Fargo leaped to a logical conclusion. “Maybe it’s a man and he was hiding the fact.”
In the act of reaching for the cord, Liana shook her head. “Would the girl be in shock if it were a man? Would she be rendered mute?”
“You said there was a lot of blood.”
“And you forget. Emmeline was not the first. There have been many. If a man was responsible, he would have given himself away.”
Fargo wasn’t so sure. “What about this Remy?”
“He has killed, yes. But as I told you, only outsiders. And only in fair fights. He doesn’t murder women and children.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Trust me on this. Remy did not kill Emmeline or any of the others. You should talk to Namo. After she vanished, he refused to eat or sleep but spent every day out in his pirogue, searching.”
A pirogue, as Fargo knew, was a Cajun canoe with a flat-bottomed hull, ideal for swamp use.
“Namo says he got a glimpse of the monster. It was late and he was heading home when he saw it, far off. In the dark he could not see it well, but he swears it was the size of a covered wagon.”
To say Fargo was skeptical was putting it mildly. “Nothing is that big. Not even a grizzly or a buffalo.”
“Namo swears to it and I believe him. You must realize. We came from Acadia and made this swamp our home. We have lived here many years now, and we know the swamp well. There are things we have seen that no one else has. Things you would not believe were I to tell you.”
“Ghost and goblins,” Fargo could not resist saying with a grin.
“Call them what you will. But there are more things on this earth than many of us ever dream.”
Fargo would rather not insult her but it would be a cold day in hell before he let himself become that gullible.
Liana took a candle from behind the bar and lit the wick in the flame of the last lit lamp, then blew out the lamp. Holding the candle on high, she came over and took his hand. “Thank you for being so patient. I will try to make the wait worth your while.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Might I ask why you wanted to know about Namo Heuse?”
“He’s the one who sent for me. But he didn’t write why.”
“Surely you can guess. He must want your help in finding the creature that killed poor Emmeline.” Liana glanced at him. “Who knows? Maybe you will discover that monsters and goblins are more real than you think.”
4
The bedroom was every bit as comfortable as she claimed.
The bed was twice the size of most and layered in thick quilts and blankets. Embroidered pillows were propped against a mahogany headboard. Overhead was a flowered canopy with pink fringe. A plush rug covered the floor, and a dresser and a table and chair were in opposite corners.
Liana patted the top quilt. “This is my escape from the world. On Sundays I don’t get up until past noon.”
“Too bad tomorrow isn’t Sunday,” Fargo said.
“Few men ever see this room. Usually I indulge my dalliances elsewhere. You should be flattered.”
Fargo moved up behind her and put his arm around her waist. “You said something about needing to relax.”
Twisting her head, Liana smiled seductively. “What do you have in mind? You and your naughty thoughts.”
“This,” Fargo said, grinding his member against her buttocks. Right away he grew hard again. Cupping a breast, he kissed her. Liana melted into him. For the longest while their mouths and their tongues were entwined.
It was Liana who broke for breath. “Mmmm. You are a wonderful kisser. Magnifique.”
“You’re not bad yourself.” Fargo turned her so she was facing him. He kissed her neck, her throat, her ear. He sucked on the lobe and she shivered. He rimmed the ear with the tip of his tongue and she uttered a low groan.
“I am sensitive there.”
Fargo took her hand and placed it on his manhood. “I’m sensitive here.”
“I take the hint.” Liana commenced rubbing and cupping.
Fargo could always tell women who made love a lot from women who were new to lovemaking by how they fondled him. The new ones treated his pole as if they were trying to break it in half. They were much too rough. Experienced women used a lighter touch.
Liana was experienced.
He plied her thighs and continued to tweak her breasts, switching from one to the other, feeling her nipples harden until they were like tacks. Soon she was panting, her hot breath fanning his throat as she lavished burning kisses on him.
“Clothes are nice but naked is better,” Fargo said, and set to work undressing her. Fortunately she wasn’t one of those females who believed in layer after layer of undergarments. No petticoats or corsets for this Cajun lady.
As Fargo shed her clothes, Liana shed his. She got his belt undone and his holster slid down his leg and thudded to the floor. His hat she tossed to the foot of the bed. Then she peeled off his shirt. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed at the sight of his whipcord torso. “So many muscles.” She ran her fingers across his stomach and up over his chest. “I could eat you alive.”
“Be my guest.”
Fargo got her undressed and looked down, admiring her contours. She was exquisite. Her breasts were firm and full, her belly was smooth and flat, her bottom nicely rounded. Her curly thatch was silky soft to the touch. He drank her loveliness in, then got down to arousing her. First he eased her onto the bed and crawled on so he was next to her, his chest to her breasts. The quilts were so soft it was like sinking into fluff.
Liana looped an arm about his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Something tells me this will be a night I’ll long remember.”
“I’ll try my best, ma’am.”
If there was anything finer in life than a willing woman, Fargo had yet to come across it. His mouth and hands roved everywhere, exploring, arousing. She did the same. Both of them took their time, savoring the feel and the taste, her lust a mirror of his.
Eventually Fargo spread her legs wide and aligned his redwood with her slit. He ran it up and down, sparking quivers from her head to her toes. Inserting the tip, he slowly fed himself in until his steel sword was up to the hilt in her wet sheath. For a space they lay motionless on the precipice.
“I could do this forever,” Liana cooed. Her eyes were hooded, her red lips more inviting than ever.
Fargo began stroking. He had experience, too, and he didn’t go at her hard and fast and end it too soon. He dipped into her slowly, rocking gently on his knees, his toes braced for leverage. Her nails dug into his arms so deep, he would swear that this time she drew blood.
Finally Liana was ready. She put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Now, amoureux. I am a flower and you are a scythe. Cut me.”
Fargo had never heard it expressed quite that way before. But cut her he did, thrusting his scythe up into her flower harder and harder until the bed bounced and she cried out and arched her back and spurted.
Fargo’s redwood exploded. Pinpoints of light danced before his eyes. He rocked in and out until he was spent and then sank on top of her, cushioned by her heaving bosom. But he lay there only a few moments. Rolling off to spare her his weight, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
A noise awakened him.
How long he had been out, Fargo couldn’t say. Beside him Liana snored, and he assumed it was her snoring that roused him. Then his gaze fell on the mirror above the table and suddenly he was fully awake, his blood racing in alarm.
The bedroom door was open. Midway between it and the bed stalked a figure with a knife in his hand.