Chapter 3

The two women came up from under water, laughing and gurgling and breathing deep. They melted together immediately, taking each other in their arms as their mouths fused and their bare breasts blended. They stood hip-deep in the blue water and kissed savoringly, their bodies rubbing and their hands moving over each other. Fingers fondled and teased and explored. And then their mouths parted and their chins found a resting place in the neck and shoulder juncture of each other as their hands continued the play, and I was staring into the close-eyed beauty of a girl with smooth planes of face and hair that had been watered back to become fashioned tight against her head and exposed delicate ears.

The eyes opened. The girl saw me and stared. I didn't move. Her eyes rounded slightly, but there was no embarrassment or scrambling or shrieks. I saw her say something into the ear of her lover and the woman turned. She looked a preserved forty and collected. Her arm remained, around the girl's waist. She was slightly taller than the girl, sleeker in body construction. She had a triangular face with eyes set wide apart and a narrow chin that jutted. Her dark hair was cut short, clipped at the neck, and was tousled. An eyebrow arched and she moved the girl toward the steps in the corner of the shallow end of the pool.

They came up out of the pool like two gazelles, their wet bodies glistening in the patio lights, their movements oiled. The woman was long-legged and slim-hipped, her pelvic juncture almost haughty as it cleaved the night air. The garter belt and hose were plastered against her and formed a frame for her pubic area. The girl was heavier, but she rolled smoothly, carrying the weight well. Her breasts were large and jounced as she walked, the nipples tipped upward.

They stopped about two feet from me and it was the woman who grinned suddenly and said, "Hello. Who are you?"

When I said I was a cop, it didn't seem to faze either of them. The woman laughed softly, and the girl giggled. "What do you think, Fran?" the woman said finally.

The girl shrugged. "He's got something inside his trousers. I can see it bobbing."

"My name," said the woman, "is Nanette Rivers. My husband and I own this layout." She waved an arm to encompass the mansion and the grounds and the movement triggered a brief dance of her slim breasts.

"And I'm Fran Nature," added the girl. "Friend of family, guest, something."

"You want?" grinned Nanette Rivers, the eyebrow arching again.

"Information," I managed.

"He wants information," she said to Fran Nature.

"At the moment, I think he wants more," giggled the girl. "Look at his trousers jump."

But Nanette Rivers said, "I suppose you are here about Michelle. That was tragic, simply tragic. Is Archie going to be all right?"

"Archie's doing okay," I grumbled.

"Now, now, Sergeant," chided Nanette Rivers, "don't get uptight on us. At least, don't get angry. Michelle is-was-my stepdaughter. I didn't like her. Her father-my husband-didn't like her. She's dead. That part is tragic. But if you think you are going to find weeping willows around here, think again."

"Mrs. Rivers," I said savagely, "I didn't even know the girl, and already I'm feeling sorry for her!"

"You shouldn't," she said calmly. "It had to happen. Michelle courted death. It was her nature. Violent death had to happen to her, you know what I mean?"

"No," I said truthfully.

"Well, it's not important," she shrugged. And then she turned to the girl again. "What do you think, Fran? Is he ripe?"

"Oh, very ripe," giggled the girl.

"A virgin to Three-way Street?"

"That I doubt, but let's find out."

They stepped into me, and I backed off. They stood rooted for a few moments, their breasts heaving and their eyes probing, their mouths curving in hungry smiles. And then Nanette Rivers breathed, "Hey, cop, all we're going to do is have a little fun. You saw us there in the water. That was child's play, warming-up exercises. Now don't tell me you're not a red-blooded, all-American boy. This place already is crawling with queers. And Fran and I prefer men. Isn't that you?"

"Open his trousers, Nanette," said the girl. "Let's look at him."

I went back another step, but Nanette Rivers was on me suddenly. Her warm palms caught my jaws, her damp breasts fit against my chest, and she slammed her pussy against my prick. "Oh, he's man, Fran," she breathed. "That much I can tell without looking at him."

