Ice Woman Assignment (11 page)

“Get out of here,” she snapped.

“You need your bath,” Frederico said, as if that explained everything.

“Sure and I do, but you can't come walking into the room when I'm sitting here starkers.” Her eyes blazed and her brogue came through.

“Starkers?” Frederico asked.

“I'm naked, you twit.”

“Yes,” Frederico said, kneeling beside the tub. “To be bathed.” As if it were the most natural thing, he wet a cloth, soaped it, and began washing her back in a smooth circular motion. Against her will, Felicity began to calm down.

“Look. Frederico. I'm sure this is what you were taught, but I'm a big girl and I can wash myself.”

Frederico's hand froze in place. “Have I displeased you?” he asked. Looking over, Felicity saw fear cross his eyes.

“It's okay, Frederico, really it is, but you'll have to be going now,” she said firmly. “I need to be having some time to myself.” The boy dropped the cloth, bowed his head, and hurried out.

Felicity sat back and blew air upward. She could not
remember ever feeling so very naked, perhaps because she thought of him as a boy, despite the obvious fact that he was a man.

She remembered Morgan saying something about a master-slave relationship. She had heard the word “dominatrix” often in California, but thought of the whole idea as a joke. Women in leather with whips and so on. But this was not funny at all. Anaconda had apparently used Frederico, not just for his supposed psychic talent, but as a body slave.
How much more was there to it?
she wondered.

Felicity stayed in the tub just long enough to get clean. Standing, she found all her personal items in the bathroom, arranged very neatly. After powder and cologne, she pulled on a white terry cloth robe Morgan picked up for her. She had not thought of it, but he did. Expecting all three of them to share one room, he had anticipated her needs. As usual.

When Felicity went into the bedroom, Frederico stood up where he had been sitting, on the floor next to her bed. Felicity rushed to speak, to preempt any further nonsense.

“We have an early day tomorrow. We're needing to get some sleep. Your bed is there.” So saying, she tightened her robe belt and got under her own bed's covers, face down. She pushed her face into the pillow as if she wanted to escape her discomforting situation.

“But mistress,” Frederico said, undaunted. “Your massage.” Before Felicity could react, strong, sure fingers were kneading her shoulders and neck. She started to snap at him but it felt so good it disarmed her completely. She lapsed into stillness, not even protesting when he pulled her robe down to her waist. As he worked slowly down her back, she forced herself to speak, trying to maintain some control.

“Frederico, how did you get involved with Anaconda and the Escorpionistas?”

“My former mistress came to visit my father in the village three years ago,” Frederico said, probing for tight muscles in her back. “She had heard that Anthony my brother, and I, we had visions.”

“Visions?” Felicity choked back a moan of pleasure as Frederico's sure fingers probed her lower back.

“The spirits come, take us over, show us things. Anthony's ability is not so great as mine, though. Sometimes, if I think about a thing, or a person, my vision will be about that person or thing. Anaconda gave Father a great deal of money, I think, and she took us away. She has great power. She was able to control the spirits, so I was not hurt so much as I used to be during the visions. Mostly I protected her from enemies. By knowing who might cause her trouble, she has risen quickly to take over the Escorpionistas. But they are all very bad people.”

“I know,” Felicity said. “And while you protected her, she taught you to do these things?”

“She taught me how to treat a mistress,” he answered, pressing a thumb down to free a knotted muscle in her right thigh. “I had to please her. I…she was my mistress. But the people around her were bad and they used my visions to hurt others. I did not like that. Then, when I saw you, and the spirits told me you would stop my former mistress, I saw a chance to escape. Anthony said this was my chance and encouraged me to go.”

“Frederico.” Felicity took a deep breath, prepared to tread delicate ground. After a moment, she decided to be direct. “Were you her lover? Did you have sex?”

“No,” he answered simply, squeezing her calves. “Only the…my English fails.” He gave the Spanish term for oral sex. “I pleased her with my hands, and my mouth. Shall I…?”

