Southern Spirits (11 page)

Mickey moved against her again, this time his hands snaking down and lifting up the hem of her dress, raising it past the tops of her stockings, her garters, revealing her dark-red satin panties. Val wanted to protest, but that part of her had scurried into a far corner to wait, swathed and silenced by an ever-dominating lust. She bit her lip as she felt Mickey pull down her panties, down over her rear to the tops of her stockings.

The cool air failed to overcome the overpowering heat Val felt emanating from her naked, trembling flesh. Mickey's feather-light touch returned, trailing fingertips up over the contours of her ass, along the undercurves and up towards the dimples steepling her cheeks, as his other hand pressed down against her lower back, keeping her dress raised and out of the way.

Val trembled at his touch, his alternating waves of rough and gentle behaviour keeping her dizzy and wanting, made a sound like a whimper as she heard him undoing his trousers. Oh God, he was going to take her here and now, with his crew only a short distance away . . .

Then Val heard his trousers drop, felt him, his shaft, the velvety hot tip of it, touch the apex of the sweet valley between her buttocks, sliding down. And it descended, pausing to tease at the tightened opening to her rear. As it continued further, Mickey leant in closely as if to whisper in Val's ear: ‘And what about . . .
this
?'

Mickey's cock reached the puffed, wet, waiting entrance to Val's pussy.

And entered.

Val moaned sharply, shamelessly, twisting like a worm on a hook as Mickey slowly filled her up, his hands gripping her hips. He kept still as she squirmed, and then flexed it inside her, making her start and curse into her arms.

He began to move, slowly driving into her, again and again. Val's hot wet flesh moulded itself around the hard member as it repeatedly, rhythmically filled her up and released clusters of lovely sensations.

‘Yes, you came for this,' Mickey purred, still gripping Val by the hips, steadying her against the table, his broad hairy thighs brushing against her stockinged legs. ‘But I think you came for more.' Almost imperceptibly, his left hand released its hold on her hip and moved up along Val's cambered spine, gripping the loose material of her dress and holding onto it, his cock still thrusting relentlessly into her.

And as the sweet assault continued, Mickey leant in still closer, until Val felt the man's breath on her neck. ‘I think you came to try to seduce me, to win me over and convince me to free your father from his obligations. I think you were naive
enough to believe you might be worth the investment we'd lose doing something like that.'

Val was lost, unable to deny, acknowledge, or make any coherent response. And when she felt Mickey's hand move around from her hip to her groin, touch her bush, stroking her as his middle finger sought out the top of her slit, found her clit, stroked it while still driving into her from behind, she cried out, uncaring of who heard her.

‘Well, that's not gonna happen,' he informed her coolly, never raising his voice, even though he seemed as lost in the sensations as she was. ‘What's gonna happen is that we're getting married.'

The words struck her and she briefly lost the rhythm she had adopted. She glanced behind her through a tangle of red hair. ‘Wha– married – no –'

He drove into her harder now, roughly, forcing her down again. ‘
Si.
We're getting married, as soon as we get into Chicago. Your papa knows all about it. You see, a man in my position needs a wife, or people will think he's some limp– wristed
fanook.
Don't worry, we'll be making plenty of visits back home, perfectly legitimate trips, as far as everyone's concerned – especially the Feds.' He reached up with his free hand and took a handful of her hair, drawing it aside so she could look at him as they fucked. ‘If it helps, just remember that I'm less likely to do anything bad to your papa if he's my father-in-law.'

Even as the sensations built within her, like a volcano about to erupt, Val tried to grasp what he was saying. Marriage? To
him
? Giving up her life down south? Leaving Daddy?
Enrique
? How could she do that? How could . . .

Her thoughts jumbled as she came, bent forwards wantonly over the table . . .

* * *

. . . As Cat, bent forwards wantonly over the table, released her grip and fell backwards into her chair, the chair tipped back until the back of her head hit the floor.

Dimly she heard someone racing for the carriage lights, and then finding them. Heartbeats later, Nathan was kneeling at her side, opening her eyes to peer into them. Concern etched in his expression. ‘Catalina, what the hell –'

Behind him, Richard Newholme whispered, ‘Cher?' before quickly looking away.

