Guilty Pleasures (21 page)

“Probably. But I’ve told you it may not matter to him one way or the other.”

“Stop it! Just explain what you mean.”

“I already have.” Wrapping an arm around her waist, he led her aboard. “If I knew why, I’d be closer to making sure one or both of us don’t end up dead before our time. I don’t. I am pretty certain it’s not you he’s after. I think this guy wants me. And he wants to take me alive.”

F
ourteen

“
Y
ou’re late,” Jack said. He’d dozed while he waited for her. “Get in here.”

The motel room door closed. “You order me up here to some godforsaken dump in the mountains—where I’ve never been before, by the way. Then you whine because I’m late?”

“Turn on the light,” he told her. “We’ve got some things to settle first.”

“First?”

“Turn on the goddamn light!”

“We’ve been through this,” Jennifer Loder told him. “I’m better in the dark.”

If he was a gentleman, he’d argue. He wasn’t a gentleman. “Maybe I’d like to see that clever body of yours in action.”

She laughed shortly. “But not my face?”

Jack didn’t respond. Apart from some girl he’d sneaked into the showers at school, Jennifer was the only plain female he’d ever had sex with. But her body was fantastic. Supple and hot, so damn hot. She wound around him like a long, nymphomaniac snake.

“What’s with the cheap motel?”

She wouldn’t get anything near the truth on that one. “It’s been a long time since I had a woman in a motel.”

“If that’s as much as it takes to give you your kicks, maybe I’m wasting my talents.”

He was scared shitless. That’s why they were in a no-name motel beside a mountain road—in the middle of almost no
where. “I’
ll make sure you don’t leave thinking you’ve wasted a thing.”

“Unzip your pants.”

He raised his arms and gripped the bed head. She was always like this. She called the shots, set the pace. Sometimes slow, and every way twice, sometimes fast—get it out, poke it in, and get it done.

“Did you hear me, Jack?”

From the start she’d made it clear that if he wanted her, wanted them to service each other with the kind of fanatical, impersonal intensity they both craved, it had to be on her terms.

“Did I get something wrong, or am I your boss?” he said, mildly enough.

“Shut up and get it out
.
”

He wasn’t in the mood anymore. “Sit down, Jennifer.”

“I didn’t drive for an hour on those roads to sit down. Not unless I sit on you. That’ll be just dandy, mate. Otherwise, I’ll say good night.”

“You bitch. You know we’ve got trouble.”

“You’ve got trouble. I’m all right, Jack.” She laughed.

He didn’t find her very little joke funny. Propping himself on an elbow, he groped for some of the pills he’d spilled over cigarette burns on the nightstand. He swallowed the pills with vodka, and closed his eyes for a blessed moment. The rush
o
f power and excitement came almost instantly. “How about a little cocktail, Jenny? Something to help you keep me warm?”

“I don’t need any help.”

No, she didn’t need any help. “Let me feel you.”

“I want you to get rid of her.”

Jennifer only cared about Jennifer. She saw the mess they were in from one viewpoint—her own. She didn’t give a damn if everything he’d built got blown away. “It isn’t that simple.”

“She’s in the way. She can make trouble. She’s expendable. Any arguments so far?”

“What do you want me to do? Ask her if she’d mind taking a hike?”

“Yeah. I’d say that about covers it.”

He felt fuzzy and warm—
and turned on again. Jennifer roamed the musty room. He could see her shadow on the wall, then her reflection in a mirror, in the glass on a picture.

“I want to fuck, Jen.”

“Weren’t you the one who said we had to talk?”

“We can do both.”

He saw her go into the bathroom. While he waited he popped another pill
, with more vodka. “Jen! C’mere.
”

Water blasted in the shower.

“Crazy cow,” he muttered, rolling off the bed. Staggering, he tore off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. “You’re crazy,” he shouted.

When he reached to feel for her, a swift chop to his wrist sent him leaping away, clutching his arm and howling.

The shower curtain rattled aside. “Get in,” Jennifer ordered.

He did as she told him and howled afresh. “Too goddamn hot, you sadistic—aah!”

She turned down the heat—a little. “I like it hot,” she said, handing him a bar of soap. “And I like it slick. Use this.”

