“As I keep telling people, I only talked to the lady for about five minutes, and she was pretty stoned. Were you around when the Massachusetts plant burned down?”
She looked startled. “Mike, if you’re implying that Dotty-” She stopped. “I think we were all in Cambridge together that night, but I don’t know why the idea seems so preposterous. I guess because she’s so hopeless about machinery. Cars and appliances. You couldn’t walk up to a factory and throw a burning newspaper over the wall and set it on fire. No, there must be some other explanation.”
“Put out my cigarette for me.”
She took it out of his mouth and stubbed it on the floor. “Mike, I think it’s time for you to start reciprocating. Who hired you? How did you happen to be on this boat wearing only a towel?”
“Give me a drink,” Shayne said, running the words together.
She held the cup for him. He stopped the vodka with his tongue but made his throat work as though he was drinking. He blew out his breath explosively when she took the cup away.
“That’s pretty powerful stuff. Mrs. De Rham’s lawyer hired me, Joshua Loring.”
“I know him. A sweet man.”
“He’s worried about the money. He thinks Henry’s getting it, but Paul’s more my-”
He let it drift off.
When he didn’t finish she said, “We’re both being so solemn. I can’t get too worked up about what Dotty chooses to do with her money.” She brought her hands together. “In fact, I don’t want to talk about Dotty any more. One more drink and then I’ll untie you.”
“Great.”
She moved closer to him. “Mike, darling.” She put her face against his and bit the lobe of his ear. “I think we’re going to end up making love, don’t you?”
“Probably.”
She kissed him competently, using her lips, her tongue and her teeth. She still had the loaded drink in her hand, and was careful not to spill it.
“Here, sweetheart. One drink. Then I’ll keep my promise.”
She lifted his head and held the vodka to his mouth. His face touched her breast. He turned and bit her, paying her back for the bite on the ear. This wasn’t a playful nip, but a real bite. She shuddered.
“Darling, wait. I’m going to take something off.”
She pulled back and put the cup on the floor, a good distance from her own, so she wouldn’t confuse them. He turned his head, his eyelids heavy, and watched her come pouring out of her clothes. She was even better looking naked. He wasn’t responding too well. He had swallowed less than a quarter of the Mickey, but it had done some damage. His eyes were actually closing.
She reached down and pulled off the towel.
“Mike-lover-”
She came down against him. He managed to make room on the narrow bunk. After a long kiss she shivered away, came back and said huskily, “My God, Mike, you’re incredibly exciting. I’ve got to have one last drink.”
He was closer to the edge all the time, and when she held the cup for him he actually drank quite a bit of it, which had the effect of shocking him awake.
“Mike, you can’t imagine how it makes me feel when you’re tied up this way. Do you think I’m some kind of freak? Stay like that. I want to-”
“Untie me. I’ll cooperate. Co-op-er-ate.”
Her excitement carried her down against him again, so violently that he felt himself going under. He heaved upward, and in what he felt might be his last effort of the night, rolled her off the bunk. He landed on her with his full weight.
“Mike, darling, move.”
“Can’t.”
She freed herself after a struggle. He lay as she left him, face down in a helpless sprawl. He felt something working at his ankles, and then heard the little snick of nail scissors.
Soon she was at his wrists. His hands fell apart.
“Darling, put your arms around me. Mike, now. I’m so ready for you. See for yourself. Touch me.”
She worked at him for a moment in silence. “Don’t disappoint me. Don’t go to sleep. You didn’t have that much to drink. I thought I’d finally found a real man.”
He moved one arm but it flopped back to the floor. He lay still.
“Mike?” she whispered.
She tried kissing him, but his mouth was inert. Then she bit him again, very hard this time. He didn’t move. When she withdrew, he began to snore.
She made a small disappointed sound and said in a different voice, “Too bad, Mike. I’m sorry. I think it would have been terrific.”
CHAPTER 12
When he heard the door close he opened his eyes. A long moment passed before he could roll over and bring his elbows up beneath him so he could raise his head.
Blood returned painfully to his hands and feet. His head seemed to be stuffed with insulation. He gave his body a series of commands but it ignored them. He made it keep moving. His numbed feet held him for only an instant, then dumped him back on the floor.
His head struck the corner of the table as he raised it again, and the pain was what he needed. He fumbled at the tray filled with melted ice, and dashed cold water over his face. The haze cleared slightly. He hobbled to the door before remembering that he was naked, and he went back for the towel. Knotting it around him was beyond his power. He stumbled out on the deck holding it in front of him.
He heard a car door slam across the water. A motor caught and the car shot away, accelerating hard. He would see her again, Shayne promised himself, and the next time he hoped they would have more clothes on.
Could he swim back to the other marina? He decided there was too much chance of falling asleep in the water. He wondered vaguely what time it was. Remembering his watch, he consulted it. The hands seemed to move around the face at random. He squinted, trying to make them hold still. When they continued to spin and vibrate he realized how important it was to keep moving. He lurched to the dock and shambled toward shore.
This marina was unattended. Reaching the street, he slanted toward where he had left his Buick, so completely absorbed in what had to be done that he was unaware of how he looked, the towel loosely draped around his middle. He moved in an erratic line at a kind of shambling run.
He fell against the Buick. It was locked. The keys were in his pants. His pants were on a boat somewhere. Later he would try to remember where.
Without hesitation he picked up a trash basket and smashed a rear window with it. Reaching in, indifferent to the jagged splinters of glass, he unlatched the door. A moment later he was in the front seat, fumbling at the glove compartment. His hands were almost back to normal, and when he had the compartment open he found the benzedrine inhaler and broke it apart.
He took a deep breath, another and another. Gradually the fuzziness around the street lights disappeared, and when he looked at his watch again the hands held still and told him the time. It was almost midnight.
After several more deep breaths he reached for the cognac and the little bottle of amphetamines. With the first drink, he swallowed two pills to counteract the anesthetic he had been given in the vodka, and then took one more to keep him going. He waited a full five minutes, to be sure everything was working.
When he left the car wearing the knotted towel, he was still weak but almost too alert. He had too much to do, too many places to go. A brilliant sequence of impressions rushed through his head. This time he was careful that no cars were in sight when he crossed the street. He lowered himself into the water, and swam with slow, careful strokes to the dock running out to the Nefertiti.
He had trouble pulling himself out of the water. He reknotted the wet towel and started toward the Lyons’ boat. His hands and feet had nearly stopped tingling.
He stepped aboard quietly. Like the Nefertiti alongside, the boat was dark and still. He felt his way to the outside steps and up to the after deck. His foot struck a shoe. He crouched, and began groping across the deck.