Hannibal Rising (16 page)

Fargo fought with himself, and lost. He shifted on the log so he could see her and the forest, both. “Oh God,” he breathed.

Samantha had reached the middle of the pool. Sunlight played over her superb body, showing every detail: the velvet sheen of her neck, the upturned peaks on her twin mounds, her flat tummy, and bushy thatch and smooth thighs. She bent and dipped her hands in the water and her breasts jiggled. Her bottom was two smooth moons.

“No,” Fargo said, more quietly than before.

“The water is so clear I can see the bottom. There are small fish in here. And I saw a frog on the other side.” Sam went on splashing.

Fargo couldn’t take his eyes off her. He felt himself stir, and whispered to himself, “No, damn me.”

“Now that I’m getting used to the water it’s not bad,” Sam informed him while slowly sinking in to her waist. She splashed water on her neck and her breasts and giggled girlishly. “I needed this.”

Fargo imagined one of her nipples in his mouth, and stood. Self-preservation battled lust and lust won. With a last glance at the vegetation, he moved to the top of the bank.

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

Fargo sat and tugged on a boot. “If we get killed it will be your fault.”

Samantha cupped water in both hands, placed her hands on her breasts, and slowly rubbed. “If you come in, you must promise to behave yourself.”

“Like hell,” Skye Fargo said.

There were times when a man knew he was making a mistake but he made it anyway. Times when a man knew he was being as dumb as a tree stump but he couldn’t help himself. Times when a tiny voice in the back of his mind warned, “Don’t do this!” and he did it. Times when, like now, Fargo wanted to kick himself. He stripped off his boots and clothes and hat and waded into the pool. It came only as high as his knees. The bottom was slippery, mud and a few loose rocks, and he stepped with care. His skin rippled with goose bumps. He shivered slightly.

“Told you it was cold.”

Fargo’s eyes were glued to her breasts. She was still rubbing them, a silent invite in her eyes. A mocking invite, if her grin meant anything. “I was wrong about you,” he said.”

“In what way?”

“You’re just like every other woman I’ve ever met.”

“You thought I wasn’t?”

“For a while there I thought you never let your feelings get the better of you.”

Samantha laughed. “Silly man. Women always think with their hearts and not with their heads.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” By then Fargo reached her. A gnawing ache in his loins bore testimony to his need. He reached out and cupped her right breast. It was wet and smooth and the nipple hardened when he pinched it.

“Oh,” Sam said softly.

Fargo glanced over his shoulder at the woods. Either of the assassins, or both, could be near. To hell with it, he thought, and gave Sam his undivided attention.

Her eyelids were hooded. The pink tip of her tongue rimmed her red lips. “Don’t stop.”

Fargo cupped her other breast and kneaded both. Under the water his manhood twitched and stirred and firmed. His need became an irresistible urge. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Their tongues met. Their bodies touched. The wet of the water added an extra sensation. He felt his pole rub her thigh and his lust became complete. “Damn, I want you,” he said when they broke for breath.

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” Sam teased.

“This is the same as poking my head into a grizzly’s den.”

“I’m a smelly old bear?” Samantha giggled.

“You’re bare, all right,” Fargo said, and applied his mouth to her neck, to her throat, to her ear.

Sam mewed and ground herself against him, the while her hands explored his back and his buttocks and one of them slid around and down to grip his member. “Oh, I do so love this.”

It was what Fargo lived for. For some men it was money. For other men it was power. Some men it was other pursuits, like horse breeding or hunting or fishing or any of a thousand things. Not him. He lived for females. In his eyes nothing could hold a candle to the feel of ramming his pole into a willing woman.

Fargo took her standing up. He caressed and molded and kissed until she was hot with desire and her need as keen as his own. Then he parted her legs and had her grip him by the shoulders and raise up, and in one swift movement, he impaled her.

Samantha gasped and threw her head back. The windows to her soul shone with pure pleasure. “Yesssssss. Like that.”

Fargo rocked on his heels. He had to be careful, as slippery as it was. The feel of her hot sheath and the cool water and the air on his skin were like a potent drug. The tiny voice yelled at him to stop and he smothered it. “Some things a man just has to do,” he said to himself.