His eyelids wanted to droop. He stumbled and caught himself against the tiled wall. “Get in here with me, Jen. I want you. You make me slick. You do it for me.”

“When you promise me what I want—you’ll get what you want.”

“I can’t think.”

“Think about losing everything you’ve worked for.”

“Stop it.” He heard something tear but couldn’t identify the sound. “What are you doing, Jen?”

“Persuading you, mate.” Her strong fingers, closing on him, dragging it through a hole in the shower curtain, panicked him.
“This is the best part of you, Jackie boy. The biggest part of you. Did I ever tell you shaved heads turn me off?”

“Women find it sexy.” He heard the slur in his own voice.
“Sexy.”

“Some women, maybe. Not this one. If you didn’t have such a big tool, I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

He didn’t like what she was doing. “Come in here, Jen,” he wheedled. “Let me hold you, baby.”

“You’re gonna love this, Jackie. It’ll be the ultimate. Everything you want without even touching me.”

“Not everything I want,” he com
plained. “I like a lot of stuff
you do. I like to suck your tits.”

“Jack, Jack, you’ve got a foul mouth. We’ll have to work on that.” She worked on another part of him. If he didn’t know it would hurt, he’d kneel in the tub and rest. She said, “We’ve got all night for fun and games, lover. I’ve only just started. But you’ve got to promise she’ll go.”

He tried to concentrate. “Get in here. I don’t want the goddamn curtain.”

“The curtain’s getting hot, Jack. Soft.” She held tighter and forced him backward. “But what Jackie wants, Jackie gets. You want me in there with you, here I am.”

She stepped into the tub, using his dick to keep the curtain exactly where it was—between them. Strain popped cheap rings from the rail. Where they hit, they pinged.

“You’re sick,” he muttered, his hips rhythmically jutting toward her. “Crazy sick.”

“And you love it. Get rid of her, Jack. Now.” She pressed her body against the soft plastic sheet, against him, and slithered over him. Her legs parted and trapped his. He felt her rub him into her, into springy hair and moist flesh. “She’ll be the one to ruin it for us if she sticks around.”

“I need her.”

“You can pull it off without her. You’re the inspiration, Jack. It’s all you. It always was.”

“Jen”—his knees sagged—“shit, Jen, I can’t take this.”

Her breasts dug at him. “You said you like these. Feel ’em. Squeeze ’em. Yeah, like that. Oh, yeah. Use your teeth.”

“The sodding curtain—”

“Forget the curtain. It’s perfect, Jack. You don’t have to see me at all—you don’t even have to touch me really.”

“I want to touch you,” he told her through his teeth. Then he bit a nipple and heard her yelp with pleasure.

She slid his cock back and forth between her legs, panting, and thrusting her breasts at him. Each time he felt the place he wanted to feel, she gave him a second to try groping his way inside her, then pushed him over her hot button again, seeing to her own satisfaction.

Jennifer leaned on him, trapped him against the wall with the fury of her attack. She was so strong. More shower curtain rings tore free.

She sobbed, high and thin from the back of her throat, then yanked him away so hard he yelled. Bending, she took him in her mouth and ran her hands beneath the curtain and behind his legs to squeeze his backside. When he shouted, she fumbled until she could pinch him.

“You are so sick,” he yelled. “Finish it.”

She was on her feet again, back to pleasing herself again. “You’re a big man, Jacko. You don’t need her. You’re the director, and the concept is yours.”

“She’d have every right to go to the network—and the union.” Jack groaned. “I’m coming, Jen. I want inside you.”

“Soon.” But for a few hooks, the curtain gave out and fell to bunch between their bellies. “Make sure she’s got too much to lose, Jack.”

“How?”

A relentless hand forced his head down. She slid her pointed breasts back and forth over his face, pressing a nipple into his mouth with each pass. “Whatever will hurt her the most, of course. Let her know that if she stays, she’ll lose it.”

“She’s ambitious,” he said when his mouth was briefly empty.

Jennifer convulsed. As always, she climaxed silently, spending all her release in the hammering of her hips against him. “Now it’s my turn,” he told her.

“Convince her to take her ambition somewhere else. She causes trouble with the cast anyway. That would go against her if she brought a case. Do it, Jack. Tell her.”

“You’re missing something. I think we’ve got trouble we haven’t even begun to guess at yet.”

