Dead Heat (Harry Gould Thriller Book 3) by Raymond Obstfeld

Author:Raymond Obstfeld [Obstfeld, Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-05-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The door exploded.

Pieces of a man came hurtling through.

First a foot. Then a leg. An arm. Gun. They were all attached to a mouth. The mouth was moving.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”

Though I was in a little better shape than last night, thanks to the attentions of Paula Bender who was sitting up next to me, I still had trouble moving very fast. Or even seeing. I did notice that all the pieces of the man were now moving toward the bed.

They all belonged to Jack Manning.

“What are you doing in here, Jack?” Paula snapped at him as he dropped his gun from our direction.

“I was making my morning security round and I noticed you weren’t in your room. I checked all the other rooms, but this was the only one locked.” He paused to look at me. “I don’t know enough about Harry here to trust him. He could have been hired by Sarducci or whoever else might want you dead.”

“Didn’t it occur to you that we might want to be alone in here?” she asked.

“Frankly, no.” His face was expressionless, but there was a grin in his voice.

“Well, we do, Jack. Now that you know I’m safe, please leave. We’ll be downstairs in a while.”

Jack shrugged, slipped his gun back into his shoulder holster and walked through what used to be a door.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Me, too.” And I really was. Last night had been nice, but I was sure that by this morning I’d be strong enough to join in the revelries on a little more active basis. But somehow, having a man waving a gun burst through the bedroom door tends to dampen the romantic mood. In fact, my heart was still chattering against my ribs.

She snuggled up to me and I kissed her on the cheek. If my mouth tasted to her anything like it did to me right then, an exchange of tongues would have bordered on the perverse. We hugged a few minutes until she realized I wasn’t up to much more than that.

“Well,” she said. “I guess we’d better get dressed. I’ve got a lot of speeches to make. And Frank’s coming back this afternoon.” She swept the blanket off her body and sprang out of bed like an eighteen-year-old cheerleader. As she bent over to retrieve her robe, I began to feel that perhaps our parting was too hasty. My heart was still beating rapidly, but with a new stimulation.

I rolled across the bed, looped an arm around her waist and pulled her back onto the bed. She struggled playfully, finally collapsing on her stomach.

“Whew,” she laughed, folding her hands under head. “I need a rest.”

Fortunately, I didn’t give her one.

An hour later I was sitting in the kitchen with Jack Manning. He was reading the Los Angeles Times and I was eating scrambled eggs. The silence between us could have recharged the battery of a Cadillac. Or maybe it was just me feeling embarrassed. Though I couldn’t think what I should be embarrassed about.

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