Claudine (16 page)

Hassan clicked off the film and turned to her with eyes slightly glazed. “Let me see you,” he said. He put one hand on each of her inner thighs and spread her legs. She leaned back, supporting herself with her arms extended behind her, and opened her legs wider. The cool air on her skin and the intensity of his gaze turned her on. He traced his fingers around the lips of her opening, up and down the length of her slit.

“Very nice.” He moistened his finger with K-Y from a bedside table and circled her anus. She gasped when he pushed the tip of his finger inside. This was going to be intense. To slow things down she grasped his cock inside his trousers, but he gently pushed her hand away. He stood back and surveyed her. “I want you to do it to yourself first.” He went over to the bedside table, pulled open the drawer and brought out a ribbed pink dildo, then handed it to her. She lay back upon the bed and placed the dildo between her breasts. She licked her fingers and smiled at him before twisting and squeezing her nipples to make herself wet. Hassan, impatient, knelt in front of her and spat on her clit. “I’ve seen that in pornos too,” he said, laughing.

She trailed her hand down her stomach and ran her fingers lightly over her bud, slippery with his saliva. She circled her fingers around and over, moved more quickly, felt her clit firm up deliciously. She closed her eyes to savor the heat building inside and when she felt ready, with the other hand grasped the dildo. She eased it in and began a gentle pumping.

Hassan unzipped his fly and pulled out his dusky cock. He grasped the loose skin of his penis and pulled up and down with rapid movements, his body jerking slightly as he did so. Claudine took out the glistening dildo, rolled over on her stomach, and drew herself up on all fours. “Do it to me with the dildo,” she ordered.

She felt a twinge of pain as he spread her bum cheeks and then soothing pressure when he pressed a wet finger into her anus. “More lube, please,” she said.

Hassan squirted more K-Y onto the tip of the dildo and rubbed it around the rim of her anus, gradually pressing it inside her. A sharp twinge at first and then her muscles relaxed. The secret to avoiding pain was to push out during entry. After that, the sphincter would loosen and accept the intrusion. With the dildo halfway into her, he began a gentle stroking, pushing and pulling, while slipping his finger over and around her nub. Her buttocks clenched so tightly the dildo bobbed up and down out of his hands. She tried to hold back to no avail; she was going to come hard. She fell over the edge, a luscious tremble spreading through her groin. Her pelvis bucked. She fell upon the bed, gasping, and slid the dildo out.

“A good way to start.” He grinned and sat back. She rolled over to face him, her cheeks flushed and hair mussed delectably. She noticed how his blinding white teeth contrasted with his coal black hair and brows. He poured some water from a carafe and handed her a glass. Cold and frosty. “Your turn,” she said breathlessly after taking a drink, and unbuttoned his shirt to tease his curly chest hairs.

Hassan dropped his pants and moved up close to her so his
cock was level with her mouth. She ran her tongue along and around it. He firmed up quickly and pushed into her throat. She had learned long ago how to loosen her throat muscles, not fight it, and hold off the instinct to gag. Full of urgency now, he grabbed the back of her head, twined his fingers in her hair, and pressed deeper, blocking her air. She waited for the pull back so she could take a breath but instead of withdrawing, he pushed in harder. Claudine choked. She struggled and tried to move him away but he held her head tightly, preventing it. She had no choice and bit down. Not so hard as to draw blood but enough to send a sharp message. She jerked her head away and wrenched herself back. After hauling in a deep breath, she said, “Don’t get so rough.”

“Forgive me,” he said, looking a little sheepish. “You excite me too much.”

He pushed her back upon the bed, traced the flat of her belly with his palm, then grasped her hips and turned her over. He kneed her thighs to spread them. He gazed at her behind, still relaxed and open from the dildo. He inserted the tip of his cock into her rear, entering carefully. He filled her more than the dildo had and she liked the feeling of being stretched to her limit. He began a gentle rhythm, which she matched. It grew more intense. Her breasts swung back and forth with their thrusting and he captured them in his graceful hands, pinching them hard. Her ass clenched and he came fast, a hot jet of semen spraying into her, the musky odor of their sweat and sex hanging in the air. He lay on top of her until his penis went soft and slid out.

