Ice Woman Assignment (10 page)

“Why don't you folks sign in and get settled in your rooms?” Her eyes never left Morgan's. “I'll rustle something up.”

Morgan led his team down the hall and pushed open the door to the stairs. He didn't like closed stairwells, because it was too easy for danger to hide there. Upstairs, Morgan opened one room door. All three walked into a room furnished in the style of the old south, with a small writing table, and a low bureau. It had a small private bath and two big windows flanking the door to the porch.

Pleased to have a room with two exits, Morgan went to one of the windows. To his relief, it opened easily and quietly. The fresh, sharp scent of desert flowers drifted in. It was quiet except for the most widespread sound on earth, the chirping of crickets. He sat on one of the three-quarter beds and opened their suitcase.

“I don't think we're in any danger here,” Morgan told Felicity. “Normally we'd all stay in one room, but I think you can have a room to yourself tonight.”

“But I must stay with my mistress,” Frederico said. Morgan looked first at him, then at Felicity. Her brow furrowed, she took one deep breath and looked into Frederico's puppy like eyes. When she spoke to him her words were hesitant.

“Why don't you go to the other room? I'll be over in a minute. I promise.” Morgan handed Frederico the key. The
boy quickly gathered Felicity's things and his own and left the room. Felicity closed the door behind him.

“This is getting crazy,” Morgan said in a sing song voice.

“I don't know,” Felicity said, sitting beside him. “Scared, he is. He's thinking that I can save him. I got to admit, the attention is very flattering.”

“Red, he can't be more than eighteen.”

“I know,” she said. “I'm not talking about a seduction scene here. In fact, I'm not sure why he hooked onto me like he did.”

“You're not that naive,” Morgan said, pulling off his jacket. “Like I said, Anaconda probably held him in a kind of master-slave relationship. He's kind of immature anyway. Maybe a touch masochistic. Maybe she got too tough on him. He wanted to break from her but he don't know how to stand on his own. So…”

“So he picks me for his new master, er, mistress.” Felicity stared at her feet for a moment. “I think I can handle that better than what he might do if I rejected him.”

“Your funeral,” Morgan said, pulling off his shoulder holster set and hanging it in the closet. “I just don't think…” A knock on the door interrupted him. “Who?” he called, reaching his right hand back into the closet.

“Room service.” The voice carried a slight Spanish accent. Morgan opened the door to find Mary with a tray in her hands. “Three steak sandwiches, potato chips and a pitcher of iced tea. Best I could do.”

“Who made it?” Morgan asked.

“Me.”

“Looks yummy,” he said, reaching out. “I'll take this. We'll eat in their room.”

“Their…?” Mary stifled her question as it was leaving her mouth. Morgan gambled and winked at her. His gamble paid off with a blush from her.

Felicity opened the other door and Morgan carried the tray in. Only one of the full size beds was turned down. Morgan set the tray on the other. A quick scan told him Felicity's clothes were already put away. He heard the running water sound stop just before Frederico emerged from the bathroom.

Sitting on the bed, Morgan poured three glasses half full of tea. Felicity sat on the other bed, her feet between the two. Frederico knelt next to her bed on the other side.

The sandwiches were hot, thick and delicious, stuffed with peppers, onions, mushrooms and a sauce that had to be homemade. Morgan had taken three bites before Felicity tasted hers. Frederico stared at her.

“Tell him to eat,” Morgan said between mouthfuls. Felicity handed Frederico the third plate. He hesitated, then took it and went to the writing table.

“Man that was good,” Morgan said, wiping the last bit of sauce from his plate with the final scrap of bread. “Guess I'll head on over to my room. Open that window just in case. Closed it won't keep anybody out, but open it might speed an escape. And plan to be up early. I think we ought to break camp around six. That will put us in Corpus Christi around three or four in the afternoon.” Answering Felicity's bewildered look with a smile, he added “Have fun,” and left.

