Southern Spirits (21 page)

‘Oh, I don't know.' His fingers toyed with her pubic hair. ‘How about . . . family secrets? Any skeletons in the closet I should know about?'

She gave him a laugh. ‘Of course not. Now come on and untie me.'

Mickey laughed too, but his was as false as hers was. ‘Not even that your mother was coloured?'

Val's fears about Mickey learning about Enrique vanished– replaced by something equally dangerous for her. Mickey's crew and their wives and girlfriends were hardly the most liberal of social circles, in fact little better than some backwoods crackers with Klan sheets. Mickey, however, had always seemed to be a cut above the rest, though she still hadn't risked informing him. Now, however, she couldn't, and wouldn't, deny it. ‘H– How did you find out?'

‘Did some checking. You didn't hide it too well.'

She breathed in, wishing like hell she wasn't blindfolded and tied up like this, wishing her heart didn't feel like it was about to burst from her chest. ‘I wasn't out to hide it at all. It was an open secret in my parish, it wasn't as if my mama and papa were married.'

‘So you're a
bastardo
as well.'

Val shivered, feeling like she was tumbling down into her own grave. ‘My mother's family was respected for their abilities; no one ever gave us trouble. It just became habit not to say anything.'

‘I understand,' he said simply.

She breathed out. ‘Mickey . . . Untie me. You can have –'

‘But I don't have to untie you to have you.' He pulled back, tightening his grip on her and turning her over onto her stomach.

The arrangement of scarves that bound her wrists had enough give not to tighten further around them, but she had to turn her head away from the pillow to keep breathing. ‘Mickey . . . untie me . . . it'd be better.'

‘Oh, I don't think so.' She felt him pull back and get off the bed. ‘Lift your ass up. I want to have a good look at you.'

Apprehension more than arousal gripped her now, and Val shifted in place, raising her rear end to him, feeling exposed. She wanted to be fucked. She wanted to be untied and be able to defend herself if things got nasty between them. The cool air in the berth touched her pussy lips.

Then he was back, kneeling behind her, his cock pressing between her cheeks, brushing across her hot, wet folds, one hand steadying her by the hip, the other gently working his shaft into her. Val forced herself not to tense any more. ‘Mickey, I . . . I do love you.'

‘I know.' Then he began pumping into her, slowly, measuredly.

Val's eyes widened, as if she could burn away the scarf, her whole body shaking from the intensity of the feelings he was producing in her. Despite her fears, despite feeling as if he had a gun to her head now, she couldn't fight her returning arousal. Mamselle Belagrís, protect me. ‘Mickey, please, let's talk.'

‘If you mention this again to me,' he warned, his body slapping steadily against her rear as his cock pistoned in and out of her. ‘To anyone –'

‘I won't, Mickey, I promise.'

‘I found a place, off Lake Tallacocha, where the fishing's
eccellente
– and the lake's bottomless. A great place to hide secrets.'

‘N– No. Fuck me, please, Mickey.' And she was being truthful. Her arousal was as much a driving force as her need to get them away from this line of thought.

‘Yes, Valentina. Always happy to oblige my wonderful wife. But first . . .'

She felt him leaning in and, for a terrible second, his hand was at the back of her neck. By the time she realised he was reaching for her charm, he'd already broken the chain as he yanked it off her. She heard it hitting the far wall of the berth. ‘M– Mickey –'

‘Don't ever wear that
moolie
voodoo shit again.' Mickey gripped her firmly, moving savagely, no longer gentle, but forcing her to come. Val buried her face in the pillow and let her tears flow freely, even as she realised that this would not be the end of it, no matter what he said now. And if not this, then maybe about Enrique. She had to do something, and soon.

She cried out in climax as Mickey drove his cock into her . . .

. . . Cat cried out in climax as Jack, kneeling between her bound, spread legs, drove his tongue into her, dipping up to circle around her clit. Beneath her ass, she felt the remnants of her panties, torn to pieces in his hunger to have unfettered access to her pussy. Her body shook within the swing, as if moved by the contractions deep within her, her body spasming, making her cry out, ‘Fuck! Get it in me, Jack! Get it in me!'

