Midnight's Lair (9 page)

    Another crash.

    The doors to the second elevator burst apart in a spray of slabs and splinters.

    

    

    That morning, after coffee and a sweetroll from the snackbar, Chris Raines walked with her daughter to the area beyond the giftshop where people were standing in line to buy tickets for the tour.

    'You sure you don't want to come down for another look at the wonders of the cavern?' Darcy asked.

    'I don't think so. But maybe tomorrow. I suppose I should see it once more before I take off.'

    'What'll you do with yourself all day?'

    'I'm sure I'll think of something. Sit around and relax, I suppose. This is my vacation.'

    'If you get really bored or something, you can always drive into town.'

    'Maybe later on. I'll stick around long enough to have lunch with you, though.'

    'Fine. Whatever. See you.'

    'Have fun.'

    As Darcy walked towards a doorway beyond the ticket booth, several of the men waiting in line turned their heads to watch her.

    
My kid,
Chris thought, and felt the familiar stir of pride and concern. Darcy had always been beautiful. When she was a child, it had been women who seemed to make most of the comments: store clerks, people waiting in supermarket lines, strangers passing on the sidewalk. Later, the women stopped remarking on her beauty at about the same time that boys and men began to notice her. And stare. And often get awkward. Chris's male friends, after meeting Darcy, rarely failed to say, 'She's going to break a lot of hearts.'

    She probably did, too. But never on purpose, as far as Chris knew. The girl accepted her beauty, realized it was nothing more than a lucky accident, and never let it go to her head, never dumped on people because she considered them inferior.

    It was Darcy's own heart that ended up broken, so often, when she let herself fall for guys who turned out to be creeps.

    
Comes with the territory,
Chris thought.
All the men want you, but so often it's the wrong kind who comes along with the right moves. God knows, she'd had to struggle with that, herself, all her life.

    Darcy's father was a prime example.

    
Don't ruin a lovely day by thinking about him,
she told herself, and started walking quickly through the tourist centre. She opened a door at the front, and entered the hotel lobby. On her way to the stairs, she glanced at the registration desk. Ethan Mordock was there.

    
Speaking of creeps,
Chris thought.

    Fortunately, he was on the telephone with his back turned.

    The man had been perfectly polite and friendly the few times she'd spoken with him, but he had that look in his eyes. Like a vulture inspecting its next meal. He might be looking at your face and chatting about the weather, but you always had the feeling he cared more about the colour of your panties.

    A real sleaze.

    And Darcy's boss.

    Chris hurried up the stairs, and felt a little relieved once she turned at the landing and knew she could no longer be seen by him.

    

    

    She had warned Darcy about the guy. 'I'd keep my guard up around him, if I were you.'

    'Oh, he's all right.'

    'If you don't mind a man undressing you with his eyes.'

    'Depends on the man.'

    'Very cute. I'm serious.'

    'Don't worry, Mom. He's not my type.'

    'Is he married?'

    'Interested?' Darcy asked, that glint in her eyes.

    'Right. I'll run right down and throw myself into his arms.'

    'He'd probably go into cardiac arrest.'

    'I take it he's not married.'

    'I've heard his wife ran off with someone a few years ago.'

    'Well, just watch out for him.'

    'Don't worry. He starts any trouble, I'll give him the ol' one-two and knock his lights out.'

    The kidding around, Chris knew, was simply her daughter's way of dealing with the problem. The warning had been heard and accepted.

    And probably wasn't necessary in the first place. Darcy was a sharp kid. But a little motherly advice never hurt.

    

    

    Chris searched her shoulder bag as she made her way along the corridor. She found her room key, stopped at the third door from the end, and let herself in.

    With the door shut, she turned the latch.

    
Don't want Ethan the lech coming in with a pass key while I'm undressing,
she thought.

    The pits to think he can let himself into any room that suits his fancy.

    Good thing Darcy has a roommate.

    Chris wondered if they used the inside latch. They certainly should.

    Remember to mention it at lunch.

    
Oh, Mom, you worry too much. The man is probably harmless.

    
I latched my door,
she thought,
and I'm sure I'm not nearly as tempting to a man like that as Darcy is.

    She suddenly remembered Arthur, one of her boyfriends. Oh, that bastard, that bastard. She hunched over, hot and sick, no longer in the hotel room but home and waking up in her dark bed and wondering where Arthur had gone and looking for him and finding him in Darcy's room, crouched over her bed, touching her while she slept.

    Darcy, only sixteen.

    Thank God she didn't wake up. She never found out about that disgusting episode.

    Days later, she asked, 'What happened to Arthur? You dump him?'

    'He was a shithead.'

    That grin. That glint in her eyes. 'Hey, I could've told you that.'

    And no man, not one, ever slept over again.

    Chris looked at herself in the mirror. She was bent over, her face red, as if she'd taken a punch in the belly. She straightened up.

    She took her clothes off.

    And felt stupid gazing at her reflection.

    But it helped.

    'Not bad for an old bag of thirty-nine,' she said. Then she got into her swimsuit.

    

    

    Hank Whitmore looked up from his paperback when the woman entered the pool area. He watched her stride past the end of the pool and choose a lounge chair on the far side.

    
The scenery,
he thought,
has taken a definite turn for the better.

    She was a tall, slender blonde, probably in her early thirties. As Hank watched, she removed her long white shirt. Her swimming suit had thin straps that formed an X on her back. Except for those, her back was bare to the top of her rump. Shiny white fabric hugged her buttocks.

    Hank pursed his lips.

