Dead Man on the Moon (27 page)

"What happens when we hit the top?" he asked hoarsely.

"We go down."

The car slid over the peak and rushed down the steep slope. Noah's seat dropped out from underneath him and he was weightless. Only the safety bar kept him in place and pulled him down the hill with the roller coaster. Wind rushed past his ears. And then Ilene bent her head into his lap. Her warm mouth closed over him, her tongue moving like a caduceus, round and round. Noah groaned out loud, but the sound was covered by the shouts of people and clatter of wheels. The roller coaster car swept up one hill and plunged down another. Ilene brought Noah close to his own peak, then backed away at the last moment. Her tongue moved, first light as a feather, then heavy as velvet. He squirmed in his seat as gravity came and went. He heard himself babbling, begging Ilene to either finish or stop entirely. She acted as if she didn't hear, bringing him closer and closer, then pulling away yet again. He was a
prisoner of the roller coaster, of gravity and momentum, of the pleasure Ilene gave and withheld. Now the car was plunging down the final hill. It would rush around a final curve and reach the platform in a few moments. Ilene's mouth slid up and down and Noah felt a familiar upsurge begin. But the car was close to the end of the ride.

"Wait!" he panted. "Stop!"

Ilene ignored him. Her mouth remained in soft suction around him. His knees went weak.

"Please!" he said. "No!"

In a moment he was going to hit the point of no return. The car rushed toward the platform, seconds away from arrival. Noah groaned in mixed terror and pleasure.

And then Ilene sat up. Noah grabbed himself, willing his body to subside. His groin throbbed, threatening to burst. He held his breath, bit his lip, and the feeling abated. With a swiftness he didn't even know he possessed, he readjusted his trousers just as the car reached the platform. It stopped with a series of jerks in front of the next set of people waiting to board.

"Welcome back, shooters," the computer said. "When your safety bar disengages, please exit to your right, and thank you for riding the Moon Shot."

Noah untucked his shirt with a yank as he stood up. The tail dropped below his belt line, hiding a prominent fact he'd rather not make public. Ilene took his hand as they exited the coaster. A small smile played around the corners of her mouth.

"Want to do it again?" she asked.

He started to refuse immediately, then, to his amazement, found himself giving the idea serious consideration. Desire, fear, and excitement all mingled in a strange ménage a trois. He couldn't deny it had been a major rush, and he wondered if Ilene might let him ... finish. Putting himself completely into her hands—if that was best way to phrase it— was frightening and thrilling at the same time.

"I don't.. . I'm not..." he began.

"I was joking," she said. "There's only so much in it for
me,
you know."

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't even think that—"

"It's all right." She slid a hand under his shirt and into his back pocket. "You can pay me back at my place."

Noah barely remembered the train ride to Ilene's apartment. Usually he didn't go in for major public displays of affection, but Ilene seemed to have broken through a barrier. They kissed and nibbled and stole touches all the way back, ignoring the people around them. They finally reached Ilene's door and went inside. Desire surged and pounded through Noah's body in heavy, thunderous waves.

"What about your roommate?" he asked, though by now he wouldn't have cared if Ilene's bedroom turned out to be onstage at the Sueyin Dai Memorial Theater.

"I don't have one," she said. "Another perk."

They entered her bedroom, which was set up exactly like the one in Noah's apartment. Ilene raised her hands over her head as if she were riding the roller coaster, and Noah slid her soft blouse over her head. She wasn't wearing underwear. Her breasts were small, with large areolae. Noah caressed one lightly and Ilene shivered. She stepped out of her slacks, then pulled off Noah's shirt. Her fingers were a little cool. He drew off his own trousers as Ilene lay back on the bed and crooked a finger at him.

"I want you on top of me," she said. "I want to feel you move."

Noah was shaking with the intensity of need and desire. Moving carefully, he slid over her, his skin warm on hers. She arched her back to meet him.

"You're so light," she whispered. "But so solid. Come on, story-boy. Perform for me."

This struck Noah as an odd thing to say, but at this point he wouldn't have cared if she had spoken Sanskrit. He entered her with a groan. Ilene moved with him. The fantasies Noah had about low gravity all turned out to be true. Neither of them had to worry about the other's weight. Positions that
would be awkward or painful on Earth turned graceful and erotic on Luna. Ilene shuddered beneath him, then rolled over to take a position on top. Noah cupped her buttocks under his hands and lifted her up and down. Ilene moaned. Noah marveled—she weighed nothing. He thrust faster, unable to slow down. He was pulling her to him and pushing her away, becoming one with her and separating from her. Sweat broke out all over his body. Ilene's breath came faster and Noah felt the buildup again. This time Ilene didn't pull away. He pulled her body to him and exploded inside her with a rush. She threw back her head and howled.

I feel I should warn you, I'm a screamer.

When it ended, they rolled apart. Noah started to reach for her, but Ilene skipped out of the bed and nipped into the bathroom. He sat up on the bed, the sweat drying on his body. That had been incredible. Ilene was a truly amazing woman. He wondered what it would be like to stay with her, have her steadily in his life. Her wild nature was unpredictable and little scary, but that was what made her so attractive. Noah couldn't remember ever meeting anyone like her. Maybe he should—

"You're not dressed?" Ilene was standing in the doorway, wearing a red silk bathrobe. "Don't have to be in early tomorrow to work on those cases?"

"I suppose." Noah reached for his trousers, a little startled. "I mean, I'd figured on spending the night."

"Maybe another time." She wagged a finger at him. "I'll call you sometime, all right?"

"Surprise and anger tightened Noah's jaw and the words popped out before he could stop them. "I'll just leave the money on the nightstand, then. You must have a couple mill in there by now."

