Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (22 page)

She smiled, an other worldly smile, less with her lips than with her eyes. Entranced, he watched as she wetted her fingers with her mouth. Then caressing her own body, she ran her hands down her neck, over her breasts, where they lingered, playing on her tits. The soft dark tissue hardened as she closed her eyes and moaned. One hand slipped slowly down her abdomen. Soon her fingers were lost in the triangular darkness. Rhythmically, she rubbed staring unashamedly at him. Her eyes watered. Her breaths quickened.

His heart beat wildly. “Christ,” he said.

She pursed her lips. “Shh.” Approaching the bed she then whispered, “You must promise not to touch me.”

He nodded.

She pulled the sheet off him, then crept onto the bed and straddled his waist. He reached for her to see if she were real. “Don’t touch,” she admonished. “Just close your eyes and feel.” 

He complied.

Her cool hands touched his face, neck, her fingernails ran down the length of his arms. A warm breath tickled his ear, playful bites teased his neck, kisses fell on his chest. He ached to feel her lips on his, but her mouth found other places to awaken. 

Slowly, she worked her way down, massaging and scraping her fingernails along his chest. The tip of her tongue heated a path. Pleasure rippled through him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this excited. He wanted to touch her, but felt that if he reached, the dream would disintegrate, melt away.

Suddenly her hand slipped into his shorts and stroked and squeezed him. He was rock hard and wouldn’t last long. Again he felt more nibbling, until her mouth absorbed him. Driven beyond control, he reached blindly and woke.

Her smoky, distant eyes were settled on him. For a moment he was confused. Then it became clear – the dream was real and he was inside her. He grabbed her waist, shoulder, drew her down, then rolled on top of her. A fleeting look of fear crossed her face. He pressed his lips to hers. She turned her head away. He slid his mouth to her breast. Her back arched. She moaned. Nature took over as he pumped. Her hands were now in his hair. Her legs tight around him. Thrusting toward the crest, he looked again into her distant eyes that were no longer. 

Agnes had returned and he free-fell into her undulating waters.

***

Beneath Max’s weight, Paloma’s heart began to settle. Their bodies remained entwined. The saltiness of his skin was still on her lips. Her breath recovered. What did any of this mean? Nothing. A simple incident of friction and release. Perhaps for a brief moment she had felt something, but thankfully the feeling passed. Now in the remains of sweat and cooling fires, she moved to slip out from him.     

He stirred. “Am I too heavy?”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine. I need to wash up.”

His arms tightened around her. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We need to talk.”

She leveled her arms beneath him and pushed. “Get off me. I can’t breathe.” 

“You just said you were fine.” 

“Well, I’m not fine.”

He gave her a squeeze. “Trust me, you’re fine.” Keeping a tight hold, he then asked, “I’m curious. Why did you come in here?”

Not wanting to engage in conversation she said simply, “To get laid.”

“Really?”

She glanced at his face. “Truly.”

He grinned. “Works for me.” And he kissed her forehead. 

“Are you going to let me go?”

“No.”

“You know,” she said looking into his eyes, “I can’t very well stay here forever.”

“I’m bigger and stronger than you. You’ll stay as long as I want you to stay.”

“Really?”

“Truly,” he said.

She wedged her knee between his legs.

“Careful with the family jewels,” he said ruefully.

The thought of kicking him in the groin held a certain appeal. But she’d try reason one more time. “Max, I really need to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “But I want you to do one thing.”

Men. She could just imagine. “And what would that be?”

“Give me a kiss.”

This, she hadn’t expected.

“On the lips.”

She looked deeply into his eyes. What harm would it do? She neared her face. He reached around her neck and guided her. Closing her eyes, she felt two soft pads of flesh against her lips. Hungrily, he pressed against her mouth. Suddenly, she was back twenty-five years floating inexorably downstream. She tried to pull away, but the kiss was relentless, probing and needful. She thought of her knee and his vulnerability, but with weakening resolve, she succumbed. She kissed him back, never wanting to stop, when a second romp, perilous to her state of mind, swept her away.

