Free Midnight's Lair by Richard Laymon Page B

cared more about the colour of your panties.
        A real sleaze.
        And Darcy's boss.
        Chris hurried up the stairs, and felt a little relieved once she turned at the landing and knew she could no longer be seen by him.
        
***
        
        She had warned Darcy about the guy. 'I'd keep my guard up around him, if I were you.'
        'Oh, he's all right.'
        'If you don't mind a man undressing you with his eyes.'
        'Depends on the man.'
        'Very cute. I'm serious.'
        'Don't worry, Mom. He's not my type.'
        'Is he married?'
        'Interested?' Darcy asked, that glint in her eyes.
        'Right. I'll run right down and throw myself into his arms.'
        'He'd probably go into cardiac arrest.'
        'I take it he's not married.'
        'I've heard his wife ran off with someone a few years ago.'
        'Well, just watch out for him.'
        'Don't worry. He starts any trouble, I'll give him the ol' one-two and knock his lights out.'
        The kidding around, Chris knew, was simply her daughter's way of dealing with the problem. The warning had been heard and accepted.
        And probably wasn't necessary in the first place. Darcy was a sharp kid. But a little motherly advice never hurt.
        
***
        
        Chris searched her shoulder bag as she made her way along the corridor. She found her room key, stopped at the third door from the end, and let herself in.
        With the door shut, she turned the latch.
         Don't want Ethan the lech coming in with a pass key while I'm undressing, she thought.
        The pits to think he can let himself into any room that suits his fancy.
        Good thing Darcy has a roommate.
        Chris wondered if they used the inside latch. They certainly should.
        Remember to mention it at lunch.
         Oh, Mom, you worry too much. The man is probably harmless.
         I latched my door, she thought, and I'm sure I'm not nearly as tempting to a man like that as Darcy is.
        She suddenly remembered Arthur, one of her boyfriends. Oh, that bastard, that bastard. She hunched over, hot and sick, no longer in the hotel room but home and waking up in her dark bed and wondering where Arthur had gone and looking for him and finding him in Darcy's room, crouched over her bed, touching her while she slept.
        Darcy, only sixteen.
        Thank God she didn't wake up. She never found out about that disgusting episode.
        Days later, she asked, 'What happened to Arthur? You dump him?'
        'He was a shithead.'
        That grin. That glint in her eyes. 'Hey, I could've told you that.'
        And no man, not one, ever slept over again.
        Chris looked at herself in the mirror. She was bent over, her face red, as if she'd taken a punch in the belly. She straightened up.
        She took her clothes off.
        And felt stupid gazing at her reflection.
        But it helped.
        'Not bad for an old bag of thirty-nine,' she said. Then she got into her swimsuit.
        
***
        
        Hank Whitmore looked up from his paperback when the woman entered the pool area. He watched her stride past the end of the pool and choose a lounge chair on the far side.
         The scenery, he thought, has taken a definite turn for the better.
        She was a tall, slender blonde, probably in her early thirties. As Hank watched, she removed her long white shirt. Her swimming suit had thin straps that formed an X on her back. Except for those, her back was bare to the top of her rump. Shiny white fabric hugged her buttocks.
        Hank pursed his lips.
         And Paula felt sorry for me, he thought. Poor Dad has to wait around for an hour and a half with nothing to do.
        The woman turned slightly and bent over to drape her cover-up on the back of the lounge. Her side was bare all the way down to the hip. Though the suit clung to her breast, it didn't