And still his eyes remained fixed on hers.
Alternately his thumbs stroked her. Became slippery. Found the treasured spot. Caressed it with the merest touch. Sparks of sensation shot through her. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her breathing became choppy and quick. Her eyelids fluttered and his image began to blur. "If you don't stop," she panted, "I'm going to come."
"That's the point, isn't it?"
"But I want you inside me."
He thrust into her. Possessively, his hands slid beneath her hips and lifted her to him so that it would have been impossible for him to be any deeper. Nevertheless, she pushed her hands into his jeans and gripped his ass tightly, pulling him into her.
Each stroke was greedy but also giving. She sensed behind every push a wildness that he barely kept harnessed. Strangely, she wasn't afraid of it. Rather than shrink from it, she responded with a complete lack of inhibition and a ferocity of her own.
His breathing became rough, and he buried his face in her neck and groaned, "You... fuck... like..."
And then he climaxed, calling a name.
"Hey, Tobias, want to hear something really weird?" "Don't you ever go home?"
"I am home," Lucy Myrick replied from approximately two thousand miles away. "This info came in just as I was leaving the office, so I printed it out and brought it home with me. I fed my goldfish, barely in time to prevent an outbreak of cannibalism. I treated myself to a long bubble bath, nuked a frozen lasagna, opened a bottle of cheap wine, and only now am looking over the material."
Earlier, in the cafe attached to the motel, Tobias had eaten a grilled cheese sandwich in the time it took Lawson to scarf down two chili cheeseburgers with extra onions. They had then parted company with plans to reconvene at breakfast. Tobias had showered and was now reclining against the faux wood headboard of the motel bed, a pillow bunched beneath his head, a drink from the honor bar in his hand.
He didn't imbibe often, but he felt he owed himself one scotch and soda tonight. He was in alien territory. Without the familiar sounds of traffic outside, the silence of the desert was deafening. He couldn't relate to the paint-by-number artwork decorating the paneled walls of his room, nor to the Pueblo Indian life it depicted.
Despite his request for a nonsmoking room, an ashtray shaped like a rattlesnake was coiled and ready to strike on the dresser. It had red glass eyes that glittered in the light from the TV.
It was good to hear Lucy's familiar voice with her clipped northeastern accent instead of a southwestern twang. "What material?"
Lucy began her explanation by saying, "This Brother Gabriel is creeping me out! I watched his show last night on the TV I keep in my office. `New world order' sounds a little too Hitleresque to sit right with me. My question to him would be, `Who would establish this new world order?'. Although, I have a sneaking suspicion of who he has in mind.
"Anyway, I did some research today and was staggered by the scope of his so-called ministry. He's not your ordinary TV preacher. His sermons are simultaneously translated into thirty or so languages. He has devotees in countries that are predominately Jewish, Catholic, Moslem, or Buddhist. The religious leaders of each are alarmed by his growing number of converts.
"His doctrine isn't exactly Christian. In fact, it isn't even scriptural. He rarely mentions Jesus Christ except as an example of humility. But that shortage of a specific dogma
hasn't hampered his appeal, which seems to be universal." She took a deep breath. "Which brought me to Interpol."
Interested, Tobias set his drink on the nightstand. "I'm sure there's some logic behind that decision."
"Well, we stumbled onto Jem Hennings's connection when we—"
"When
you
," Tobias corrected.
"Thank you kindly," she said cheekily. "When I started looking for similar crimes on a national basis, we turned up several cases that bore a striking resemblance to Gillian Lloyd's murder and the Anderson baby's kidnapping. Only today did I think about stretching my investigation abroad. And guess what?"
"I'm all ears."
"Five European women over the course of the past two years have died violently—read murder or accidental death—after having been impregnated by artificial insemination. All were single, healthy, of superior good looks and intelligence. Moreover, in the same time period, three children conceived either in vitro or by Al—using donor sperm—were kidnapped shortly after birth. Two from their cribs at home, one from the hospital."
"But statistically, Lucy—"
"I already checked," she said, interrupting his argument before he could even verbalize it. "Only one other pregnant woman—in Portugal, I believe—was murdered during the same time period. She was married and had conceived naturally, and the assault on her was motivated by robbery. The perp was caught and admitted to choosing her at random because of the jewelry she was wearing.
"All the other kidnappings, except for these three, were for ransom. One was a child molestation case by a repeat offender. All those cases were solved. The children were either returned to their families alive or their bodies were subsequently found."
He should have known that Lucy would have checked out all her facts before sharing the information with him. "And the three involving children conceived in a fertility clinic?" "I don't really have to tell you, do I?"
"Never a trace," he guessed. "Just like the Andersons' baby."
"Precisely like that." She let him mull it over for a full thirty seconds, seeming to sense that he wanted to organize his thoughts about this new data. "I'm going to dig deeper," she told him. "See if I can find any Brother Gabriel disciples connected to these cases."
"Good, but get some rest first."
"Thanks. Is that what you're doing tonight?"
"In a manner of speaking."
He glanced at the thick black notebook containing the file on Gillian Lloyd's murder. He'd taken Lawson up on his offer to loan it to him for the evening, but it remained untouched on the nightstand. He was saturated with this case and was dreading having to review information he already knew.
"Where are you anyway?" Lucy asked.
"In the shadow of Brother Gabriel's Temple."
"Liar."
"No, I swear. I can see the lights of it from my motel room bed."
"Wish I were there with you. In the area, I mean," she clarified hastily. "I'd like to ask Brother Gabriel when God died and left him in charge."
"Let me know what you get tomorrow."