Next door, Morgan pulled off boots and shirt and plopped heavily on the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine their next move. Morgan believed in imaging, a technique his sensei taught him in Vietnam, where he first studied the Korean martial art called wharangdo. The concept was deceptively simple. He mentally created a plausible path down which future events could easily flow. In this way he controlled his destiny.

A ring from the old fashioned dial telephone next to the bed interrupted his meditations. He grabbed it, turned the
bell down to minimum volume, and then answered it.

“Mister Stark?” Mary asked.

“Morgan, please, and what can I do for you?”

“I just wondered if you needed a wake up call,” she said, a little hesitant. “I'm the night girl. You know, eight at night to eight in the morning?”

“I see. Thanks, but I brought an alarm.” By which he meant Felicity. She was as reliable as any clock. Her mental time keeper would rouse her promptly at five-thirty. “It must get lonely though, up all night way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Sometimes,” she said, welcoming the opening. “I saw you're from California. Always wanted to move there.”

“Really? Well, I don't need much sleep. If it gets too quiet tonight, stop up and we'll talk a bit about it.” Morgan let the conversation lapse there, not wanting to push too hard. She would come up or she wouldn't. Either way, having your hotel's clerk on your side never hurt.

He had just hung up the phone and leaned back again when he heard Felicity scream.

Paul paid the taxi driver a little over a block away from his destination. He had no reason to expect trouble. He was simply a cautious man and chose to walk to his boss' Corvette.

He had had a busy work day, but that was not the reason he waited for moonlight to retrieve Felicity's car. It just made sense to make an enemy wait, grow bored and careless, on the off chance there was a reason Miss O'Brien and Mister Stark abandoned their vehicle across the street from a used car lot.

The city kept a quiet distance while Paul crouched behind the car and reached under the rear bumper. He felt along the cold metal until his fingers pressed against a small lozenge shape. Rather than pull the box loose he slid it open, dropping a key into his hand. When he stood, he neither saw nor heard anything in his environment react. Still, he chose to circle the car once, before opening the door.

Unfortunately, it was too dark to see inside the car, but he did not need to. He could see the shocks were slightly depressed in the front, on the passenger side. Moving only two steps away from the vehicle, he pulled his pistol out of its side draw holster and slid it under his waist band in the small of his back.

Then, maintaining his bored expression, he slid the key into the driver's side door lock and turned it. As he pulled the door open, the interior light came on and a man on the
floor stabbed a revolver at him. There was an uncomfortable moment when the two men just stared at each other, neither quite sure what to expect next. Paul was not surprised, but the other man appeared to be.

“You are not the black man.”

“That's pretty obvious,” Paul answered, watching the man's eyes. “Nor are you. Not Mexican either. I'd say Colombian or perhaps Panamanian. Paul,” he said, pointing to himself.

“Very good.” The gunman shifted himself up onto the seat. “Alejandro. Now, where are the black man and the red haired woman? And where is Frederico?” Paul decided he knew those eyes. They were the cold eyes of a killer.

“You won't believe this,” Paul said, taking a small step backward, “but I don't have any idea what you're talking about.”

“We will see. You have a gun?” Paul frowned bitterly and slowly raised the right side of his jacket, revealing his empty holster. Alejandro flashed a broad, hateful grin and waved his gun, indicating that Paul should back away. Paul took one more step back. The gunman moved up on the seat, pivoted to face outward and slid forward.

An instant before Alejandro's foot touched the pavement, Paul moved. His body dropped to his left, his right hand darted to his back, and his left foot rose to kick out against the door.

Alejandro cried out as the door slammed on his ankle but his voice was drowned out by the blast of his pistol. The car's driver side window exploded outward, showering Paul with shattered glass. He stayed on the ground, his left arm supporting him, waiting for the door to snap open again.

Alejandro jumped out of the car as quickly as he could, waving his gun in Paul's general direction, but his night vision was gone, destroyed in the flash of his first shot. He
hesitated, only a moment, unsure of the location of his target.

On the pavement, Paul squeezed his trigger once. His automatic jumped, and Alejandro's head snapped backward. By the time his body hit the ground Paul was up and climbing into the car.

