When she found that her pocketbook had been taken from the checkroom at the party and the Lin girl’s message removed, she realized that only Johnny Wu or his men could have done it. This accounted for the sudden coldness between Dominique and Wu at the party and also for her flight from Nick. She understood by then that’ she was playing with fire and assumed that the bullets on the roof had her name written on them. She told the story well with a great deal of irony at her own gullibility and confusion.

  Nick knew he liked her. Now he had to decide whether or not he believed her.

  Dominique reached across and let her fingers rest lightly as a caress on the satin-smooth skin of Nick’s upper arm where the muscle underneath was as hard as a steel cable.

  “Voici, Nick,” she said. “You can park here safely. Johnny Wu doesn’t know this car.”

  Her eyes ranged swiftly over his muscled shoulders and strong arms, crammed into the ruined dress shirt with the rolled-up sleeves.

  “Eh, bien, I can see that you do not, perhaps, entirely believe in me.” Her voice was kind and the corners of her eyes crinkled softly. “With such a one as you it would be always war first and peace later.”

  Nick guided the beautifully turned racing machine skillfully into a parking place beneath the trees at the curb.

  “I still think you’re dangerous to know, baby,” he said and flashed his hard, quizzical grin. Her laughter was low and contented but she didn’t answer him.

  Nick caught the scent of river water before he saw it. He followed her along the cobbled sidewalk to stairs that descended steeply to a pier at the water’s edge. Her bare feet left wet prints on the steps and her full womanly rear end rolled smoothly under the blanket cinched around her waist. On the pier she took his arm. Nick felt the long nails dig into his forearm just a little harder than was absolutely necessary.

  “Be careful, Nick. The workmen leave ropes and things lying everywhere.”

  They crossed a short gangplank to a trim-looking houseboat with plate glass picture windows set on an old barge. Dominique dug in her purse for the keys while maintaining a running chatter.

  “It is not good that a girl of my age who is working should live with her parents, especially if she is a journalist. And besides one can sit here on a misty morning and think about the error of one’s ways and make plans for new errors.” She looked up at him smiling and said in a different, softer tone, “It is not easy for me to thank anyone but…”

  She let that hang too and reached up and pulled Nick’s head down to her mouth. He could feel her nails digging into his scalp through the tight curls of his hair, and the soft pressure of her lips gave way to wide invitation to enter and explore. Her tongue was a darting, living thing with an intercourse of its own as she stretched toward him. Nick’s great hands slipped under the blanket to the small hard waist and then to the full animal haunches. The jury-rigged costume slowly gave way. He pulled her to him, feeling the full young, hard-tipped breasts surging against the rigid pectoral muscles of his chest where the buttonless shirt stretched wide.

  Her legs seemed to give way under her. She fell back against the door and her flat belly drove up to meet his manhood, separated only by a thin layer of cloth. Then the blanket gave way altogether and this restored them both to their senses.

  “Perhaps,” she said, humor dancing in her eyes, “it is better if we go inside.” She gathered the blanket around her.

  “Perhaps we might,” Nick said grinning back.. His big hands did not take leave of her at once. He was impelled to take her here on the wet wood of the old barge. It might be a little hard on the lady, he thought wryly. He might have known beneath her go-to-hell recklessness and fashion-model poise, Dominique was possessed of a volcanic nature.

  She led Nick inside and switched on the lights.

  “Wait here, Nick. I will get my first message from Dr. Lin’s daughter Kathy.” She disappeared into the bedroom and Nick sank onto a newly upholstered 17th-century sofa.

  Things must be good in the journalism racket, he thought. The wall-to-wall carpeting was deep enough to graze sheep. The draperies, he noted with the professional’s eye for detail, wouldn’t be out of place at Versailles. The furniture was mostly-17th and 18th century and gave off the soft glow of the well-cared-for antique. He noted a framed Cocteau on one wall and a very small Picasso on another.

