Fun with Brady and Angelica (Kit Tolliver #10 (The Kit Tolliver Stories) (3 page)

Often in their hunting it was he who made the first contact. “I’d like you to meet my wife,” he’d say. “I think the two of you would like each other.” And the woman’s face would fall, because she thought she’d been making a romantic connection and the man was already taken, and thought she and his wife would make good friends. But then she’d learn just what sort of friendship they had in mind, these two beautiful and charming people, and the next thing she knew—

But it was different in a venue like Eve’s Rib. Then it was up to Angelica to make the move, and to decide what came next. If the woman was bisexual, as so many seemed to be these days, and imbued with at least a minimal sense of adventure, Angelica would beckon him forward, and they’d all three go off together. If, on the other hand, the woman was a genuine lesbian, Angelica would raise an index finger to send him a message. Then Brady would slip away, only to turn up later as a lovely surprise.

This girl wouldn’t want a man. It would be up to him to make her change her mind. Or to have her anyway. Whether she wanted it or not.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“My first time,” Missy said.

And she supposed that was technically true. She’d been to a gay bar before, although she hadn’t gone home with anyone. And she’d been to this bar before, to scout it out from a safe distance, but tonight was the first time she’d crossed its threshold.

More to the point, she’d never been with a woman, though lately she’d been thinking about it. It was nice being with a man, and she almost always enjoyed it one way or another, but she’d begun to think that being with a woman might be nice as well, and in a different way.

With this woman, she thought, the possibilities were genuinely interesting.

“I’m Angelica.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” she said. Without thinking about it, she’d let her voice come out higher in pitch than usual, and soft and breathy. “Mine’s a long way from beautiful.”

“Oh?”

“It’s Missy.”

“Why, that’s a sweet name!”

“My parents named me Melissa, but all anyone’s ever called me is Missy. I guess it fits me.”

Had she ever called herself Missy before? Not as far as she could remember, or Melissa, either. Names came and went, and she didn’t always remember the names she’d used, especially if the period of use was brief and uneventful.

She’d picked Missy out of the air when she walked into Eve’s Rib, and now it struck her that she’d made the perfect choice. It was properly soft and girlish, submissive Missy, and that ought to be catnip for this one.

“A few minutes ago,” Angelica said, “I thought you might need rescuing.”

“Why would I—oh, that woman. Bobbie.”

“I couldn’t help noticing that you weren’t interested, and that she rather emphatically was.”

“She’s not my type.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. You’d want someone secure in her identity as a woman.”

“Yes.”

“But strong,” Angelica said. “Someone a few years older than yourself, I should think. Someone who’d be prepared to lead, and allow you to follow.”

Angelica turned to look at her, and Missy hesitated, but only for an instant. Then she met Angelica’s eyes and returned her gaze, holding nothing back, letting herself drink the woman in through her eyes.

For a long moment they sat on their stools, gazing silently into one another’s eyes. Then Missy drew a quick breath, and said, “Wow,” and took another breath, and said, “I’m not sure what just happened, but—”

“You and I,” Angelica said, “just happened.”

“Wow.”

Angelica put an arm around her, cupped Missy’s shoulder gently but firmly. “You’re a beautiful girl,” she said.

“You’re the one who’s beautiful. I’m just—”

“Stop it. You’re extraordinarily attractive, and I’m going to make it my personal business to make you realize how stunning you are. Missy?”

“Yes?”

“You and I,” Angelica said, “are going to have a perfectly wonderful time.” And her index finger tapped three times on Missy’s bare shoulder.

Brady was spinning a fantasy when Angelica put her arm around the girl, but it didn’t keep him from spotting his cue. The index finger, tapping three times.

He got to his feet, put a twenty on the table top, weighed it down with his wine glass. He’d scarcely touched his Chardonnay, and Angelica had taken no more than a sip of hers. Twenty dollars for two sips of so-so California wine, and worth every penny, because his woman had just connected with a sweet young thing who was going to make them both very happy.

He slipped out the door, found Angelica’s Honda squareback in the lot, and drove off in it, leaving his own Lexus for her. It was a much more luxurious car, and would make more of an impression on his wife’s new friend. While it hardly mattered what car got him back to their house.

