The Widowmaker: Volume 1 in the Widowmaker Trilogy (21 page)

"Shut up!” snapped Nighthawk, and the Roller, still whining ominously, jumped to his shoulder.

"I'm not the enemy,” said Father Christmas, backing away and lowering his voice. “Try to remember that. I'm just trying to keep you alive."

"All right,” said Nighthawk after a long moment. “We'll stick to the plan. He lives until you've robbed your church and I've killed the Widowmaker. But then...” He reached out and absently petted the Holy Roller, which twitched a couple of times and then rubbed up against him.

"Just make sure you don't underestimate him,” said Father Christmas.

"I can take him,” said Nighthawk grimly.

"You sound awfully certain."

"I didn't ask to be the best killer in the galaxy,” said Nighthawk. “But that's what they made me.” Suddenly Melisande's moans of ecstasy could be heard through the closed door of the cabin. Nighthawk's face became even grimmer. “They had their reasons back on Deluros, and now I've got mine."

A mechanical voice spoke out. “Pursuer alert. Ten minutes three seconds stroke four off the port bow."

Nighthawk frowned and ordered his ship to change course. The voice was silent for a moment, then repeated its message with slightly different coordinates. “What is it?” asked Father Christmas.

"Someone's on our tail."

"Who?"

"He doesn't want to identify himself. But we've ID'd his registry number, and traced a signal he's sent elsewhere to learn his frequency. The computer will find out who he is before too long."

"Maybe we should tell the Marquis."

Another muffled moan came from Nighthawk's cabin.

"And then again, maybe not,” amended Father Christmas.

Nighthawk sat absolutely motionless, forcing himself to stare at a computer screen. A moment later an amused expression flashed across his face. “The gang's all here,” he announced.

"What do you mean? Who's in the other ship?"

"Lizard Malloy. He's probably been on our tail since we took off."

"So tell him to go away."

"Don't be silly. He's not going to go away just because I ask him to. He's there for a reason."

"
What
reason?” demanded Father Christmas.

One final sound of sexual frenzy rang through the ship, reaching a crescendo and culminating in a satisfied moan.

"I wish I knew,” answered Nighthawk.

"Maybe if you'd spend less time concentrating on what's happening thirty feet away from here and start worrying about what's a parsec away, we might get something accomplished,” said Father Christmas.

"I
am
concentrating on Malloy."

"Sure,” said the older man, unimpressed.

"
And
the Marquis."

"Did the Marquis order him to track us?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Why not ask him?” suggested Father Christmas. “It sounds like they'll be through in a minute or two. Just give him a chance to put his pants on."

"And if he doesn't know why Malloy's out there?"

"Then it might be interesting to know who
did
send Malloy after us."

Nighthawk tried to think about Malloy, or the Marquis, or the Widowmaker, but he kept coming back to the same thing again and again:
Goddamn it, she never sounded like that with me!

He knew he wanted to kill someone, but at the moment he wasn't sure if it was the Marquis, or perhaps the Pearl of Maracaibo, or maybe even himself.

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Nighthawk was sitting in the galley, nursing a cup of coffee a few feet away from the command chair, as the ship sped through the void on autopilot. Father Christmas was asleep in his half of the crew's cabin, and the Marquis was snoring noisily across the corridor.

Finally Melisande emerged from the Captain's cabin, wearing nothing but a towel she had wrapped around her.

"May I sit down?"

Nighthawk indicated the empty chair across from him.

"And could I have some coffee, please?"

"Don't ask me,” he said. “Ask the galley."

She repeated her request as an order, and a moment later a cup of black coffee was deposited on the table in front of her.

"Thank you,” she said.

"If you're waiting for it to say you're welcome, you're out of luck,” said Nighthawk. “Only the control deck talks back to you."

"Why?"

"Because that's the way I like it."

"Don't be so defensive,” she said with a smile. “I'm not criticizing you."

"I'm not defensive."

"You sound like you are."

"I'm not!"

"Okay, have it your way,” she said with a shrug. The shrug caused the towel to come loose and slip to her waist. “Excuse me,” she said with a catlike smile.

