"Gotcha," the CIA man said. "But it's going to be a bitch getting through the day."
"Think of it as being like stakeout duty," Carter suggested.
"I'll take stakeout to this crap any old time." Zachary opened his door, waved, and disappeared inside.
Carter walked to his room.
He inserted the key in the ancient latch and let himself in.
The light switch brought no response. The Killmaster flattened himself against the wall, a twitch of his forearm muscle bringing Hugo instantly into his palm.
Someone was in the room with him.
The Killmaster waited for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark.
Fifteen
Carter could hear the shallow breathing of someone who was excited, someone trying to control his own breathing.
He placed his visitor near the bed. He thought about throwing Hugo at the direction of the breathing, estimating his chances for a hit.
The woman's voice spoke in a soft whisper. "Don't you think after all this time I should find my way to your bed, Nick Carter?"
"You almost bought yourself some extra ventilation, Margo," Carter told her. "That was a foolish thing to do to achieve a dramatic effect."
"You come here," she said in the darkness, "and I'll show you everything you need to know about dramatic effects."
Carter swore under his breath and replaced Hugo in his chamois sheath. "Could anyone have seen you come in here?"
She sniffed disdainfully. "See how you begin to patronize me instead of accepting the gift that is yours? I was very careful. I finished my chores sometime back. No one is expecting me, and no one is keeping track of me as they are you."
"You know that for a fact?"
"I heard Rogan tell two of his staff to watch you and Zachary tonight and to report" — she chuckled — "to report any movements."
"What's so funny?"
"You are about to make some very interesting movements. Come sit next to me, Carter. It is time for us to meet our destiny."
"You wouldn't be one of those assigned to report my movements, would you, Margo?"
Carter could feel her anger flare in the darkness.
"You still don't trust me, do you," she said, her voice raised with indignation. "After everything we've been through, the risks I have taken? After I have provided you and your friends with vital leads, you still have your doubts about me?"
"I've been in this business for a long time," Carter said, "and I'll admit there's a good deal I do by the book, procedures proven to work. But there's also an instinct I've learned to trust, and something about you turns on my warning sirens."
She turned on the lamp on the nightstand. A small pool of light from a low-wattage bulb made it possible for Carter to now see clearly that she was in his bed, naked, her clothes neatly folded over a chair.
"So much for your warning sirens, Carter. This was to have been yours for the taking." She cupped her hands under her ample and shapely breasts, lifting suggestively.
Carter watched her without comment.
"All the hidden delights were to have been yours," she said, running her hands over her hips in an inviting, frank manner, her tongue flickering over her lips and moistening them. "There is unfinished business between us from before."
Naked, she was a beautiful and erotic sight, her body sleek, her dark hair pulled back so that the long curve of her neck was emphasized. Now her legs began to part suggestively.
"That was quite an interesting note you left earlier today on my bed," Carter said.
"What note? I left you no note, Carter. I have been here perhaps half an hour, but not before then."
Carter moved to the padded chair and sat, kicking off his loafers.
Margo Huerta swung her shapely legs over the side of the bed and began to approach him. Watching her, seeing her naked opulence, Carter was strangely unmoved. In a moment she sensed it and posed, hands on her hips. "What of all the chemistry between us before, Carter?" She seized upon an idea. "I know what it is," she said in triumph. "You still carry a torch for that little Mossad girl, don't you?"
Carter had not thought about Rachel Porat for some time, but now the mention of her name brought back the memory of their lovemaking in Phoenix, and the image of her (rim, compact body was very much with him.
"You see?" Margo said. "I was right. I can see what the mention of her does to you."
"We have a problem," Carter said, "or maybe I'm the one with the problem. This room is being watched to see what if any my movements are. You'll surely be noticed if you leave now, so it looks as if I'm stuck sleeping on this chair and you take the bed."
Margo approached him and delivered a stinging slap to his cheek. He felt the heat of it spread slowly. "You are a beast, Carter, to treat me like this. I am not used to being treated this way by men."
Carter realized the slap was sincere. It again gave him pause that maybe he was wrong. "Unless you can figure a way to get out of here without being seen, it's the bed for you and the chair for me."
She whirled and jumped on the bed in a fury. Carter smiled and took the chair.
At two o'clock Margo propped herself up on her elbows. "Carter," she said, "are you asleep?"
"Yes," Carter said mechanically.
"You could still be here, with me. We could have the rest of the night together."
Carter realized that was probably true and wondered if he was wrong. Margo Huerta was an attractive woman; it would undoubtedly be a memorable experience to make love with her. Was he passing up a splendid opportunity for no real reason?
But again the internal warning sounded and Carter knew he would have to be governed by it; he would accept the consequences of his own instincts, silly or not. He had lived with those instincts for too long now.
"Close your eyes and try to get some sleep," he told her. "Thinking about it isn't going to make it any better. It'll only keep you awake"
In the darkness Margo hissed a Spanish word across the gap that separated them. "Maricón!"
Carter laughed quietly. "Now, Margo," he said, "you know that isn't true. Try to get some sleep."
"Cochon!"
"That's better," Carter said. "Pig is okay."
At four o'clock Margo called out again. "Carter," she said. "Can you hear me?"
"Go to sleep, Margo."
"First I want to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"I really respect you, Carter. You're absolutely right. I wanted you just because we're in something frightening and I'm horny and I wanted to prove that I could make you care for me. It was you and my own fears I was really after. I apologize, compadre. Is it okay between us now?"
"It's okay, Margo. Go to sleep."
"Listen, Carter, let me take the chair for a while and you take the bed."
At five-thirty they began hearing sounds of life outside and by six o'clock there were the unmistakable smells of coffee and the aroma of frying bacon. Carter showered, shaved, got dressed, and headed for Zachary's room. If he were still being watched, that would give Margo a chance to get out of his room unnoticed.
The CIA agent offered Carter a cup of freshly brewed coffee that helped clear the mists in his head. Last night had not been easy. "You look a bit done in," Zachary said.
Carter noticed the same of Zachary.
The CIA man handed Carter an English muffin, toasted on a small gas stove from his war chest. "Marmalade or damson plum preserves?" Zachary said, causing Carter to marvel at his resourcefulness.
"The mountain would not come to Mohammed," he said, "and so Vanessa came to the mountain. She is a demure-looking lady, but she has some intriguing moves." Zachary pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have not had a cognac hangover for some time," he said with a wince. "Here, let me pour you some more coffee."