On her other side, Hannah Oliver asked, ‘Is she OK?'

Cat tried to close her eyes again, found Nathan was still holding her lids open, and slapped his hand away. ‘
Besame el culo, pajiero.
'

Nathan let go and knelt back. ‘She's OK.'

But his disquiet returned as the séance broke up, and he pulled her into a private alcove in the neighbouring carriage, glancing behind to ensure their privacy. ‘Cat, what the hell was that about?'

Cat remained embarrassed, trying to shake off the residual feelings of arousal and confusion generated by that dream – weirdly, a dream featuring the same female character as the one she'd had in her berth, a woman she'd never seen before. It was stupid. She was obviously tired and wound up over this assignment. And over being close to Nathan.

Like now. He was up against her, his hands on her waist, holding her. ‘I . . . I fell asleep, that's all.'
Dios
, she could still feel Mickey's hands on her hips as he drove into her from behind . . . only now it was Nathan's hands, and from the front. A hot wave enveloped her again, and she became acutely aware of Nathan's closeness, the intensity in his eyes as she looked up at him. ‘We have to get back to the room.'

‘The berth?' he asked, grinning.

‘The séance room,
cabrón.
I want to look for the tricks that they'd obviously used.'

‘What does that have to do with why we're here?'

She didn't answer, just led him back to the carriage – only to find someone had beaten them to it. They watched as Tara Gilbrand inspected the table and chairs with a professional scrutiny that belied her earlier easy-going persona.

She had her back to them when she invited, ‘Come in and help.'

Cat and Nathan exchanged glances, but entered, Nathan's arm still around her, Cat allowing the continued contact – for the cover, of course. ‘Help, with what?'

‘With finding out the truth. That's why you're here, isn't it?'

Cat began to reply, but then felt Nathan slip behind her, snaking both arms around her waist and squeezing her gently as he replied, ‘Actually, we came looking for you. We wanted to know if you'd be interested in coming to our berth for some . . . midnight refreshments.' He leant in closer, brushing the side of his face against Cat's as she felt his erection press shamelessly between her cheeks. ‘Isn't that right, Wildcat?'

Cat couldn't help but react, but fought her flush of excitement to quip, ‘Funny how your suggestions for threesomes never involve another man.'

Then Tara smiled at Cat in that multilayered way, as if she saw through their story but played along – or maybe recognised how much truth was there. ‘Maybe later. Now, you two can help me look for the tricks our hosts used tonight.'

Cat frowned, reluctantly pulling out of Nathan's grasp as she realised she'd been unconsciously grinding her ass against his hard-on. ‘Why would that interest us? We're just boring old accountants on vacation.'

‘Of course.' Tara moved to the wall and dropped to all fours, scrutinising an electrical socket near the floor. ‘Check this out.'

When Cat joined her, she examined the socket. ‘It's fake.'

Tara nodded. ‘You smell that? Odours, mixed with compound neutralisers.'

‘A chemical emitter?'

‘Produces scents of lilies, animal musk, whatever, at preprogrammed times. Seen it used at other so-called séances, to simulate olfactory manifestations.'

‘I love this dirty talk,' Nathan joked, moving to the glass display by the bookcase. ‘What's in here?'

Tara looked over at him, her contempt clear. ‘Voodoo paraphernalia: amulets, beads.' She indicated a small black cloth bag tied up with string at the neck. ‘A gris-gris bag, filled with all the necessary items to bring good luck or protection.'

‘Do you practise?' Nathan asked.

‘Yes, and believe it or not I and the millions of other decent, law-abiding devotees in the world do it without curses or zombies.'

‘Sorry, didn't mean to offend.'

Tara breathed out. ‘No,
I'm
sorry, for biting at you. My grandparents abandoned their ancestors' faith when they left New Orleans – and they disowned me when I re-embraced it.'

Cat had moved away at the talk of the spiritual, finding something behind the curtains. ‘Here.'

Nathan and Tara approached; Cat was frowning at the narrow gridlike strips around the windows. ‘Air vents?'