“No! Thank you. We will not be as you and Anaconda were. Understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” he replied, massaging her left foot.

“How long have you been epileptic?” When he looked at her quizzically she said “The fits, how long? The shaking.”

“The visions?” he asked. “The spirits have visited me since I was ten years old. There is hair.”

Felicity looked around after that seeming non sequitur. Across the room, Frederico rummaged in his small bag.

“I have what I need, here,” Frederico said. “Razor and slave creme.” Now she saw. He meant her legs. As he massaged her he noticed her legs needed shaving. A lazy smile touched her lips.

“No, son, you mean shave…” she stopped, realizing he probably said exactly what he meant. Anaconda had conditioned him to be a slave, even used him for her personal hygiene and her selfish sexual satisfaction. Well, she had to admit he gave an excellent massage. Carefully pulling her robe up around herself, she turned over and leaned up. She was about to protest and put a halt to his attentions when he again startled her.

“The man, Chuck, he really loves you.”

“What?” she was too startled to stop him from spreading white foam on one leg below her knee.

“That was my vision tonight,” he said, his voice calm as he drew a straight razor smoothly down her leg. “He is very worried about you. And he is jealous.”

“What, of you?”

“Oh no, mistress,” he said, turning her foot to reach her inner calf. “Of Mister Stark. He fears he can never be as close to you as Mister Stark is. Shall I shave here?” To Felicity's surprise Frederico pointed up her robe at her crotch.

“No! No, thank you. That can…leave that part alone.” She wanted to be shocked and offended. But secretly, she did not know if she could stand it. Having a man shave her legs was, to her surprise, a very sensuous experience. It
may have been fine in a different context, but she did not want that kind of relationship with this boy. Once it was clear that it would go no further she decided she would just lay back and enjoy it.

While her body floated in some physical pleasure zone, she played back Frederico's words. She was beginning to believe he really was psychic, somehow in connection with his epileptic seizures. She thought he might really be able to predict future events, so it unnerved her when he spoke again.

“Your Chuck, he searches for a way to prove he is as worthy of your trust as Mister Stark. His search will have a bad end.”

Manuel Alvarez did not know exactly why he woke up. Was it a sound? A vibration in the room? Or maybe just a feeling. The feeling of being watched.

“Hello, Manny.” The voice chilled him, coming out of the darkness in his hotel room. The voice was neither high nor low, and it carried no accent at all. His first impulse was to reach for his gun, but he doubted he would make it to the closet alive. Something about that voice.

“Who are you?” Alvarez tried to harden his own voice. “What do you want? How did you get in here?”

“First, understand that you are in no danger,” The voice said from across the room. “My name is Paul. I'm visiting this way because you clearly want to maintain a certain distance from a friend of mine. I need to know where Morgan Stark is.”

“Stark?” The stocky DEA agent sat up. “How the hell should I know?”

A bored or frustrated sigh came from across the room. “Mister Stark keeps excellent records. His appointment with you is documented, but the assignment is not. I know you represent the Drug Enforcement Agency. I know you refused to communicate when he needed more information. I know he's gone.”

That sounded like an accusation to Alvarez. He rolled toward the closet. Paul racked the slide of his automatic. The metal-on-metal sound was loud in the little room. Alvarez sat back, grateful for the darkness. The other man
could not see him sweat.

“Okay, Stark and O'Brien did accept an assignment for us. He's undercover. Probably they both are. But I couldn't talk to him because I can't be linked to it. Same reason I can't tell you.”

“I visited this way so you wouldn't be linked to me,” Paul said. “No one saw me come. No one will see me go. Two men were watching you tonight. Was one of them yours?”

Was? “Yes, I had a man on lookout.” The room was very stuffy, and Alvarez worried that his visitor might smell his fear now.

“They are both sleeping comfortably. What are Mister Stark and Ms. O'Brien looking for?”

“No,” Alvarez said.

Paul sighed. “Don't move please.” His pistol's slide slammed back louder than the silencer-covered blast. Alvarez heard the bullet punch a small hole into the wall three inches from his own mouth.