The violent action had taken place in the space of half a dozen heartbeats. Paul took a deep calming breath and dropped into the Corvette's driver's seat. He slammed the sports car into gear and pulled away, quickly reaching the speed limit but not exceeding it.

Away from the city, out on the highway, the high half moon washed the color out of the world. Paul was sure no one had witnessed the shooting or his departure. Once he reached the office he would park the Corvette in the parking garage, throw a plastic sheet over it, and wait for further instructions. He would have to get a new barrel for his Sig Sauer P229. The bullet he left in his assailant could be traced to the present one. His biggest disappointment was that he had not learned anything.

He wondered just what kind of trouble his bosses had gotten themselves into this time.

Morgan burst into Felicity's room, his left arm forward, his right fist at his waist holding his boot dagger. Felicity stood before him, mouth and eyes wide. Frederico sat on the floor to Morgan's right, hugging himself and rocking. His teeth chattered and his entire body shivered spastically.

“My God, he's having a fit,” Felicity shouted.

“Hold him,” Morgan said, springing for the bathroom. Felicity knelt in front of Frederico, gripping his shoulders. Seconds later Morgan crouched beside his partner. His left hand gripped Frederico's hair and tipped his head back, allowing him to shove a rolled up hand towel between the boy's teeth. Frederico's head snapped back and forth. Morgan moved behind the boy, replaced Felicity's hands with his own. She moved her hands to grip Frederico's balled fists.

“Relax,” she said, her voice soft and smooth. “Don't fight it. Relax your muscles. Calm your mind.” She made eye contact and held it, speaking in the soothing tones of a first class con artist. She had removed all doubt from a dozen marks in just that way years ago. She repeated those same three short sentences, until they combined to become an almost hypnotic chant. Frederico seemed to merge with her mantra. Slowly his spasms gentled, finally stopping. The boy sat, soaked with sweat, breathing like he had just finished a marathon.

“Grand mal seizure,” Morgan said, standing. “What a life he must have had.” When Felicity looked at him in
confusion he added, “Your boy's an epileptic, Red, and a bad one.”

“I am fine,” Frederico said, pulling the towel from his mouth. “It never comes more than once in two days. I knew you could bring me out of it. Your eyes have the power.”

“Red, do you want me to…”

“No, you go on,” Felicity said, looking up. “You need to get some rest, and I think he's more relaxed with you next door.”

Morgan looked at Frederico, shook his head, muttered “Your call. You're a big girl,” and returned to his own room. Frederico stood up as if nothing unusual had happened and waved a hand at the bathroom.

“Mistress, your bath is getting cold.”

“My bath?” Felicity asked, startled. Frederico's reaction, or non-reaction to having a seizure tilted her off balance.

“I made your bath before we ate. I couldn't find any oil.”

“Oh. Thank you,” Felicity said. She did need a good soak in a tub, and he looked like he would be all right. With a final glance backward, she went into the bathroom, securely closing the door.

Dropping her clothes in a pile on the floor, Felicity stared into the small mirror over the sink. She made herself look at the angry red line down her left breast, crusting where her flesh was starting to knit together. Her teeth tingled, like when she looked at bird tracks in snow, although she did not know why. She knew she should have had a doctor look at it right away, but she could not yet bear for another person to see it. Or was it that she just did not want to think about it?

Their whiteness further accented her breasts. The rest of her body was tanning smoothly for a change, without the usual peeling. Her normally pale skin had taken on a slightly golden cast, smoothly covering her face and neck. Then she noticed her arms. A line separated her dark brown
right arm from the utterly white shoulder above it. During their long drive eastward her arm had hung out the window almost the whole way. This resulted in a line showing where her tee shirt sleeve ended.

Silently laughing at herself, Felicity turned and stepped into the deep, claw footed tub. The water was still pleasingly hot as she climbed in. Raising her knees let her sink almost chin deep. Leaning back, she could feel muscles unknotting all over her body. Total relaxation. Her body unwound completely.

Then, adrenaline flooded her system when Frederico walked in. Felicity snapped forward, her arms crossing to cover her breasts.