‘Speakers,' Nathan corrected. ‘Using the windows themselves as sounding boards. But it wouldn't be powerful enough for normal sounds like music.'

‘Infrasound,' Tara said. ‘Subsonic vibrations, producing goosebumps, unease –'

‘Hallucinations?' Cat asked suddenly.

‘Not that I'm aware of. Why?'

‘Never mind.' Cat stepped away from the window.

‘Do you make a living debunking mediums?' Nathan asked.

‘Investigating them, for fraud claims, news programmes. The debunking is a sad after-effect.'

‘Sad?' Cat asked, finally curious.

‘I've spent my life looking for genuine psychic phenomena. And until I came onboard this train – a train I've dreamt of all my life – I hadn't found any.' Now she seemed to be embarrassed, as if having revealed too much of herself, and moved to the table. ‘Pity Mr Wheeler has to resort to deception in here –'

‘Not deception, Ms Gilbrand. Entertainment.'

The three of them turned to see Wheeler enter and approach, appearing nonchalant despite being caught out. ‘Gimmicks, smoke and mirrors for the tourists. I readily admit to it. It doesn't detract from how special Belle is, however.' He looked to Cat. ‘I hope you're feeling better after your . . . episode, Ms Montoya.'

She ignored his apparent concern, but was aware of how Nathan drew closer to her in Wheeler's presence, a protective, possessive reaction she had initially found denigrating – but now found more . . . arousing. ‘You said before that this train was special, Mr Wheeler. You didn't explain. Care to now?'

Wheeler paused, and then shook his head, smiling teasingly. ‘I fear someone of your . . . stolid temperament . . . isn't prepared for the full truth, my dear.'

He was baiting her, and she knew it. ‘Sounds like a challenge, Jack. One you'd better have the
cojones
to back up.' Now she turned to face Nathan, fighting back the heat she felt at his proximity, how easily their bodies fitted together. ‘I'm going off with our host for a while. Think you can keep yourself busy, Hound?'

Nathan smiled, and then leant in, pulling her into an
embrace. He began kissing her neck, sending potent flares shooting through her body, flares that still burnt as he whispered, ‘You sure about this?'

Cat moaned audibly – and sincerely – and moved to his own neck, whispering back, ‘Check out his office while I keep him away.'

Nathan pulled back, nodding almost imperceptibly.

And then he kissed her on the mouth.

Cat felt her head spin and her pussy clench as their lips moved together, parted, their tongues meeting, swirling and dancing together.

All part of the cover, of course.

Nathan worked his universal key on the door to Wheeler's office, having already knocked and determined no one was present. He heard and felt the lock surrender to his touch, and then he entered, pocketing his key.

The facilities were cramped, as if the place served as much for storage as administration: there were boxes piled in one corner, books and papers on trains, business administration and – coin collecting? – in another, an old-fashioned roll-top desk at one side beneath a US rail network wall map, and a single bed opposite. A PC monitor and hard drive sat on an adjacent table to the desk, left running. Nathan checked it out, pleased at Wheeler's carelessness in leaving it unattended and without measures like password-protected screensavers. He slipped in the memory stick, let its invasive program bypass any security measures Wheeler might utilise and then quickly sought out and copied as many documents, spreadsheets and emails as it could find and fill.

Meanwhile he opened the desktop and rifled through some pages, hoping Cat was safe in Wheeler's company. Yes, he was certain she could handle herself. But still . . .

But still, what?

He paused, checked himself. Cat had been right. He was too protective, too territorial when he had no real claim on her. Yes, she brought it out in him, but that was no excuse.

A thick black leather-bound notebook caught his attention; he flipped it open, found diagrams of the train, its carriages
and berths, with copious amounts of notes written in various places: names, dates, events – focusing on sexual events. A history of occurrences on the train dating back over fifty years, though Nathan knew Wheeler's operation wasn't that old.

He sat down in the chair and peered through it more closely: secret affairs, honeymoons, orgies . . . moments of soft slow lovemaking, or hard fast fucking . . . Wheeler seemed obsessed with sex, beyond his business interests.

And Nathan's concern for Cat grew. She'd seemed disoriented at the séance. What if Wheeler was somehow drugging her?