The girl slid around behind me. I felt her large breasts flatten against my back as her hands slid down over my trouser front. The zipper went down and fingers were inside quickly. The fingers freed me.

"Beautiful," bubbled Fran. "Shall I put it in you, Nanette?"

"Nanette lifted a leg and fitted herself on me. "Run, cop," she laughed softly.

And then her mouth found mine and she was breathing fire into me as I entered her. I went in deep and she spread and began a wide circling motion with her hips. Fingers opened my trousers all the way and yanked them down my legs. I felt Fran's lips dancing against the back of my knees and heard her pleased giggle as I pumped.

Nanette slid her mouth from mine. "Baby, you're big," she breathed. Her hands on the back of my head forced my mouth down to a jouncing breast. I captured the nipple in my teeth and she writhed.

Then I felt fingers sliding up inside the leg of my shorts. Behind me, Fran was at work. She cooed and kissed and fondled and the intoxicating explosion hit me fast. I rammed deep and hard into Nanette Rivers as her hip movements became frantic. I chomped down hard on her nipple and her fingernails sliced into my neck skin as she arched herself against me. We went up and up and up and I was only semiconscious of the lips that somehow had worked in under me and now were dancing along my inner thighs. Fran clamped both of her hands against the front of my legs and her tongue became a hot serpent stabbing at me as Nanette and I came together.

When it was finished Nanette and I lurched over to the padded lounge to sprawl together. We continued to cling and we breathed in gasps. We had company immediately. Fran was with us, straddling us, and looking up, all I could see was heavy wriggling thighs and a dancing triangle of wet hair.

Nanette lifted herself and her tongue darted. Fran lurched with Nanette's touch, and then I lurched as I felt Fran's mouth close over me. She fed hungrily as Nanette continued to stab her. New passion flared in me. I arched my hips upward and Fran moaned in heat.

Abruptly she left us. I attempted to clutch her, but she danced away. Nanette dropped back beside me and reached down to grasp me. She held me erect as Fran lowered herself. She was warm and moist and active. Her muscles rippled as she laughed aloud and came down on me. She twisted slightly and her lips found Nanette's breast as I heaved upward.

Fran was big inside. I rammed. For some reason I did not understand, I wanted to hear her cry out. But she remained silent and pumped furiously and-if anything-seemed to grow larger as she settled lower on me. Her body became a hot pit, her movements fluid and accomplished. Her large breasts made circular motions against my front and she never once took her mouth from Nanette, who was now squirming and digging at herself with fingers.

The climax was threefold. I groaned and heaved upward, Fran gurgled and settled down solid on me, our pubic hairs grinding, and Nanette writhed and convulsed and rattled incoherently against her fingers. Somewhere, someone cried out, "Now!" and the juices and passion flowed as our three throbbing bodies lifted to cosmic heights.

Fran was the first to move. She stirred and lifted herself from me, stepped back just inches to remain straddling the longue. "My god," she whispered, "don't you ever go down?" Her breasts heaved and she breathed in gasps.

"In time, doll, " I managed.

"Time?" She looked on Nanette Rivers. "We've got a live one, darling. Do we let him go?" she asked.

Nanette stirred beside me. "Not too far away," she said. "But at the moment, I'm bushed. You keep him entertained while I rest. You're younger."

"Having fun, kiddos?"

The male voice came from far away and behind my head. I arched my neck and saw a tall, slender man standing in a patio doorway. He was dressed in sports attire and he looked as trim and sleek as a movie magnate who had casually walked out for morning breakfast.

Then he was gone suddenly and I was pushing female bodies as I attempted to get my feet under me and my trousers up. "Who the hell was that?" I rasped.

"Only William," said Nanette calmly.

"Her husband," said Fran, moving in. Her hand went inside my trousers. "You don't have to put it away, Adonis. When I catch my wind...."

I moved from her and stared down on Nanette who had not moved from the longue.

"William Darby Rivers," she nodded. "My husband. But he won't bite." Then she cocked her head as if in second thought and smiled crookedly. "Or does he? I'll have to ask someone."

