Trifecta (92 page)

The reason Nakamura hadn't become a doctor was because
he was squeamish around blood.  People just weren't pretty inside, but he had the
feeling if he bit Michelle's cheek the taste would be sweet, fresh and addicting. 
Like chocolate.  It was hard to believe there were veins and muscles under the skin. 
He thought she was probably beautiful inside, too.

He leaned back against the arm of the couch slowly, pulling
her with him, and went to sleep.

T
his is getting old, Vincent thought.  His head
was pounding with the ultimate headache of his life.  The hospital's diagnosis was
alcohol poisoning.  And now he had lost all credibility with the police, since they
had found him passed out on the beach.  Just another tourist drunk.  They would
never believe that Omar had abducted his student, Suzanne, and made her a witch,
or that he had been force-fed alcohol last night.  He had no recourse by normal
law enforcement channels left.  He had to get Suzanne back without any help.

A nurse came into his hospital room.  Vincent asked for
pain medication, again.  She gave him an obnoxiously superior smile and said he
would have to wait until the alcohol was completely out of his system.  It was too
dangerous now.  He'd heard it all before.  He had begged for just one aspirin, but
they weren't buying it.

He had seen the beautiful dark haired woman run into the
witch's circle last night.  He had seen the tiny women struck by lightening.  He
had been conscious, but unable to move.  He remembered gagging as they poured what
felt like liquid fire down his throat.

Vincent's horrible suspicion was that Omar was too powerful
for him to threaten with mere exposure.  He'd had time to read an entire week of
newspapers in his hospital bed.  He knew the atrocious rapes and killings were Omar's
doing.  Hell, he'd be lucky to get out of the islands alive himself with the knowledge
he had.  Getting Suzanne home would be a miracle.

Lying here wasn't going to do any good, Vincent thought. 
He might as well go back to his hotel and make plans there.  At least he could take
some aspirin.

Vincent felt dizzy when he pushed himself out of bed and
staggered to the bathroom.  He had dry heaves over the sink, losing only a little
saliva from his painfully convulsing body.  He didn't remember, but he'd had probably
puked his guts out last night.  There was nothing left.  He showered and started
feeling passably human.  Then he drank about a quart of water from the pitcher on
the bedside and really threw up violently.

A nurse caught him dressing and ordered him back to bed. 
Vincent just shook his head and requested the bill for his overnight stay.  This
wasn't a lock-up ward.  They couldn't keep him. 

He knew where Omar lived.  He would go there. 

Vincent thought he would probably be committing suicide.

L
ucifer was sulking under the bed.  Omar had to pull him
out again.  He gritted his teeth furiously, saying stupid stuff like, Nice kitty
and Good kitty.  Lucifer was only responding to the pampered treatment that Michelle
had introduced.  Omar decided to make one last audacious effort to reanimate the
beastly, ferocious qualities within the cat.  It was a last resort.  One he abhorred,
but it was necessary.

Old legends revealed that witches were believed to have
what was called a Witch's Mark.  Their familiars, or animals that were really imps
or devils, took blood nourishment directly from it.  Omar had to give Lucifer his
own blood to suck.

Lucifer loved blood, Omar thought, as he lay down, bare-chested
on his bed, holding Lucifer up by the scruff of the neck.  He took the dagger, squinted
his eyes, and made a small incision in his chest, just below his own nipple.  It
made him woozy and the room whirled around for a second as he saw his own precious
fluid well up and flow down his chest.  He placed Lucifer's nose right in the blood
so he would be forced to lick it off in his usual fastidious manner.

Omar cried out in pain as the cat eagerly lapped at his
bloody chest.  The rough tongue abraded his skin right where the dagger had plunged. 
It hurt.  But it worked.  Lucifer was biting him, trying to get more blood out of
the tiny wound.  Omar had to cut himself repeatedly with the dagger until Lucifer
was finally satisfied.

Then he whispered instructions to his cat, sending him
concepts of evil, corruption and devastation.

