Denver Strike by Randy Wayne White Page B

it.”
    â€œYour husband—Bill Nek—is holding two men prisoner someplace in the mountains. They were being held in an abandoned silver mine, but that may have changed. Anyway, I need to find out where they are, Melissa. It’s very important. Is there any chance you could find out the location?”
    The woman stepped back, thinking. “He keeps all his private papers locked and guarded. In his office, though, there are a lot of maps of Colorado. Those aren’t locked. If I could sneak in there and get a look, they might tell me something. He’s always scribbling on maps.”
    â€œJust as long as you don’t get caught. I’d feel like hell if you got into trouble trying to help me.”
    She kissed him quickly. “I’d do anything for you, darling. Anything in the world. But only if you promise that this won’t be our last time. Promise me?”
    Hawker was putting on his clothes. “I have a rule about making promises to women. It’s something I never do—not since I said yes to my ex-wife, anyway.”
    â€œAh, the bitter divorced man.”
    â€œNot bitter at all. I married a very nice woman. It was a mistake, and we both realized it, and we split. She now lives with a bisexual fashion designer, and they’re both very busy with a political action group demanding a cure for AIDS. I wish them both well. I still send her a card on her birthday.”
    â€œThen why do you sound just a little bitter?”
    â€œWell, maybe just a little. But I’m still not going to make you any promises.”
    Hawker found a pad and pencil by the phone, wrote her unlisted number down and put it in his pocket, then wrote the telephone number of his hotel room (but not the number of his hotel room) on another slip of paper and handed it to her. “If you learn anything, give me a call. Is there any way I can reach you at Nek’s house?”
    She shook her head. “I have a private room, in fact, a private wing of the house. And that includes a great many telephones and three private numbers, but I’m sure that old bastard has them all tapped. He’s a fanatic for security. When I get back, he’ll practically have me interrogated by those Nazis he keeps around the place. He hates it when I sneak out alone.”
    â€œTell him you bought the Porsche as a surprise for him,” Hawker suggested. “That will explain your secrecy.”
    The woman’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t buy that evil, evil creature anything. Ever. He knows that—”
    â€œThen why does he keep you if you hate him so?”
    The woman’s face lost its flush of pleasure, and Hawker was immediately sorry that he had asked. “He keeps me because he sees me as his piece of property. That’s why; He makes me do things. Terrible things. What we did tonight, you and me, it was good, it was clean, it was a strong, pure thing we did. But the things Nek makes me do are sick. They’re nauseating. I know that he watches me when I’m there in the nasty house. I know he has ways of seeing me when I’m in the shower or the bath or on the toilet. Two-way mirrors, maybe. Or some kind of video setup. I can almost feel his nasty eyes on me. I can feel him touching me with his eyes—and there’s not a thing in the world I can do about it!” Hawker wrapped his arm around the woman as her voice broke and she began to cry.
    â€œThere is something you can do about it, Melissa,” he said softly. “It’s called divorce. This is no longer the Old West. Nek may be the richest man in Denver, but he doesn’t make the laws. Get a lawyer and have the courts protect you. Sell this house and use the money to move to Europe. You have a lot of options.”
    â€œYou don’t understand, you don’t understand,” she wailed miserably. “My life is so awful, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.