"Honey, he was watching us!" I blurted.

"Sometimes William likes to watch," she nodded. She sat up, swung her legs around to me, sat with her knees spread. "Have you got a cigarette? Fran, see if the man has a cigarette."

Fran's hands danced over my body as if she was searching for gold. "How 'bout a big cigar?" she asked. "He still has that."

"Boy, you're some man, Sergeant," Nanette said, shaking her head in disbelief, "but at the moment I'd like to have a plain old cigarette."

Fran found the crumpled package and a book of matches in my coat pocket and tossed both to Nanette.

Then Fran's hands were back on me. "Don't let William scare you away, Tiger." Her tongue shot into my ear, moved around. Her breasts clamped my arm, her ringers kept on exploring.

I pushed her away and weaved off toward the patio doorway. Behind me, Fran giggled and Nanette laughed softly. And it was Nanette who called out, "Don't spend all night with William, lover. He isn't worth it. I know."

I prowled the first floor of the mansion. No people. Nothing. I found a stairway and went up. There was light, but no noise. I moved along a long corridor, looking inside open doorways. I saw beds and rich appointments, nothing else. And then I heard the hiss of shower water.

I entered the bedroom, stopped. The sound of the water came from behind a closed door opposite me. I looked around the bedroom. It was a woman's bedroom and it looked in perfect order. The bed was made, everything seemed in its proper place, no strewn clothing.

The hissing sound stopped abruptly and I debated. I crossed thick gold carpeting, put an ear against the door. The door was not latched and it swung open, surprising me. The interior of the bath was steamy. And there was a girl. She was facing away from me, jackknifed, one foot on the rim of the shower tub as she worked a huge towel along her leg. She was naked, and she looked flawless. Her hips were wide and taut, the leg muscles smooth and flowing. And from my vantage I could see the outside swell of young rounded breasts as they bobbed with her toweling movement.

She turned abruptly and stared on me, the towel now caught at her belly muscles. She looked in her early twenties. Her ripe breasts lifted and fell in a smooth rhythm. The nipples were large and brown and protruded. She had a cute, tip-tilted nose, a small mouth and eyes that were oblong and a light blue in color. Her hair was dark and piled high on her head.

"Excuse me," I said, backing.

"Hey, don't run!"

I stopped.

"I'm Diane Bowers," she said. "I live here. With my mother. I don't believe we've met."

"Er ... no," I said. "That is, not until this moment."

"Do I bother you?" she asked. "Well...."

"Because I'm nude?"

"Yeah, I guess that's it."

She spread her arms wide, holding the towel away from her body, and looked down her front. Then the blue eyes were on me again. "I'm just a girl," she said, "a nude girl. Surely you've seen one before."

I shrugged, said nothing, and she went back to her toweling. I should have tracked. I didn't. I stood and watched her. She was careful and thorough, a vibrant young girl who looked comfortable and relaxed. Her skin had been tanned lightly by the sun. It cast a rich gleam. All over. She obviously sunbathed in the nude. She dropped the towel, powdered, smiled at me. "There, I feel better. Do you want me to dress? Would you feel more comfortable if-"

"Yeah," I said gruffly, "jump into something."

"I really don't want to," she said. "I came up here to shower and to stretch out naked on the bed. I'm relaxing. Tonight's party was wild. I'm afraid I pooped. I went to sleep out on the lawn and when I came awake I couldn't find anyone. Where did everyone go?"

"Honey," I said, struggling for sense of direction, "how 'bout if you and I have a little chat?"

"Well, sure," she said, but she obviously was puzzled. A tiny frown puckered her brow briefly before she reached up behind the bath door and took down a pale yellow see-through blouse and bright yellow skimmers. She came out of the bath, and I backed.

I seemed to amuse her. A smile flickered in the corners of her lips and the blue eyes laughed briefly as she moved past me. My eyes became riveted on the natural play of her hips as she went to the bed. She turned and looked at me head on.

