Girl on a Slay Ride (2 page)

M
ALLORY’S
eyes were growing tired. Some distance back he’d turned onto a narrow blacktop road that angled toward the Washington coast. The air was cooler there, but they’d picked up a ground fog. His weak headlights beat against it and reflected back into his eyes. He had to keep blinking and he knew that he shouldn’t go much farther without a break.

Denise had been much quieter since they’d left the freeway, he thought. She seemed to have lost most of her tension when the road behind them remained empty of cars. She sat now, smoking again, very close to him. She reached out and touched his leg with her fingertips as though she wanted to make sure he was really still with her.

He said, “There’s a restaurant at the junction of this road and the coast highway. We’ll grab a cup of coffee there. We can eat after we get to the motel.”

She sounded very tired. “Is the motel far, Cliff?”

“About two hours from the junction. It’s north of Gray’s Harbor.”

“Do we have to drive so far tonight?”

“We do if I want to make Port Angeles before noon tomorrow. This old junker doesn’t go very fast.”

“Why do you have to go there at all, Cliff? Why can’t you just go up into the mountains? You’re on vacation, aren’t you?”

Mallory said, “The big boss is working on a business deal in Port Angeles. He needed something from the office. I was going up this way, so they asked me to take them.”

“Them?”

Mallory said nothing.

“You don’t trust me, do you, Cliff?”

Mallory said impatiently, “Why shouldn’t I trust you?”

“You’re carrying something valuable, aren’t you? Money or negotiable bonds?”

“You learned something about business from your father, didn’t you?” Mallory said. “You’re right. I have some bonds.”

“I imagine you handle a lot of money,” she said.

Mallory glanced at her and then quickly back to the road. He said, “This is the first time I’ve delivered very much. I don’t like it.”

“But you agreed—because you felt responsible?”

“It’s part of my job.”

“Did you ever feel like taking some of the money you handle and just go and keep going?”

“No,” Mallory said. “I’m bonded. I’d be found.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No,” Mallory said. “It just isn’t my kind of money.”

“Still the same old Cliff,” she murmured. “You were the most serious, responsible boy I ever met. I really think you were more shocked at yourself and what you’d done than anything else when Dad caught us that time.”

“Lay off,” Mallory said. “I’m too tired to be needled.”

She touched his leg again. “I’m sorry, Cliff. I wasn’t needling you, honestly. I was just thinking out loud—wondering what would have happened if we’d stayed married.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Mallory said.

“Because you grew up and I didn’t?”

“That’s part of it,” he said.

“Did you think of me much in eight years, Cliff?”

“You know damn well I did,” he said shortly. “Now let’s talk about something else.”

She put her hand on his leg and let it rest there. Mallory could feel his thigh muscles jump. He could smell her subtle perfume in the closeness of the wagon. He could feel the desire working in him.

He was relieved when he saw the lights of the roadside restaurant shining ahead through the fog.

There was only one other car in the parking lot when he swung into it. A dark sedan, drawn far back in the shadows away from the restaurant lights. Mallory started to leave the wagon. He stooped and reached behind the seat for the briefcase. He pulled it out from under Denise’s luggage and carried it with him as he went to the other side and helped Denise out. He locked the wagon carefully before they went into the restaurant.

The place was small and almost empty. A man in logging clothes sat at the counter. Two men occupied one of the booths along the side wall. Mallory thought they were staring at him, and at the briefcase. One was thick-chested with a rough, craggy face. The other man was much smaller with neat features and carefully combed gray hair.

Mallory stared back at them. The craggy-faced man looked down at the food in front of him. The smaller man stared longer. Then he glanced away. Mallory could see nothing but normal interest on his face.

Mallory steered Denise into the first booth. He took a seat opposite her, putting the briefcase between himself and the wall.

She said, “Cliff, those two men …”

“Relax,” he said quickly. “They’re just looking us over. It’s one tourist wondering idly about another.”

The lights of the restaurant gave Mallory his first chance to take a long look at Denise. She was paler than he remembered, he thought. But she was even more beautiful than before. Maturity had given form and solidity to her features. Her eyes were large, and dark and striking. Her mouth was wide, the lips fuller and more sensual than he recalled. The patina of sophistication he always associated with her was still there, but now it looked right on her, as if she had finally grown up to it.

Suddenly he was eager to be back in the wagon, to be alone with her. He signaled the waitress for two cups of coffee. “Okay if we don’t stay here long?”

“Anything you say, Cliff.”

The fear had left her voice. The husky promise was back. Mallory’s throat went dry.

The two men left their booth, paid their check, and went out into the night. Denise gave a little sigh of relief. Mallory said, “No one’s been following us.”

