Authors: Dara Joy
"Of course I did. We need to study it so we know what we're dealing with."
"We know what we're dealing with—a scam artist."
"Yes, but there's nothing concrete in here to nail him with."
"Do you suppose that could be the reason he isn't in jail?" He asked
facetiously.
"Why do you think they had this on him?" Zanita had not discussed with Tyber how
he had gotten the documents. She really didn't want to know, and she more than
suspected he really didn't want her to know.
"Apparently, according to the report, he's been under investigation for some
time by the bunko unit, as well as being under suspicion for a number of other
Federal crimes."
"I don't see that here."
"I must have forgotten to give you those sheets."
As if Tyber ever would make such a mistake! So he had chosen to hide some of the
more sensitive documents from her. Okay. She could live with that. As long as he
came clean with her concerning any other information.
"If there are any other… sheets you've forgotten to give me, perhaps you can
just fill me in."
He pulled the truck to the side of the road and shut the engine.
"What are you doing? Why did you sto—"
He took her in his arms and kissed her. Deeply. Passionately.
Then he started the truck and got on the road again, leaving her completely
stunned.
"What on earth did you do that for?"
"I like your style, baby. Always have." He gave her a roguish grin.
Well, I'll have to do that again sometime, she thought. That is, once I figure
out exactly what it is he thinks I did.
Chapter Eight
« ^ »
"Dimitri Ziest, Marvin Broconol, Damon Green, Xavier LaLeche—all aliases at one
time or another." Zanita flipped through the dossier. "Born Steven Liss, 1948,
in Buffalo, New York. Only son of Marguerite Liss. Father unknown."
"This sounds like we're entering the Twilight Zone." Tyber swung the truck onto
a side road.
"Submitted for your speculation…" Zanita hummed the theme song.
Tyber laughed. "What else does it say?"
She gave him a look that said, you know very well what it says. "He lived under
many different names in many states: Massachusetts, California, Ohio—"
"Where did he stay the longest?"
"Um—" She scanned the form. "California. Why?"
"I don't know yet. What about the other places—is there a pattern for length of
stay?"
"Actually, yes, now that you mention it. About four months in each city. Why do
you suppose that is?"
"He left before things got hot for him, always one step ahead of implication and
the law. I suspect that's how he's managed to elude full-scale investigation by
local authorities. How long was he in California?"
"Two years. What do you make of that?"
"I think there was a definite reason he needed to be in California for that
length of time. From his profile, he's not the type of man who just goes with
the flow like flotsam and jetsam, buffeted about by the currents. No, this man
controls his life—every aspect. He was there for a purpose."
"Any ideas?"
"Not yet. Where did he live when he resided in California?"
"Let's see… San Francisco, briefly; then L.A."
"I seem to remember something about an electronics plant there."
She nodded. "It almost seems as if he went legit for a couple of years; he
worked for a company called Space Age Systems. An investigator noted in the
margin that it was a respectable company. They manufacture shuttle components. I
don't see any connection there, do you?"
"No. It had to be something he was doing on the side. Anything else?" He entered
a private drive leading up to a breathtaking mansion.
"Nothing definitive. I wonder if—what are we doing here?" Zanita looked up at
the palatial house and manicured grounds.
"Welcome to the Marble Manor Inn." He stopped the truck in front of the portico.
"Tyber, you're kidding! This is beautiful."
"It is." Tyber scrutinized the interesting architectural details fondly.
"Beautiful. It was built in the mid-1800s from locally quarried golden marble.
The original carriage house is still standing. See?" He pointed to the rear of
the house.
"Wow! I can't wait to see the inside. Will we really have a room made out of
marble?"
Tyber swung their suitcase out of the truck, resting it on the driveway. He
lifted her chin with the edge of his hand, brushing her lips with his own. "Of
course we will."
She threw her arms around his neck, bringing his head down for a deeper kiss.
"This is wonderful, Doc. Really wonderful."
"It's just the beginning," he promised, kissing her once more before he released
her, leading her into the inn.
The inn was a splendid example of Tyber's preferred Victorian charm, and Zanita
wasn't really surprised he had chosen it for their stay. They eagerly explored
the downstairs before checking into their room.
Fresh flowers, exquisitely arranged in vases, graced every chamber. The ceilings
were all thirteen feet high, with carved moldings and crystal chandeliers
brilliantly suspended from rosette medallions.
There were several parlors, each furnished in opulent Victorian. One room had
been turned into a cozy library with a huge marble fireplace fronted by couches
and chairs. The remains of late afternoon tea were still evident on the
sideboard. A half-finished chess game waited patiently for completion on a low
table by the window.
When they checked in, the friendly innkeeper gave them a brief history of the
house, informing them that all the rooms were named after famous people. When
Zanita learned that Tyber had requested the Errol Flynn room, she looked at him
askance. He just put his arm around her as he led her up the stairs, saying,
"How could I resist?"
Zanita sighed as she viewed the sumptuous room.
It was utterly beautiful.
Gabled windows were open to fresh air and rolling Vermont hills, displaying the
vibrant colors of fall. The center of the room sported a massive brass bed,
which was indeed one-hundred-and-twenty years old. It was covered with an
antique, hand-crocheted spread.
The promised fireplace of gold marble faced the bed. Two overlarge Queen Anne
chairs flanked the raised hearth of the fireplace. A large red oriental rug
graced the floor.
The walls, floors, and ceilings were all of golden marble.
Zanita eyed the sunken marble tub in the bathroom. "Now I know why they call it
the Errol Flynn room." Tyber came up behind her to peer over her head.
