Silent Masquerade Page 10

  Cara sniffed and looked away. “None like you, you can be sure.”

  Bill laughed, the sound drifting away in the acoustical vacuum caused by the trees. “Cynicism may be a misnomer, my dear. Perhaps I’m just more realistic, more pedantic, better educated in the ways of humankind, than most people.”

  Cara studied him a moment and then said, “Perhaps the only reason you don’t see anyone camped out here is because it’s against park rules.”

  Bill stared back at her and then grinned. “Touché.”

  They were quiet for a while after that, each privately celebrating the beauty around them. By the time they started back down the mountain, they were both tired and sated with the beauty of it all. On the drive down, it was the passenger side that was on the inside of the mountain, and Cara was able to lean back and enjoy the ride in drowsy contentment.

  It was easy to forget the past, forget any future threat, forget they were only playing at being a couple. It had been a perfect day—a day that promised to end with a perfect night, Cara thought. The weather was balmy, and by the time they reached Water Street, she was not surprised to find the town teeming with both tourists and locals enjoying the early-evening warmth.

  As they turned into their street, they could see that some of their building’s tenants were enjoying the weather on the roof of the building. Cara recognized the couple from 3B, and the three college women who shared the apartment on the first floor, across from the laundry room.

  She touched Bill’s arm, meaning to draw his attention to the sight, when suddenly the air was rent by the most horrendous noise she’d ever heard. In an instant, the building was engulfed in flames, and the people on the roof went flying in all directions.

  Later, Cara didn’t remember Bill stopping the car or exactly when they had decided to get out. But all at once they were in the street, with people screaming and running in panic around them.

  A man’s voice yelled, “What was it, an earthquake?”

  Someone else called out, “No, it was an explosion...like some kind of bomb!”

  Bill grabbed Cara’s hand and began to pull her down the street.

  “Wait...wait, Bill! Don’t!” She tried to pull free, desperately needing to know what had caused the explosion, what was happening to the building she’d come to think of as home, even though they’d lived there only a few weeks.

  “It’s going to be a media circus here any minute, Cara,” Bill growled through clenched teeth. “Come on!”

  They left the car where it was. Cara wondered why but couldn’t draw enough breath to ask. She was gently but firmly pulled through the streets of Santa Cruz, until Bill stopped in front of a small bar on a side street and jerked her inside. The lettering on the window decreed it the Backstreet Bar and Grill.

  She was still out of breath moments later, when a laconic bartender put down the daily-newspaper crossword puzzle and asked for their drink order.

  “Give us a couple of brandies,” Bill panted, and then added, “No ice, and make ‘em doubles.”

  “Been running?” the bartender asked as he reached for two glasses.

  “Yeah,” Bill said, turning to study the layout of the place. There was a door marked Exit at the back. Probably led to an alley. Good, Bill thought. There were doors marked Gents and Ladies, and another, with a round glass window, that obviously led to a kitchen. For the moment, they were the only customers in the place, and it didn’t appear that anyone was in the kitchen to give credence to the “Grill” part of the title on the window.

  The bartender squinted at each of them in turn. “Not dressed for running,” he commented, in that same monotone.

  Bill spun around, glaring at the man, and then decided the guy was not suspicious, but merely making bartender conversation. He forced calm into his voice and manner. “No. We decided to take a run after we were already out and about.”

  The barman poured an estimated double in each glass and pushed the drinks toward them.

  “Six bucks,” he said.

  Bill paid for the drinks, adding a two-dollar tip, and led Cara to a table in the far corner, near the back door.

  It wasn’t until they were seated, and Bill held the glass to her lips, that Cara began shaking. Her teeth chattered so badly that the liquor spilled down her chin.

  “Swallow it, baby,” Bill ordered, his voice a harsh whisper.

  She nodded obediently and tried another swallow. This time some of the brandy went down her throat. Warming. No, burning. And then tickling harshly. She began to cough, and Bill jumped up and went to the bar.

