Free Choke by Stuart Woods Page A

head. “Those two have one hell of a lot to hide. And believe me, before I’m done, I’m going to know it all.”
    “Tommy, when you own a boat that big, aren’t you supposed to have some help on it? I mean,
I
made the tunafish. That girl doesn’t have a clue about food.”
    “Maybe they like to do for themselves.”
    “Or have their guests do for them,” Rosie said grumpily.

13
    C lare Carras looked across at her companion. They were sitting, naked, in the back seat of the Mercedes in a grove of trees on Stock Island, near the huge lump of garbage the locals called Mount Trashmore, and they had just made love. “We’re going to have to cool it for a while,” she said.
    “What’s the problem?” he asked.
    “This cop, Tommy Sculley, has been too much in evidence the past week or so—on our diving trip, for instance. It was Harry’s idea to invite him and his wife.”
    “Maybe he just liked them.”
    “It’s not like Harry to like cops, let alone socialize with them.”
    “What’s Harry got against cops?”
    “Maybe his mother was frightened by one when she was pregnant. How the hell should I know?”
    “You’re married to him.”
    “Maybe, but I don’t know him much better than anybody else. Oh, I know what he likes for dinner and what he likes in bed, but beyond that, I’m on the outside.”
    “Nobody can keep his wife on the outside; wives know too much. Mine did, anyway. She always knew fucking everything.”
    “Maybe I’m not the ideal wife then, okay? Harry’s by nature an enigma; he doesn’t tell anybody anything he doesn’t have to, not even me.”
    “But you sign on the bank account; you’re the sole beneficiary of his will, aren’t you?”
    “Yes, but the will doesn’t say what there is or where it is. I know he deals with some foreign banks. Once in a while I catch part of a telephone conversation from his end, but I don’t know which banks or how much is in them. He’s promised me that if anything happens to him, his executor will handle everything. I can hardly press him on this.”
    “Who’s his executor?”
    “A lawyer in Naples.”
    “You have his name?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s good to know.”
    “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get the money; there isn’t anybody else to leave it to. Harry’s life is as devoid of friends and relatives as if he had just arrived from another planet.”
    “Strange.”
    “It’s just the way he is. He trusts me and nobody else.”
    “He trusts you, but you know nothing about his financial affairs.”
    She turned toward him. “Don’t get sarcastic, baby.” She took his testicles in her hand. “I’ll pull them off.”
    “I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.
    She changed her grip to his penis and began kneading. “You love it when I do this, don’t you?”
    He sighed, then caught his breath.
    “You want to fuck me again, baby?” she asked.
    “You know it.”
    She pulled him toward her and lay back. “Then come to me, lover. Do it to me again.”
    It took him longer this time, but she brought him skillfully along until she was ready herself, then she tightened on him. He came in a rush of fast breathing and loud noise.
    “There, dear,” she said, “is that better?”
    “Boy, is that better,” he breathed.
    “So, we’re going to hold off for a while, okay?”
    “Why do we always have to fuck in the car or on a beach somewhere?” he complained. “There are beds available to us.”
    “You love it in the car and on the beach,” she said. “Anyway, beds are risky. You never know when someone will walk in.”
    “Are you fucking Chandler, too?” he asked.
    “Baby!” she spat. “What a shitty thing to say to me!”
    “You are, aren’t you?”
    “If I am, it’s for us, sweetheart,” she cooed. “Always remember that.”
    “I’ll try to remember,” he said.
    She pushed him off her and retrieved a towel from the front seat, wiping them both. “So we’re going to cool it?”
    “I guess.”
    “Promise