"It does give the imagination healthy exercise, doesn't it?" he murmured,
bending down to nip her shoulder.
She glanced up at him, grinning impishly. "What time do we have to be at
LaLeche's digs, Captain Blood?"
"Bring me to a hotel room and that's the first thing you think of." A dimple
curved his cheek. "And you women wonder why men are so skittish about these
things." His hands rested on her shoulders as he turned her to him.
"Unfortunately, we don't have time."
The back of Tyber's hand smoothed the hair from the side of her face; he bent
toward her, placing a sizzling kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat.
"No?" She ran her fingers through the tawny strands of his hair, massaging his
scalp, bringing him a little closer to her.
"No," he affirmed as his tongue lazily traced the line of her collarbone in
slow, languorous strokes.
She sucked in her breath. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," he whispered, right before his mouth pressed heatedly against her
own. His fingers began to nimbly unbutton her blouse.
"I see."
He emphatically stated, "We need to stop this right now, Zanita." At the same
time his hand closed firmly over her breast.
"Okay." She went up on tiptoe to delicately suckle on his enticing lower lip.
He made a low sound, somewhere between ecstasy and agony, deep in his throat.
Unconsciously, he returned the favor by rotating his palm around her hardened
nipple. His action incited Zanita to lean into him, rubbing against his arousal,
which was now straining the seams of his jeans.
"I mean it; we don't have time!" he growled. So saying, he immediately fell to
his knees in front of her, his hands seeking the waistband of her pants.
Zanita couldn't help but smile. "I get the message, Tyber. It's definitely no."
"Now that we've got that straightened out—" He quickly unzipped her jeans, his
lips scalding the trail in a burning, fiery tasting. Zanita felt his scorching
breath right through the silk of her underpants. Her knees immediately buckled.
Tyber's strong hands caught her about the thighs to support her, taking the
opportunity dip his hot, roving tongue into her belly button. Her fingers
clutched the top of his head. "Tyber."
Tyber's arms flinched, but remained in an unyielding grip around her thighs. He
rested his damp forehead against her bare midriff while he tried valiantly to
regain some measure of control. Great gulps of air shuddered through his heaving
chest. Several seconds ticked by.
He failed.
And knew it.
He groaned in needless explanation against the flat of her stomach, "This is
what is called a core meltdown, baby." Suddenly he yanked her jeans and panties
down and off with one decisive stroke of his hands.
Without waiting, he unzipped his jeans and brought her down right on top of him
while he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor.
He slid into her like a steel pylon through molten ore.
It was the first time since she had gotten over her flu; they were both primed
and ready. Zanita threw her head back, clutching his broad shoulders under the
red flannel of his shirt, which now hung open to his waist.
"God, Tyber, you feel… oh, God, Tyber!"
It was all Tyber had to hear in his present condition.
He went nova.
The flat of his hands drew her closer to him as he surged up inside her. "So
good, baby… you're so good, so good," he croaked.
"I want to feel your tongue inside my mouth." He cupped her head, bringing her
face up to his.
Zanita buried her tongue inside him.
Tyber drew on it voraciously, letting her taste him as well.
Relentlessly, he was moving ever stronger and faster inside her. He began
kissing her all over her face, wildly, desperately. She did the same to him.
They writhed against each other, clutching, kissing, cleaving to one another in
an increasing conflagration. It was pagan, reckless passion.
They were out of control.
Zanita cried out. Tyber cried out. They rocketed.
Still gasping for breath, Tyber clasped his arms around Zanita and fell
backwards onto the marble floor of the bathroom. Zanita lay draped over his
chest, completely undone.
"I don't know how you do that to me, Curls." His hand still shook in aftermath
as he ran it caressingly over her short, springy hair.
Zanita braced her palms against his chest, slowly levering herself up to look
him in the eye. "How I do that to you? You're the one who said we didn't have
the time, and the next thing I know it's nuclear winter."
He chuckled. "I did sort of go up in flames, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did." Smiling, she grazed his cleft chin. "I liked it."
He smiled back. "I did, too." He kissed her very sweetly.
Unfortunately, because of their bathroom romp, they had to have an abbreviated
version of dinner, which upset the innkeeper, who had a very talented, very
touchy chef. His feelings were somewhat mollified when they explained to him
that they had an engagement to attend—it was not a reflection on the
wine-poached shrimp and peach brandy tart.
After driving for half an hour in the dark through wooded country back roads,
they finally found the turn-off to LaLeche's so-called retreat. Once again,
Tyber had been correct: the retreat was nothing more than a tumble-down shack in
the middle of the wilderness.
Since they were late in arriving, several cars were already parked haphazardly
in the clearing. Tyber laughed when he noted one BMW sinking into four inches of
Vermont mud.
"All part of the experience, my dear." He imitated Xavier's affected speech
perfectly.
Zanita knocked on the crude wooden door to the cabin. Several voices rang out,
bidding them enter. She tentatively opened the door.
Eight people were huddled around a huge fireplace. An old, scarred wooden table
rested against the right wall. It was generously overflowing with refreshments,
presumably brought by the guests.
And that was it.
Nothing else in the room. No furniture. No appliances.
Zanita quickly scanned the one-room cabin. No amenities.
Several blankets and sleeping bags lined the walls. In one corner, a tape player
was issuing forth New Age meditation music—lots of Celtic harps and chimes.
"Dr. Evans! Zanita!" LaLeche stood up to greet them. "I was beginning to think
you couldn't make it this weekend."
You mean you were getting concerned that a good mark was getting away from you.
Tyber looked him directly in the eye, saying, "We got a little sidetracked, but
we're here now."