor.
Beyond Luke, there was a flurry of movement in the hall.

“Freeze, assholes,” Gary yelled, bursting through the bedroom door, new hairstyle, baggy shorts and all, and assuming combat stance, knees bent, both hands clasping his gun. “FBI!”

Except for Marvin, who leaped from Michael’s shoulder to go tearing past Gary, everyone froze.

Michael put his hands in the air, his eyes gleaming savagely.

Christy more or less slithered back to where she had dropped the bedspread and wrapped it around herself before her knees gave out and she collapsed in a boneless heap beside the bed. Luke, naked, blood running down his leg, got rather gingerly to his feet and grabbed a gun.

“Get up,” he barked at the goons, who were still on the floor. Then, as they scrambled to their feet, “Get your hands up and get against the wall.”

As Michael and the goons complied, Gary glanced around and scooped up the remaining gun. Then he handed Luke his trunks.

Half an hour
later, what seemed like half of Ocracoke packed the cottage. It was still early, not quite ten o’clock and just getting full dark, and the neighbors were out in force, drawn by the flashing lights of the police cars and ambulance in front of the house. Sheriff Schultz and various assorted deputies, including Gordie Castellano, were on the scene, taking statements, getting photographs, gathering evidence.
Aaron Steinberg was there, practically salivating over the prospect of another huge story for his little paper. Amber and Maxine followed Gary around like overly exuberant puppies. Angie stuck close to Christy. Michael and the goons had just been taken away by FBI agents in the area to work on the serial killer task force, which had not yet been disbanded. Luke was sitting on the couch having his leg looked at by paramedics and arguing about whether or not he needed to go to the hospital. Christy, fully dressed again, was curled in a chair near Luke. Her cheeks were still faintly pink from the statements she’d had to give. Explaining exactly what she and Luke had been doing to be taken so unawares by Michael and his goons hadn’t been easy.

In fact, she’d taken a leaf from Luke’s book and lied.

“Just bandage it up and I’ll get it looked at tomorrow,” Luke was saying impatiently to the paramedic prodding his thigh. Luke was dressed again, too, in trunks and T-shirt, and his pants leg had been pushed up to allow access to the wound, which was just above his knee. It wasn’t much more than a flesh wound, just a thumb-sized gouge taken out of his flesh by a bullet that had gone on to bury itself in the floor, and thanks to some first aid it had quit bleeding, but the flesh around it had swollen up pretty significantly and the paramedic wanted to take him, at the very least, to the clinic.

“You probably could use a couple of stitches,” Christy told him with a lurking smile. He glanced up, met her gaze, and his mouth curved. The paramedic
stood up just then to confer with his partner, and Luke leaned toward her.

“Just so you know, that’s going to be one of my all-time favorite memories: Michael DePalma being taken down by a naked woman with a cat.”

“Hush,” Christy said, glancing around in alarm. Of course, there was no hiding anything from Gary, Angie, Amber, and Maxine, who had been discouraged by the long wait at their restaurant of choice and had decided to let Gary make dinner instead. Christy wasn’t sure exactly how much they’d witnessed—Angie just grinned at her when she asked—but Gary at least had seen enough to come rushing to their rescue.

“How’s your face?” Eyes darkening, Luke lifted a gentle hand to the cheek Michael had slapped.

“It’s fine.” Actually, it was still just a little tender, but she didn’t see any reason to tell him that. She smiled at him. “Hey, we did it. We got Michael. It’s all over.”

His lips quirked. “Afraid I’m going to have to wait and jump around all excited-like tomorrow.”

Christy laughed.

“If you’re sure you don’t want to go to the clinic, we can just bandage it up for tonight.” The paramedic was back, crouching down in front of Luke, opening his kit.

“I’m sure,” Luke said firmly. As the paramedic starting unrolling gauze, Christy stood up and moved toward the patio door to get out of the way.

The curtain was still open, and through the window she could see the dark gleam of the ocean as the tide washed in. The pale quarter moon was just starting its journey across the sky, and Christy could see its reflection
in the water. For a moment she stood there, looking out at the beauty of the night, listening to the goings-on behind her with half an ear, as the tension began to slowly creep out of her body.