  The bartender already had a glass of water poured and held it out to Bill. “Thanks,” Bill muttered, and moved swiftly back to Cara, who held her hands to her face and was still coughing. Bill could see that her hands were trembling.

  She took the glass and gulped the water thirstily, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Bill prayed the tears were the result of the coughing spell, but knew they were probably tears of emotion and delayed shock, as were the shaking and the chattering teeth.

  He rubbed her back and urged another drink past her quivering lips.

  “I’m...I’m okay,” she said finally, clenching her fists in her lap and refusing any more liquor.

  Only then did Bill drink his own, taking it all in one continuous swallow. He grimaced, shook his head and growled low in his throat. It was the only sign that he was unaccustomed to strong drink.

  “Why did we have to run away?” Cara demanded in a harsh whisper. “Maybe we could have...” She began to cry. “Maybe we c-could have h-helped,” she stammered.

  Bill gestured for the bartender to pour another round before he answered Cara.

  “What if that explosion wasn’t an accident?” He leaned toward her and whispered the question so softly that she could barely make out the words. She could feel the warmth of his breath, though, and smell the rich aroma of the brandy.

  “Wh-why...” She shook her head, tried to assimilate the idea, shook her head again. “No!” The horror of the thought actually stopped her crying.

  Bill squeezed her hand, warning her to keep quiet as the bartender approached the table with another round of drinks. They exchanged drinks for money. Bill handed him an extra bill. “How about one of your cigarettes?” he asked, nodding toward the man’s shirt pocket, where a cigarette pack bulged.

  The barman looked at the denomination of the bill and left the half pack with Bill. It wasn’t until Bill lit one, inhaling a deep, harsh mouthful of smoke, that Cara reacted.

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “Used to,” Bill said, pulling deeply at the filter. “And at least for today, I do again.” The first drag made him cough briefly, but he took a second just the same, enjoying the immediate comfort it gave.

  “Tell me why you think...” She rubbed the vestiges of tears from her cheeks with her palms.

  Bill took another drag, exhaled, and set the cigarette on the lip of the metal ashtray, satisfied just to have it ready at hand. “I just think it’s a possibility. I don’t like coincidences.”

  “Coincidences? Such as?”

  “Such as finding our door unlocked the other night. By itself? Nothing. Coupled with the explosion? Suspicious.” He shook his head. “Coincidences? I don’t think so.”

  He sipped his drink and lifted the cigarette from the ashtray, almost surprised to find it there. He inhaled and grimaced satisfaction.

  Cara glared at him and nodded toward the cigarette. “Why would anyone need to use a bomb to kill you? They could just wait for you to develop lung cancer.”

  Bill’s face twisted in a wry smile at the absurdity. Was she really worried about the state of his lungs at a time like this? “Uh-uh. That’d take too long. Anyway, it took an explosion to drive me back to smoking, didn’t it?”

  “How are we— Oh, Bill, what does this mean?” She started to cry again.

  This time Bill took her into his embrace, holding her head against his chest,
and let her cry.

  When her sobs quieted enough that she could hear him, he told her what they were going to do.

  “We’ll wait to hear the police and fire department reports. If I’m just being overly suspicious and it really was an accident, we’ll get another apartment, new clothes, and go back to our jobs.”

  “And if it wasn’t an accident?” Caramel highlights in her brown eyes coupled with the alarm in her voice to define her terror.

  How did he explain that he’d have to leave her? Wouldn’t she feel totally abandoned after such a horrendous shock?

  He shook his head. “We’ll decide that when the time comes. Sip your drink, Cara, it’ll make you feel better. I’m going back to get the car, and then I’ll come back for you and we’ll go to a hotel for the night. We can keep abreast of the news on the TV.”

  Retrieving the car was most important. After finding the door to the apartment unlocked, Bill had decided to take no chances—he’d moved his briefcase to the trunk of the car, further hiding it by placing it beneath the spare tire. It contained his nest egg, alternative identities, and a loaded pistol. It was all that was left of Bill Spencer.