    
And Paula felt sorry for me,
he thought.
Poor Dad has to wait around for an hour and a half with nothing to do.

    The woman turned slightly and bent over to drape her cover-up on the back of the lounge. Her side was bare all the way down to the hip. Though the suit clung to her breast, it didn't quite reach far enough. The very base of her breast, where it just began to rise from her chest, was left exposed.

    Hank forced himself to look down at his book.

    
No better than a peeping Tom,
he thought.

    
But my God, what a gal.

    He looked up again.

    She was facing the pool, maybe considering whether to go in for a dip. A couple of kids were splashing around in the shallow end.

    Hank wished she would take off her sunglasses.

    Her face - what he could see of it - looked just as fine as her body.

    She took them off.

    Even at this distance, Hank could see the blue of her eyes.

    
Christ almighty,
he thought,
I'm in love.

    He looked at her left hand. No wedding ring. No ring at all, on either hand.

    Her only jewellery was a thin gold chain around her left wrist.

    She's not wearing a wedding ring and she's alone.

    
That doesn't mean she's available,
Hank told himself.
Maybe she's got a boyfriend who'll be along in a minute.

    A gal who looks like this simply cannot be unattached. It's against the laws of nature.

    Maybe she's gay.

    There's a cheerful thought.

    Maybe she's a hooker.

    Now there is a cheerful thought.

    Hank had never been with a prostitute. Not even in Viet Nam, which amused his buddies no end. Over the years since then, he'd frequently toyed with the idea - some were absolutely gorgeous and he knew that they'd do just about anything - but they were so experienced. Somehow, he'd always been sure he would commit a blunder and end up totally humiliated.

    The woman on the other side of the pool was now sitting on her lounge, spreading suntan lotion on her sleek legs.

    Hank looked at his wristwatch. He still had more than an hour before the tour ended.

    He thought about his money. He had close to two hundred dollars in his wallet, plus five hundred in traveller's cheques. And he'd heard that the classier hookers often took credit cards.

    
I could do it.

    
Jesus H. Christ.

    He was trembling badly.

    To spend an hour in bed with someone like that…

    He'd always dreamed of having a really beautiful woman. Just once in his life.

    
What if she's got AIDs or something?

    He'd noticed condoms in the hotel shop.

    
Go for it, man. You may never get another chance like this.

    Hank folded his book shut, forgetting to mark the place. He got to his feet. His legs felt shaky and weak. He began to walk.

    
What'll I say?

    
What if she's not a hooker? As great as she looked, she was awfully old to be in that line. Weren't most of them supposed to be teenagers?

    
Who knows.

    
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

    
Oh God, I must be out of my mind.

    He walked around the end of the pool.

    The woman was leaning back, spreading lotion on her arms.

    
Whatever you say,
Hank told himself,
don't sound like a jerk.

    He stopped beside her lounge.

    'Excuse me,' he said.

    She looked up at him.

    
Say something.

    'I'm Hank,' he said.

    
Hello, Hank. Fuck off.

    She smiled. It was a fine smile, nothing superior about it. 'Hi,' she said.

    He rubbed his hands on his shorts. 'I've got an hour or so to kill.'

    'That's a terrible thing to do to an hour.'

    'Kill it? Yeah. Well, I guess I'd rather make the most out of it.'

    'Reading's a good way to do that.'

    She'd noticed him with the paperback. Had she also noticed him staring at her?

    'The book won't go away,' Hank said.

    'And I will?'

    'Good chance of it. Are you with someone?'

    'My daughter's down in the cavern.'

    Hank realized, with mixed disappointment and relief, that she undoubtedly was not a hooker after all. So much for fantasies. But they both had daughters in the cavern. That gave them something in common. Though he wouldn't be getting her into bed, at least he could pass the time with her and enjoy the view. 'Really? My daughter's down there, too.'

    'I'm Chris,' she said. She lifted her hand toward him, then hesitated. 'Oh, it's all yooked…'

    Hank took her hand. It was moist and slick with suntan lotion. 'Nice to meet you, Chris. I'm Hank.'

    'I know. Feel free to pull up a seat, if you like.'

    'Thanks.' He grabbed a nearby lounge and set it next to Chris's - at an angle so he could look at her without twisting his head halfway around. 'How come you're not taking the tour?' he asked.

    'I went yesterday.'

    'Didn't your daughter go with you, or…?'

    'She's a guide. I'm staying here at the hotel for a couple of days, just visiting.'

    'Your daughter's a guide? They use kids?'

    'Everybody's someone's kid.' She laughed softly. 'Don't worry, your daughter is in good hands. Darcy's twenty-one.'

    'Gee, you must've been ten when you had her.'

    'And then some,' Chris said, her face taking on a red hue. 'What about your daughter? How old is she?'

    'Paula's sixteen.'

    'She went down alone?'

    'I'm not big on caves. She wanted to see it. I didn't think I should deprive her of the experience just because I wasn't interested.'

    'That's pretty neat of you,' Chris said. 'Most parents wouldn't do that.'

    'Most parents would see the cave with their kid.'

    She frowned slightly, 'If you feel that way about it, how come you stayed behind?'

    'I figured maybe I'd latch onto some fabulous babe by the pool.'

    
Oh shit, why did I say that!

    Chris laughed.

    'As a matter of fact,' he said, 'I've got a touch of claustrophobia. I don't do real well in tight places.'

    She looked interested. 'Were you always that way?'

    'Something I acquired in the service.' He felt his heart speeding up. 'Do you have any phobias?'