M
ichelle loved to go to sleep on the couch at home because
it had a back she could snuggle against and feel protected when she nodded off. 
Now, as she was waking, she felt that same sense of security.  She remembered about
Heather and started to sit up, but an arm was holding her firmly in place.  Her
back was resting snugly against Nakamura.  Somehow they both fit on the small couch,
two pairs of legs overlapping the end.  He had both arms around her, one under her
neck, holding the top of her shoulder, the other reaching over her waist and around
it. 

It was unseemly lying here with her new boss, but she was
mostly surprised that she felt no panic at all.  He had saved Heather's life last
night.  He had saved her job.  She felt affection and gratitude and pulled the arm
closer around her.  She wanted him here, holding her. 

The revelations that she had last night about Omar were
frightening.  Yet the great fear she had carried with her for so long was gone. 
She knew there were substantial reasons for having been fearful.  It's always worse
to dread the unknown than a known enemy.  She didn't have to fear her fear.  It
was real, in the form of a man named Omar.

Michelle looked at her watch.  It was almost one in the
afternoon.  They had been asleep about six hours but she didn't feel like moving
yet.

"You're awake?"  His voice was roughened by sleep
and he cleared his throat. 

Michelle turned carefully, there wasn't much room, so that
she was facing him, her nose almost brushing his.

"Don't move or I'll fall off," Michelle said. 
She kissed him.

Michelle smiled at his astonishment.  She did it again. 
It was very nice and she loved the way he responded.  She started laughing.  It
was wonderful.  She was finally free.

"Catch me in a weak moment, then start laughing,"
Nakamura complained.  He pushed her on the floor.  "Don't do that again." 
Michelle looked up at him.  He was leaning over the edge of the couch, looking down
at her curiously.

Michelle climbed back on the couch, on top of him, and
resumed the kissing.  It was absolutely wonderful and she didn't care if she lost
her job, her condominium, her car, her bank account.  Anything was worth this wonderful
feeling.  She was astonished with the realization that she was madly in love with
Nakamura.  She briefly wondered when it had happened. 

After a while the couch really was too small, they both
almost fell off a couple of times.  Nakamura led her to the bed.  She knew this
was the right thing for them, but she was worried about her scar.  He might think
she was ugly.  She took off the shirt and watched him.

He traced the scar with his finger, shaking his head. 
"He really hurt you badly."

She forgot everything for a while.  He was very strong
and extremely gentle with her.  He seemed content to hold her for a long time, stroking
her hair and her body, before finally undressing her completely.  His clothes seemed
to disappear and she couldn't tell when it happened.  He filled the whole world
and there was nothing else in the universe for a while.  It felt like she had been
starving forever and was finally satisfied. 

They fell asleep and woke up again, both startled by the
realization of what had happened.  They started to make love all over again.  This
time it was fierce and demanding, as if neither could get enough.  He was not at
all gentle.  Michelle was a little surprised.  It was just what she needed.  Afterward
he held her for a long time.  She smiled and thought he certainly wouldn't bore
her soon.

"You have the most gorgeous long legs," Nakamura
said.

"Lethal weapons."  Michelle murmured, she could
hardly move.

"I was trying not to look, when you were wearing that
shirt.  And yesterday, when you had shorts on."

He examined her hands with interest, the hard calloused
ridges on the sides.  "I wanted to look at your hands when you told me you
practiced karate.  This is impressive.  They feel as hard as bone," he said,
rubbing the side of her hand with his fingers.

"Check out my feet," Michelle said.  She held
one up so he could examine the ridge on the bottom outside of her foot.  "You
haven't been in my bedroom."

"Unfortunately."

"I have a heavy boxing bag I practice with."

"Truly?"

Michelle nodded, smiling evilly.  "No one will ever
rape me again.  Not without severe bodily damage."

Michelle's eyes softened when she looked at him.  Nakamura
was long, lean and gorgeous, filling her eyes.  The hair on his chest and body was
an orange brown, darker than the hair on his head.  His slight beard was golden,
like his eyelashes.

"The scar doesn't repel you?"

"How could you think that?" Nakamura said. 

"It's rather prominent."  She thought that was
an understatement.