“Here’s what you want,” she said, positioning him where a single push sent him surging inside her. “Have fun, Jacko.”

He grunted. The beating, cooling water washed his sweat away.

“Gavin—”

“Not now,” he muttered. “Gavin’s easy. If he drops out, no one will ask questions. He’s got a history of moving on.”

“If you’d let me finish, I was going to tell you to leave him to me.”

Pressure mounted. Jennifer climbed on the edge of the tub, braced herself on the wall behind him, and spread her bent knees. “Work for it, Jack. It’s always better when you have to work for it.”

The curtain still hampered him. He stood on tiptoe, dipped and shoved, and grappled with her soapy body to keep his balance.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, using her acrobat’s body like a weapon designed for sexual torture. “Gavin won’t be a problem.”

“Can we save the talk for now.”

“I multitask real well, Jack. I can take care of the little painter prick. No sweat.”

“I don’t want any mess.”

“Trust me, Jack. There won’t be. If there’s any fallout anywhere, I’ll handle it.”

He was coming out as he should have been going in. He came on her thighs and made a grab for the rail. His hands closed on rusty metal, and he struggled to get back inside her.

Jennifer laughed. “The last living optimist,” she said when his penis buckled.

The rail gave out and they slammed in a tangled heap on the bathroom floor.

F
ifteen

H
e’d expected a call from Roman. “Dusty’s an old lady sometimes,” Nasty told him. “He had to fill you in on
all
the details.”

“We always said a good woman was what you needed.”

“While you and Dusty play matchmaker, I'm up to my ears in shit here.”

“Anything new since the night before last?”

“No.” He snorted. “I’m still getting my breath back.”

“How’s the hand?”

Nasty flexed his stiff, taped left thumb. “Dusty hasn’t lost his touch. It won’t fall off.”

“You think it’s the Colombian thing?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

Nasty turned aside from the spreadsheet he’d been working on at Dusty’s and looked through the open study door. Polly was working on a piece about sidewalk sculpture. Jack Spinnel had taken Nasty aside and told him he wouldn’t let her out of his sight—and anyway, in broad daylight with Polly front and center at all times, they didn’t have anything to fear.

“Nasty?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure if it’s the Colombian thing, but I think it may be. Makes sense it would be the last gig, doesn’t it?”

“Revenge?”

“Seems likely. I’ve embarrassed them. I’m supposed to be dead.”

Roman clicked his tongue. “You’d better watch your back.”

“I’m watching all sides.” Dusty had Bobby at the shop. Nasty had promised to go and pick the boy up before stopping by for Polly. “You’ll like her, Roman. So will Phoenix.”

“If you like her, we’ll like her. You think they’re using her to get at you?”

“She doesn’t understand that.”

“I didn’t say she did.”

Nasty thought about it. “Yeah. I think that’s what they’re doing. I probably ought to get her out of the way.”

“Will she go for it?”

Would she agree to leave the show? “Probably not. She’s afraid for Bobby, though. That might change her mind.”

“You could be
wrong, Nast.” The Pollyanna rol
e had never been Roman’s finest. “Yeah, well—if it’s the Bogota group, we’ve got major trouble.”

“And this time we don’t have official sanction on our side,” Nasty said before he noticed the collective pronouns. “I don’t have official sanction on my side. You’re real welcome as a sounding board, old pal. This is my problem, not yours.”

“I don’t remember you keeping your nose out of my business when you knew I needed help.”

Nasty shifted a green glass dolphin on the desk. A gift from Phoenix, it made him think of her and smile. “Need is the important word. I’m not sure I need any
help yet. If I do, I’ll yell.”

“Dusty thinks this is a big one.”

Dusty definitely talked too much. “His judgment could be skewed. He’s taken a f
all for a belly-dancing teacher.
”

Silence followed.

Nasty grinned. He could almost see Roman’s piercingly blue eyes narrow.

“A belly-dancing teacher,” Roman said at last. “Is that what you just said?”

“You got it. Venus. Earth mother. She’s pronounced Dusty
a sunshine man living in a sunshine house, and he gobbles up every word.”

Roman snuffled and broke into laughter.

Nasty chuckled with him. “Venus Crow is my Polly’s mother. Interesting woman if you like that sort of thing.”