He insisted they both wash. The en suite had two sinks and he was careful not to touch the soap or towels she used. After a
while, they went another round but he didn’t go near her pussy. He only wanted her ass.

O
n the way back to the quay, the air had turned cool, and spray from the launch churning through the waves misted over Maria and Andrei sitting in the boat’s rear seat.

“You cold?” Andrei asked, seeing her shiver. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders. She leaned into him, welcoming his body warmth. French laws forbade carrying weapons, so the calf leather shoulder holster he usually wore was missing.

“You must feel a bit naked without your gun,” she said.

“Not really.” He patted his ankle and gave her a little smile.

“Listen. Did you see the black yacht that crossed our path earlier this evening?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t get a decent look at the guy with the binoculars, though; it was too dark.”

“He seemed . . . threatening, somehow. Creepy. Maybe, though, he was just an innocent sightseer.”

“That’s the problem. You never know. You begin to think everyone’s suspicious. It’s part of a stalker’s game; they count on that to ratchet up your fear.”

The weight of all the tension she’d been coping with squeezed her like a vise. “I can’t go on like this, Andrei.”

For a moment he didn’t answer but gazed at the slate black water, indistinguishable from the night sky. “I don’t think we’ll have to wait much longer. There’ll be an end point and it’s probably coming soon.”

They were nearing the dock now and before she could reply,
Maria spotted the black boat at anchor, the motor silent, all its lights off. The occupants were either asleep or in town for a night of reveling. “Do you have any idea who owns that boat?” She spoke to the crew member at the wheel.

He glanced at it quickly and raised his voice over the roar of the motor. “Yes, a friend of mine. I work here all the time. Fill in as extra staff if they need it when the big yachts come in. That one’s rented to an American for the festival.”

“What’s the American’s name—do you know?” Andrei asked sharply.

“Bill Smith.” The man’s lips spread in a wide grin. “Not his real one, I think, eh? He’s gone now, tonight was his last night. He paid my friend much cash for that boat. More than needed.” He twirled his finger and pointed it at his head. “Stupid. Money here is like the air. Everyone breathing it in like they can’t get enough of it.”

CHAPTER
17

Andrei did all he could think of to unearth any scrap of information about the American who had rented the black yacht. He checked hotel registers, even arranged for a look at the yacht itself. In the end, he turned up nothing.

They spent the day in Cannes and flew to New York that evening. Back in the city, another avenue of exploration furnished partial results. Jewel’s e-mail messages. One of Andrei’s contacts hacked Jewel’s personal e-mail and he sat at Maria’s kitchen banquette, sifting through her messages and comparing the names and e-mail addresses to Maria’s client list.

The name of one man stood out because it matched a former client—Jewel’s shrink. Maria had spent an evening with him two years ago at his office in Brooklyn. He’d asked her to role-play as a pretend patient, a proposal that did not bode well for the integrity of his practice. He’d screwed her on his couch after analyzing her dreams. Otherwise, she could recall nothing
abnormal; she’d had no idea at the time that he was Jewel’s doctor. Andrei showed her a picture of the psychiatrist, a distinguished-looking man with fashionable glasses and a broad face. She only vaguely recognized him. He ranked high as a suspect. Of all the people Jewel may have discussed Maria’s Romanian origins with, it was a slam dunk she’d told her shrink.

“The psychiatrist has a perfectly clean record,” Andrei said. “A few parking tickets, a DUI eons ago—that’s all. If he’s your stalker, I’d expect some kind of assault charge, or a restraining order. Something that pointed to violence in his past.”

“That just means he hasn’t been caught yet,” Maria argued. “I don’t know. The shrink probably booked you because he heard about you from your adoptive mother, but that doesn’t mean he’s a predator.” Andrei paused. “Two years is a long time. That argues against him. He spends one night with you and waits two years to start stalking you? Doesn’t make sense.”

“We should be looking at recent clients, then? Over the last couple of months?”

“Definitely. Although another alternative is Jewel’s husband—Milne, you said his name was? Maybe he told someone. He knew about your background too—didn’t he?”

