Читать книгу Two Faced Woman - Lucy Gordon, Lucy Gordon - Страница 4

Debbie Harker strode into the hotel room without knocking. The man inside looked up quickly. He was middle-aged and wore a perpetually alarmed expression, which deepened when he saw her. “I’m just checking that everything’s all right, ma’am,” he said hastily.

“No need to call me ‘ma’am,’ George,” Debbie told him, tossing her purse onto the bed and moving around to study the room. She had a brisk, purposeful manner that instantly dominated her surroundings and her companion. “I’m not in the police anymore. I’m a private investigator now.”

“Yeah, so you told me on the phone. You could have knocked me down with a feather when you said you wanted to hire me to take some photographs.” George became awkward. “After all, you know my specialty...”

“Rude pictures,” Debbie confirmed.

“Artistic studies,” George tried to protest.

“Knock it off, George. I’ve seen your work, remember. That’s why I had to ask you to recommend a venue. I want some pics that will place a gentleman in a very awkward situation.”

George’s alarm deepened. “You mean, blackmail?”

“In a way. We’re going to blackmail a blackmailer, a nasty piece of work called Elroy Speke. He specializes in women who did a bit of nude modeling when they were young but have put it behind them now. Speke buys up the old pictures and threatens to publish them. My client is one of those women. I aim to put a stop to his little game once and for all. Are you sure this place is suitably equipped?”

“Perfect. That mirror behind you is two-way. My stuff is on the other side.”

Debbie regarded the large mirror on the front of the wardrobe. From this side it looked perfectly normal, but George showed her the inside of the wardrobe that was actually a tiny, concealed room where his camera had been set up. Debbie stepped inside and closed the door. She found she had a good view of the bedroom, which was comfortable in an anonymous fashion. Apart from the double bed there was a wardrobe, a table, a small refrigerator and an armchair. The tones of the carpet, curtains and bedspread were variations of brown and biscuit, and there were no ornaments anywhere.

She stepped back into the bedroom and glanced out of the window, enjoying the sense of anticipation that a difficult job always gave her. It was a longing for that heady sense of excitement that had made her join the police force ten years ago, at the age of eighteen. But she’d soon found that police work had its share of dull routine. She’d climbed the ladder as far as detective sergeant, where her propensity to ditch routine in favor of inspiration had made her superiors tear their hair out.

“And just who the hell are you to chuck the book aside whenever it suits you?” Chief Superintendent Manners, her mentor and guide, had bawled. “The book is there for a reason.”

“If I’d stuck to the book you wouldn’t have Slasher Gibbs in the cells now,” she retorted with spirit.

“No, and I wouldn’t have the chief commissioner breathing down my neck about your unorthodox methods, either. Detective Sergeant Harker, this is your last chance. I’m taking you off the streets and putting you behind a desk until you cool down.”

Debbie set her chin. “I didn’t join the force to do paperwork, sir.”

Manners breathed hard and his face turned a dangerous puce. “You will do paperwork if I say so. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. And I quit.”

She left that day and set up in business as a private investigator. In six months she’d enjoyed some modest success, helped along by a few crumbs sent her way by Manners. But this was her most challenging assignment yet and she was looking forward to it.

Despite her confident manner she’d experienced a few initial qualms about going in for blackmail. But after hearing Jane Quinlan’s full story she had no doubt that right was on her side. “I was nineteen years old when I posed for those damned pictures,” Jane had told her in despair. “I was a student. I needed money for food and to pay the rent.”

She’d gone on to make a successful career as a lawyer and was now preparing for her marriage to a prominent politician. But the news of her engagement had brought Elroy Speke crawling out of the woodwork, flourishing photographs that Jane had long forgotten about.

“I’ve tried offering him money,” Jane said wretchedly. “But he’s not interested. He wants ‘favors.’”

They’d been sitting in the cubbyhole Debbie called her office. It was just big enough for a table, two chairs and a coffee percolator. Debbie filled another cup and offered it to Jane. “You mean, he’s such a worm that he can’t get women any other way?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that. If he wasn’t such a rat I’d say he’s quite good-looking. But he seems to get his kicks from women who are afraid of him. Also, I think he’s trying to revenge himself on his wife.”

“What’s he got against her?”

“She’s rolling in money and he hasn’t a penny of his own. He’s got a flashy car, plus a wardrobe full of silk shirts and handmade shoes, and she paid for the lot. He hates being dependent but he hasn’t got the guts to walk out and live off his own wits. So he ‘evens the score’ by using her money to buy these pictures and then sleep with his victims.”

“You mean, she knows?”

“Goodness, no. He gets back at her in his head. She’d chuck him out like a shot if she found out.”