Chapter Twenty-One

On his stomach with his face plastered against the mattress, Max woke from his own snoring. Blinded by sunlight, he shaded his eyes and glanced at the clock – 10 a.m. Within moments the events of the previous evening coalesced. To confirm their existence, he rolled over. The other half of the bed was unoccupied, cold. He bolted from the bed and headed down the hallway. Midway to her room, he heard the shower running. He knocked. “Paloma?” 

No answer. 

He turned the knob and saw her lithe figure behind the shower curtain. He exhaled and gently shut the door. 

Before returning to his room to get dressed, he looked down the hall. The back bedroom door was ajar. He took a few steps and peeked in. Her bag, unzipped, sat on the bed. Listening to the rumble of water in the pipes, he nudged the door with his toe and entered. 

Except for her bag and a pair of shoes that sat coupled on the floor, nothing seemed out of place. He approached the carry-on and carefully pried the sides apart, revealing an assortment of clothes. He dug inside then along the perimeter. His fingers fumbled through more material. What was he looking for? Nothing really. Just more information about her, the woman he knew, or thought he knew. Perhaps some type of confirmation that Agnes still existed. Beneath the clothes he felt plastic. He cast a quick glance toward the hall. The familiar hum of water continued. Carefully, he grabbed an edge and pulled out a rolled-up plastic shopping bag. He separated the loopy handles and peered inside. It looked like the contents of his junk drawer – pencils, pens, safety pins. With an odd combination of disappointment and relief, he reburied the bag among the clothes, then checked the exterior pockets. 

Poking out from an unzipped side compartment, he found a birthday card, unsigned. Besides the card, there was a small pad. He opened it. A line of writing read,
Cord Cordelia, salub lub salubrious Solemn shade entwined, vio Violet night divined.
He formed the words on his lips, trying to memorize them. But his concentration broke when he noticed a deafening silence. Quickly, he returned the notepad to the pocket and tiptoed back to his room.                  

As he put on some clothes, he replayed the events of the past six hours. How to describe them? Unadulterated. Not just the sex, but the passion. He couldn’t have imagined it better, not in all his years of fantasies, not in any movie, not in any poem. Finally lines had converged, reaching an apex beyond his wildest expectation. He felt renewed, invigorated. Not only was he with the woman he loved, but there was a case to solve. 

He rumbled down the stairs. At the kitchen sink he did a quick wash up, then began breakfast. As he puttered around, he glanced at his notes from the night before.         

The Catonis were the obvious suspects. Still, the amount of time that passed left questions. Sure revenge was best served cold, but why now? Joey was paroled three years ago, Tony, fifteen years. It was possible to carry a grudge this long, but the Catonis, unlike a fine Chianti, had not aged well. Tony’d talked tough the day before, but he was shaken. The sweat  pouring out of him left no doubt. And there was Joey, the ex-cop. He’d always been the hothead. But last Max heard, he was drowning in gambling debts, as well as being pussy-whipped by some he-she who lived in the Falls. Taking jaunts to Chicago, New York or paying someone to do so seemed unlikely. Still, Joey had plenty to be angry about. Agnes had ruined his life.

While the coffee dripped, Max turned over the page and wrote:
Buffalo
,
New York
,
Chicago
. Beneath
Buffalo
, he added one word,
Joey.
He then tucked more bread into the toaster and pulled out some dishes. By the time the table was set, he heard her coming down the stairs.

“I’m in the kitchen,” he called out. “Hope you’re hungry.”

She materialized at the entryway, barefoot, in the same dress. Her short dark hair was wet, combed off her face. She stood stalled at the doorway, with her arms behind her, looking like a schoolgirl, shy, unsure of herself. 

Max moved the pan of scrambled eggs to the table. “Come and sit down.”

When she sat, he noticed the smell of his soap. He joined her at the table, then filled the plates with eggs and slices of toast.

“There’s butter, juice, coffee. Dig in.” He reached for a jar of blueberry jam that he’d received at Christmas. Wrenching off the top, he added, “I was told this stuff kicks ass.”