"I'll make a deal," she said. "If I don't have to put on clothing you can stay and talk."

She dropped the blouse and skimmers and bounced up into the middle of the bed. Her breasts jounced and I felt new fires fight inside me. She found two pillows and propped them together at the head of the bed and then she turned and put her spine against the pillows. She cocked her left knee and propped her right ankle across it.

"Now," she said, "let's chat." I stood rooted.

"Come on over here," she said, patting the bed beside her. "Sit, relax. Let's get to know each other. I like you. You look my type. Durable. But I don't understand why we haven't met before. I mean, if you were at the party, why-"

"I wasn't at the party," I said, gathering strength.

I went to the bed, sat near her bare hip. My blood was rolling and my tool was jumping, but I attempted to keep a cool mind. "I'm a cop," I said without looking directly at her. "A police detective. My name is Matt Law."

"I see," she said. But she didn't see anything. "Why are you here?"

I told her and she shot straight up into a sitting position and clamped her knees. The blue eyes were round and suddenly unblinking. "Michelle dead?" she said in disbelief.

I explained.

"Good god," she breathed, "Michelle dead." She sat back again. The blue eyes hung on me. "It's ... difficult to accept," she said. "Earlier tonight, just a few hours ago...." She let the words hang, shook her head and chewed on her lower lip.

"Earlier tonight?" I probed.

"Nothing," she said.

"Something."

"Well, just a few hours ago Michelle and I were ... together. We...." she stopped again, chewed.

"How 'bout if we level all the way, honey?"

She made a quick decision. "All right," she nodded. "Why not? If I shock you, Sergeant, bust me. A few hours ago Michelle and I were in bed together. It was before the party got under way. We showered together and then we went to bed. We like sex. And when there are no men around we often go to bed together. We are not related, you understand. My mother is married to Michelle's father."

"Nanette is your mother?" I said without thinking.

Diane frowned. "I guess you have met Mother."

"And someone named Fran Nature," I admitted. "I ... er, ran into them down at the pool."

"We're sex liberals, Sergeant."

"You're something," I admitted.

"And you're the Establishment, aren't you? Immediately you are condemning us. Well, go ahead and condemn. See who gives a razz. Sit there with a penis that's jumping around like a French fry in hot grease and condemn."

"Baby-"

"Shut up. You've made me angry."

"And you're gettin' to me just a wee bit, too."

"So let's both take a couple of seconds and cool, huh? I don't want to be angry with you. I'm not sure why, but for some reason I want to like you, Matthew Law-even if you are Establishment."

I clammed. I sat and I wrestled with the confusion. I attempted to put the day straight in my mind. There was a wet grave, my friend being lowered into it. There was a widow with knots inside her, a widow I had taken to bed as if she had been a familiar sleeping partner. There had been a death, a young girl who had choked to death on sex. There had been a women and a girl on a swimming pool apron. There were people who didn't seem to care if a girl had died, people with singular lust-personal gratification. And now there was another young girl, a young girl with an aversion to clothing and mores who, at the moment, was angry with me because ... Because why?

I looked on her. She returned the stare. Finally she said, "We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot Hand me my clothing. I'll dress."

"No." I shook my head. "I like you naked," I said truthfully.

"Well ... all right. Do we still talk?"

"We talk."

"About Michelle?"

"She'll do. Who was she with tonight?"

"Do you mean at the party? Everyone, naturally. Michelle was a mover. She didn't have any special boyfriends or girlfriends. She bounced. You know what I mean?"

I knew.

"And she probably had sex with four or five different people during the evening."

"People, huh?"

"Men and women." Diane shrugged. "Sex was sex with her. She had to have it, and she'd take it where she could get it."

"You?"

"Me?" Her eyebrows arched. "You and sex?"

"Oh ... well, I prefer men, naturally, but sometimes when I'm hot ... well, I doubt if you would understand."

"There's a helluva lot of things around here I don't understand," I admitted.

"Michelle and I had a closeness."