“I know, but Rick is a clever devil, Cliff.” Her eyes clouded momentarily.

He said roughly, “Forget it.”

The waitress brought their coffee. Mallory drank his hurriedly. He smoked a cigarette while Denise finished hers. He got up and helped her from the booth, then leaned over and picked up the briefcase.

She said, “I want to powder my nose a little.”

“I’ll be in the wagon,” he said. He paid the check and left the restaurant. He carried the briefcase out toward the car. He was almost to the wagon when he saw the big, craggy-faced man standing by it. He was staring into the back window. Mallory’s hand clenched on the briefcase. He wondered what kind of weapon it would make. He took a step forward.

The man glanced at Mallory, turned and casually strolled off. Mallory watched him go to the dark sedan parked at the rear of the lot. A match flared briefly, lighting the neat features of the smaller man. Then the match went out and darkness closed down. In a moment the sedan slipped softly past Mallory and turned north up the highway.

Mallory unlocked the wagon and tucked the briefcase beneath his luggage. Denise came out, and he opened her door. He didn’t mention the men to her. He couldn’t make himself believe anyone—not even her clever devil of a Rick Lawton—could have found her so easily. And it couldn’t be the bonds the men were looking for. If they had been, his carrying the briefcase would have told them what they wanted to know.

Then what was the man expecting to find in the back of the wagon? He put the car into gear and backed around. He started north.

Denise slid closer to him. “It’s getting chilly, isn’t it?”

Mallory reached out and flicked over the heater switch. They drove in silence. Mallory kept the wagon at forty-five to keep from overrunning the weak headlights. He slowed down through the cities on Gray’s Harbor, and finally risked opening up to fifty when they reached the long straight stretch of road beyond the harbor.

Denise said suddenly, “You still don’t talk much, do you, Cliff?”

“I don’t have much to say right now,” Mallory answered. He swallowed the dryness that kept coming into his throat.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said abruptly. “You aren’t responsible for me.”

“This is a hell of a time to say that,” he said angrily. “Maybe I want to do this for you.”

“I’d like to think so,” she said softly.

She put her hand on his leg again. She held it motionless for some time. Then she moved it higher and farther inside his thigh. “Eight years is such a long time,” she said.

Mallory suddenly felt as if he’d exploded inside.

He swung the car abruptly to the shoulder of the road. He jerked on the hand brake. He took her cigarette away from her and dropped it into the ashtray. He caught her shoulders with his hands and pulled her roughly toward him. He pushed his mouth down roughly over hers. Her lips were unresponsive, and then she was kissing him back in a greedy, wild frenzy.

Mallory took one of his hands from her shoulder and worked his finger under the top snap of her jacket. He used his weight to force her shoulders down toward the seat. He moved his other hand to the hem of her skirt. He pulled it up, sliding it over her thighs.

Denise twisted her head and got her mouth away from his. “Not here,” she gasped. “Not like this, Cliff. Is it so far to that motel?”

Mallory sat up. He said harshly, “If you don’t want it like this, leave me alone so I can drive.”

He glanced at her. She was lying with her elbows propping her up in the seat. Her skirt was still halfway up her legs so that the smooth skin of her thighs showed clearly. The front of her jacket gaped open. He could see that she wore only the flimsiest of brassières beneath it.

She wet her lips with her tongue. “I used to wonder what kind of lover you’d be, Cliff,” she said. There was an excited breathless quality to her voice. “There were times I was sorry Daddy caught us before I could find out.”

Mallory forced himself to look straight ahead. He put the wagon into gear and started forward.

She said, “Do you ever think about that, Cliff?”

He didn’t answer. He reached out with one hand and pulled the hem of her skirt down over her thighs. The movement made the back of his hand rub lightly across the skin above the tops of her stockings.

She gasped suddenly. She said, “For God’s sake, Cliff, hurry up and get to that motel!”

T
HEY
were a half-hour from the motel when Mallory noticed the headlights shining behind them. He’d picked up cars before, but they’d either dropped out of sight or gone speeding by the slow-moving wagon. These lights hung a half-dozen car lengths back for a good fifteen minutes.

Mallory glanced at Denise. She had her head thrown back, her eyes closed. He said nothing but kept shifting his eyes from the road to the rear-vision mirror.

The lights disappeared suddenly. The road behind was straight. Mallory let the tension run out of him. Some local farmer, he decided.

He was starting a long, gentle curve when he saw the lights again. He was sure they were from the same car. At least there was the same arrangement of headlights, twin lights on either side and a yellow fog lamp centered beneath them. Mallory felt the flutter of fear in his stomach.