“Then why not tell her?”

“I threatened to. Speke just laughed and said, ‘Prove it. It’s your word against mine.’ And he’s right.”

“Then we have to get some proof that he can’t deny,” Debbie had said thoughtfully. “And there’s really only one way to do it.”

So the plan was born. Debbie had contacted Elroy Speke, offered him a set of “very interesting pictures,” and asked him to meet her at a discreet hotel in a quiet part of London. She’d gotten the name of the hotel from George, who was a mine field of information about dubious premises. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

“When will she get here?” George asked.

“She? Who?”

“Well, you’ve got a stripper to set him up, haven’t you? Off with her clothes, into the fancy poses, that kind of thing.”

“The ‘stripper’ is me, George.”

George’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to do it yourself?”

“I thought the fewer people involved, the better.”

“But do you know what you’re doing?” he demanded with outraged professionalism. “It’s an art, you know. It ain’t just taking your clothes off any old how.”

“I know that. I’ve had a lesson from one of your own models. What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m up to the job?”

She laughed as she said it for she knew that she brought first-class equipment to the task. She was five feet nine inches tall and slim but curved. Her pale, almost silvery blond hair added a touch of glamour. She wore a short, tight, black leather skirt, and a black leather jacket that was designed to be provocative. It was skintight, emphasizing the swell of her breasts and her tiny waist. There were no sleeves and the shoulders were cut away almost to the neck, but the neck itself was high and the edges kept in place by a zipper. “Yes—No—Try your luck!” That was the message that it sent. Debbie knew she looked dramatically effective, and when George regarded her with a critical eye she met his gaze unafraid. “You’ve got some very nice assets there,” he said at last, judicially. “If you ever need to earn a bit extra—”

“Cut it out, George,” she told him with a chuckle. “Save the spiel for someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

He sighed. “Can’t blame me for trying. What about this bloke? Is he photogenic?”

“No idea. My client didn’t have a picture of him. She says he’s tall and dark, late thirties. I’ve given him a description of myself. As far as he knows I’m called Esther Bridges.” She checked her watch. “I’m meeting him downstairs. If you’re sure everything’s all right here, I’ll go down and wait.”

“I’ll put some music on,” George suggested. “I’ve got a very quiet camera, but a little extra noise doesn’t hurt.”

It was twenty minutes before Speke was due but she preferred to be there early. It was part of being on top of the job. And she was glad she’d done it when after five minutes a sleek sports car drew up outside the hotel and a tall, dark man in his late thirties leapt out. Debbie’s soul burned at the sight of that car. She knew how much it cost. She’d sighed over it, yearned for it, twisted her budget every which way in a fruitless attempt to convince herself that she could afford that high-priced beauty. And this man had bought it with money from the wife he was deceiving.

But none of this appeared on her face. She was regarding the door with a cool expression as Speke strode into the hotel lobby. He glanced around and met her eye. There was a question in his face and his eyebrows lifted slightly. She answered with a nod and sauntered forward. “I believe I’m the person you’ve come to see?” she said.

“If you’ve got something for me, then you’re the person I’ve come to see,” he agreed.

“Oh, yes,” she said sweetly. “I’ve got something for you, something you’re really going to like.”

“Well?” he said impatiently.

“You don’t expect me to have it down here, surely? It’s upstairs in my room.”

“Then let’s go and get it.”

Debbie led the way upstairs, concealing her surprise. He wasn’t exactly as she’d expected. The car fitted Jane’s picture, but apart from his shoes, his clothes didn’t. As Jane had said, the shoes were handmade and, like the car, they gleamed with costly quality. But everything else about his looks took her aback. He wore old jeans and a leather jacket that might have been expensive when it was new, but that was a long time ago. Nor did he have any of the smooth charm of the con man. His manner was rough and almost irritable. But perhaps that was his method, she reflected. Maybe smooth charm was a played-out commodity and he’d calculated that roughness looked more like sincerity.

But in one thing Speke fitted her mental picture. He was as attractive as Jane had suggested, with lean features that might have been almost too handsome if they hadn’t become weather-beaten along the way. His voice had a melodious bass beauty that had given her a shock, and beneath the shabby clothing his body had a powerful athleticism that nothing could hide.

The room was empty as she led him in. Cool, sultry modern jazz came from the radio. Debbie didn’t even glance at the mirror. All her attention was focused on what she was about to do. “Let me get you a drink,” she offered, swaying over to the refrigerator.

“No, thank you,” he said. “I don’t have much time. You know what I came for. Why don’t we get straight down to business?”