"Know something, honey? You're the first person I've talked to who seems to give a damn about Michelle."

"I know," she nodded. "Most people didn't like her; they used her, that's all. She was gullible and ... wild. I guess that's the right word. She didn't just get hot, she was wild. Everything went with her. And people didn't like her because she never formed an attachment for just one person. In a sense, she was cold, too. You know what I mean?"

"You said you and Michelle...."

"That was different. And if was only when we were alone together, when we were here in the house and no one else was around. It would come on us sometimes. One of us would get hot and ... well, one thing led to another. We'd start playing with each other and ... you know."

"I understand her father wasn't exactly a member of her fan club."

"Daddy is a creep," Diane Bowers said without emotion. "He is a rich creep, which is why people tolerate and amuse and bend to him, but he remains a creep. He didn't like Michelle because she wouldn't go to bed with him. He used to infer that she really wasn't his daughter, that she was the product of a another man, but that was a lot of hooey. Michelle did a lot of things in her short life, but one thing she never did was go to bed with her own father."

"How 'bout you and ... er, Daddy?"

Her blue eyes lit with a flash of anger as she shot an oblique glance at me. "Once," she said, "I was in bed with him. Actually, it was more like rape. He came here to my room in the night while everyone was asleep. I didn't want him, but I didn't scream, either. Mother walked in on us and whacked him across the balls with a book. It was the last time he ever forced himself on me-although there have been times since when he has suggested, practically pleaded."

"Why do you still live here?"

"Because Mother does."

"Why does she still live here?"

"Because Daddy is rich and has libertine friends and Mother is libertine. If Mother wasn't rich, she'd be a whore."

"Having money puts things on a different plane, huh?"

"You can look at it that way if you want to. I don't give a razz. You said you met her. So you should know her. Mother moves fast. And you met Fran. I'll bet they were together. Did you join the fun and games?"

"Baby...."

"Ahh, you did. You don't have to lie to me, Matt Law. I know Mother, I know Fran Nature, and I know men. So don't sit there and look down your short hairs on us."

"Honey," I sighed, "let's get back to earlier tonight. To your friend Michelle and the party. Who was she with?"

"I told you. Everyone."

"How 'bout Archie Table?"

"No. Archie is strictly a twilighter. Archie does not allow women to touch him."

"Tommy Polar?"

Diane nodded. "Sure. Michelle and Tommy usually got together at every party. Tommy is a large man, very large in the right place, and Michelle liked that. On the other side of the fence, Tommy liked Michelle's special little tricks. She was an expert in the hand job and with the tongue, Sergeant."

"Voice of experience speaking, eh?"

"Quit chipping at me about my sex life. It's mine. I can do with it what I want."

"Honey, someone killed your friend Michelle."

"So you say."

"So I have to pick."

"Pick away, but quit chipping."

"Who killed her?"

"How do I know?"

"It was a man. That much we're pretty sure of."

"It'd be a little bit odd-biologically-if it was a woman, wouldn't it? I mean, you said there was semen...."

"Someone at the party," I plodded on. "That is if what everyone tells me about Archie Table is true."

"Michelle could have forced herself on him if he was driving," Diane speculated. "That isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. And it was something she might do. She liked to tease fags, make them squirm. She could have done that with Archie. I wouldn't ever say she didn't."

"And he lost control of his car."

"It could've happened that way, yes."

"But during the party, did you see her with anyone other than Polar?"

"I didn't see them together. I merely was speculating. I assume that sometime during the evening they went to bed together. They usually did at every party. And, yes, I' did see her with another man, two other men, but that's where it has to end, Sergeant. Because I didn't-and don't know the men. They probably were freeloaders, someone who came here with someone. It happens all the time."

It had to be asked, so I asked it: "Could Daddy have forced himself on Michelle tonight?"

"He could have," she nodded, "but I doubt that he did. He rarely pays any attention to any of us in the family when there's a party. He has his own friends on those nights."

"What kind of friends?"