"Cover yourself up!” snapped Nighthawk.

"What's the problem?” she asked innocently, as she slowly adjusted the towel. “This isn't anything you haven't seen before—or have you forgotten already?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"Come over and help me do this,” she said, wrapping herself again in the towel.

"Fix it yourself."

"All right—but I can't promise that it won't slip again."

Nighthawk grimaced, got to his feet, and walked over.

"Right here,” she said, pointing to the spot where she wanted it joined.

She handed Nighthawk a gaudy, ornate clasp and he put the two ends together, trying to ignore the scent of her perfume.

"You're all right now,” he announced, walking back to his chair.

"You're sure?” she asked, getting to her feet. “It's very short."

"So what?"

"So what if I have to raise my arms like this?” she said, starting to do so.

"Just sit down and it won't happen again."

"I can't sit for the whole voyage."

"Then get dressed."

"I don't want to wake the Marquis.” She grinned. “I think I wore him out."

Nighthawk made no reply.

"This is very good coffee,” she said at last.

"How do you know?” he answered. “You haven't tasted it yet."

"But it warms my hands.” She reached out and lay her hand on top of his. “See? No one wants to be touched by a cold hand."

"It doesn't bother me."

"Well, maybe it wouldn't bother your hand, but there are other places I could touch you where you'd jump.” She paused. “Or you would if my hands were cold. Next time they are, I'll prove it to you."

"Not necessary."

"I don't mind,” she responded. “After all, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

"Maybe you should stick with the friend that brought you,” suggested Nighthawk tightly.

"But he's sound asleep,” she said. “If you listen, you can hear him snore."

"So what?"

"He needs his sleep ... but I've already had mine. It's boring in there, just watching him.” Suddenly she smiled. “Of course, he is naked."

"I'm sure you find that wildly exciting."

"Well, it all depends,” she said. “I mean, it's no fun being excited all by yourself. I
could
find it exciting if
he
did. Would you like me to tell you how I would excite him?"

"No."

"Are you sure?” she said. “It might even excite you."

"Leave me alone!” he snapped, getting to his feet and walking to the command chair.

"I thought you liked me."

"I do,” he said softly.

"I even thought you wanted me,” she continued.

"How come you only come on to me when both cabins are in use?"

"You think we have to have a cabin?” she said. “All a cabin has is a bed.” She stood up and removed her towel. “We've got everything we need right here.” Mock hurt. “You're frowning. Don't you like what you see?"

"I like it."

She approached him slowly, making sure to avoid the Roller, which was perched on a panel a few feet away. “Yes, I can see that you like it,” she said, staring at his groin.

He grabbed her arm, pulled her onto his lap, and kissed her hungrily.

"Careful,” she said, shifting her position. “You're going to impale me."

"That's the general idea,” he said.

"What if the Marquis wakes up and walks out into the corridor right this second?” she said.

"I'll have to kill him."

"But how can you, if I'm in the way?"

"Stop talking so much."

"Maybe I should check and make sure he's still asleep."

"Forget it."

"No,” she said, getting up. “I really should. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."

Before he could stop her, she walked back to the galley and wrapped her towel around her, then disappeared into the captain's cabin. She emerged a few seconds later and mouthed the words, “Sound asleep."

Then, as she was approaching Nighthawk again, Father Christmas's sleepy voice rang out. “What the hell's going on out there?” A moment later he emerged from his cabin, stopped abruptly, and sized up the situation as he stared at Melisande.

"Dressed in a bit of a hurry, didn't you?” he said sardonically.

"I just came out for some coffee,” she said.

"Galley, serve up two coffees,” commanded the old man. Two cups filled with black coffee appeared a moment later. The Pearl of Maracaibo turned to Nighthawk and shrugged helplessly, almost falling out of her towel.

"So how long was I asleep?” asked Father Christmas.

"Maybe four or five hours,” replied Nighthawk.

"Too bad I didn't sleep another hour,” he said. “You might have made a little progress with the lady here."

"Not a chance,” answered Melisande. “I'm totally loyal to the Marquis."

"And I'm the reincarnation of Ramses II,” said Father Christmas.

