“Out in the sunlight you are, kitten. You take on an entirely new perspective.”
“Are you making love or being clinical?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. One thing could lead into another.”
“Then maybe we should just let nature take its course.”
“Maybe.”
“Feel like a swim?”
“I didn’t bring a suit.”
“Well . . .” and she grinned again.
I gave her a poke in the ribs with my forefinger and she grunted. “There are some things I’m prudish about, baby.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” she whispered in amazement. “You never can tell, can you?”
“Sometimes never.”
“There are extra suits in the bathhouse.”
“That sounds better.”
“Then let me go get into one first. I’m not going to be all skin while you play coward.”
I reached for her but she was too fast, springing to her feet with the rebounding motion of a tumbler. She swung the towel sari-fashion around herself and smiled, knowing she was suddenly more desirable then than when she was naked. She let me eat her with my eyes for a second, then ran off boyishly, skirting the pool, and disappeared into the dressing room on the other side.
She came back out a minute later in the briefest black bikini I had ever seen, holding up a pair of shorts for me. She dropped them on a chair, took a run for the pool and dove in. I was a nut for letting myself feel like a colt, but the day was right, the woman was right and those seven years had been a long, hard grind. I walked over, picked up the shorts and without bothering to turn on the overhead light got dressed and went back out to the big, big day.
Underwater she was like an eel, golden brown, the black of the bikini making only the barest slashes against her skin. She was slippery and luscious and more tantalizing than a woman had a right to be. She surged up out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool with her stomach sucked in so that a muscular valley ran from her navel up into the cleft of her breasts, whose curves arched up in proud nakedness a long way before feeling the constraint of the miniature halter.
She laughed, stuck her tongue out at me and walked to the grass by the radio and sat down. I said, “Damn,” softly, waited a bit, then followed her.
When I was comfortable she put her hand out on mine, making me seem almost prison-pale by comparison. “Now we can talk, Mike. You didn’t come all the way up here just to see me, did you?”
“I didn’t think so before I left.”
She closed her fingers over my wrist. “Can I tell you something very frankly?”
“Be my guest.”
“I like you, big man.”
I turned my head and nipped at her forearm. “The feeling’s mutual, big girl. It shouldn’t be though.”
“Why not?” Her eyes were steady and direct, deep and warm as they watched and waited for the answer.
“Because we’re not at all alike. We’re miles apart in the things we do and the way we think. I’m a trouble character, honey. It’s always been that way and it isn’t going to change. So be smart. Don’t encourage me because I’ll only be too anxious to get in the game. We had a pretty hello and a wonderful beginning and I came up here on a damn flimsy pretext because I was hungry for you and now that I’ve had a taste again I feel like a pig and want it all.”
“Ummmm,” Laura said.
“Don’t laugh,” I told her. “White eyes is not speaking with forked tongue. This old soldier has been around.”
“There and back?’
“All the way, buddy.”
Her grin was the kind they paint on pixie dolls. “Okay, old soldier, so kill me.”
“It’ll take days and days.”
“Ummm,” she said again. “But tell me your pretext for coming in the first place.”
I reached out and turned the radio down. “It’s about Leo.”
The smile faded and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Oh?”
“Did he ever tell you about his—well, job let’s say, during the war?”
She didn’t seem certain of what I asked. “Well, he was a general. He was on General Stoeffler’s staff.”
“I know that. But what did he do? Did he ever speak about what his job was?”
Again, she looked at me, puzzled. “Yes. Procurement was their job. He never went into great detail and I always thought it was because he never saw any direct action. He seemed rather ashamed of the fact.”
I felt myself make a disgusted face.
“Is there—anything specific—like—”
“No,” I said bluntly, “it’s just that I wondered if he could possibly have had an undercover job.”
“I don’t understand, Mike.” She propped herself up on one elbow and stared at me. “Are you asking if Leo was part of the cloak-and-dagger set?”
I nodded.
The puzzled look came back again and she moved her head in easy negative. “I think I would have known. I’ve seen all his old personal stuff from the war, his decorations, his photos, his letters of commendation and heard what stories he had to tell. But as I said, he always seemed to be ashamed that he wasn’t on the front line getting shot at. Fortunately, the country had a better need for him.”
“It was a good try,” I said and sat up.
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
Then I thought of something, told her to wait and went back to the bathhouse. I got dressed and saw the disappointment in her eyes from all the way across the pool when I came out, but the line had to be drawn someplace.
Laura gave me a look of mock disgust and patted the grass next to her. When I squatted down I took out the photo of Gerald Erlich and passed it over. “Take a look, honey. Have you ever seen that face in any of your husband’s effects?”
She studied it, her eyes squinting in the sun, and when she had made sure she handed it back. “No, I never have. Who is he?”
“His name used to be Gerald Erlich. He was a trained espionage agent working for the Nazis during the war.”
“But what did he have to do with Leo?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “His name has been coming up a little too often to be coincidental.”
“Mike—” She bit her lip, thinking, then: “I have Leo’s effects in the house. Do you think you might find something useful in them? They might make more sense to you than they do to me.”
“It sure won’t hurt to look.” I held out my hand to help her up and that was as far as I got. The radio between us suddenly burst apart almost spontaneously and slammed backward into the pool.
I gave her a shove that threw her ten feet away, rolled the other way and got to my feet running like hell for the west side of the house. It had to have been a shot and from the direction the radio skidded I could figure the origin. It had to be a silenced blast from a pistol because a rifle would have had either Laura or me with no trouble at all. I skirted the trees, stopped and listened, and from almost directly ahead I heard a door slam and headed for it wishing I had kept the .45 on me and to hell with Pat. The bushes were too thick to break through so I had to cut down the driveway, the gravel crunching under my feet. I never had a chance. All I saw was the tail end of a dark blue Buick Special pulling away to make a turn that hid it completely.
And now the picture was coming out a little clearer. It hadn’t been a tired driver on the Thruway at all. The bastard had picked me up at Duck’s stand, figured he had given me something when he had handed me the paper, probably hired a car the same time I did with plenty of time to do it in since I wasn’t hurrying at all. He followed me until he was sure he knew where I was headed and waited me out.
Damn. It was too close. But what got me was, how many silenced shots had he fired before hitting that radio? He had been too far away for accurate shooting apparently, but he could have been plunking them all around us hoping for a hit until he got the radio. Damn!