She shrugged. "Odds and ends. He's a mover, too. Michelle came by her roaming naturally."

"And you? Are you also a mover?"

"Damn you, you're chipping again."

"Like hell. I want to know."

"What do you want to know?"

"Are you a mover?"

"Why is it important to you? Are you interested in me? Special?"

"I'm investigating a murder, goddammit-and I have to know about anyone who might be involved."

"Oh, I thought maybe you were developing a special interest in me. I thought you might want to go to bed with me."

"Knock it."

"Zowie, sometimes you do flare. It must be your job. Have you ever thought about not being a cop?"

"I've thought plenty."

"But not enough, obviously. Are you married?"

"No."

"Maybe you should get married. Maybe it'd settle your nerve ends."

"Baby," I said, seeking patience, "I want to know about you and the party. You told me you went to sleep on the lawn, came awake, came up here to shower and go to bed. You didn't know Michelle was dead, so that means no one bothered to tell you or you didn't see anyone after you came awake."

"I didn't see anyone."

"Weren't you curious about where everyone had gone?"

"Sure, but I assumed most had cut and those who hadn't were off in bedrooms enjoying themselves."

"How come you went to sleep on the lawn in the first place?"

"I smoked too much grass. It makes me hungry and sleepy. I found something to eat and then I went outside to rest my eyeballs."

"You're on narco?"

"Please, Sergeant. I said grass. Marijuana. I like it. Not often. But I like it. Now, I suppose you're going to bust me for that."

"No," I said, standing. "It's your body."

"That it is," she said, preening slightly, arching the sculptured breasts and looking down on herself. "Where are you going?"

"To find William Darby Rivers. He's why I'm here. I saw him outside, I followed him into the house, but I lost him. I think I want to talk to him-perhaps for the remainder of the night."

"I'll bet he didn't kill Michelle," she said, continuing to preen. She put her hands under her breasts and lifted them as if in offering to herself. She made little sucking noises as she looked down and tweaked the nippled alive with her fingers. "Nice?" she asked, looking up at me suddenly.

I was hard and she saw me. "Nice," she grinned, dropping the breasts and rolling up on an elbow toward me. She reached out and caught my trouser front. "Very nice," she breathed, the blue eyes narrowing and the light in them changing. "Don't go," she said. "Stay with me. Daddy will keep, but what I've got boiling up inside won't. I'm hot now and ... Michelle is dead."

"Baby...."

"Take off your clothes," she demanded. "I do believe you are as large as Tommy Polar. Maybe larger."

I should have tracked down William Darby Rivers. I should have made my feet move and walked out of that bedroom and left the naked and flawless young girl to stew in her own juices. But I didn't. My body chemistry was in command again. Body over mind, as they say. I disrobed while Diane Bowers lay back and took in all of me without missing a movement. When I was naked, she smiled and said, "Stand there. I want to look at you. Zowie, you are a man!"

I didn't stand anywhere. I plunged. And she giggled and attempted to roil away from me. I captured her. She wanted to play. She pushed against me with her palms, but I held her and I slammed my mouth down against her young lips. She struggled for a few moments, and then her mood changed. She settled low in the bed and began pulling at me as our bodies blended. She was fire and smoothness and tiny noises deep in her throat. I attempted to mount her immediately, but she kept her thighs clamped.

She may have been young, but she was experienced. No quick plunges for her. She was after mileage. She liked to build. She liked to tease a little, then let herself go, swim right up to the edge, and then draw on a secret reserve and simmer down slightly to begin all over again.

I turned her up on her side and she crawled against me. Her pelvis moved in jerks against my front as her tongue became a hot tantalizer, darting and sliding, dipping in deep and then withdrawing quickly. I caught her fresh buttock and held her tight against me. She brought a leg up my body, inching her knee up to my shoulder. The juncture was wide and inviting and dancing now as she wrenched her lips from my mouth. She pulled back her head. Her face was caught up in passion. Her blue eyes were hooded and glinting.