“Ummmmm?” Sam’s eyes were closed and she matched his thrusts with swirls of her pelvis.

Fargo devoted himself to pounding her. His mouth, his hands, were everywhere. It wasn’t long before she moved faster and harder and he could tell she was near the brink. To send her over he slid a hand down between them and rubbed her swollen knob. It was all it took.

Sam exploded, churning the pool with the violence of her release. “Huh! Huh! Huh!” she gasped.

Fargo let himself go. He rammed up and in and it felt as if his insides were being ripped from his body. The pool roiled, the water lapped at them in small wavelets. It went on and on until finally she was spent and sagged against him and he was spent and suddenly tired.

“God, you’re good,” Sam whispered. She slowly lowered her legs and leaned against him. “I’m as weak as a kitten.”

Fargo scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bank. He set her down on the grass and lay next to her, his arm for her pillow. He closed his eyes. The tiny voice was at it again but the bank partially hid them so he was content to lie there a while.

“Skye?”

“Mmmm?” Fargo wanted her to be quiet but it wasn’t to be.

“May I ask you a question?”

“I can’t stop the moon and the sun from rising, either.”

“What? Oh.” Sam gave a throaty laugh. “Very well. Who do you think it is?”

Fargo sighed and opened his eyes. “Who what?”

“Who hired Brun and that Anders fellow? Who hired the brother and sister? I know it’s not me so it has to be Tom, Roland or Charlotte. I would guess Tom hired Brun and Anders even though he denies it. That leaves Roland or Charlotte to have hired the other two.”

“Could be.”

“I can’t see Roland doing it, though. He’s too nice.”

“Tom is right about one thing. When there’s a lot of money at stake, nice doesn’t always count for much.”

“I still think it has to be Charlotte. My sweet little sister has always had a hard edge. She hides it well but it’s there, just under the surface. I’ve often thought she would make a good wildcat.”

Fargo grinned and nipped her ear. “You make a fine wildcat yourself.”

“Oh, you.” Sam kissed his cheek. “I can’t help myself. You bring it out of me, somehow.”

After that she lay still. Fargo closed his eyes again and was about to doze off when a twig snapped. He heard it as clear as anything. He raised his head and saw that Sam had heard it, too, and was tense with apprehension. Putting a finger to his lips, he slid his arm out from under her and edged to the top.

The woods seemed undisturbed but something, or someone, had stepped on that twig. Fargo watched and waited but nothing showed and after a few minutes he slid back down. “Get dressed.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t even know if it was a who.”

“I’m glad you’re with me. I don’t know as I could take this if I were by myself. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, but this—”

Fargo put his finger to her lips. “Get dressed,” he repeated, and hurriedly donned his buckskins, boots and hat.

Sam was slower but only because she had so many buttons and more garments. “I’m ready,” she finally whispered.

The woods appeared peaceful. Fargo reached down and said, “Grab my wrist.” When she did, he hauled her up beside him and then over the top of the bank. Still holding on to her, he crouched and moved along the bank and into a stand of cottonwoods. Hunkering next to a trunk, he said quietly, “From here on out we don’t take chances. You stay close. We don’t make noise if we can help it. When I stop, you stop. If I drop flat, you drop flat. Savvy?”

“I love it when you’re forceful.”

Fargo could have slapped her. He took hold of her shoulders and they locked eyes. “No more games. Emmett and Charles are dead and I don’t care to join them.”

“I was only joking.”

“No more. We’re being hunted. We stay sharp or we’re dead.”

“You really believe that? About being hunted, I mean?”

“The only way whoever hired those killers can be sure of claiming the inheritance is if the rest of you are dead.”

“But no one can be sure unless they find the chest.”

“It ups their odds.”

“I suppose. And later, if they don’t find the chest, they can contest the will in court as the sole surviving heir.”

“I don’t give a damn about why they want us dead,” Fargo said. “It’s enough that they do. And I don’t die easy.”

Sam started to reply but Fargo hushed her with a gesture. He thought he’d heard something. He probed the shadows dappling the green but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “You’ll do as I say?”

