High Energy (17 page)

"Of course I did. We need to study it so we know what we're dealing with."

"We know what we're dealing with—a scam artist."

"Yes, but there's nothing concrete in here to nail him with."

"Do you suppose that could be the reason he isn't in jail?" He asked

facetiously.

"Why do you think they had this on him?" Zanita had not discussed with Tyber how

he had gotten the documents. She really didn't want to know, and she more than

suspected he really didn't want her to know.

"Apparently, according to the report, he's been under investigation for some

time by the bunko unit, as well as being under suspicion for a number of other

Federal crimes."

"I don't see that here."

"I must have forgotten to give you those sheets."

As if Tyber ever would make such a mistake! So he had chosen to hide some of the

more sensitive documents from her. Okay. She could live with that. As long as he

came clean with her concerning any other information.

"If there are any other… sheets you've forgotten to give me, perhaps you can

just fill me in."

He pulled the truck to the side of the road and shut the engine.

"What are you doing? Why did you sto—"

He took her in his arms and kissed her. Deeply. Passionately.

Then he started the truck and got on the road again, leaving her completely

stunned.

"What on earth did you do that for?"

"I like your style, baby. Always have." He gave her a roguish grin.

Well, I'll have to do that again sometime, she thought. That is, once I figure

out exactly what it is he thinks I did.

Chapter Eight

« ^ »

"Dimitri Ziest, Marvin Broconol, Damon Green, Xavier LaLeche—all aliases at one

time or another." Zanita flipped through the dossier. "Born Steven Liss, 1948,

in Buffalo, New York. Only son of Marguerite Liss. Father unknown."

"This sounds like we're entering the Twilight Zone." Tyber swung the truck onto

a side road.

"Submitted for your speculation…" Zanita hummed the theme song.

Tyber laughed. "What else does it say?"

She gave him a look that said, you know very well what it says. "He lived under

many different names in many states: Massachusetts, California, Ohio—"

"Where did he stay the longest?"

"Um—" She scanned the form. "California. Why?"

"I don't know yet. What about the other places—is there a pattern for length of

stay?"

"Actually, yes, now that you mention it. About four months in each city. Why do

you suppose that is?"

"He left before things got hot for him, always one step ahead of implication and

the law. I suspect that's how he's managed to elude full-scale investigation by

local authorities. How long was he in California?"

"Two years. What do you make of that?"

"I think there was a definite reason he needed to be in California for that

length of time. From his profile, he's not the type of man who just goes with

the flow like flotsam and jetsam, buffeted about by the currents. No, this man

controls his life—every aspect. He was there for a purpose."

"Any ideas?"

"Not yet. Where did he live when he resided in California?"

"Let's see… San Francisco, briefly; then L.A."

"I seem to remember something about an electronics plant there."

She nodded. "It almost seems as if he went legit for a couple of years; he

worked for a company called Space Age Systems. An investigator noted in the

margin that it was a respectable company. They manufacture shuttle components. I

don't see any connection there, do you?"

"No. It had to be something he was doing on the side. Anything else?" He entered

a private drive leading up to a breathtaking mansion.

"Nothing definitive. I wonder if—what are we doing here?" Zanita looked up at

the palatial house and manicured grounds.

"Welcome to the Marble Manor Inn." He stopped the truck in front of the portico.

"Tyber, you're kidding! This is beautiful."

"It is." Tyber scrutinized the interesting architectural details fondly.

"Beautiful. It was built in the mid-1800s from locally quarried golden marble.

The original carriage house is still standing. See?" He pointed to the rear of

the house.

"Wow! I can't wait to see the inside. Will we really have a room made out of

marble?"

Tyber swung their suitcase out of the truck, resting it on the driveway. He

lifted her chin with the edge of his hand, brushing her lips with his own. "Of

course we will."

She threw her arms around his neck, bringing his head down for a deeper kiss.

"This is wonderful, Doc. Really wonderful."

"It's just the beginning," he promised, kissing her once more before he released

her, leading her into the inn.

The inn was a splendid example of Tyber's preferred Victorian charm, and Zanita

wasn't really surprised he had chosen it for their stay. They eagerly explored

the downstairs before checking into their room.

Fresh flowers, exquisitely arranged in vases, graced every chamber. The ceilings

were all thirteen feet high, with carved moldings and crystal chandeliers

brilliantly suspended from rosette medallions.

There were several parlors, each furnished in opulent Victorian. One room had

been turned into a cozy library with a huge marble fireplace fronted by couches

and chairs. The remains of late afternoon tea were still evident on the

sideboard. A half-finished chess game waited patiently for completion on a low

table by the window.

When they checked in, the friendly innkeeper gave them a brief history of the

house, informing them that all the rooms were named after famous people. When

Zanita learned that Tyber had requested the Errol Flynn room, she looked at him

askance. He just put his arm around her as he led her up the stairs, saying,

"How could I resist?"

Zanita sighed as she viewed the sumptuous room.

It was utterly beautiful.

Gabled windows were open to fresh air and rolling Vermont hills, displaying the

vibrant colors of fall. The center of the room sported a massive brass bed,

which was indeed one-hundred-and-twenty years old. It was covered with an

antique, hand-crocheted spread.

The promised fireplace of gold marble faced the bed. Two overlarge Queen Anne

chairs flanked the raised hearth of the fireplace. A large red oriental rug

graced the floor.

The walls, floors, and ceilings were all of golden marble.

Zanita eyed the sunken marble tub in the bathroom. "Now I know why they call it

the Errol Flynn room." Tyber came up behind her to peer over her head.