She kept her hands on her lap and stared at the food. Something was up.

“You okay?” he asked.

“About last night…” 

Max grinned. No matter what she’d say, he’d have it covered. “What about it?”  

“I need to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“It was wrong. I took advantage of you.”

He laughed. “That’s a twist.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Okay. So, what are you saying? That you were faking it?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s true.”

Max was beginning to figure Paloma out. She liked playing tough. He did too. Raising a glass of juice, he said, “Here’s to faking it, works for me.”      

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what, baby?”

“Don’t call me baby. Why do you pretend to agree with me?”

“I’m not pretending.” He searched the table. “Could you please pass the butter?”

“The butter? Are you listening to me?”

“Okay, about last night, it’s over. I got it.”

An unbelieving look swept her face.

“And today’s another day, right?”

She nodded.

“So it’s back to business.” He nudged his chin toward her plate. “Eat.”

She picked up a fork. “Just as long as you understand.” And took a bite of food.

Max reached for the sheet of paper that had his notes. Nudging his plate aside, he placed the page in front of him. “I figured we’d go over the incidents one last time. See if you can remember anything else. How does that sound?”

“All right, I guess. But I told you everything last night.”

Max scanned the circles, boxes and arrows. “Here’s something. Chicago. What time was it when you saw the white car?”

“Around nine in the morning. I was waiting at the hotel for the limo to take me to O’Hare.”

“What hotel?”

“The Marriott. Downtown.”

“What name had you registered under?”

“My name. Paloma Dove.”

“Were other people waiting with you?”

“Yes. A small group, around ten.”

“Had anyone else noticed?”

She shrugged. “No one said anything. It happened so fast. I’m not even sure I saw it.”

“You don’t have to be sure. Your impression’s fine. The subconscious registers details quicker than the conscious.”

“Really?”

“Truly,” he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes as if to say “don’t start.”

“What was the weather like?”

“It was cloudy. It had rained all night.”

“Hmm…Now, you said it was a rifle, not a gun.”

“I thought I saw the end of a barrel. It seemed like a rifle. But it could have been a gun.”

“Did it project from the window?”

She put the fork down. “It happened so quick. The passenger side window opened –”

He interrupted. “The rear window, right?”  

She stared off. “Yes. Now I remember. The back seat window opened, quickly and smoothly. And what looked like a barrel angled out, but not more than an inch if that. Then just as quickly the window closed.”

“Did the car remain parked?”

“No. When the limo came, it drove off.”

“Did you notice the license plate?”

“Sorry.” She took a sip of coffee. “So, what do you think?”

Max leaned back. “Hard to say. Could have been a prank. Were you scared?”

“Not scared. Maybe surprised.”

“The mind tends to bundle information then generalize. Not always the best thing. Still, one thing’s for sure, two people were in that car. The driver up front, the other in the back.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “The Catonis?”

“Easy enough to find out.” He looked at his notes. “So that was the morning after the graduation, the fourteenth?”

“Yes.”

He underlined the date. “Now returning to New York City and Paloma.” 

“I already told you what I saw. The guy was tall, wore a hat and trench coat.”

Max reviewed his notes. “You said you saw him before you went into the subway.”

“Yes.”

“Was anyone next to him?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“And in the subway did someone walk with him?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

She sighed. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay, you’re doing good.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she said coolly.  

Max wanted to reach for her hand, but didn’t. “Want more coffee?”

“I’m not here for coffee. So what have we got? Is anything I told you helpful?”

He looked over the page. “There’s lots here. A great start.” He let his words hang in the air.   

She looked at him expectantly. 

“Before getting into some of my observations, tell me more about Paloma.” 

“See those notes. That’s all you need to know.” She picked the napkin off her lap and tossed it on the table. Pushing her chair back, she said, “If you can’t help me, I’m out of here.”

“Okay, calm down. I’ll give you my thoughts.”   

Her shoulders relaxed.

“Here goes… Number one, doesn’t seem like a professional hit.”