She turned to Nighthawk. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

"You're totally loyal to the Marquis,” said Nighthawk. “Let
him
defend your honor."

"Some hero,” she snorted contemptuously.

Suddenly the Marquis stuck his head out into the corridor and stared at the galley. “What's going on?"

"Nothing,” she said. “We're just talking."

"You woke me up."

"We didn't mean to,” she said. “Go back to sleep."

"Come on back to bed,” he said. “I don't like to sleep alone."

"Whatever you say."

"
That's
what I say,” answered the Marquis.

She stood up, clutching the towel to her, and turned to Nighthawk. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion later."

"Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.

"Get your ass in here,” said the Marquis, withdrawing to the interior of the cabin. She joined him a few seconds later.

"You're a little young to have a death wish,” said Father Christmas as the door to the cabin slid shut. “I hope what I think was going on here wasn't going on."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I'll just bet you don't,” said the older man. “I wonder how many pets she tortured to death when she was a little kid."

"Shut up!"

"Have it your way,” said Father Christmas. He took a sip of his coffee. “How long until we reach the Oligarchy?"

Nighthawk looked at a screen. “We entered it about five hours ago."

"And when do we hit the Deluros system?"

"At this speed, maybe another thirty hours."

"Thirty hours more,” mused Father Christmas. “That's a long time for her not to precipitate a killing."

"I don't want to discuss her,” said Nighthawk ominously.

"We still got our shadow?"

"Malloy? Yeah, he's back there a couple of million miles."

"Sounds like a lot until you realize it's, what, maybe ten seconds?"

"A little less."

"You want some sleep?” asked Father Christmas. “I can keep an eye on things."

Nighthawk shook his head.

"You've been awake a long time,” continued Father Christmas. “I want all your reactions to be one hundred percent when we get there. Get some sleep."

"How can I sleep when I know she's in bed with him not twenty feet away?” demanded Nighthawk irritably.

"So
that's
what it is,” said Father Christmas. “You think if you stay here in the control room maybe he won't fuck her anymore?"

"They're not fucking—they're sleeping,” said Nighthawk. “Or, at least,
he
is."

"And you don't like that any better, do you?"

"No, I don't,” said Nighthawk.

"Well, then,” said Father Christmas, “I have a suggestion."

"Oh?"

"You won't like it, but it makes the most sense."

"Let's hear it."

"This girl is messing up your mind, son,” said Father Christmas. “She's tying you into knots. She's all you're thinking about, and that's deadly."

"You want me to kill the Marquis?"

"You can't kill the Marquis ... yet,” said the older man. “Don't forget your original assignment: You need him to finger the assassin for you."

"Then what do you want?"

"Kill
her
."

"Are you crazy?” snapped Nighthawk.

"Not even a little bit,” said Father Christmas. “Every time the Marquis takes a nap or turns his back she's teasing the hell out of you. Don't bother to deny it; I've got eyes. You let her live, eventually she'll precipitate a fight between you and the Marquis before you're ready for it."

"But the whole purpose of this trip was to kill the Marquis so I could finally have her,” said Nighthawk.

"She's not worth having, son,” said the older man. “Let me plunder my churches while you're killing the Widowmaker, and then let's both blow this life and go retire somewhere where neither the Good Guys
or
the Bad Guys will ever find us."

"Sounds good to me."

"It's a deal, then?"

"As soon as I kill the Marquis,” said Nighthawk. “We'll take Melisande with us."

The old man sighed once, deeply, but made no reply.

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They were 38 hours out of Tundra, and life wasn't getting any easier for Nighthawk. When he wasn't busy fantasizing about Melisande, she was there in front of him, sending him secret smiles, finding reasons to accidentally brush against him, taunting him with the touch and smell of her.

Her behavior radically altered whenever the Marquis was around. She never willingly left his side as such times. No portion of her anatomy was forbidden to his hands, even in plain sight of Nighthawk and Father Christmas. But the Marquis had no interest in the workings or navigation of the ship, and he spent most of his time in his cabin. As quickly as he was out of sight she went back to teasing Nighthawk with the same single-mindedness with which she ignored him when the Marquis was around.