"It does give the imagination healthy exercise, doesn't it?" he murmured,

bending down to nip her shoulder.

She glanced up at him, grinning impishly. "What time do we have to be at

LaLeche's digs, Captain Blood?"

"Bring me to a hotel room and that's the first thing you think of." A dimple

curved his cheek. "And you women wonder why men are so skittish about these

things." His hands rested on her shoulders as he turned her to him.

"Unfortunately, we don't have time."

The back of Tyber's hand smoothed the hair from the side of her face; he bent

toward her, placing a sizzling kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat.

"No?" She ran her fingers through the tawny strands of his hair, massaging his

scalp, bringing him a little closer to her.

"No," he affirmed as his tongue lazily traced the line of her collarbone in

slow, languorous strokes.

She sucked in her breath. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," he whispered, right before his mouth pressed heatedly against her

own. His fingers began to nimbly unbutton her blouse.

"I see."

He emphatically stated, "We need to stop this right now, Zanita." At the same

time his hand closed firmly over her breast.

"Okay." She went up on tiptoe to delicately suckle on his enticing lower lip.

He made a low sound, somewhere between ecstasy and agony, deep in his throat.

Unconsciously, he returned the favor by rotating his palm around her hardened

nipple. His action incited Zanita to lean into him, rubbing against his arousal,

which was now straining the seams of his jeans.

"I mean it; we don't have time!" he growled. So saying, he immediately fell to

his knees in front of her, his hands seeking the waistband of her pants.

Zanita couldn't help but smile. "I get the message, Tyber. It's definitely no."

"Now that we've got that straightened out—" He quickly unzipped her jeans, his

lips scalding the trail in a burning, fiery tasting. Zanita felt his scorching

breath right through the silk of her underpants. Her knees immediately buckled.

Tyber's strong hands caught her about the thighs to support her, taking the

opportunity dip his hot, roving tongue into her belly button. Her fingers

clutched the top of his head. "Tyber."

Tyber's arms flinched, but remained in an unyielding grip around her thighs. He

rested his damp forehead against her bare midriff while he tried valiantly to

regain some measure of control. Great gulps of air shuddered through his heaving

chest. Several seconds ticked by.

He failed.

And knew it.

He groaned in needless explanation against the flat of her stomach, "This is

what is called a core meltdown, baby." Suddenly he yanked her jeans and panties

down and off with one decisive stroke of his hands.

Without waiting, he unzipped his jeans and brought her down right on top of him

while he was still kneeling on the bathroom floor.

He slid into her like a steel pylon through molten ore.

It was the first time since she had gotten over her flu; they were both primed

and ready. Zanita threw her head back, clutching his broad shoulders under the

red flannel of his shirt, which now hung open to his waist.

"God, Tyber, you feel… oh, God, Tyber!"

It was all Tyber had to hear in his present condition.

He went nova.

The flat of his hands drew her closer to him as he surged up inside her. "So

good, baby… you're so good, so good," he croaked.

"I want to feel your tongue inside my mouth." He cupped her head, bringing her

face up to his.

Zanita buried her tongue inside him.

Tyber drew on it voraciously, letting her taste him as well.

Relentlessly, he was moving ever stronger and faster inside her. He began

kissing her all over her face, wildly, desperately. She did the same to him.

They writhed against each other, clutching, kissing, cleaving to one another in

an increasing conflagration. It was pagan, reckless passion.

They were out of control.

Zanita cried out. Tyber cried out. They rocketed.

Still gasping for breath, Tyber clasped his arms around Zanita and fell

backwards onto the marble floor of the bathroom. Zanita lay draped over his

chest, completely undone.

"I don't know how you do that to me, Curls." His hand still shook in aftermath

as he ran it caressingly over her short, springy hair.

Zanita braced her palms against his chest, slowly levering herself up to look

him in the eye. "How I do that to you? You're the one who said we didn't have

the time, and the next thing I know it's nuclear winter."

He chuckled. "I did sort of go up in flames, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Smiling, she grazed his cleft chin. "I liked it."

He smiled back. "I did, too." He kissed her very sweetly.

Unfortunately, because of their bathroom romp, they had to have an abbreviated

version of dinner, which upset the innkeeper, who had a very talented, very

touchy chef. His feelings were somewhat mollified when they explained to him

that they had an engagement to attend—it was not a reflection on the

wine-poached shrimp and peach brandy tart.

After driving for half an hour in the dark through wooded country back roads,

they finally found the turn-off to LaLeche's so-called retreat. Once again,

Tyber had been correct: the retreat was nothing more than a tumble-down shack in

the middle of the wilderness.

Since they were late in arriving, several cars were already parked haphazardly

in the clearing. Tyber laughed when he noted one BMW sinking into four inches of

Vermont mud.

"All part of the experience, my dear." He imitated Xavier's affected speech

perfectly.

Zanita knocked on the crude wooden door to the cabin. Several voices rang out,

bidding them enter. She tentatively opened the door.

Eight people were huddled around a huge fireplace. An old, scarred wooden table

rested against the right wall. It was generously overflowing with refreshments,

presumably brought by the guests.

And that was it.

Nothing else in the room. No furniture. No appliances.

Zanita quickly scanned the one-room cabin. No amenities.

Several blankets and sleeping bags lined the walls. In one corner, a tape player

was issuing forth New Age meditation music—lots of Celtic harps and chimes.

"Dr. Evans! Zanita!" LaLeche stood up to greet them. "I was beginning to think

you couldn't make it this weekend."

You mean you were getting concerned that a good mark was getting away from you.

Tyber looked him directly in the eye, saying, "We got a little sidetracked, but

we're here now."