"I'd show you, but I can't move yet," Nakamura
said smiling a little.  "Give me a minute."

They lay there for a while.

"I'm going to call the hospital," Michelle said.

"I did.  When you fell asleep.  Heather regained consciousness,
but she's sleeping most of the time.  They said she's coherent.  So her brain's
functioning all right." 

Michelle felt like a great weight had been lifted from
her.  "Heather's parents should be here in another hour," Nakamura said.

They had called Heather's parents from the hospital last
night and Michelle had promised to meet them at the Honolulu airport.  Right now
she thought she would be content to live the entire rest of her life here in this
bed.

"You'll stay with me tonight?" Nakamura asked.

She nodded, "I wish you could stay at my apartment."

"I have to change my reservations for tomorrow." 
He was energetically stretching and then jumped out of bed.  "I was supposed
to leave for California.  I have to call my father."

Michelle reluctantly got off the bed.

"I'm going to go see Tom Mitsuto.  He should be feeling
better by now.  I'll tell him to keep you."

"What!"

"You'd be miserable in Tokyo.  I can't be your boss. 
We'll decide what to do later."

She watched Nakamura walk to his own room with astonishment. 
He didn't want to promote her to assistant controller of Heroshi any more.  He didn't
want her in Tokyo, where he lived.  Maybe he had a girlfriend.  Or plans to get
married.  She had practically forced herself upon him.  Maybe he did it because
he felt sorry for her.  Or was simply lustful.  Perhaps the scar really did repel
him.

Michelle went into the bathroom and took a long shower,
forcing herself not to cry.  He would probably stay in Hawaii until he was sure
she was safe.  Then he would leave.  When she came out of the bathroom her sundress
was hanging on a chair in a plastic covering.  She wondered when Nakamura had arranged
for it to be dry cleaned.  She checked his room but he was already gone.  She sadly
walked back into her room, closing the adjoining door and locking it.

A note was on the table:  I'll see you tonight.  Have to
iron out some things with Tom.  Take care.  Don't go home—no matter what.  Love. 
N.

It had been a wonderful one night stand, Michelle thought,
if very costly.  It had lost her an enormous promotion.  Mostly, she was upset with
herself.  She thought Nakamura was a wonderful man and she would always like him
a lot.  She couldn't blame him for this situation.  He was an absolutely amazing
lover, kind and gentle and very forceful in an exciting way.  She was sad it would
never happen again.

Michelle rationalized that her feelings for him were
simply years of pent up emotions.  People fell in love-at-first-sight only in
movies or novels.  And anyway, all she had felt when she first saw him was
wariness at his power in the Heroshi Corporation, surprise at his youth and a
certain amount of fear for her job.  She had certainly not felt any powerful
physical attraction.  It was true that she respected Nakamura and had absolute
trust in him, but she would be a fool to stay with him tonight. 

Michelle got dressed.  She was grateful that he had shown
her how wonderful physical love was again.  She hoped she could carry that with
her, and not feel too disappointed at how things had worked out.  It was hard. 
She hadn't known him long enough for the physical intimacy.  She should have known
better.  But she didn't regret it for an instant. 

When Michelle saw the shirt with the red parrots hanging
on the door she almost cried. 

She took it with her when she left.

Nakamura used the car phone to alert Tom Mitsuto
that he was on the way to his house.  He would arrive there in ten minutes.  He
needed to use Tom's telephone scrambler.  In large corporations, major secrets had
to be kept from the other giants.  This was especially true in Japan. 

With the world money markets rapidly changing, Nakamura
had the unpleasant task of recommending the downsizing of many major subsidiaries
of Heroshi.  It meant letting go of valuable employees and even potentially lucrative
properties because of the new tax burdens that had been imposed on international
corporations investing outside their own country.  Japan had been pouring money
into foreign countries, buying properties at an unprecedented rate.  Now that practice
had to stop.