“We have an accord,” Sam said, and grinned.

Over the next several hours they spent every minute searching. They paralleled the creek until they came to a tree with a red patch of paint, marking the boundary of the search area. They crisscrossed the woods. They poked into thickets and under leaves and moved logs.

By the position of the sun it was about two in the afternoon when Fargo came to the base of a low bluff. It offered shade and concealment, and he sat and put his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “We’re not getting anywhere.”

“Don’t give up. We have until six tomorrow morning.” Sam placed a hand at the small of her back and wearily sank beside him. “By then I’ll be so sore and tired, I’ll hardly be able to move.”

“You’ll need to sleep eventually.”

“Not if I can help it. I intend to stay up all night searching, if it comes to that.”

“In the dark we’d need torches.” Fargo didn’t add that it would make them easy targets.

“I wish Father had given us clues. He’s asking the impossible. There’s too much ground to cover and most of it wooded.”

Fargo had a thought. “Maybe he made it so hard because he didn’t want any of you to find the damn chest.”

Sam pursed her lips. “You know, that would be just like him. He hated us enough. A cruel jest on his part. Yes, he would like that very much.” She sighed. “What really rankles is that if none of us find the thing, the entire estate goes to charity.” Sam caught herself. “Not that I have anything against giving money to the poor. To the contrary. I’ve done it myself. But Father never did. He used to say that the poor deserved their fate, that if they had any drive and any grit, they wouldn’t be poor to begin with.”

“Like I said before, nice gent, your father.”

“No, Skye. He was anything but. He was mean and hurtful and despicable at times. A fluke of fate turned him from a loving father into a monster.”

They both stiffened at the sudden snap and crackle of brush. Out of it came two figures, their dresses showing wear and tear, their shoes sprinkled with dust and dirt.

“Sam!” Charlotte exclaimed, and smiled. She nudged Amanda and the pair came over. “I take it you’re not having any better luck than we are?”

Samantha shook her head.

“I swear, we’ve covered every square foot,” Charlotte said, and her cousin nodded. “I thought that all we had to do was find a spot where someone had dug but it’s not that simple.”

“Charlotte, brace yourself,” Sam said softly.

“Why?”

“Charles is dead.”

Charlotte took a step back and paled. “No. Not him.” Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. “How did it happen?”

“He was stabbed to death.”

“God no.”

To Fargo her shock seemed genuine. But some people were good actors and she might be one.

“That’s not all.” Sam told her about Cletus Brun. Both Charlotte and Amanda glanced at Fargo but neither said anything until Sam was done.

“Then Tom is on his own?” Charlotte smiled. “Good. It serves him right. Of all of us, I want Tom to win the least.”

Amanda asked, “What about Roland? Have you seen any sign of him?”

“No.”

“Neither have we,” Charlotte said. “I hope he’s all right.” She looked at her sister and at Fargo and bit her lower lip.

“What?” Sam prompted.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think and I was wondering—” Charlotte stopped. “No, you probably wouldn’t agree.”

“Agree to what? Speak up.”

Charlotte swept an arm at the ring of forest. “I don’t like these woods. They’re spooky. I’ll like them even less once the sun goes down. If we haven’t found the chest by then, I was wondering if you would want to join forces?”

“You always were afraid of the dark.”

“Fine. Poke fun at me. I just thought it would be safer for all of us if we were together.” Charlotte started to turn.

“Hold on. I wasn’t poking fun. It makes sense. But why wait until nightfall? Why not stick together from here on out and if we find the chest we agree to split the inheritance between us?”

“You mean that?” Charlotte asked hopefully.

“As you say, there’s safety in numbers. I’m sure Fargo agrees. Don’t you, Skye?”

Fargo was about to answer when a rifle barrel poked out of the trees.

Fargo had been watching the woods the whole time. He saw the barrel the instant it appeared and he acted in the same heartbeat. “Get down!” he bellowed, and flung himself flat even as he pulled Samantha with him. The rifle thundered. He heard a thwack and twisted toward Sam, thinking she had been shot. But she hadn’t.