“Your Polly,” Roman said as if not a hint of mirth had just issued from his lips.
“Your
Polly? As in, possessive?”

“Cut it out. I’m fond of her.”

“That’s not what Dusty said.”

“All right.” They’d never been coy with each other. “I may love this woman. Could probably love her—if I can figure out exactly what that means. But I don’t think I’m good for her health. I’m almost sure I’ve brought her a lot of trouble. Now I’ve got to figure out how to keep her out of harm’s way without interrupting her career. And I’d kind of like to stay alive myself.”

“I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Damn his careless mouth. “No, you won’t. There’s no immediate threat.” Liar. “I overstated myself.”

“You’ve never overstated a thing in your life, Mr. Ferrito. You’re the tightest-mouthed bastard I know.”

“I didn’t think we were discussing my paternity.”

“Don’t change the subject. You could take them up to Rose’s for a few days. She’d love the company.”

He hadn’t considered introducing Polly and Bobby to the folk at Past Peak. “It’s a thought.”

“If you’re careful. Make sure no one gets any idea where they are, and they’ll be as good as lost. Who did you ever meet who knows about that place?”

“No one who comes from Colombia,” Nasty said distracted. “Thanks for the inspiration. I’ve never had any flashbacks before.” He hadn’t planned to mention his eerie episode.

“When?” Roman asked. “You mean you’ve had some of that posttraumatic stuff?”

“Kind of. I saw it all over again. What happened—what I couldn’t exactly remember before. I can’t figure out why it
came back except I was looking at some pictures of South America. Forget it.”

“If I was there I could—”

“Shit”—Nasty looked at his watch although he knew what time it was—“I’ve got to get down to the shop. Dusty’s expecting me. So’s Bobby.”

“Nasty—”

“I’ll call if I need you. That’s a promise. Do not come unless I ask you, okay?” He hung up before Roman had time to answer.

The phone rang while he was getting out of his chair. Let it ring. He shoved his keys in a pocket and retrieved his shoes from under the desk.

The phone kept on ringing.

Bobby had left his big gray mutt, Spike, with Nasty. He was a cat man, but this was an okay dog. He whistled and the animal barreled from the kitchen, his big feet sliding on the quarry tile in the foyer.

Still the phone rang.

“Okay, boy,” Nasty said screwing up his eyes at the grating sound. Roman wasn’t a man who gave up easily. “Let’s go find your boss.”

He went into the hall with the dog at his heels.

The phone rang again.

“Damn you, Roman Wilde.” He turned back and snatched the receiver off the wall just inside the kitchen. “Yeah? I told you I’d call if I needed you.”

“You stupid sonova
…
This is Dusty.”

“No kidding.”

“Come to Park Place. The movie theater. Bobby’s missing.”

L
ight rain fell. The tables and chairs around the fountain were empty. People filing into the movie theater watched Dusty and Fab talking with two policemen.

Nasty parked next to Dusty’s camper—the very well
equipped camper that had once been Nasty’s—and got out of the Porsche. He dodged puddles and reached the foot of an escalator that rose to the second-story shops. Fabiola Crow hovered there, looking as if she’d like to leap onto the moving steps and escape.

Nasty interrupted the policeman who was speaking. “What was he doing here, Dust?”

“Going to the movies. What do you think?”

“I
thought
he was at the shop with you. If you’d told me that was likely to become a problem, the paperwork could have waited. I’d have looked after him myself.”

Dusty’s lips ro
l
led in, and his eyes narrowed. He jerked his head several times until Nasty frowned, and said, “What? What’s the matter with you?”

“Are you a friend sir?” one of the policemen asked.

“Yeah, he is,” Dusty said, bristling. “Bobby went to the movies. You can’t keep a kid cooped up forever. He wanted to see a film—”

“I’ve got the message,” Nasty said cutting Dusty off. “I now know Bobby went to the movies. Thanks. Then what?”

“Are you here in some official capacity, sir?” the second police officer said. He had a paunch and leather creaked with every shift of his considerable weight.

Nasty schooled himself to cool down. “Sorry,” he said almost choking on the word. “Bit of a shock is all. The boy’s the son of a good friend.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

He gritted his teeth, mentally marked the time they were wasting, and answered the expected questions.

