Killmaster 83 - The Death’s Head Conspiracy by Nick Carter

Author:Nick Carter [Carter, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: papachanjo
Published: 2011-08-06T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

I woke up at dawn feeling as if all the old parts had been replaced with brand-new, teflon-coated permanent-press components. The sound of splashing water and a woman’s voice singing in Spanish came from the bathroom. I swung out of bed, padded over to the door, and pushed it open.

Billows of steam rolled out into the room. Behind the transluscent shower curtain, I could see the silhouette of Pilar’s beautiful body as she soaped herself and sang something from the days of Pancho Villa. Now and then the curtain would cling to her skin, displaying the glistening surface like the cellophane window in a box of candy.

I stood there for a minute, enjoying the sight, then grabbed the curtain and pulled it aside.

Pilar gasped with surprise, and moved to cover herself with her hands in the instinctive female gesture. Then she dropped her arms and stood smiling under the shower jets while the water sluicing down over the mounds and dips of her body made her glisten like a seal.

“Good morning, querido,” she said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Her eyes moved down my body. “Do you always wake up in this condition?”

“It all depends on who’s taking a shower in the next room.”

“I trust you slept well.”

“Like a log. If the world ever learns about that in-somnia cure of yours, we’ll see the last of barbitur-ates.”

“Flatterer. Get in and I’ll soap your back.”

I stepped into the shower and Pilar turned me around. She lathered up her hands, but the area of my anatomy she soaped was definitely not my back. I turned and stood facing her, water splashing off both of us. For the first time I realized what a tall girl she was.

“It occurs to me,” I said, “that I’ve been taking an awful lot of orders from you. It’s about time I took over.”

“What did you have in mind, querido?” she breathed, leaning forward, those magnificent breasts swinging toward me.

Placing my hands under her arms, I lifted Pilar and brought her toward me. Then I lowered her, a fraction of an inch at a time.

She made a little sound of delight as her arms encircled my chest and she pulled us together, squashing her breasts against me. We began a slow, undulating, stationary dance there in the shower, gradually stepping up the rhythm until Pilar twisted and flailed like a woman possessed. Suddenly, she cried out, her voice piercing the monotonous drone of the water.

Afterward, we stood together, letting the water wash over our bodies.

We dressed quickly, then went to the caf£ next door for a delicious breakfast of huevos rancheros. We washed it down with Mexican beer, which even at breakfast time is better than the bitter Mexican cof-fee.

A taxi took us to the Aeropuerto Nacional, where we boarded a small jet. We took off at six-thirty. With the two-hour time differential, we would land in Curasao at about noon.

As we flew over the peaceful green of Yucatan and the deep blue of the Caribbean,

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