“Because there are things we haven’t discussed yet,” she said in a soft, husky voice that was calculated to melt his bones. “Besides, you don’t mind spending a little time with me, do you?”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, then something seemed to arrest his attention. Debbie was surveying him in a languid manner that was full of invitation, and a smile just touched her curved lips. “That might be—interesting,” he agreed.

“Oh, I’m a very interesting woman,” she promised. “Wouldn’t you like to find out just how interesting I can be?”

His eyes narrowed. “Is this how you normally do business?”

“That depends on who I’m doing business with. With some people I take more trouble than others.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. It wasn’t a smile exactly, certainly not a friendly smile. There was something wary and suspicious about it, but it also made his face disconcertingly attractive. “And you plan to take trouble with me?” he queried.

“I think I’ll enjoy taking trouble with you,” she agreed. “Don’t you find it a little hot in here? Why don’t you take this off?” She indicated his jacket, and he didn’t resist when she slipped it off his shoulders. “That’s better,” she purred.

He put his head on one side and regarded her cynically. “I guess the next step is for you to take something off?” he suggested.

She gave him a wide-eyed gaze. “Do you think I should?”

“I think you should do whatever you want,” he told her. “This is your party. I’m just fascinated to see how it’s going to develop.”

Without answering, Debbie began to pull down the zipper that secured the tight leather jacket. Her companion didn’t move a muscle as it went lower and lower, but she could hear the soft rasp of his breathing that had suddenly grown faster. His eyes were fixed on her as her pale, silky skin came into view inch by inch. At last she shrugged off the jacket, revealing beautiful breasts, barely confined in a wispy black lace bra. She smiled at him with confidence. She knew her body was beautiful.

She was swaying in time to the music now, infusing her movements with a sensuous, erotic grace that she could see was having its effect. Her companion was watching her, riveted, and the jeering smile had died on his lips. She unfastened her skirt and let that, too, slip to the ground. She wore no tights beneath it, only skimpy black panties that matched the bra. She pushed her fingers up into her pale blond hair and let her head fall back as she sashayed about the room in time to the music. The movements were intended to suggest ecstasy and display her shape to the fullest advantage.

“Now, what about you?” she murmured, beginning to finger the buttons of his shirt.

He closed one hand over hers. “Before we go any further, there’s something we should get straight,” he said in a husky voice.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t play games, and I won’t stand for a woman playing games with me. Do you understand me?”

Now she could believe that he was a ruthless blackmailer, for there was hard intent in his eyes that boded ill for his enemies. A man without a heart, she thought, capable of anything.

“Do you understand me?” he repeated. “If you turn out to be a tease, you’ll be sorry.”

There was something merciless about him that almost made Debbie afraid. His hand held hers in a light grip, yet through it she could feel sinews of steel and a strength that owed as much to nerves as to muscle. For the first time she wondered if she was wise to arouse passions she had no intention of satisfying. But there was no turning back now. She’d given her word to a client and she wasn’t a quitter. When it came to putting him off, she’d just have to rely on the self-defense techniques she’d learned on the force.

“Why do you talk so much?” she purred. “There are so many more interesting ways of spending our time.”

He released her hand. “Just as long as we understand each other.”

Button by button his shirt came undone. His chest was smooth and lean, positively inviting her to run her fingers over it. She accepted the invitation, and received a shock of pleasure at the feel of his firm flesh. “Why don’t you take your shirt right off?” she murmured.

“Why don’t you do it for me?” he asked with a grin.

She tossed the shirt aside. At once she felt his arm snake around her waist, drawing her close so that her almost-naked body was pressed against his bare chest. “Do you read your stars?” he asked.

“I—well, no—” she managed to answer. To her dismay and annoyance she sounded confused, but that was nothing to how she felt. The feel of being held close to him was disturbingly thrilling.

“You should,” he assured her. “I read mine every day. This morning they said I was going to have a wonderful surprise. And they were right.” He put his other hand beneath her neck, holding her while he dropped his head to brush his lips against the line of her jaw. Debbie set her teeth, trying not to gasp out loud. His mouth had touched her only lightly, but that was enough to send sparks of fire glittering through her. While she tried to fight her reaction he did it again, letting his lips linger this time before trailing them slowly down her neck. The sensation was so poignantly pleasurable that she clutched her hair. Her mind was telling her to end this now but her body was urging her to throw back her head in abandon.

It was all wrong, she told herself frantically. Everything she knew about this man was bad, but that seemed to have faded to the back of her consciousness. The front was occupied by the frenzy of pleasure that was making its way inexorably through her.

Fighting to collect her wits, she began to work on the fastening of his trousers. She needed him as nearly naked as possible, then George could get his pictures and she could bring this to an end. But she didn’t want it to end. As she cast his trousers away she yielded to the temptation to run her hands over his flanks, enjoying the discovery of their lean tautness and the sense of power ready to spring. There was power in his arms, too, as they drew her down onto the bed and pressed her back against the pillows, propping himself on elbows to look down at her. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said.