He glanced toward Denise again. She hadn’t moved. He began to wonder if he had been right in discounting part of her fear as nerve strain. He grunted. The syndicate might have a long arm, but he couldn’t believe it was long enough or quick enough to reach up into the semiwilderness they were traveling through so quickly.

He thought of the briefcase and the securities again. Who could know but Amos Carter and Mallory himself? Carter had telephoned only this afternoon and asked Mallory to get the securities from the safe. The company treasurer knew, of course, but Mallory couldn’t imagine him thinking in terms of theft.

Mallory tried to convince himself that the car behind them meant nothing. It was just a car going slowly for no particular reason, stopping briefly, then starting up again.

But the tautness remained inside him. The car began to move up. Mallory watched its headlights brighten. They swept over the wagon and then lit the road alongside it. The car went by with a soft sigh of air. Mallory glanced quickly to his left.

It was a dark sedan, moving fast now. Faint light from its dash illuminated two men riding in the front. It was gone before Mallory could be sure that the one on the near side had been the craggy-faced man back at the restaurant.

It was probably all imagination, Mallory thought. The dark, empty road. His eyes tired from the day’s work and the long night’s drive. His nerves keyed up because he had the securities and because of Denise’s story.

The car’s taillights winked out of sight around the curve. Mallory made himself relax. To hell with it, he thought. The motel was just around the next curve. Once there in warmth and safety behind a locked door, he’d probably laugh at himself.

He took the curve and started up a straight stretch. The motel sign glowed redly through the mist off the ocean. Beyond it he could see the lights of the small community—a gas station and an all-night café. There was no sign of traffic. The taillights of the other car had disappeared.

Mallory swung in front of the motel office and cut the motor. Denise lifted her head and opened her eyes. “Hello, Cliff darling.” She smiled at him. “Hurry up and register us so we can get warm.”

“Right back,” Mallory said. He left the wagon and glanced along the crescent of units that made up the motel. There were ten; each had its own carport beside it. He could see three cars parked for the night. Only one unit showed lights. Well, it was pretty late, he thought.

He turned and went into the motel office.

A woman sat in a chair behind a short counter, a can of beer in one hand. She set the can down and got to her feet. She came toward the counter with a walk that swung heavy breasts loosely under a thin blouse.

She let her breasts rest on the glass top of the counter as she surveyed Mallory. “I’d about given up for the night,” she said. “We don’t get many people after ten this late in the season.”

She turned a registration card around so that it was right-side up for Mallory. “You a salesman?”

“On vacation,” Mallory said. He took the ballpoint pen from its holder and pulled the card closer. His hand hesitated briefly before he managed to write “Mr. and Mrs. Clifford Mallory.” He felt the woman’s eyes on him. They seemed to be mocking him. A jolt of nervousness ran through him and he had to cross out his address and rewrite it to make it legible.

Damn it, he thought angrily, what was the matter with him? He’d done this a dozen times before. What difference did it make if the woman believed he was married or not? He finished filling out the card and reached for his wallet.

The woman turned the card around and read it. “Mallory from Portland. Little late for a vacation, isn’t it?”

Mallory got a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. He missed his pocket and the wallet fell to the floor. He said, “It’s the best time of year for fishing.”

He bent down and retrieved his wallet. The woman had a large mouth. She was smiling at him as he straightened up.

“Going after salmon in the Strait?”

“I’m a trout man myself,” Mallory said. He laid the ten-dollar bill on the counter.

“It’ll be eight dollars plus tax,” she said. “Number five.” She gave Mallory his change, a dollar bill and sixty-eight cents in silver.

The silver slid out the side of his hand and rattled on the glass top of the counter. The woman laid his key down.

“You need a beer,” she said. “Best thing in the world for a case of jitters.” She smiled at him again.

“I haven’t got the jitters,” Mallory said. He scooped up his change and the key and jammed them angrily into his pocket. “I worked all day and drove half the night. I’m just tired.”

The woman leaned forward a little more so that her breasts pressed harder on the counter and pushed up, spreading the top of her blouse. “Sure you won’t have that beer?”

She was attractive in a loose, lush way that might have interested Mallory some other time. He said, “All I want is some dinner and a good sleep.”

“There’s an all-night café two blocks north,” she said. Her smile hadn’t changed, but he saw the interest in her eyes beginning to waver.

“I know where it is,” Mallory said.

“All right. Don’t bite my head off.”

“Sorry,” Mallory said. “I’m bushed.”

“A good steak’ll fix you up,” she said. “If your wife snores too loud, come over and tell me about it.”