His breath was cool on her inner flesh. ‘Is that you begging me now?'

The blood was pounding in her head like waves. ‘This is me demanding, you fucking
puta
, now get your cock in me!'

Dimly she became aware of him rising, and then reaching out and pulling the scarf from her eyes. She blinked in the pink light of the room, looked down at her bare thighs and pussy, and watched as Jack practically tore the clothes from his body, revealing his lean, hairy frame, and long thick erection. And
she watched as he drew closer again, silent now, his face a picture of his overpowering hunger for her as he guided his cock into her, fast and deep, pumping furiously; she felt so wet that the level of friction was ideal. The sling was at the right height, allowing him to stand upright, making the chains rattle at the feral pace of the fucking, over the rapid slap of their bodies together.

Cat gasped at the waves of pleasure coursing through her, and she wondered distantly how long she had been wrapped up in the vision – and it had been a vision, they all were, all real, she had to acknowledge that now. A part of her wondered how she would explain it to Nathan.

Nathan. Oh
Dios
. . . Her voice felt parched and dry as she looked up at Jack and breathed, ‘C– Come . . . outside me . . . want to see you shoot.'

Jack chuckled. ‘I can do that.' And when it was time, he did, drawing out of her so quickly that she gasped, spasming herself as she watched him pump his glistening shaft with his fist, producing thick hot necklaces of milky-white come onto her stomach and bush. It triggered another mini-climax from her. She bit her lip.

He stood there, clutching one of the support chains, watching her still, a weary smile on his face. ‘Didn't . . . Didn't know you'd be so dirty.'

Cat grunted, glad he'd listened to her, and not willing to explain that another revelation had come to her in here, that she didn't want any man's seed in her but Nathan's. That place was for him alone.

Nathan escorted Faye back to the train, but his mind was elsewhere. ‘I'd better go find my partner.'

Faye kept an arm locked around his. ‘No need. We can check the monitors from Jack's office.'

‘Monitors?'

‘Yes.' She glanced around, ensuring no one was there before explaining, ‘Jack put cameras and mics in all the berths and the players' rooms.'

Nathan's heart skipped a beat. Jesus, they could have heard every detail of their investigation! Stupid amateur, he should have checked as soon as they'd boarded!

On the other hand, if Wheeler had heard anything of value, he would have exposed them by now. He wouldn't risk his operation by keeping undercover agents onboard. Not even for a chance at getting closer to Cat. ‘He's very naughty. But if he was listening to us, why didn't he know who we were all along?'

‘Because they barely function. Jack spouts some bullshit about it being the train's fault, but I think it was just crap work on his part. We could watch you, but not hear anything.' She stopped and faced him, wrapped her arms around him. ‘Now, if you want to punish me for voyeurism.'

Nathan disentangled himself from her, his spirits lifted at the news that their cover might still be intact, but not in the mood for any more games. ‘Not now.' He slapped her on the ass. ‘Maybe later.'

Faye smiled. ‘Maybe.'

On entering the berth, he looked around and quickly found the webcam and microphone hidden in a false smoke detector on the wall above the head of the bed. He quickly dismantled the unit, and then swept the room again, mentally kicking himself for not being more careful.

Once he was satisfied, he moved on to less satisfying duties. ‘Afternoon, Gordy.'

The voice at the other end failed to hide his disappointment. ‘Aww, I was expecting the grateful Catalina in all her naked glory.'

‘Grateful? What for?'

‘I have some information on those people she'd asked about.'

Nathan blinked, but hid his confusion. ‘You can tell me, and I'll pass it on.'

‘But then I won't be on the receiving end of her gratitude.'

‘Gordy!'

‘OK, OK. Mickey Uscione was a
capo
with the Moreno family in Chicago, from 1950 to 1958. He ran a money laundering operation, trafficking funds to the pre-Castro Cuban casinos and hotels, via Louisiana businesses. In 1957, he married Valentina Sauveterre, the illegitimate daughter of Nick Castille, a New Orleans club owner. On 16 August 1958, the couple and their bodyguard, one Enrique Cazenove, went missing while delivering a cash shipment south. No traces of the bodies or the money were found, but it was commonly believed that they were killed by members of the rival Lebowski family, in revenge for a recent robbery on one of their mansions.'