Fury spread across Ilene's face. Before she could react further, Noah grabbed the rest of his clothes and fled.

Linus rose early, brushed his teeth, and shuffled to the coffee maker, which had already switched on and filled the tiny kitchen with the familiar rich smell. Black with lots of sugar—that was the only way to wake up. Cream was for wimps. Linus perched on the sofa, bare-chested and boxer-clad. He sipped the overly sweet, dark brew, felt caffeine and sugar fire up his brain, and sighed with satisfaction.

The fake sun that rose on the vid-screen finished rising over the ocean. Recorded seagulls called out with a thin, lonely sound. The vid-screen and a few framed pictures of Robin holding Vicky were the only decorations in the entire apartment. He raised his mug to his wife and daughter in silent salute as he did every morning. Every so often he thought about making his place less austere so it would be less like his office. Some holograms in the corners, house-plants, new furniture. Hell, Julia Espinoza could probably browbeat one of her grad students into installing floor-to-ceiling vid-screens and putting together a spiffy little theme
for him—Underwater Caribbean or Merrie Olde England or whatever. But something always put him off.

The coffee had cooled a bit, and Linus took a heftier swig. Something. He knew himself well enough to understand exactly what the something was. Decorating his apartment and his office would be an . . . admission. People who decorated, who brought in houseplants, who put up holograms and vid-themes—these people planned to stay for a long time. Even forever. Linus had other plans.

No. Not true. He didn't have other plans—just other hopes.

Being both a realist and a cynic sucked moon rocks. You couldn't cushion yourself with the usual warm, happy delusions that everything would somehow work out in the end.

Linus unconsciously rubbed his chest. No scar marked the place where Dr. Piltdown had sliced him open, but he felt one just the same. It felt rough and puckered beneath his fingertips, like a worm left beneath his skin. Sometimes he even felt blood. At times, it seemed like his heart was a rotten balloon inside his chest, one that could collapse any moment,
would
collapse if he ever set foot on a shuttle and blasted back to Earth.

His gaze wandered to a picture of Robin holding baby Vicky on one hip. She was smiling beneath regulation-short honey-brown hair. It looked like Vicky was going to have dark, straight hair like her father. Linus pursed his lips, feeling an ache of separation mixed with a pang of guilt. Robin hadn't been so sure Linus getting his masters from Luna University was such a great idea. Separation for eighteen months would be hard on both of them. Robin's duty to the Corps had never taken her away more than three months. Would their marriage survive it? What if they changed and became incompatible after so long apart? The risk, Robin said, frightened her. But Linus had argued and cajoled. Luna was the most prestigious place to study, bar none. A degree in criminal science from Luna U would let him work anywhere in the world, which meant he'd be able to find a
job no matter where Robin might be transferred. In the end, Robin had finally given in.

The decision had stranded him like a castaway on a stale, gray beach.

Why hadn't he listened to her? If he hadn't pushed so hard to come up here, he would never have gotten sick. He would be home right now, drinking coffee with his wife and watching his daughter scamper across the floor.

He drained his coffee, set the mug in the sink, and fished his workout clothes from their usual place under the bed. Best to keep moving when these moments hit. Work out, then bury himself in the investigation. There was always something going on in Luna City, and getting himself involved in it was the best medicine. Who cared if he was turning into a workaholic? He had no family—not up here, anyway—and he didn't date. Hell, the only person he'd met that he'd consider going out with was—

—Karen. He pulled on gym shorts, T-shirt, and tennis shoes, then caught up a small carryall. Okay, while he was admitting stuff to himself, he might as well admit that there was something there. Last night at Noah's show, he'd felt it strongly enough. When the theater had gone dark, he had felt an almost irresistible urge to put his arm around her, hold her close, smell her hair. Kiss her lips. When he was with Karen, he forgot loneliness and being a castaway. When she announced her intention to stay on Luna permanently, he had all but jumped to the ceiling for joy.

Linus knew full well that Karen felt the same attraction. Last night had confirmed it. Only a fool could miss the signs that she wanted more than friendship—the excuses she made to touch him, stand close to him. The tiny, overly subtle innuendos. Thank god he had solved the mystery of where John Doe had come from—it gave him an excuse to chatter at her and prevent her from saying anything about it. He had dropped his marriage on her as soon as he had been able to figure out a way to work it into the conversation. A little twinge of guilt had followed. He should have
mentioned Robin and Vicky long ago, but mentioning a wife and daughter Earthside inevitably brought up the need to explain the separation, and that only made his invisible scar bleed again.

A little voice inside him whispered that he could safely have a fling with Karen. Robin, more than forty thousand miles away, would never know, could never find out. Karen might be up for it. She made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed men. No one would know.

Except me,
he told himself, and stepped smartly out into the corridor. A few minutes later he was at the rec center. Time: six-thirty
a.m.

Linus headed straight for the spider gym, weaving his way down the sloping ramps and blue-carpeted corridors of the center like a big cat moving through the jungle. At this time of morning, the rec center was nearly deserted. By seven, it would start getting crowded, and by nine it would be insufferable. The spider gym was one of the more popular workout spots, and early morning was the only time it wasn't backed up like a clogged drain.

The outline of a palm print stood guard outside the spider gym door. Linus pressed his hand to it. A green light winked on indicating there was room inside, and the door opened. Linus entered a small changing area that smelled of sweat. He removed a matching set of black gloves, socks, and kneepads from his carryall along with a bicycle safety helmet. After stashing the carryall and his tennis shoes in the locker, he pulled on the equipment. Tiny Velcro hooks on the soles of his socks skittered at the tile floor without gaining purchase as Linus entered the spider gym proper.