Mallory opened the door. He forced himself to look back at her and grin. “I’ll do that,” he said. He went out into the dampness of the night.

He walked angrily to the wagon and drove it to the carport beside unit five. Oh, he’d done a fine job of being inconspicuous, Mallory thought. On top of acting as guilty as an absconding bank clerk when he signed the register and dropped his money all over the place, the motelkeeper had got a yen for him. He might just as well have worn a sign around his neck advertising the fact he was carrying forty thousand dollars worth of securities and had another man’s wife with him.

He cut the motor and the lights and got out of the wagon.

Denise said, “Is something wrong, Cliff? You were gone a long time.”

“The lady innkeeper invited me to a beer party,” Mallory said. He reached behind the seat and brought out their luggage and the briefcase.

“Invited you? Didn’t you register me, too?”

“Sure,” he said. “But that didn’t mean much to her. There are husbands who leave their wives in motels and go off to the nearest tavern. She just let me know that I didn’t have to go two whole blocks away for my fun.”

“Husbands who leave their wives,” Denise murmured. “Husband—wife. That sounds nice, Cliff. Doesn’t it sound nice to you?”

They were going up the two steps to the small poreh of the unit. Mallory set the bags down and got the door key from his pocket. “Sure. It sounds great.”

He unlocked the door, picked up the bags and carried them inside. Denise followed closely. She shut the door and turned the night latch over with a positive click. She found the light switch and a pink-shaded lamp by the bed came on.

Mallory set down the bags and the briefcase and faced her. She was still standing by the door. She ran her hands over her thighs to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt. Raw desire glowed in her eyes and flushed her skin.

He moved toward her.

Her hands reached out and caught his. She whispered. “You won’t want to go to a tavern—not tonight.”

“I didn’t expect to,” Mallory said. His lips felt dry as he tried to grin.

Her fingertips stroked his palms. Suddenly she clamped her grip down hard. “Let’s pretend it’s eight years ago—let’s find out what it would have been like if Dad hadn’t come and taken me away. And hurry. Oh, darling, hurry!”

Their isolation in the soft, warm dimness of the room gave Mallory a new awareness of her. He felt as if every nerve had been sandpapered. He pulled his hands from hers and touched her shoulders. She moved away from him jerkily. She reached up and snapped off the light switch.

The draperies were drawn. The room was very dark.

Mallory could barely see her. She stayed a few feet away from him.

He said, “What the hell?”

“I’m not teasing you,” she said huskily. “Give me just a minute.”

“One minute,” Mallory said. His throat ached with dryness.

She laughed softly. She moved. He stood still, following her by the soft rustling her clothing made. The rustling grew louder.

She said suddenly, “Blink. I’m going to turn on a light.

He blinked as the glow of lighting struck the ceiling and suffused the room. He found Denise at once.

She stood by the bed. Her clothing made a white foamy puddle on the rug. She was nude except for her high-heeled, toeless shoes. Her bronze hair gleamed extravagantly in the soft light.

He felt the full impact of the long, sleek legs, of the narrow waist curving down into rounded hips and rising toward bold, thrusting breasts. He had never seen her like this. But he had imagined her often. And she was so much more than his imagination had ever managed.

He stepped toward her. Desire made her eyes heavy. Her face was swollen. Her mouth was ripe and red, the lips parted, sensually moist.

The ache of wanting in him burst.

He caught her rougly, digging his fingers into the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders. He bent his head and mashed his mouth violently over hers. He remembered the explosiveness of her in the car and he prepared himself for it again.

Even so, the immediate, wild intensity of her response startled him. He lifted his head, momentarily afraid that he had hurt her.

She stood in front of him with her head thrown back. He could see a fine blue vein running alongside her throat.

He watched it throb. Her eyes were shut. Her lips fluttered with her breathing.

She caught his wrist and pulled his hand down between her breasts. She dug her nails into the back of his hand, forcing his fingers down and over the sensuous roundness of one of her breasts. He could feel the rigid, hard pressure of her nipple against his palm.

She lifted one of her hands away from his and caught him behind the head. She pulled his mouth demandingly back onto hers. The quick, moist heat of her tongue darted against his mouth, searing it. She pulled free. “Love me, Cliff. It’s been so long for me. So damned long!”

Mallory was only vaguely aware of getting out of his clothes, of reaching for her, of throwing her violently onto the waiting bed.

He leaned over to turn off the light.

“No, darling, please. I want you to look at me. And I want to watch you—while you do it to me.”

He pulled his hand back. Her wild vitality exploded against him with that frightening, exciting immediacy. She cried out, “Do it! Do it! Do it!”