Nathan swallowed, recognising some of those names in Wheeler's office notes. ‘Is that it?'

‘No, give her a good spanking for wasting my time on the voodoo one.'

‘Voodoo?'

‘Yeah, that Mamselle Belagrís. I spent ages searching the criminal databases, and I find her in a mythological site.'

‘What?'

‘Yeah. Apparently, she's some Guédé loa, a voodoo spirit of the dead, one that families can employ for protection and stuff. I'll transmit all the files.'

Nathan's mind reeled. What the hell was going on? He had to find Cat and talk with her.

However, first things first. ‘Thanks, Gordy. Open the voicemail account.'

‘OK.' He paused and added, ‘Hound, aren't you gonna tell her about what you're doing?'

‘Not yet, Gordy. Open the account.'

‘Done.' Gordy's voice disappeared, replaced by the account access firewall. Nathan keyed in his security code and, when prompted, began speaking, determined to get the unpleasantness over with as quickly as quickly as possible. ‘Continuation of report on agent Catalina Montoya: Despite her inexperience, and the atypical environment, Agent Montoya has managed to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances . . .'

‘
Nothing
? You saw nothing?' Wheeler's voice was thick with incredulity as he dressed.

‘That's right,' Cat lied, using tissues to wipe what remained of his seed from her belly. And the more he went on about it, the more she was glad she hadn't let him finish inside her. ‘Sorry, Jack. Great fuck, but no vision.'

‘Why are you lying?' A hitherto unheard hint of anger crept into his voice, and he drew closer, facing her again after she'd turned away. ‘You saw her! You
were
her! And I was him!'

Cat buttoned up her blouse and turned away once more, looking for her slacks. He was right, right about everything, though she dared not admit it aloud. Until this weekend, her world view had been grounded in the concrete, in hard data. She based decisions and attitudes on substantial evidence. Now, she had been forced to expand on that.

Or deny it. She slipped back into her slacks. ‘Sorry, sport. Better luck next time.'

She moved to the door, but Wheeler approached her once again, his frustration almost palpable. ‘Damn it, there are two souls who can't rest until their remains are found. Don't you
see
?'

Cat looked him over, tensing. ‘I see you losing your cool, Jack. Don't lose it with me,
comprende
?'

Wheeler made a visible effort to calm down. ‘I'm sorry, Catalina. It's just that before you, no one had ever made such a close, sustained connection with Val's spirit. It's like I've –
we've
– been waiting for you all this time. And now we're so close . . . so close . . .' He reached out tentatively, took her hand in his, none of the aggression she'd seen before present now. ‘We've got to help them, Cat.'

He sounded so genuine. She almost relented.

Until the knock at the door distracted her, and she pulled out of his touch. ‘I'll . . . think about it.' She strode to the door, grateful for the distraction, and opened it, expecting one of Wheeler's staff.

And finding Tara and Ben and Hannah Oliver instead. Tara looked determined as she announced, ‘You have questions. I have answers. Let's go somewhere and talk.'

The observation deck was unoccupied that time of day, allowing the group to relax a little. Cat glanced around, better appreciating the view than she had the night before: a panorama of tree tops extending to all directions, beneath a sky of thickening, darkening clouds gathering to huddle and rumble like a mob.

Cat sat in a different place from the night before, at a collection of leather chairs around a glass coffee table, as Tara and the Olivers sat opposite. She relayed her accounts to date, glad to be able to open up to someone unlikely to judge her.

And when she was done, she looked to the younger woman. ‘You were right, I have questions. Firstly, am I going loco?'

Tara smiled. ‘Not at all. In fact, I commend your strength in dealing with these unprecedented experiences as well as you have. You've never been comfortable with matters beyond the concrete, have you?'

Cat pursed her lips, not certain why she felt so open with the girl, but taking advantage of it nevertheless. ‘Only when the answers never satisfied me. My paternal grandfather used to smack my hand whenever he took me to church and I
wouldn't stop asking questions that weren't getting any answers.'