  Dominique returned with a telegram in her hand, the blanket still clutched haphazardly around her. Nick let it be seen that he admired the view and Dominique let the blanket slip with a sensual little half smile as she handed him the telegram.

  Dominique lit a cigarette and paced about while Nick scanned the telegram. It wasn’t very revealing. It recalled Dominique’s invitation for Kathy to look her up if she ever came to Paris. It set up the meeting place, asked for secrecy and gave hint of an interesting feature Story.

  “And to think,” Dominique said, puffing away at her cigarette, “I told that miserable rodent Wu all about the meeting and he came within an inch of kidnapping that poor girl. I would never have forgiven myself.”

  “So you think when he found out about the second meeting he decided to eliminate you?” Nick said watching her carefully.

  She shrugged. “You or me or both. When Wu asked me to use my journalistic contacts to have you spotted at the airports he said it was a personal matter, something to do with gambling. I owed him a favor or two and it wasn’t difficult. Then when I saw you at the party I was so frightened I didn’t know what to. think. You had something to do with Johnny Wu. That was all that I knew about you. As a result I must now explain to Papa the loss of that delightful little Mercedes with which he was kind enough to recognize my last birthday.”

  Nick watched the long, brown legs striding up and down the room as she talked.

  “Excuse me, Nick, while I dress,” she said and walked with her loose easy stride back to the bedroom.

  Nick’s mind was moving with the speed of a computer—but with an extra advantage. He could weigh facts and change their value in the pattern and a machine, however complex, could not do that. At this moment the big question was still Dominique St. Martin. A talk with Hawk and a really thorough security checkup were out of the question. Yet even now, they might be setting Nick up for a well-placed bullet.

  Just for instance, Nick thought, how about those picture windows. Most people don’t leave the drapes open at this time of night. Their first action on coming in would be to close them. Nick didn’t think he was being fussy. This sort of detail often made the difference between the quick and the dead. Was a third party watching him through those windows?

  Dominique came back into the’room. In the brief time She had been gone, she had changed herself from a drenched cat, if a still beautiful one, into a different, sleeker creature. Gold lame stretch slacks hugged the lush curves of her hips and swerved in a dangerous curve down beneath her navel. The slacks were matched by a bikini halter of the same material which just served to cup the exuberant thrust of her breasts. She had put her damp hair up into a chignon so that the graceful curves of her shoulders and neck swept up in an unbroken line to direct attention to her full, sensual lips and striking green eyes. She stopped and stood in her gold high-heeled slippers as she entered, aware of her effect—a gift from the gods.

  “But I am a terrible hostess, Nick,” she said. “After all that you have done for me I have not yet offered you even a drink. I have some excellent brandy.”

  “Brandy will be fine,” Nick said shortly. “Do you always leave the drapes open?”

  Her chuckle was rich as she bent to the liquor cabinet.

  “But Nicholas. You are so very suspicious. The windows are of one-way glass which we in here can see out of but no one can see in.” She turned to look at him with her great wide eyes.

  “One makes love as if before all the people in the world. It makes one feel so free and natural and besides it is a great joke on all the people passing by.”

  Well, Nick thought, everyone has his own quirks. This seemed harmless enough—unless it was a particularly macabre trap.

  “You won’t mind if I check on that, I hope.” Without waiting to see if she did or didn’t he rose and went out. She was telling the tnith. All that could be seen was glass and a blur of light behind it. When he returned she was ensconced on the couch, her back propped up against one arm. Her eyes were wide—teasing him.

  “Quel tigre, my Nicholas. Taste this brandy and relax from your wars.”

  “Believe me, Dominique,” he-said, “I’d like to. Then again this isn’t exactly drop the handkerchief we’re playing with the Chinese Communists.” Nick’s voice was lazy as he looked at her.

  She dropped her eyes. “I’m beginning to understand that.”

  Music came up to fill the room from an excellent stereo system. The voice of the American singer Ray Charles followed its complicated, groaning arabesques through the regions of the heart’s deep pain. To hell with it, Nick decided. If this is a trap I’ll get the girl with the stiletto before I go. And if it isn’t I’ll use the ancient, meandering Seine for its purpose famous in song and story—as a setting for love with this beautiful, gutsy girl.