“Very good,” Dusty said under his breath when the two officers had walked away. “Oughta get some sort of badge to go on your sash for that performance.”

Nasty turned to Fabiola. In jeans and a blue T-shirt, with her hair pulled into a ponytail, and no makeup, she looked about fourteen. Fourteen and very frightened.

“I’m glad Dusty called you,” Nasty said. She might be
frightened, but not nearly as frightened as she had a right to be. “Polly’s been through too much already. She’s going to need your help with this.”

“I called Dusty,” Fabiola said shakily. “Bobby was with me. I asked if he’d like to go to the movies. It seemed safe enough. How could anything bad happen in a busy movie house in broad daylight?”

Oh, hell, it was tough dealing with people who probably still believed in Santa Claus. “You took Bobby to the movies? And you didn’t think that was a problem, Dust?”

“No, I didn’t,” Dusty said, leveling a meaningful stare at Nasty. “Given what we think we know, it seemed like a pretty fair idea. That boy’s getting scared out of his wits. My thinking was that there wasn’t any need for that.”

“Still think that way?”

Dusty looked away. “Seems to me we oughta be rethinking a lot of things. Seems to me your little theory’s full of holes, buddy.”

Fab’s eyes stretched wider and wider. “What are you saying? You’re talking about something I don’t know, aren’t you?”

Lies had their place. “No.” Polly had agreed not to discuss the attempted drowning with anyone but the police. Venus believed she’d fallen in the water, then been pulled out by Nasty and Dusty. “I thought we probably wouldn’t hear anything else from the guy who roughed Polly up. He’d gotten his kicks—or that’s what I decided. This kind of shoots that theory.”

“But you were having Bobby watched. If you didn’t think there was any danger, why did you do that?”

“Because
I
don’t like taking risks,” Nasty said tersely. “But since you’re admitting you knew we were trying to be careful, why did you decide to interfere?”

“Nasty—”

He waved Dusty to silence. “Okay, okay. We’re getting carried away here. We’re all worried about Bobby, so let’s quit bickering and find him.”

“I shouldn’t have taken him,” Fab said her eyes filling with
tears. She was white and trembling. “It was stupid. I just can’t seem to take all this seriously. I mean, Polly never did anything to anyone. She was pushed around a lot by other people, but she never stopped being
…
Polly. And Bobby is just a kid.”

“Yeah.” He put a hand on her back and walked her to the shelter of an awning. “Quit blaming yourself for being human. Help us reconstruct how this happened.”

“The police will find him, won’t they?” The dread in her eyes pleaded for hope. “He can’t have gone very far.”

“Did you actually go into the movies?”

“Yes. He wanted to go. As soon as I called him he got excited and he was waiting for me when I got to the shop. We bought the tickets and some candy and went in.”

Dusty kicked a cigarette butt aside. “Bobby went to the men’s room,” he said. “He never came back.”

“I didn’t notice he’d been gone a long time until someone wanted to sit in his seat. Then I was scared to go outside to look for him in case I missed him coming back in. He’d have wondered where I was.”

“She finally went out and the manager had the theater searched. No Bobby.” Dusty recited the events flatly. “He’s been gone about an hour. The police are going to sweep the area and put out a bulletin.”

“Back inside the theater,” Nasty said. “I want to take a look at the men’s room.”

“He might not have gone to the rest room at all,” Fab pointed out.

“Dusty,” Nasty said. “Talk to the kids in the ticket booth.”

“Already did.”

“Talk to them again. I want Bobby found before it’s time for me to pick up Polly.”

“She’ll
die,”
Fab said visibly breathing through her mouth. “And it’ll be all my fault.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly, but couldn’t argue with most of her logic.

“It’s hopeless.” Her voice rose. “Where do you even start
looking? He’s been taken, hasn’t he? That man’s taken him. This is some twisted plan to make Polly come to heel.”

Nasty only vaguely registered what she was saying. “Could be.” He walked into the theater, ignoring the ticket taker’s outstretched hand. He felt Fab at his heels, but strode ahead into the men’s room.

With the aid of his fist, every stall door banged open hollowly against the walls, including one that brought a growl from a man inside. T
w
o other men at urinals glanced at Nasty and zipped up fast.