  * * *

  “JEE-ZUS!” Lefebre said into the phone. “You should see the mess. One whole side of the building just caved in on itself.”

  His client’s excitement was palpable. “They were killed?”

  “Nah. They weren’t even there. I mean, they weren’t in the building. They drove up just as the building went. Then they just disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” The man’s voice went up an octave. “You mean you lost them!” he shrieked.

  “Hey, wait a minute, Bub. Given the circumstances, I think you should cut me some slack. A building just exploded, and several people were most likely killed. In the midst of all that, I should think you’d figure I might have taken my eyes off them for a minute. I followed them all day, after all. Went clear to the top of a mountain, for Pete’s sake. I had to keep a good distance, so I spent most of the day with my eyes glued to binoculars and nothing to eat, ‘cause I didn’t know how long they’d stay in any one place. At that point, I had a headache, I was hungry and tired, and I pulled up a couple of car lengths behind them and their building goes boom! Yeah, I lost ‘em, and so would have you.”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down. Now listen, I know it won’t be easy, but get on it right away. Santa Cruz isn’t that big. Find them. Now.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll get on it right away, boss. You bet.”

  Lefebre hung up and swore under his breath. He still hadn’t gotten over the shock of it. Part of a building going up like that. Jee-zus! What if they’d been in the building at the time? What if the girl had been killed? What a waste that would have been, a beautiful girl like that. Young, lush, gorgeous. Had it been only his imagination, or had the client sounded like he hoped the couple had been killed?

  He stared at the phone. Cold-blooded bastard. Well, he had another thing coming if he thought Gordo was going to do another thing before he got some aspirin, some food and some rest—in that order. The client was right about one thing. Santa Cruz was a small city. He’d find them again soon enough—even if soon enough meant tomorrow.

  * * *

  CARA EMPTIED one of the packets of hotel-supplied bubble bath into the stream of hot water. She lay back in the rich lather and let the heat, the steam and the fragrant emollients permeate her skin. She felt cold right to the core of her being, felt as if she’d never be warm inside again. She slid lower into the water, submerging herself all the way to her chin.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness as hot water and fatigue drained her. The brandy had begun to kick in, and she felt slightly buzzed. A gentle tap at the door barely roused her.

  “Yes, Bill,” she called out, in a sleepy singsong.

  “I’ve got a hot drink for you, Cara.”

  “Mmm... Okay, Bill.” She kept her eyes closed, unconcerned about Bill coming into the bathroom, knowing she was covered by the soap bubbles.

  Bill stood in the doorway, tray in hand. “Cappuccino, loaded with whipped cream, just the way you like it. Only I had them add a little brandy to help warm you.”

  “More brandy?” Cara opened one eye and squinted at the man who towered above her. “You’ll have to carry me out of the tub.”

  He sat on the edge, proffering a tall glass mug. “I could do that,” he said.

  Cara thought his voice sounded funny, but then decided that was because hotel bathrooms always echoed.

  She lifted one arm from the suds and reached for the drink. She sighed and smacked her lips. “Delicious,” she murmured as her eyelids drifted closed again.

  Bill stared at her, unable to lift himself from the tub rim. She’d exposed one breast when she’d reached for the glass. One round, perfect globe that glistened wetly as its pink nub grew full and pert in the contrastingly cool air above the steaming water.

  Cara opened one eye and glanced down to her chest. And then she opened the other and raised them both to stare at Bill, who was gazing helplessly at her exposed breast. With great effort, he tore his eyes from her chest to meet her stare.

  She felt her mouth go dry as her lower parts seemed to become heavy and achy. Without thinking, she slid upward against the tub, bringing both breasts to the surface, and set her drink on the floor.

  Without thought, Bill reached his hand out to caress the silken skin that beckoned him. The nipple moved against his palm, and he closed his hand around the firm orb.

  Cara moaned and started to slip back into the water, taking Bill’s hand down with her.