"Quick as a bunny. What's it like?"
"What?"
"Your motel room."
"Your basic stop-over-but-don't-stay-too-long. The sheets are clean, but the pillows are hard." He described the vicious looking ashtray.
"You're kidding. I'd have nightmares. Aren't there any amenities? Coin-operated vibrating bed? Pay-per-view X rated movies?"
"There's a brochure on top of the TV that lists the movies for adults only," he admitted.
"Any titles I might recognize?"
"Goodbye, Lucy."
"Haven't seen that one."
He hung up laughing. Talking to her had improved his mood considerably.
Melina was the first to leave the bed. Without once glancing at him, she picked up her underwear and retreated into the bathroom. Seconds later, he heard the shower running.
Chief laid his forearm over his eyes and filled the silence with muttered swear words. Of all the things that could have happened to him, who would ever have guessed this? When he had walked out of The Mansion and saw Gillian Lloyd for the first time, could he have imagined that within days he would be embroiled in her murder investigation and sleeping with her twin?
"Sleeping with"? Nice euphemism, but grossly inaccurate. He, Colonel Christopher Hart, astronaut and public figure, signer of autographs and hero of schoolchildren, had fucked Gillian's identical twin, an exact replica of her, and had relished every goddamn carnal heartbeat of it. He had lost himself in her the same way he'd lost himself in Gillian.
Which made him one very sick individual.
Well, didn't it?
The bathroom door opened and Melina came out fully dressed. In a very businesslike manner, she asked, "Is Longtree back yet?"
"I thought I heard some activity in the kitchen."
She crossed the room and reached for the doorknob. "Then as soon as you're ready—"
"I usually don't make a woman cry, Melina."
Without even turning, she pulled open the door and said, "I'll be waiting for you," then closed the door behind her."Shit," he hissed, throwing off the sheet.
Five minutes later, he joined her in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table sipping a glass of water and talking with Longtree. She didn't acknowledge him, but Longtree asked if he would like something to drink.
"Water's fine."
"Chief Longtree has graciously agreed to loan us his pickup," Melina said, still managing not to look directly at him.
"That's very generous."
The older man passed him a glass of water. "I thought you might need it. It's got a full tank of gas. I also picked up a map for you and marked the roads I advise you to take. It might be best to stay off the main highways." He pushed the folded map and a key ring across the table.
Chief accepted them with a terse thanks. "I don't know when we'll be able to return the truck."
"Jed will take me wherever I need to go."
Melina glanced at the wall clock, then came to her feet. "We appreciate all you've done for us."
It was while she was shaking hands with Longtree that Chief noticed it. "Gillian's pendant."
Melina rubbed the ruby heart where it lay against her throat, saying to him, "I just put it back on."
"I thought you threw it away along with your handbag." "We checked it," she reminded him. "Besides, I hated to part with it. It's probably the last thing she touched before going to bed that night."
He thought about it for only a split second before extending his hand. "Let's take a closer look, Melina. The light's better here than inside the plane."
She hesitated only a moment before removing the pendant and passing it to him. He dangled the charm close to his face, holding it so that he could see light coming through the translucent stones. That's when he noticed a dark spot in the dip of the heart right against the gold mounting. It was barely
discernible. One would have to be looking, as he was, and even then it could be mistaken for a flaw in the small stone or in the gold mounting. "Do you have an ice pick?" he asked Longtree.
Within seconds he was applying the utensil to the spot. Longtree and Melina peered anxiously over his shoulder. Before any of them expected it, a small chip popped out and landed on the oilcloth that covered the dining table. It was the color of a pencil lead and smaller than the head of a pin. Chief poked it several times with the sharp tip of the ice pick. "Hennings's love gift isn't so lovely, is it?"
Melina bristled. "That bastard. I'm sorry he's dead. I'd love an opportunity to tell him what a despicable human being he was."
Chief explained the GPS tracking system to Longtree. "The technology has advanced even more than I'd heard. I'm sure a transceiver this minuscule hasn't been approved for commercial use yet. Which means that criminals are the only ones with access to it."
"Oh, my God," Melina exclaimed. "This means we've led them straight here. I'm so sorry, Chief Longtree. After the kindnesses you've extended us, we've repaid you by putting you in danger."
"Don't worry about me."
"She's right," Chief told him solemnly. "These are bad men. They killed two people yesterday. They're on somebody's payroll, probably Brother Gabriel's, and they're good at what they do."
"You've managed to escape them."
"By the skin of our teeth. Even if we've disabled the transceiver, this will be the last place it transmitted a signal. They'll try and pick up our trail here. Is there someplace you can go, hang out for a few days?"
The older Indian smiled. "American Indians have been pushed off their land for three hundred years. I couldn't look myself in the mirror if I let a couple of thugs run me off my place. I can take care of myself."
Having said that, he moved to a drawer and took a pistol from it. "Take this with you."
"You may need it more than we will."
"I insist." He passed both the pistol and a box of bullets to Chief. "Do you know how to load it?"
Chief wanted to decline the loan of the pistol, but he only had to remember Hennings's fate to change his mind. He asked Longtree to load the revolver for him. "As a safety precaution, I'll leave the first chamber empty," he explained. "You'll have to pull the trigger twice in order for it to fire."
"I can't go, leaving you here without a weapon or transportation," Melina told him.
"I'm not afraid. My destiny isn't in the hands of hit men." Seemingly amused by the notion, Longtree motioned her toward the door. "If you want to arrive in Lamesa before dark, you'd better leave now. The sun sets quickly behind the mountains."