"Let me up on my knees," she whispered. "Get ... I behind me." ;

I fitted myself against her juncture. She was hot and damp and writhing. With the touch, she groaned and her eyelids closed down. White teeth clamped hard on her lower lip and I wrenched her up on top of me. It felt as if I'd entered a hot pit. And she knew how to travel. She kept her hips high and she moved fast, never allowing me to penetrate fully. Her breasts bounced frantically and her eyes rolled halfway back into her head.

"Now!" I hissed as I felt a new swelling burst alive inside me.

"In a second...." she breathed.

But there were no seconds left as I grabbed her hips and brought her down hard against me. Heat and moisture splashed between us and there was a loud sucking sound and then we were rolling on the 'bed. She was under me and I kept pumping. Her eyes widened abruptly and I knew she was having difficulty believing. But she settled and began fluid movements that carried us quickly up on her shoulders. Then she cried out in pleasure and her legs shot straight up and became stiff as she shuddered and clutched while I felt her spasms join my own climax.

I attempted to roll from her, but she hung on and rolled with me. We were breathing hard, perspiring. I remained in her. The blue eyes were in focus now and she smiled as she darted and pecked kisses against my face and mouth. "I've had men," she said, "but I've never had a man until now."

I could believe her, or I didn't have to. I chose to believe her as she squirmed her body against mine. She pulled back her head and looked deep into my eyes. "I want you to go in from behind," she breathed. "Will you?"

I'm already in, baby," I reminded her.

"But from behind," she insisted. "It's the way I like it I don't know why. Maybe it's the animal in me, but it's the way I like it best."

"Then on your knees, pet," I told her.

She was like a child whose fondest dream had materialized. She lifted her leg and slid from me to go up on her knees and elbows. Her smooth hips were high and I got up to squat behind her. She reached back between her thighs and captured me. She gurgled. She was in command now and she fitted me expertly. Her spine curved with my lunge and then we settled into slow movement as I reached down to capture her swinging breasts.

"Good," she breathed. "So very good...."

Her hips went higher and small gasps came from her with each stroke. I moved slowly, drawing almost out to removal and then sliding in deep. She wriggled and made tiny sounds and her hips begged. Then a tremor ran through her and she got up on her hands. "Fast now!" she low-cried.

I put an arm across the back of her neck, forcing her head down and her hips up, and I thrust hard to meet her challenge. She reached back with a hand between her spread thighs and stroked. I drew far out and stopped. She cried out and her fingers went around me and she worked me savagely, keeping me just inside her. I exploded and she went down flat on her face and breasts where we writhed and squirmed until it was finished for her.

I left her, flopped onto my back. She didn't move for a long time and I thought she might be dozing, but when I got up on my elbows she flipped and was on me instantly. "Don't you go away!" she hissed. "You turn me on!"

She slid up on top of me and spread wide to fit herself.

She moved down until she was at the end of the line. And then she wriggled and squirmed and worked her legs until they were closed tight and inside mine. She settled on me, her hair ticking my nostrils and her fingertips working against my rib cage. She put her cheek on my chest and breathed, "Good. You feel so good."

She had youth, and I had stamina. But I wasn't going to find a killer flat on my back, either. I attempted to explain, but all she did was sigh and settle lower. "You can't go until you get soft," she said.

"At this rate, doll, that may be never," I told her truthfully.

I rolled her onto her back. Her legs worked and she suddenly was wide again. She brought them up high as I started to leave her. She said nothing, but her eyes were very blue and bright now and she was waiting. I debated and then sighed and hooked my arms in under her thighs and put her on her neck. I went so deep she grunted before she began to climb against me. The climax was quick and mutual. I dug in with my toes and she dug in with her nails.

Finally I was away from her. She didn't move on the bed as I staggered around the room seeking my clothing. I dressed with my blood still running fast and my heart pounding. Only when I was at the door did she speak. "Will you come back?" she asked.

