White Death

Two

Michelle Strange vibrated with energy. The flowing chestnut hair that curled at her shoulders bounced angrily. Her hands worked the air as she talked.

"How dare you!" she stormed. "We've been together too many times. You insensitive lout! Where are your manners? If I know you're around, I always call you. Vacation. Ha!"

"Mike…"

Nick Carter rolled off the cot.

"Don't you Mike me!" She stamped her foot.

"Now, Mike," he said with a smile. "I was going to call you. Really."

He reached to stroke her cheek. She slapped his hand away.

"As soon as I got back from fishing," he said and grinned.

"Even when I'm on a job, I call you!"

"You don't want a smelly fisherman," he said. "You want an exciting agent."

She turned her back.

"Who says I want you at all?"

He slid a hand up under the mane of hair and kissed the back of her neck.

"A beard, too," she said. "Yeechh."

Her skin tasted fresh, of perfumed bathwater. He ran his hands down her back, over the rounded hips, up her sides. She squirmed but didn't move away.

"I'm not this easy," she said.

"You're never easy," he said. "Just beautiful. Desirable."

She leaned back.

Carter trailed his fingers around the outlines of her full breasts, then cupped them in his hands. She sighed deep in her throat. He rubbed his thumbs on the nipples. She ground her hips into him. Her head turned, taking in the four cells.

"We're not alone," she said, watching the sleeping drunk who continued to snore peacefully.

Carter turned her around. Her head fell back, the lips parted.

"Do you care?" he asked.

She pulled his head down.

They kissed, her lips hot and moist. He unzipped her jump suit, then leaned away to look at her. The breasts fell out, pink and ripe.

The chief could come any minute," she breathed.

He smiled, men pulled the shoulders of the jump suit down to her feet.

She was stark naked. Not a wisp of underwear. All curves and lines. Pink skin showed a reverse silhouette of a bikini, the rest tanned to honey by the New Zealand summer sun. The breasts swayed. The triangle of chestnut hair where her legs met were soft springy curls.

He slid his hand between the legs. She unzipped his pants and moaned. He felt the hot slippenness of her.

She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him between her legs, arching her back. Blood pounded into his head. She bit his ear.

Gently they began moving together, her hips grinding against him. Her movements became shorter, frenzied, fighting herself.

Until she exploded. Screamed into his shoulder. A muffled animal sound of defeat and triumph.

He picked her up, swollen with desire, and carried her to the cot. She raked her nails over his back, whimpering.

More. She wanted more.

He lay her on the edge, her feet dangling to the floor, and knelt between her legs. She lifted her head, looking at him with startled blue eyes. Eyes glazed into new need.

He pulled her legs up over his shoulders and thrust into her. Hard man, soft woman. She reared up, exploding again. Face twisted. Lips and teeth biting off a scream.

Thunder rolled through him. Rocked him into her until he too exploded in the black heat of victory.

Petit mort, the little death that man and woman achieve at orgasm. The thought made Carter smile. He lay sweating next to Mike. The little death that brought new life, new vigor. He should have called her.

She stroked his beard.

"It's very short," she observed, studying his jaw.

He chuckled.

"Right now I'm short all over."

She ran her hand down his belly. "Awww…" Damn that woman.

"I think you ought to shave it," she said.

"What??"

She laughed quietly.

The beard, you dope." She lay back, smiling contentedly. "We've got to leave soon. The chief was eager to pass you on to me, but his curiosity will get the best of him eventually."

"You're breaking me out?"

"I've got the authority. The chief will send you off with hugs and kisses."

"He's not my type."

She laughed again. He looked at his fishing gear.

"You like to fish?" he said.

"Stop it, Nick," she said and grinned. "We have to talk business. Then I'll see about getting you out. Now, what s all this about Mackenzie?"

"I don't know any more than what I told the chief."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. She was changing back to the old Mike. Stiff. Professional. Distrusting. She rolled over him and stood, a suspicious virago with a halo of wild chestnut hair. More beautiful than ever.

He had to smile.

"Cut the crap. Nick," she snapped. "What the hell's going on?" She picked up her clothes.

"Far as I can tell, it's a civil air authority matter."

"Don't give me any of that CAA garbage. AXE doesn't work on CAA matters."

"Never has before."

"You're lying to me. I know it. What does AXE want in New Zealand?"