They always took two cars. On the rare occasion when their connection was effected as a couple, they’d leave the Honda and come back for it in the morning.

Before the signal, tap tap tap on the bare shoulder, he’d imagined what might have been. Suppose, just suppose, that Angelica had headed not for the sweet little ingénue but for the swaggering butch. That one, with her short hair and her broad gym-muscled shoulders, would have thought she’d missed the brass ring only to get a solid gold one dropped in her lap. Angelica, supermodel-beautiful Angelica, picking her out and hitting on her? Butch would have thought she’d died and gone to heaven.

He didn’t know about heaven. But she’d have to die.

Because the only way he’d be able to have her was by force, and he couldn’t delude himself that he could make her learn to like it. It would have to be rape, and while that wasn’t altogether unappealing, it made for complications at the end. They couldn’t just drop her off on a streetcorner and expect her to be so ashamed of herself that all she wanted to do was forget the whole thing. If she didn’t go straight to the cops and the newspapers, then she’d come back with a couple of friends and a gun.

He couldn’t let that happen. So he’d have to kill her.

And he knew just how he’d do it. He’d read descriptions of the method, and he’d seen it demonstrated more than once in action films. You used your hands, you took the chin in one hand and gripped the back of the head with the other, and you twisted abruptly, forcing the chin up and to the left, yanking the head down and to the right, and if you did it properly you were rewarded with the sound of the neck snapping.

If it didn’t work the first time, well, she wouldn’t be going anywhere. You could keep trying until you got it right.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. It was funny, he thought. Angelica had just connected successfully with the most attractive woman in the place—well, next to herself, anyway. The most ideal prospect for the evening, certainly, and she’d be bringing the girl home, and a wonderful time was virtually guaranteed—for the two of them, certainly, and very likely for the girl as well.

And here he was wishing she’d picked up the bull dyke instead. Whose face was handsome enough, perhaps, and who’d have a nice healthy body, but who was by no means his type, or Angelica’s either. Oh, he’d enjoy forcing her. He’d get pleasure from the sex. But the only thing that made the butch so irresistibly appealing was the fact that she’d have a broken neck by the time the evening was over.

Something, perhaps, for him to think about.

Once she’d signaled to Brady, all Angelica wanted to do was corral the girl and herd her out of there. But she forced herself to give him time to get home and get settled in, forced herself to listen, or at least pretend to listen, to some tedious story Missy was telling about a childhood pet. Forced herself to take a taste of the girl’s Orange Blossom and speculate as to what the mystery ingredient might be, along with the gin and orange juice. Missy thought it might be Grand Marnier, but wasn’t too clear on what Grand Marnier tasted like all by itself.

That sounded like a cue, and Angelica offered to buy her one, but Missy said she didn’t want any more to drink, and that one Orange Blossom was plenty. “Because, you know,” she said, “it dulls the senses. It picks you up at first, but then it sort of numbs you.”

“And you don’t want to be numb?”

The girl did whatever it was she did with her eyes. And her lips were just the least bit parted. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t want to be numb.”

“Would you like to come home with me, Missy?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, I think you should.”

“I’m a little afraid, to tell you the truth.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“Maybe I’m afraid of myself. And of you, in a way.”

“Oh?”

The girl looked away, as if the words would be easier to say without eye contact. “I always hold back a little,” she said. “With you I think I might not.”

“You might let go.”

“Yes.”

“And find out who you really are.”

“Yes.”

“And would that be so bad?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but stood up and took Missy in tow, holding her upper arm with a grip that was gentle but firm. And led her, wordlessly, out of the bar.

The car was a Lexus, which suggested that Angelica was not living on food stamps. That was all to the good, but only confirmed what the woman’s dress and manner had already established.

And none of that mattered much, not to Missy, not now.

Angelica triggered the remote to unlock the doors, then held the passenger door open for Missy. Well, wasn’t that courtly? It was rare enough for a man to hold the door for you. Who would have guessed a woman would do it?

She started to get in, then stopped and straightened up. Angelica asked her if something was wrong. For answer, Missy turned toward her, thinking
Come on, what are you waiting for?