F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (32 page)

           
He looked surprised. "You
sure?"

           
"Absolutely."

           
One drink turned into two as they
sat on the couch and talked while VH-1's music videos danced across the TV
screen. And the more they talked, the more Kara realized that all her old
feelings for Rob were very much alive. She felt so comfortable with him, so
safe. And warm. Then her eyes caught sight of his pistol in its clip holster,
resting on the end table.

           
"God, I wish you weren't a
cop."

           
"I think maybe it's genetic,
passed down from my dad. I can't help it."

           
"Okay. Then I wish you weren't a
cop in New York City."

           
"Where, then?"

           
"Someplace that wasn't full of
junkies, pimps, pushers, rapists, and killers. I'm afraid for you."

           
"That's just it, Kara. I don't
see this city as full of junkies, pimps, pushers, rapists, and killers. They're
not the city. They've just gravitated here because of its size. Manhattan is
like a big pond. They're the scum that floats on top. They get all the
attention. They're what too many outsiders see and remember most when they come
here. The pond scum may make the pond look uninviting, but they're not the
pond. I work for the rest of the pond—the people you don't notice, the ones who
live here and work here and make it go. Like your Aunt Ellen. Like… Kelly. I'm
here for them. I'm no Sir Galahad in a suit of armor and I'm not Dirty Harry,
but in a lot of ways I'm what stands between them and God knows what. I bitch
about the rules and regs and the politicians as much as the next guy, but I do
take what I do seriously, and I do mean to do it well."

           
Kara stared at him. She realized
that she had never truly appreciated Rob. She had loved him, yes, and probably
still did, but she had never really appreciated his depth. She sensed something
rare in him, something to be nurtured and cherished.

           
Impulsively, she leaned over and
kissed him on the lips.

           
"They're lucky to have
you."

           
A retread video of "Do That To
Me One More Time" began to run on VH-1.

           
"We used to dance to
that," Rob said, "Wanna?"

           
Kara smiled. "Yeah. I
wanna."

           
They rose and slipped into each
others arms and began to sway to the music. Rob wasn't much of a dancer but
Kara couldn't have cared less. She gave in to the pleasurable warmth of his
arms around her, the faint residue of his Old Spice after shave.

           
"It's been a long time,
Rob."

           
"It's been forever."

           
They kissed. A long kiss. Kara felt
the warmth gathering in her. Reflexively she began to pull away, then she
fought the reflex. She felt his tongue probing. She opened to it. Soon they
were pulling at each other's clothing.

           
"Ten years!" Rob
whispered. "I've been waiting ten years for you to come back!"

           
Kara said nothing. She knew she
really hadn't come back in any true sense. But here, tonight, now, she was
back. And she wanted to be with Rob.

           
He ran a finger up her left arm to
the deltoid.

           
"Look at the definition. You've
been working out?"

           
"Nautilus and aerobics."

           
She shivered as his finger continued
over her shoulder and down to her breast where it circled the nipple. They
kissed again.

           
"I've missed you like
crazy," he whispered into her ear.

           
"I've missed you, too, Rob.
Especially like this."

           
He pulled his head back and smiled
at her.

           
"I didn't know feminist writers
went in for this sort of stuff."

           
"We like it as much as the next
person. Maybe even more."

           
"I suppose you want to be on
top."

           
"You've got it."

           
Laughing, they made their way to the
bedroom where they took turns being on top.

           
Eventually they ended up side by
side. Kara lay with her head on his shoulder.

           
Rob said, "We got to try this
more often. Ten years is just a tad long for a dry spell. Think we can get
together again before the end of the century?"

           
"I think I'd like that. This
was wonderful. Rob."

           
And she meant it. She couldn't
remember the last time it had been this good. She felt relaxed, content,
emotionally complete. She knew the feeling wouldn't last long, but she relished
the sensation while she could. She realized how much had been missing from her
life. She knew it wasn't just the orgasm, it was the intimacy. She had been
avoiding intimacy since she'd left New York. It had become a pattern of
behavior: Don't get to know a man well enough to allow an emotional bond to
develop. Keep him at arms' length at all times. A couple of the members in one
of the women's groups she belonged to had misinterpreted that and Kara had
found it necessary to put them straight: She wasn't interested in a
relationship with
anybody
. The
pattern had developed into a reflex, one she'd had to suppress tonight.

           
She was glad she had. This was good,
this was right, this was rare and precious. Snuggled against Rob, with his arm
around her shoulder, she felt warm and secure, and best of all,
alive
.

           
She drifted off to sleep.

 
 

           
I've
done it! I've sent out the warning! What a stroke of genius! What a brilliant
move, even if I do say so myself!

           
And
the swine hasn't the slightest idea what I've done. Obviously. If he did he
would be raging at me. And punishing me severely.

           
I
cannot escape punishment.

           
So
what? That was a given when I began this little project. If he intercepts the
warning, he'll make me suffer. If she receives the warning, she will show it to
him, or someone else will tell him of it, and the result will be the same,
although probably worse in the latter scenario.

           
So,
whether I succeed or fail, I shall suffer dearly. The anticipation of it is
worse than a sword poised over my neck, waiting to fall. Decapitation
—
ha! That would be a pleasure compared to
what I face
.

           
But
whatever I suffer shall be worth it. Not for her sake alone. At first I thought
my scheme to warn her was pure selflessness, but that's not the case. No. I'm
doing this more for myself than for her. This is my Spartan uprising, my
storming of the Bastille, my Boston Tea Party. With this act I put him on
notice that he has not broken me.

           
I
only hope my warning reaches her. For if it does, and if she heeds it, I will
have wounded him, and he has never been wounded before. Knowing that is worth
any punishment.

           
It
should reach her by Thursday.

           
And
then all Hell may break loose.

 
 

           
Rob awoke in the dark to a delicious
feeling. He had a huge erection. And it was in Kara's mouth. He groaned and
arched his back as she worked her lips and tongue up and down the shaft.
There'd been oral sex during their affair ten years ago, but never like this.
This was fabulous. Rob closed his eyes and drifted on the pleasure.

           
He felt Kara's weight shift as she
straightened up and straddled him. And then he was inside her and she was
bucking her hips up and down, sliding him in and out of her at an
ever-increasing rate. He looked up as she leaned over him, her breasts bobbing,
her eyes closed, her upper lip caught between her teeth. When he reached up and
ran his palms over her hard nipples she moaned and increased the tempo of her
hips. Rob matched her thrust for thrust until they reached a furious pace.
Finally, when he knew he could hold back no longer, Kara suddenly stopped her
undulations. As he exploded within her, she straightened and stiffened and
shuddered as a soft, high-pitched scream escaped through her clenched teeth.
Then she collapsed beside him and they both lay there panting.

           
When he caught his breath, when he
could speak again, Rob turned to her.

           
"Kara, that was fantastic. What—"