She stepped into her jump suit, wriggled it up around her hips, and tucked in the flushed breasts.

"I'm the only AXE operative here," he said, still smiling. "All I want's my vacation. Can you get some time off too?"

She glared at him. The blue eyes flashed. She zipped up the jump suit.

"Mackenzie was killed by an expert, and for some damned big reason," she said. "We don't have sophisticated killers like that in New Zealand."

"Investigating that sounds more like your job than mine."

"Not if AXE killed him."

"That means you think I killed him."

He gathered his clothes, threw them on the cot, and began to dress. The drunk writhed on his cot and snorted.

"Wha'zit?" Harry the drunk said, batting the air. He sat up abruptly, punching imaginary demons. "Goddamnit all! Bloody thieves!" He opened his eyes and looked around.

Carter buttoned his shirt.

"What about Mackenzie himself?" Carter asked Mike quietly. "Maybe he knew something he shouldn't."

"I miss anything?" the drunk asked, watching Carter and Mike with bleary eyes. "Sorry if I disturbed you," he slurred.

Carter laughed.

"You didn't bother us a bit. Have a good nap?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the cot.

"Ohhhh," he groaned, sinking back.

"You bastard," Mike hissed at Carter. "I want to know what's going on! What did you want Mackenzie for?"

"Like I told the chief," Carter said. "I was asked to do a favor, to find out from the man whether he had any information about a missing American flyer. A real maverick. Rocky Diamond."

She stared hard at him and finally nodded.

"Chief Merritt!" she shouted at the office door. "I'm finished!"

She picked up her shoulder bag, and Carter gathered his fishing gear. The sky showed gray with silvery clouds through the small cell window. It was dusk. Mountain night would fall quickly. Carter would get some sleep and be out at daybreak to fish. He could already smell the moist morning air, hear the jump-splash of the trout.

The chief strode down the hallway toward them, keys in hand.

"Hey. Marshal," the drunk called, sitting up again. "Time to let me out?"

"Not yet, Harry," the chief said and smiled. "Get a good meal. Spend the night."

The drunk nodded thoughtfully from his cot.

"You ready?" Chief Merritt asked Mike.

"Right."

The chief unlocked the cell, and she walked through, Carter following. She grabbed the barred door and slammed it shut in his face.

"Mike!"

"He's lying through his teeth," she told the chief. "Hold him for the inquest, and watch him closely!"

She stalked down the hall. The drunk stood up and stumbled to the wall of bars. He grabbed two bars, steadied himself, and watched her.

"Bloody good-looking broad," he observed.

"Dammit, Mike!" Carter shouted.

The chief glanced at Carter, his weatherbeaten face amused. Then he remembered that he still had Carter, alias Noel Cash, on his hands. He frowned, locked the cell, and stuffed the keys in his pocket.

"Wait!" he called to Mike. "I'll get the door for you!"

He ran ahead to open the office door for Mike, an important government official from Wellington with the two best legs he'd ever seen.

She glanced over her shoulder so that Chief Marshal Merritt couldn't see. She grinned wickedly at Carter, stuck out her tongue, and disappeared into the office. She wouldn't be back. The chief closed the door behind them.

Carter dropped his gear and flopped back on the cot.

"She yours?" the drunk wanted to know. "I mean, if I'd had one like that…" He paused, remembering. "It'll enough to make a man stop the drink," he decided.

The bomb exploded in a burst of light and heat.

The impact thundered through the jail. The outside wall of the cell between Carter and the drunk blasted open. Timbers, big pieces of wood, and splinters slashed through the air. The cots rattled and jumped. One toilet flushed spontaneously.

Part of the wall in Harry the drunk's cell disintegrated in the explosion He held onto his bars and looked reflectively back at the gaping hole. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be free. But when the opportunity was provided on a silver platter, no one should ignore it. He ran toward the hole on wobbly legs.

"Stop!" Carter yelled at him. "You don't know what's out there!"

Carter's cell walls and bars were intact. The darkening night spilled shadows through the gap at the side of the jail. Outside, pines wavered, charcoal and black. "Harry, stop!"

But Harry ran out. He never looked back over his shoulder. It was the principle of the thing.

Instantly the rifle shots rang out, punctuating the village's stunned silence. The first bullet entered the left lobe of Harry's lung and exited through his back. The second bullet caught him as he stumbled with surprise at the pain. It entered the top of his cranium and blew the back of his head off.