“I can’t see Milne saying anything. It’s just not his style. Maybe Jewel’s hairdresser? Aren’t they the ones we women are supposed to confess to?”

Andrei checked her contacts again. “Out of luck there. It’s a woman.”

“Don’t see why that rules her out, necessarily.” Even as she spoke, Maria knew instinctively how wrong she was. While a hairdresser could have passed along the knowledge, a male was behind this. No question. She racked her brain for a face, a
conversation, a gut feeling—anything to point the way to her stalker. But he was like a snake in a hole, curled into a dark channel, marking time among a bed of brittle roots, readying himself to strike at a moment of his own choosing. She looked over to where Andrei sat, scrolling through the file on his phone. He glanced up from the screen.

“Maria, did you get under anyone’s skin? Upset one of your clients? Maybe something happened you’re reluctant to tell me about?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying these threats feel like some kind of payback; they’re very personal. If you’re holding anything back from me—don’t. If you believe you know who it is, tell me. I know people who will take care of the guy permanently and discreetly.”

Maria heaved a sigh. “I don’t keep any secrets from you, Andrei. If I even suspected who was doing this, who hurt Lillian, I’d tell you.”

He nodded and turned back to his phone, flipped to his own messages and ran his eye down the list. He frowned. “Oh shit.”

“What is it?”

“My contact says Trainor’s pulling back on his investigation. So far he’s got nothing. They believe the Romanian hooker was a one-off. As in not related to any other attacks.”

“That’s so stupid,” Maria cried.

“Yeah. But predictable. She was illegal. If they couldn’t wrap it up fast, she was bound to drop further down on the priority list.”

“Is he really pulling back or just changing his focus?”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you. He and da Silva spent most of the time questioning me about my business. I’m afraid he’s going to try to nail me.”

“He has to have a reason. He can’t just fabricate a case and tell his superiors he wants to work on it. Besides, he’s homicide, not vice. You can be sure his platter’s already more than full.”

Maria lowered her head. “Maybe the reason is you.”

Andrei got up, put his hand underneath her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to look at him. Her skin tingled at the feel of his fingers. She had a sudden impulse to wrap her arms around him, pull him close and kiss him. Instead she turned her face away.

“Hey. I can see how upset you are. Now tell me what this is all about.”

She avoided his eyes, embarrassed by her feelings. “I never inquired too much about what you did before you started working for me. I figured your past was your business and you’d tell me about it if there was any need. Trainor said you were tied up with organized crime. I pretended to be shocked. Obviously, I knew because of the Atlantic City party where we met that you had some association with the Russian mob. Trainor said you were one of their right-hand men. Is that true?”

Andrei laughed. “And you’re worried I was some kind of crime kingpin? Couldn’t have been a very good one. I’d be a rich man otherwise.”

“He specifically mentioned the sex trade.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it.”

She could tell Andrei’s temper rose at the last remark but he wouldn’t want to confess to that, would he? And yet he’d been able to find out about the Romanian prostitute pretty fast. “So there’s no basis to it?”

“I can see where his suspicions came from,” Andrei said. “My parents escaped from Moscow and fled to New York right after their marriage. A year later my dad brought his kid brother over.
They didn’t have two cents to rub together. My parents chose the high road, spent their life working seven days a week, running a restaurant. They never made a lot of money. My uncle saw how much they sweated for a few dollars and took a different turn in the road. He did get involved but not with prostitution.”

“So you’re saying Trainor just mixed the two of you up?”

“Not exactly. I was dead broke when I graduated from college. So I worked for him. No guy can grow up in Brighton Beach and be totally immune to it, you know. My uncle ran an oil distribution company, one of his legitimate enterprises. I looked after the day-to-day business for him. He was caught using the firm for tax evasion schemes. That’s when I got out.”

“Oh. Trainor did get it wrong, then.”

Andrei grinned. “Do I still have my job?” He slipped his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. Maria found the closeness disconcerting. She liked the feel of his body against hers and wanted to respond, wanted to feel his hands on her, but a couple of months ago he would never have taken the liberty.

She picked up her tablet, glad of an excuse to shift away. “Of course. Speaking of work, time for me to hit the books.”