Suddenly she couldn’t speak. His closeness and the sensations coursing through her had caused a constriction in her throat. If he discovered that, he’d know she was losing control and that would be fatal. So instead she smiled at him, slowly, enticingly. She didn’t know it but that smile was full of the mad pleasure that was pounding in her veins. Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of desire that had begun to beat insistently through her. He looked down at her breasts, softly moving against him, barely covered by the tiny bra. He slid his fingers inside and gave the flimsy item a quick jerk that destroyed it. He tossed the pieces into a corner and enveloped one breast in a shapely hand, letting the ball of his thumb rasp across the nipple.

Debbie gasped at the poignant sensation, and flung her hands out. But instead of pushing him away she found she was clinging on to him, running her fingers through his springy hair. She just managed to suppress a groan. Nothing in her life had felt as good as that. He repeated the action more slowly, and although she choked back the gasp of pleasure, she couldn’t control her body, which had developed a life of its own. It arched instinctively against him, reveling in the contact of their skin and the soft friction as she moved against him. Her arms wound around him of their own accord, pulling him closer. He paused a moment to look searchingly into her face. Then, with tantalizing slowness, he lowered his head and laid his mouth on hers.

It was as though a flaming torch had touched her mouth. In the very first moment she knew that this was more than a kiss. It was a baptism of fire, and she was ready, eager for it. One tiny part of her mind, that was still professional, found time to hope that George was getting all this. The next moment all common sense was engulfed in the flames of excitement that were consuming her. His lips were hard, determined, seeking, intruding, commanding and enticing all at the same time.

His hands were at work all over her body, touching, teasing, thrilling. They were like no other man’s hands had ever been, possessing the skill of the devil, knowing how to drive a woman to madness. She’d meant to half seduce him, keep everything under control and bring matters coolly to a conclusion when it suited her. But all that was slipping away now. She had no control left, only the yearning for this to go on, never stopping until it reached the perfect conclusion.

Her blood thrummed in her veins as she thought of that conclusion. Some distant corner of her brain, where sanity still lived, shouted a desperate warning. This was a bad character, a criminal—apart from that, he was a total stranger to her and she had no right to be naked in his arms. But her body knew better. Her flesh sang and told her that this was the man she’d been made for, and he’d been too long finding her. It was monstrous, crazy— and inevitable.

His face was before her eyes, and now she saw that the look of cool cynicism was gone and he was as thunderstruck as she. He, too, was caught up in something that made a mockery of calculation, and which could have only one appointed end.

Then a shudder went through him and he seemed to control himself by sheer force. “Well?” he rasped. A pulse was twitching near his jaw and his whole body seemed to be made of steel. Debbie could feel him fighting to master his own desire while he eyed her narrowly.

“Well?” she gasped.

“Are you ready to go through with it?”

She looked at him wildly. Was she ready? Was she crazy? This was a man whose control over himself was awesome, terrifying. Could she match it, or would she yield to the wild thrumming in her blood, the craving need in her loins to feel him there?

“Answer me,” he said in a voice that was almost a snarl.

She drew a long, shaky breath. “I—”

But before she could say more there was a crash from inside the wardrobe. Debbie turned wild eyes toward it and saw the door swing open, revealing George sitting on the wardrobe floor, tangled up in the legs of his tripod. The man also looked at him sharply, uttered a profanity, and began to rise. Quick as a flash Debbie tightened her arms about him. For a few mad moments they struggled, he trying to get free, she restraining him, while George frantically grabbed his gear and headed for the door. At last the man’s greater strength prevailed, but Debbie had delayed him just long enough to give George a head start. As the door slammed behind the terrified photographer the man raced across the floor in pursuit, but Debbie launched herself after him and brought him down with a flying rugby tackle. Her advantage lasted only a moment. With a swiveling movement of his entire body he managed to get on top of her, seizing her wrists and holding them above her head. For a long moment they gazed at each other, breathless, angry, infuriated by their own desire.

“It’s too late,” Debbie said, gasping. “You won’t catch him now.”

“You made very sure of that,” he said grimly. “And you’re going to be sorry that you did.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s you that’s going to be sorry. How would you like those pictures to go to your wife?”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“Don’t try to fool me. I know you’re married and you live off her. But the game’s up, Mr. Speke—”

“What nonsense are you talking?” he demanded. “My name isn’t Speke and I don’t have a wife. My name is Jake Garfield, Detective Inspector Jake Garfield. And you’re under arrest.”