This was true of almost every Heroshi investment Nakamura
had visited in the last three months.  He felt like the damned, dreaded hatchet-man. 
Except here in Hawaii.  Real estate values had plateaued after the booming '90's,
but he expected that any investment in the Hawaiian Islands would not lose in the
long run.  Before going to California he had been scheduled to take a clandestine
trip to Maui to investigate property that had just come onto the market.  Heroshi
might consider investing in Maui, even as it was divesting in Australia, Singapore,
Hong Kong and the United State's mainland.

Nakamura was so single-minded in career pursuits that he
had never given much time to personal relationships.  That attitude was expected
in Japan, where family loyalty landed a far second place to job allegiance.  But
Nakamura had broken tradition by remaining a bachelor.  He was expected to get married,
rear children, and spend his nights like any loyal company man, away from his wife
and family in the nightclubs and bars with his fellow executives, drinking each
night away in jovial conviviality with his fellows and turning to the women in the
bars instead of his wife for exciting sex.  Japan was becoming more Westernized,
but that had been the traditional business way of life in Japan.  Traditions die
hard in large corporations.  But Nakamura didn't want that for himself.  He thought
the lifestyle of traditional Japanese businessmen was stupid, macho and ultimately
unproductive.

He was in an excellent mood as he drove toward the Kahala
residential area, on the other side of Diamond Head, where Tom Mitsuto lived.  He
decided he ought to consider domesticity and the thought slammed him back in his
car seat.  But he was obsessed with Michelle and had been ever since he saw her
turn deathly white when he first encountered her at the office.

He had known that Michelle was to be his potential new
assistant controller.  He knew he should act professionally objective with her. 
But he caught himself trying to tame the fear that was so apparent.  He had unconsciously
tried to find reasons to touch her, to prove she didn't have to be frightened of
him; letting her bandage his hand, slathering sunburn lotion on her.  All natural
things any woman might accept.  Putting an arm around her at the party.  Even shaking
hands after meetings at the office.  He was partly ashamed, but he hadn't done it
as a plan of attack or in any conscious way to lure her into bed.  He had studiously
avoided thinking about that altogether.  In fact, he had been very hard on her that
first day, practically grilling her on the statistical property reports because
he found himself so attracted.  His surprise had been her obvious enjoyment in his
needless needling.  She knew her stuff and relished it.

As he drove along a stretch of road beside the ocean that
would finally circle around Diamond Head and the beautiful Kahala Hilton Hotel,
he noticed that the big black limousine was overheating.  Of course the temperature
was warm, it must be around eighty-five degrees outside.  He turned off the air
conditioning and opened the windows so the engine would cool down and he wouldn't
smother in the process.  Being an amateur race car driver, it was second nature
for him to check the gauges every few seconds.  He was glad he had caught the problem
early.

The way she had turned around and kissed him was still
absolutely astounding to him and he smiled at the memory.  She had also surprised
him with her strength and physical grace.  Michelle didn't have the awkwardness
he associated with many tall women, who moved as though they didn't have full control
of their long limbs.  Michelle did, and she was very active.  When she let go of
a fear she certainly did it in spectacular fashion.

Even while Nakamura was happily engaged in thoughts of
Michelle, his alert old habits reasserted themselves.  It was probably what saved
his life. 

The temperature gauge had moved up into the red zone. 
Then it went above the red.  Nakamura decided to get out and see what the problem
was.  He could fix anything wrong with almost any engine.  At least diagnose it.

Nakamura was pulling to the edge of the road when he heard
strange sounds emitted from under the hood.  Hissing and popping like a mechanical
beast ready to explode.  The engine was so hot it really was going to blow.  He
knew it and acted instantly.

Nakamura ground the gears forcefully, while the car was
still moving forward, into Park, and at the same time pulled up on the emergency
hand break with all his strength.  He was out of the car before it even rolled to
a skidding, shrieking stop on the side of the road.  His foot got caught on the
seat belt attached to the door for what seemed like a sickeningly endless time as
he bailed out, but it was less than a second.  Then he fell hard, as he jumped free
to the ground, and the car rolled on.  The car only dragged him a short distance,
but he was bruised and battered in that small amount of time.  Then he was rolling,
knocked to the roadside by the car's forward momentum.