“It's late. I'm tired. If I have to ask someone else, news of your death would make him more cooperative,” Paul said. “What are Mister Stark and Ms. O'Brien looking for?”

Alvarez took two deep breaths, staring hard into the darkness. How could the other man see him? Or did he shoot based on the sound of Alvarez's voice? His hands were clammy, his mouth dry. How important was his secret? Not worth his life. Besides, maybe this mystery man could help him do his job.

“They're helping with an investigation,” Alvarez said. “Looking for a connection to trace the import of a drug called ice. It's being imported by a Colombian criminal syndicate called the Escorpionistas. If they're in trouble, that's who's making it.”

“Thank you. I assure you your security will not be compromised. Now lie down. Close your eyes. Count to
fifty. Then, go back to sleep. Tell no one of our meeting and I promise not to come back.”

The implication of that last remark was clear. Alvarez started counting. He never heard anything but his own voice but by the time he got to thirty-five he was pretty sure he was alone. At forty-five he turned on the bedside lamp. He was alone.

Still, he kept counting to fifty. He would do everything this Paul told him to. Except one thing.

He would not be going back to sleep.

A light tap on the door just before midnight snapped Morgan's eyes open and drove his right hand under his pillow to grip his automatic. Then he relaxed, realizing no enemy would knock before entering. Besides, his danger sense would have awakened him. He slid out of bed and into his pants. At the door he quietly asked who it was.

“Is it too late to talk?” Mary asked. Morgan smiled and opened the door. “It does get lonely down there,” she said.

Morgan waved her in and turned on the writing table lamp. Mary took the chair, looking nervous. Morgan recognized these mixed signals: a woman fighting to project an air of experienced worldliness, and simultaneously a feeling of “I've never done this kind of thing before.” Morgan guessed the truth was somewhere in between.

“Did you have any complaints about noise?” Morgan asked, sitting on the bed. “Something scared my friend a while back and she screamed.”

“Not likely,” Mary said. She tried crossing her legs, uncrossed them, and settled on sitting with her hands between her knees. “You three are the only ones on the second floor.” She smiled, and silence hung thick between them.

“So you think you'd like California, eh?” Morgan asked after a moment.

“Well, I've been kind of thinking about it for a long time,” Mary said. She was dressed as before, but her shirt's
top three buttons were open. Soft light from the lamp beside her had a dual effect. It washed years away from her face and accented her breasts with heavy black shadows. Morgan's pulse quickened just enough for him to notice.

“It's not as laid back as this place,” Morgan said, suddenly realizing how unnatural this setting was. “You know, I'd like to offer you a cup of coffee or something, but I guess you'd have to go get it.” That made her laugh a bit and they both relaxed a little.

“We both know I didn't come up here for coffee,” Mary said, standing. Morgan stood also and they met beside the dresser. She had to look up to see his eyes. Morgan slid one arm gently around her, feeling her warmth pressed against him. It was moving quickly, which only increased the intensity.

“I can't be gone too long,” Mary said, pulling his mouth down onto hers.

“How long?” Morgan whispered after their first kiss.

“An hour maybe,” she said. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the top of her breast. “Maybe an hour and a half,” she said.

Morgan sat bolt upright, his right hand suddenly filled with his Hi-power. With widened eyes he probed the darkness for any immediate threat. Seeing none, he released his held breath, but did not relax. Over the next ten seconds, he reviewed his most recent memories.

Mary had lain in his arms, wrapping him in the afterglow of intense, vibrant sex. She was a fully giving partner, sensitive and responsive. At the end, when he could endure the pressure no longer, she had drawn her nails across his back, mewing, almost sobbing, deep in her throat. Afterward she had covered his face and chest with small, soft kisses.

After a long warm moment she had said “I guess it doesn't matter now, but…well, are you married or anything?”

Morgan had chuckled and said, “No, as it happens I'm not attached to anyone. You?”

“Free, Red and twenty-one,” she answered, giggling at the joke they could share. “Guess that's why this place is getting me down.”