...After an initial moment of shock, Pendragon almost flew to the door, yanking it open. But Lorelan Barkus was nowhere down the long hall that led to the left toward the front of the building. Nor was she to be seen to the right, though he strode to the small door and stared down the steps that led to a narrow flagstone path that skirted the swamp. She had obviously gone that way—the way she had come—and had disappeared into the night again.
“No sign of her?” Vicki asked the obvious question as if it were obvious.
“Swamp’s swallowed her up.” Pen closed the door and put the night latch on again.
“Strange woman,” Vicki muttered, pouring a large glass of brandy.
“In what way, specifically?”
“Well, for starters, reacting so violently to the sound of her own name.”
“It did seem more than surprise or whatever, didn’t it?” Pendragon filled a tumbler with the amber liquid, too.
“Anyway, I don’t think we have to spend much time worrying about her,” Vicki said, climbing into bed again, with her half-full glass.
“Why not?” Pendragon took a good draft of cognac and just avoided choking.
“Well, she knows she’s in danger, so we don’t have to tell her that.” Vicki finished her brandy and counted off on her fingers. “Second, she even has a couple of ideas about who it is that wants to get her. She mentioned some man in Grand Cayman. And, with that little shooting iron, she seems to be able to take care of herself.”
“Unless someone suddenly shouts her name.”
“That was strange.”
“There’s more strange than that.”
“What?”
“Last night, when you were possessed by her—or whatever it was—well, you didn’t see her eyes. That woman’s eyes tonight were all wrong.”
“That’s because, last night, you were seeing my eyes. Mine are blue; hers are green.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Pendragon objected. “The girl last night, her eyes were filled with terror. This one tonight couldn’t express terror if she were facing a cobra. She’d outstare it.”
“All the more reason why we don’t have to worry about her.” Vicki smiled.
“I guess you’re right.” Pen sighed. “So you agree she was behaving as if she thought someone was out to kill her.”
“Exactly.” Vicki nodded. “Though she didn’t say as much, that’s what I was reading between the lines. But even given that, I wouldn’t worry about her.”
Vicki lightly kissed his earlobe, knowing how that aroused him.
“C’mon, Pen, don’t let one little dream of mine ruin our honeymoon. And, above all, don’t let your bloody curiosity get rolling. That woman can take care of herself. Forget her.”
“All right. She’s forgotten.”
“Then tell me a bedtime story,” Vicki purred.
“Like what?”
“How about like how a man of thirty-eight can have a shock of white hair that makes him look like a Venezuelan sugar daddy off for a dirty weekend with his sexy mistress?”
“That’s a story for another time,” Pendragon gave his stock answer.
“It always is.” Vicki sighed. “All right, then tell me a story about a Canadian sugar daddy off for a dirty two-weeker with his sexy new wife. And he gets her drunk…”
“And himself…”
“And he takes advantage of her—often.”
“I don’t know how it ends,” Pen teased.
“You don’t? Then I’ll show you.” Vicki breathed warm cognac fumes on his Adam’s apple and snuggled her bare hot breasts against his chest.
And within the hour, Pen knew how the whole story went.
Word for word. Right to the climax.
That and the dénouement, however, were incoherent...