Free The Killer Touch by Ellery Queen Page B

muscle-taut flesh beneath it. She was not as calm as she appeared.
    â€œWhere’d you leave Rolf?” he asked.
    â€œIn the cabin, reading. He thinks I’m taking a walk.” She rocked against him, an undulating warmth pressing him from chest to knee. “We don’t have much time. Will you kiss me?”
    â€œNo biting?”
    â€œMaybe that comes later.”
    He felt the surprising coolness of her lips and the curiously facile, impersonal probing of her tongue. He tasted wine and braised pigeon, and decided that this girl knew all the right moves at the right time, but that skill could never take the place of natural passion.
    Then suddenly all her weight hung from his neck. She fell backward onto the ground, pulling him off-balance so that he had to put out both hands to avoid crushing her with his weight. The sandy soil scraped his elbows as he tried to break her grip around his neck, and Burt discovered that somewhere in midfall she had managed to unfasten the robe. He made three more discoveries in rapid succession: She wore nothing beneath the robe, she had a wiry masculine strength, and whatever her ulterior purpose in arranging the meeting, the seduction was in deadly earnest.
    He jerked free and sat back on his haunches. “Cool it a minute. What’s all the rush?”
    She put her hands behind her head and began laughing softly.
    â€œDid him want to chat? Did him want to be a big strong man and just overwhelm poor little me?”
    Her mock babytalk curdled his stomach. “I think I get it. Rolf was supposed to catch me in the act and shoot me, right?”
    She raised her head and frowned at him. “Huh?”
    Burt rose to his feet. “Get up. I’ll show you something.”
    â€œOh, now wait—”
    Burt seized her arm and jerked her up. “Come on.”
    Rolf was stirring when they rounded the corner. The woman tore free and ran toward him. “Rolf, what happened?” She knelt beside him an instant, then whirled and leaped at Burt, her teeth bared, her white robe flying out like the wings of a silver moth on both sides of her nude body. Her nails raked his cheek once, then again, while Burt wrestled with an untimely question: Where does a gentleman seize a naked woman he doesn’t want to hurt? He felt he was being smothered in satin-firm flesh, she seemed to have a dozen arms, breasts, stomachs all heavy with an exciting smell of sweat and perfume. Her teeth were seeking a purchase somewhere in the region of his jugular vein when he found her shoulders and pushed with all his strength. She sprawled backward on the ground, but she was game; she bounced up and was about to charge again when Rolf’s voice cracked like a pistol shot:
    â€œDrop it, Bunny!”
    She stopped as though on a short leash, her robe hanging open. Rolf sat up, drew his legs under him, and spoke in a tired voice:
    â€œWrap up the package, baby. It didn’t sell.”
    She drew her robe together and tied it slowly, like a child putting away a doll which she’d been forbidden to play with until Christmas. Burt watched the pair, feeling like a stranger at a family dinner.
    â€œIt wasn’t my fault,” she said with petulance.
    â€œMine. Totally mine.” Rolf touched the back of his head. “Sergeant March used an old trick. I was expecting something more original.” He pressed his hand to the bulge of his jacket, sighed, and looked up at Burt. “Did you borrow my gun, old man?”
    â€œI’ll keep it for a while.”
    Rolf smiled. “With my compliments. I don’t like guns. That one shoots slightly to the left, anyway.” He fumbled beneath his jacket and drew out a cigarette. “Will you ask your question here, Sergeant, or—” he paused to ignite the cigarette “—shall we go to my cabin and have a drink?”
    â€œThis is fine.” Burt pulled out the gun and squatted with his back against the