  He heard Dominique giggling.

  “I was just thinking,” she said still laughing. “I cannot forget your wild, wonderful laughter when the bullets were flying. Do you always laugh when people are shooting at you?”

  “Only when I’m winning,” Nick said, grinning.

  “I’ll bet you would laugh when you were losing. Right to the very end,” she said.

  Nick shrugged.

  “Perhaps if it were funny enough. But probably not SO hard.”

  “No,” she said softly. “For very few of us there can be only life and laughter. Or nothing at all.”

  She kissed him softly then drew away—her eyes wide. Her hands slipped up behind her. The lame top fell away, and they came together urgently. Nick scooped up the flimsy halter and tossed it aside. The cool richness of her full breasts made them feel like living things as they drove themselves against the hard muscles of his chest. Her lips were offered eagerly and her mouth opened Wide while her hands became talons that tore the flimsy dress shirt from his back. Then her hands ranging along the oak-hard muscles of his shoulders and arms slipped down to his narrow waist, explored the iron hard thighs then quested back up to tear at the catch of his trousers and fumble with his zipper. Then he felt the cool strength of her hand on him, guiding him as he bent her backward, her body executing a wild dance of love as she fought to join herself with him.

  “Did you ever try to make love on a Louis Quinze couch?” Nick asked gently with a trace of humor.

  “The bedroom, Nick…”

  He picked her up as easily as if she were a child. In the bedroom a nightlight cast a dim glow on the rich furnishings as he placed her gently on the bed. Then they were both without clothes.

  “Hurry, Nick, oh hurry.” She was half sobbing, half laughing as she covered the tough musculine body with kisses and her body leaped and twisted with the urgency of her demand. Suddenly she sat up and her beautifully chiseled face was planting feverish kisses on his chest, down along the coiled cordage of his belly muscles, and he felt the softness of her hair brushing his belly and thighs. His strong, gentle hands cupped the sweet softness of her young breasts and he could feel the rigidity of the nipples under his fingertips. His mouth, as eager and as hot as hers, roamed her body planting kisses and bites in the cool fruit of her flesh. Then her long supple body fell back, pulling him with her and the magnificent thighs formed a great V, urging him into the hot cave of her desire.

  He could hear a low, urgent murmur in her throat, as she twisted her head from side to side, her eyes and mouth shut tight, as if in that way she could contain her passion. He heard her muted cries for more, for release, yet still he held himself off from the inferno of union.

  Her nails raked furrows along his back and buttocks and one smooth thigh was flung over his shoulder. Her moans gained in crescendo and agony as she urged him on.

  And in the end, of course, he went to her. She stiffened as if she had received a jolt of electricity, while Nick felt the blazing, enveloping heat of her flow into him and its singing current soaring through his body as they began the long triumphal march together.

  Together they were lost, tumbling through a white squall of emotion, and yet they seemed to stand outside their bodies and look on the two magnificent animals at love play on the soft wide bed. Nick managed Dominique as he would a blooded mare, with light hands and gentle, firm urgings to her velvety flesh and fine muscles. She followed him perfectly, fused at their ten-derest junction, and together they went centaur-like over the long course until at the end, there was no holding her in and he gave her her head with joy, roweling her with the hard spur of his masculinity. On his milk white steed Nick mounted toward the stars.

  But the long ride was not yet ended. She rose and fell beneath him and the low gasping of her breath threatened to tear the lungs from her body. Nick heard a loud little cry urging him to somehow drive her up and over the last slope of her passion, and he went deep within himself and drew upon a reserve of strength and Stamina, as the smooth thighs stroked his waist and her nails drove the stigmata of Eros into his back and flanks. Nick increased the cruel pace, and from the wild-ness of her response and the fury with which she drove her ripe writhing body at him, it was difficult to tell who was the stallion and who was the mare.

  Then, finally, Nick’s powerful body locked her in a last embrace. With the great goad of his sex probing the wet heat between the lovely legs and butting into the most secret and delicate recesses of her femininity, he took her with him up the last ascent of the steep face of the far pinnacle where the air was rare. There they grew light-headed and dizzy beyond all expectation and clung fiercely to each other while the universe exploded in pure light and they were dispossessed of all knowledge save the concentric waves of their final spasm.

  She lay beside him silently for some minutes with her eyes closed, her limbs trembling and her lovely breasts gone soft.

  Later there was more brandy. Together they explored the mysterious terrain of their fine young bodies and came together in the heat of that magnetism time and again throughout the night. At last the man called Killmaster stretched out perfectly relaxed, drained of those warring passions that made him at times more of an agent than a man. Overflights and espionage networks, the balances of power in Washington, Berlin, Moscow and Peking—all were forgotten in the passion of this Paris night.

  Chapter 7

  UNEXPECTED COMPANY

  SOMEWHERE a doorbell was ringing. Its persistent buzz cut down through layers of deep dreamlessness and nudged Nick’s realization of who he was and why he was there. He came awake with all his facilities in the time it would take most men to rub the sleep out of their eyes. His great muscular body crossed the room in a catlike leap that brought him down softly next to the table on which his Luger rested. He checked the clip quickly, returned to the window and looked out through the one-way glass.

  The bell ringer was none other than Arthur, Johnny Wu’s portly little associate. He was standing at the door with his customary idiotic and meaningless smile pasted onto his face and giving no sign of going away. Once more the strident summons of the doorbell could be heard throughout the house.

  Nick padded back and sat on the edge of the bed. The girl stirred slightly, as he shook her, and opened her green eyes lazily. When they fell upon Nick, a slow smile of contentment spread across her face.

  “Still the tiger,” she said drowsily. “Always at war.” She threw the covers aside exposing the rich voluptuousness of her long body, as slowly, satiated by love and sleep, as last night it had been thrusting and wild. She ran her hands lightly over the rigid muscles of Nick’s lower belly and went exploring along down his thighs.

  “Let them ring whoever it is. Perhaps they’ll go away.”

  She arched her body kittenishly and attempted to draw Nick down. Her body smelled warm and good and the nipples on the full ovals of her breasts were becoming erect.

  “Dominique,” Nick said sharply and pulled away. “It’s Arthur, Dominique. You’d better find out what he wants.”

  Her great eyes widened and her body became tense.

  “No, Nick. That little man gives me the creeps. I don’t want to see him.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Nick said gently. “Since they know about tomorrow night’s rendezvous with Kathy Lin, and we have no way to warn her, we’d better find out as much as we can.”

  He bent and kissed the frightened girl. “Don’t worry. Papa will be right outside the back door, and if Charlie Chan tries anything rough we’ll shoot him full of little round holes.”

  Nick’s respect for Dominique increased at her reaction. She offered no further arguments but reached for her kimono. Nick couldn’t resist a slap at her full rear end as it went by. Then he moved quickly toward the back door, naked except for Wilhelmina. The louvers in the door were open and he would be able to hear everything that went on in the living room. This was no time for modesty—Dominique was already at the door and Arthur looked as if he were about to try the back. Nick stepped outside.

  He heard Dominique open the front door and yawn.

  “Hello. Oh, it’s you, Arthur. I suppose if you insist on calling at this beastly hour I might as well give you some coffee.”

  He heard Arthur’s high-pitched voice giggle out some reply, and then they went into the living room where Nick could hear them distinctly.

  “It makee velly good morning, Mamlazelle Dominique,” Arthur said. “You lookee velly fine today. Spling weather aglee with you.”

  Nick, pressed to the shingling, realized that stark naked with the wicked-looking Luger in his hand he would present a curious figure to any passerby. So far though, the river was empty here in the secluded upper reaches and he couldn’t be seen from the street side.