Does a glutton turn down food? But I didn't answer her. I went out of the room and down the stairway. And for some crazy reason I suddenly was remembering Cora Ayers. For some crazy reason I didn't want Cora Ayers to know about this night. I stopped and dug out a handkerchief and cleaned my mouth. I couldn't remember if Nanette Rivers or Fran Nature or Diane Bowers had been wearing makeup, but I wasn't taking chances, either. Cora was not to know.

"Did you find what you were looking for upstairs, Sergeant?" a familiar male voice asked.

William Darby Rivers stood in a doorway of a large room off to the left of the stairway. He was smirking. To his left and slightly behind him was a pale man who was going stout and thinning at the hairline. He looked unhappy and not quite sure why he was alive.

I pocketed the handkerchief and went on down the steps. Rivers, still wearing the smug, stuck out a hand. "It's time we met, I think," he said. "You've screwed my wife, and I assume you have just left Diane's bed."

He was lucky. Any other man I might have smashed. But Rivers was not a man, not worth the effort. I wasn't sure what he was, but I knew one thing: I wasn't going to soil myself by touching or hitting him. I ignored his handshake.

The smirk grew. He nodded briefly to the man behind him.

"Harold Boswell, my friend, Sergeant. Will you shake his hand?"

Boswell didn't want to shake, and he had company. "Your daughter was killed tonight, Rivers," I snarled.

"I know," he nodded. "I was just going downtown to claim her."

"I'm surprised you've found the time."

"Sergeant," he said, remaining pleasant in tone, "if you insist on being impertinent I shall have to have your ass at City Hall. I can. After all, you've invaded my home, screwed my wife, my stepdaughter. I think that could be called invasion of privacy-or something. But, frankly, I'm not interested in cleaning up on you, I'm interested in cleaning up this ugly little mess and disposing of it. Quickly."

"And I'm interested in getting the hell out of here," I snarled.

He bowed and swept an arm toward the front door. "Be my guest."

I was, and it was a long time before I cooled. I found myself tooling across the city. I didn't remember leaving the Rivers place. I pulled in to the curb and sat pounding the steering wheel while my thoughts churned and began to make sense. I'd blown the investigation. Crowder was going to have my tail. But it couldn't be righted now. I was in no mood or frame of mind. Rivers was on me. If I'd remained in his presence, attempted to take him in, I'd have smashed him, brought walls down on my own skull and the department's. I couldn't stomach the dude. Just the thought of him made my blood run fast and my anger mount.

I didn't want to talk about him. Even to Crowder. I knew his kind had to exist but even though I had seen him in the flesh I had difficulty believing. I had to have time to cool, straighten my mind.

I drove to my apartment. The front curtains were drawn but there was subdued light behind them. Did that mean Cora Ayers was still up there-or had she merely left a light on for me when she had come to her senses and departed?

I went up slowly. There was no need for hurry. It was four-thirty in the morning, and Cora would be gone.

She was there. In my front room. She sat in my deep chair. She was naked. She sat with her heels drawn up and planted against the cushion. Her feet were spread wide and her knees together. A magazine was propped against her thighs and she looked out over the tips of those knees from behind black-rimmed glasses. Her lips were coated with gold, the makeup fresh and glistening. Her exposed cunt looked drawn together and tight.

"Well," she said, almost mockingly, "don't just stand there." She swept off the glasses and laughed gently. "Kiss me."

She was like a magnet. I went to her and got down on my knees and twisted my head and kissed her.

"Now I know it's you," she said softly.

She dropped her feet from the chair as I lifted my head. I gaped at her. The nipples of her breasts were painted gold and a painted golden peace symbol on her belly was dotted by her navel.

She laughed softly again. "What do you think?"

I said nothing. I couldn't say anything.

She said, "I used my coat and I took a cab. I went home, got some things, returned. I even managed to run up some gold lipstick. I had to wake up a friend to do that, of course, but she didn't mind. Now ... what do you think?"

I took her ankles and pulled her out of the chair. She giggled and her fingers moved into my hair and began working as I kissed her symbol.

"Peace," she breathed.

Or perhaps she meant "Piece."