  They stared into one another’s eyes as Bill’s hand left her breast and smoothed down her belly to the apex of her thighs. Cara’s legs, almost nerveless with pleasure, drifted open. Bill leaned forward, his shirtsleeve immersed in water, his hand following the bounty Cara offered. His own moan joined with hers, echoing off the tiled walls.

  “I hoped this wouldn’t happen, Cara,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “I hoped it would,” Cara said. She sat upright then, suds sliding off her upper body, revealing more of herself to Bill. She was fully restored to sober wakefulness as she began to undo the buttons of his shirt.

  His body was as beautiful as she remembered from watching him in the pool. Only then, he’d been wearing swim briefs. Without them, he was masculinity personified. Well muscled, little body hair, visibly erect, he stood unselfconsciously at the side of the tub. She stood up in the tub, her body covered with soap suds, and caressed the length of him, back and front, with lathered hands. With a cry of intense hunger, Bill pulled her from the tub, holding her up above his body for a moment before letting her slide down the front of him. Her body was slick with water and richly oiled bubbles that slid off her to expose patches of golden skin that made Bill’s mouth water with anticipation. He bent to press his lips to those places, kissing and nibbling without thought to anything but the taste of her, while she held his head and moved her body to allow him better access. She was sunshine and scented soap. A taste he was quickly becoming addicted to.

  It wasn’t until she began to slip from his embrace, moaning impatiently, that he realized they were going to need more room. He lifted her up into his arms and moved swiftly into the other room, toward the king-size bed.

  “We’re going to get the bed wet,” Cara protested, but Bill shushed her, his mouth clamping down on hers, and she immediately forgot about the state of the bed.

  No doubt about it, Cara had the body of a goddess. He knelt above her and paid homage to her satin skin, her silken hair, her long limbs. She lifted and arched beneath his stroking hands and suckling lips, using both to bring her to trembling heights of ecstasy. She would have expected to fall limply back, sated to the point of exhaustion. But, instead, her body continued to hum with desire, and her mouth and hands longed to repay his generosity.

  Bill had no intention of letting this become a feast to merely satisfy lust. Gently, he drew her back
up his body so that they were face-to-face. He held her face in his hands and kissed her trembling mouth, tasting the honey of her, the nectar of himself, and then, with a triumphant cry of joy, he turned her onto her back and plunged himself into the depths of her. Their cries mingled as they climaxed together.

  * * *

  IN THE MIDDLE of the night, Bill unfolded himself from the lovely prison of Cara’s arms and legs and slipped out of the bed, despite her sleep-murmured cry of protest. He bent over the bed to caress her shoulder gently, and she drifted deeper into sleep, with a soft smile on her face. He got into his clothes and very quietly crept across the room to the door. He eased it open, holding the doorknob in position as he closed it soundlessly, and then very carefully turned the key in the lock so that it made only the tiniest click in the quiet night.

  The hotel garage was all dim light and shadows at any time of the day or night, but seemed more so at this unholy hour, with no other people astir and no cars coming or going.

  He went to the trunk of his car and removed the briefcase, noting with satisfaction the feel of its heft against his thigh as he carried it at his side to the elevator doors.

  The pneumatic hiss of the opening doors loomed loud in the silence, and he looked over his shoulder uneasily. Nobody out there. No way anyone could know where he was at this particular moment. Maybe they’d catch up with him by morning, but by then he’d be on the move again—if the early-morning news revealed what he expected, that is.

  He retraced his steps, entering the building through the garage door, which opened onto the third floor, overlooking the glassed-in swimming pool. For some reason the deserted pool below looked almost spooky at this hour. He shivered and then made a wry face at his unaccustomed show of nerves. Still, he felt just then that he’d never want to swim in that pool.

  But that was a moot point. They weren’t going to be staying here more than another couple of hours, anyway.

  He crossed the carpeted hall to the elevators and touched the up button. Its ping rang out noisily. He entered the elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor.