More Deaths Than One (14 page)

He gave a vague look around the living room
as if it had been weeks since he’d seen it instead of a few
days.

“Is your friend here?”

“She’s at her office, but she’ll be home
soon.”

“Oh.” He felt himself swaying from
exhaustion.

She herded him toward a chair and pointed at
it. “Sit.”

He sat.

“Would you like something to drink? Hot
chocolate? I think there’s also some of your green tea left.”

“Green tea, please.” He preferred that
beverage, but he ordered hot chocolate when eating out because
Denver restaurants usually served insipid herbal blends and
pekoes.

He sipped the tea, feeling its warmth
overcome the chill he’d felt ever since hearing the words “sixteen
years.”

Not wanting to think about that, he said,
“Are you still working the same schedule?”

She waved a hand. “Don’t bother me with
trivial questions. What did you find out?”

“Lisa Donati beat up a bully at school, and
her brother Josh sneaked into the girl’s restroom. Amanda Donati,
their mother, is a partner at a downtown law firm.”

Her brows drew together. “I don’t know what
you mean.”

Bob put his empty teacup on the coffee table
and stood. “That’s mostly the kind of thing I found out.”

She chewed her lower lip as she gave him a
considering look. “You said mostly. That means you did learn
something.”

“Could be.”

He moved toward the door.

“You can’t leave now!” She jumped to her
feet. “It’s not fair.”

“Your roommate will be back soon,” he
re-minded her.

“Oh, right. It’s safer for you if no one
knows where you are.”

“Safer for you, too.”

“Me?” The questioning look in her eyes turned
to one of astonishment. “You think I’m in danger?”

“It’s possible. Until I know what’s
happening, it’s best if I stay away. I shouldn’t have come here
tonight.”

“Where are you going?”

“A motel.”

She grabbed her keys and purse off the coffee
table. “I’ll drive you.”

At his request, she took him to a motel on
east I-70, far from ISI. She waited until he registered, then got
out of her Toyota and gave him an impish smile.

“I better check out the room for you. See if
it’s okay.”

“Can I stop you?”

“No.”

She followed him up the stairs and along the
corridor to the room at the back. “Typical,” she said, stepping
inside. “Like any motel room anywhere in the world.” She sniffed.
“It smells like someone tried to burn the place. Didn’t you ask for
a non-smoking room?”

He took off his sweater. “Of course.”

She plopped on the bed. “Now what?”

“I need to take a shower, wash off ISI and
all its filth.” Looking pointedly at the exit, he unbuttoned his
shirt, but she didn’t take the hint.

Shrugging, he went into the bathroom, got
undressed, and climbed into the shower. He stood motionless under
the spray, letting the hot water cascade over his body and upturned
face.

Kerry poked her head into the shower. “Looks
like you can use some help.” The next thing he knew, her naked
torso nestled against his back and her arms encircled his waist,
melting the last of the ice in his bones.

After a minute, maybe two, her hands inched
downward. He turned around and looked at her through hooded
eyes.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper.

“Then first things first.”

Reaching out from behind the curtain, he
snagged both washcloths from the towel rack and handed one to her.
By the time they’d washed each other slowly from head to foot, then
stepped out of the shower and toweled each other dry, she was
gasping, and her knees wobbled.

He scooped her up in his arms.

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “I
didn’t realize you were so . . .”

“Didn’t realize what?” he murmured as he laid
her on the bed and brushed a string of kisses along the sweet curve
of her throat.

A soft moan swallowed her response.

***

She sprawled half on top of him, one leg
between his, her head resting on his chest. He could feel her
breath on his skin and the beating of her heart. A sense of finally
coming home washed over him.

“Wow,” she said drowsily. “I think I still
have orgasms backed up, waiting to land.”

He kissed the top of her head and inhaled the
scent of her hair: clean and salty like an ocean breeze. He could
feel the growing tug and tingle of urgency.

She must have felt it, too, because she said,
“Don’t tell me you’re ready again.”

“If you want to.”

“I want but I don’t know if I can. I feel
like a cat stretched out in front of a lit fireplace, all warm and
boneless.”

“Then you lie still, and I’ll do
everything.”

He rolled her over, knelt with a knee on
either side of her body and, cupping her breasts, caressed her
nipples with his thumbs.

She let out a rumble of contentment that
sounded like a purr.

***

In the early morning hours, they finally fell
asleep.

When Bob awoke in the bright of day, Kerry
lay on her side, head propped on one elbow, gazing at him.

A small smile played on her lips. “Where did
you learn to make a woman feel like that?”

“From a woman.”

“An old girlfriend?”

“No. Except for Lorena, I never had a
girlfriend.”

She blinked. “That doesn’t seem
possible.”

“It’s the truth. Jackson was two years ahead
of me in high school. He was a good-looking football hero, student
council president, and in the top ten percent of his class. Girls
couldn’t resist him.

“I dated some of the popular girls in my
class and a lot of the not-so-popular girls. They went out with me
to try to get closer to my brother, but I was young enough to hope
that once they got to know me, they would like me for myself. It
never happened. After a while, I felt like a court jester trying to
entertain girls who never even bothered to feign interest. When I
realized how much time and money I wasted on those dates, I stopped
going out until I met Lorena in a college history class. We enjoyed
each other’s company, but she didn’t like sex.”

Kerry chuckled. “So how did she end up with
all those children?”

“Technically she could have done it a mere
six times.”

“I guess. Then how did you . . . oh, I see.
Patpong Road.”

“Close. It was an exclusive establishment
over by the American embassy.”

“Did it have a name?”

He felt a rumble of laughter somewhere deep
inside him. “That’s all you want to know—the name?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Of course not, but it’s a
start.”

“It had no official name, but everyone called
it Madame Butterfly’s after the woman who owned it.”

“Her name can’t really be Madame Butterfly,
can it? Who is she?”

“No one knows much about her, not even her
real name or nationality, but according to one rumor, she was
working as a prostitute in Shin Yoshiwara, Tokyo’s red light
district, when a rich American enticed her to run off with him. He
later abandoned her in Bangkok.

“Determined never to be that foolish again,
the story goes, she learned everything about men and women and what
went on between them. They said she was so good that simply by
looking at a man she could tell exactly what he needed. Because of
this, she could charge exorbitant rates. When she accumulated
enough money, she opened her own brothel, catering to men who
wanted the best and could pay the price.

“To add to her mystique, she dressed like a
geisha, complete with elaborate makeup, so very few people know
what she looks like.”

Kerry’s eyes grew bright with curiosity. “And
did she?”

Bob sat up, arranged the pillow at his back,
and leaned against the headboard. “Did she what?”

“Know what you needed.”

“Apparently she thought I needed more from
sex than mere physical gropings beneath the sheets and she decided
to educate me in the art of seduction. This is hindsight, of
course. At the time I didn’t realize she had a plan.”

“So she was your . . . your mistress?”

“No.”

Kerry sat cross-legged on the bed, elbows on
knees, chin cupped in her hands. “Then who was?”

“Several women. The first ones taught me
about controlling myself, the next few taught me how and where to
touch a woman, and the last one taught me the subtleties and
ceremony of seduction.”

Kerry batted her eyelashes. “Like this?”

Giving her a sidelong glance, Bob let the
back of a hand graze her knee. “More like that. We’d sit in the
reception room, drinking tea from fragile cups, talking of
inconsequential matters, and touching as if by accident. Each tiny
touch serves to arouse until the tension becomes unbearable, but
you learn to bear it, and continue.”

Kerry giggled. “It sounds like the Chinese
water torture. Or high school.”

Bob caressed her cheek with the knuckle of an
index finger. “But infinitely more enjoyable.”

Unbidden, a memory insinuated itself into his
mind: Ted, at ISI, saying that all Stark does in a whorehouse is
sit and drink tea. Bob shivered; while he’d been playing his
innocent games, someone had been keeping watch.

“Bob?”

He turned toward the sound of her voice.

She peered at him. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He tried to give her a reassuring
smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

She sprang to her feet. “I’m going out to get
us some food. You’re probably starving. I know I am.”

He watched her get dressed, noticing how
unselfconsciously she pulled on her white cotton panties, lacy bra,
jeans, socks, and the shirt that, as usual, she wore untucked.

When she finished tying her sneakers, she
scooped up her purse. “Anything in particular you want?”

He shook his head no.

She opened the door and looked back. “I won’t
be long.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

***

The aroma of breakfast—waffles and syrup,
scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, orange juice, hot chocolate and
coffee—helped to dispel the stench of stale smoke that seemed to
have grown stronger in Kerry’s absence.

They sat side-by-side, leaning against the
headboard, surrounded by Styrofoam take-out containers. As they
ate, Kerry made a point of letting her hand occasionally graze
against his. The glee in her eyes added to his enticement.

Bob smiled at her. “Now all you need is a
cheongsam like the girls at Madame Butterfly’s wear. There’s
something very seductive about that prim, Mandarin collar and the
side slit showing off a shapely leg, and yours are especially
alluring.”

Kerry’s eyes widened. “I used to have a dress
like that. An aunt brought it back from a tour of Hong Kong.” A
grin appeared on her face. “Mother made me sew up the side. She
said it was unseemly. I laughed and she got mad. She never did
appreciate puns.”

When Kerry continued to tease him with her
touches, Bob gently put her hand in her lap. “If you don’t stop,
you won’t be going to work tonight, either.”

She flashed a radiant smile. “I don’t have to
go. I’ve been trading time so I could have the weekend off.”

He slanted a glance at her. “You knew I would
come back to you?”

“I didn’t know. I hoped.” Her smile faded.
“You still haven’t told me what you learned.”

The bit of bacon he’d put into his mouth
suddenly tasted of bile. He finished the laborious act of chewing
and swallowing, then said, “I saw the two guys who searched my
room. Their names are Sam and Ted.”

Kerry’s eyes were enormous. “What did you
do?”

“Watched. Listened. Discovered that two other
guys, Grimes and Clayton, staked out the boarding-house the night I
retrieved my passport and traveler’s checks. Some time after that
night my room must have been searched again because they know Sam
and Ted hadn’t looked in the hem of the drapes for the papers.”

“Those mysterious papers again. Could they be
identification papers, like your passport?”

Bob shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I
can’t rule anything out.”

“Did you find out why they’re after you?”

“No.” He stared at the framed mountain scene
hanging crookedly on the opposite wall. “I think they want to kill
me. Or worse.”

Kerry’s breath caught in her throat. “What’s
worse?”

“It seems there’s a clinic in Boston
affiliated with ISI that does behavior modifications.”

“Behavior modifications? You mean like . . .
mind control?”

“Yes.” He forced air into his lungs. “I think
they did something to Herbert Townsend, the foil man, among
others.”

Kerry’s voice rose an octave. “And these are
the people that are after you?”

He nodded.

She took his right hand in both of hers.
“What are we going to do?”

“Not we. I.”

“But—”

“People are being altered,” he said harshly.
“They are dying. I don’t want the same thing happening to you that
happened to Dr. Albion.”

“You mean the doctor at the VA hospital? What
happened to him?

“He had an allergy to alcohol, yet supposedly
died in a car accident while drunk. Ever since Scott Mulligan told
me many ex-CIA agents work for ISI, I’ve been wondering if Sam and
Ted or their counterparts killed the doctor. Fatal car accidents
are a specialty of that agency. I know it sounds nuts, but I can’t
help thinking someone wanted to prevent his inquiry into my
military records.”

She looked befuddled. “What would your
military records have to do with the gold Buddha?”

“Nothing. In fact the Buddha is not part of
this at all.”

She swung around to face him. “How do you
know?”

He looked away, unable to meet her bright
gaze. When he glanced at her again, he saw that she still had her
attention focused on him.