collapsed against him. She pressed her face against his chest and sobbed, “You’re the only one who can help me. He’ll kill me unless—”
“Unless I kill him first.” Shayne’s voice was harsh.
Her supple body quivered while one arm crept up about his shoulders. She lifted her head, crushed her breasts against him, and her eyes were hot with something more than mortal terror.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s it. You’ve got to kill him first You can’t stand by and let me be murdered. You know you can’t.”
Sweat beaded Shayne’s face. “Why can’t I?”
She tilted her head back. Her eyes were tightly shut. She strained her mouth upward to his. Her lips were parted, full and moist. She murmured, “You can’t, because you’re a man—and I’m a woman. Because you’re you and I am me. You’ll help me. I know you will.”
“Kill your husband for you?” Shayne asked implacably.
Her lashes fluttered up and her humid eyes held his. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that. But—yes. Yes. It’s the only thing that will save me now.”
Shayne’s jaw was set. The beads of sweat ran together, trickled down. A muscle twitched in each lean cheek. He obdurately kept his arms at his sides. “Why should I save you?” he asked hoarsely.
She clung to him tighter. Her eyes were not quite the same. “You know why,” she whispered. “You knew this afternoon. As soon as we saw each other—we both knew it would be like this with us.” Her breath came and went in little whimpering gasps. She nuzzled her wet mouth up to his lips. Both arms were around his neck, straining to drag his head down to bring their lips together.
The telephone rang loudly in the bedroom.
Shayne put two big hands on her shoulders and shoved her from him. She swayed back and dropped listlessly into a chair.
Shayne strode to the telephone, snatched up the receiver, and said, “Shayne talking.”
The eagerness went away from his lined and swollen face when a hearty voice rumbled, “Will Gentry, Mike. And this time you’ve got yourself in deeper than I can get you out.”
“What cooks, Will?”
“You’ll soon be, in a vat of oil—unless you can think of a lot of answers fast. There’s an FBI in my office.”
“Pearson?”
“Right. He’s got a lump on the side of his jaw and a yen to meet the guy who put it there.”
Shayne said, “Listen, Will—”
“You do the listening. For God’s sake, Mike, you can’t push Washington around. They’ll bury you under the Atlanta prison all wrapped up in red tape.”
“All right,” Shayne sighed. “What does he want—an apology?”
“I don’t think he’s interested in apologies. He wants to talk to you about Jim Lacy.”
Shayne said, “Why not? I’d like to hear what he’s got to say, too.”
“That’s fine.” Gentry sounded relieved. “We’ll be right over.”
Shayne said, “Hold it, Will. Can’t you stall him for a little while?”
“Why should I? You’ve got to come clean sooner or later.”
“All I want is a few minutes. Time enough to get rid of a caller before you get here. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll try. But no more than that. You can’t play hide the button with these guys.”
Shayne said, “Thanks, Will. Fifteen minutes.”
He cradled the phone and swung into the living-room. His eyes were hard and bright. He said, “Get up,” to the girl slumped in the chair.
Helen got up slowly. Her shoulders drooped and she avoided his gaze. She had put all of herself into her passionate appeal for his help and she knew she had lost.
“We’re having company,” Shayne said swiftly. “The law is coming up. Get in the bedroom and stay out of sight. Under the bed or in the closet. We’ll finish our talk after I get rid of my visitors. I’ve got a hunch I’ll have a lot of questions to ask you after I’ve talked to them.”
He stood aside for her to enter the bedroom, his face hard and inscrutable. She hesitated as
“Unless I kill him first.” Shayne’s voice was harsh.
Her supple body quivered while one arm crept up about his shoulders. She lifted her head, crushed her breasts against him, and her eyes were hot with something more than mortal terror.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s it. You’ve got to kill him first You can’t stand by and let me be murdered. You know you can’t.”
Sweat beaded Shayne’s face. “Why can’t I?”
She tilted her head back. Her eyes were tightly shut. She strained her mouth upward to his. Her lips were parted, full and moist. She murmured, “You can’t, because you’re a man—and I’m a woman. Because you’re you and I am me. You’ll help me. I know you will.”
“Kill your husband for you?” Shayne asked implacably.
Her lashes fluttered up and her humid eyes held his. “It sounds terrible when you say it like that. But—yes. Yes. It’s the only thing that will save me now.”
Shayne’s jaw was set. The beads of sweat ran together, trickled down. A muscle twitched in each lean cheek. He obdurately kept his arms at his sides. “Why should I save you?” he asked hoarsely.
She clung to him tighter. Her eyes were not quite the same. “You know why,” she whispered. “You knew this afternoon. As soon as we saw each other—we both knew it would be like this with us.” Her breath came and went in little whimpering gasps. She nuzzled her wet mouth up to his lips. Both arms were around his neck, straining to drag his head down to bring their lips together.
The telephone rang loudly in the bedroom.
Shayne put two big hands on her shoulders and shoved her from him. She swayed back and dropped listlessly into a chair.
Shayne strode to the telephone, snatched up the receiver, and said, “Shayne talking.”
The eagerness went away from his lined and swollen face when a hearty voice rumbled, “Will Gentry, Mike. And this time you’ve got yourself in deeper than I can get you out.”
“What cooks, Will?”
“You’ll soon be, in a vat of oil—unless you can think of a lot of answers fast. There’s an FBI in my office.”
“Pearson?”
“Right. He’s got a lump on the side of his jaw and a yen to meet the guy who put it there.”
Shayne said, “Listen, Will—”
“You do the listening. For God’s sake, Mike, you can’t push Washington around. They’ll bury you under the Atlanta prison all wrapped up in red tape.”
“All right,” Shayne sighed. “What does he want—an apology?”
“I don’t think he’s interested in apologies. He wants to talk to you about Jim Lacy.”
Shayne said, “Why not? I’d like to hear what he’s got to say, too.”
“That’s fine.” Gentry sounded relieved. “We’ll be right over.”
Shayne said, “Hold it, Will. Can’t you stall him for a little while?”
“Why should I? You’ve got to come clean sooner or later.”
“All I want is a few minutes. Time enough to get rid of a caller before you get here. Give me fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll try. But no more than that. You can’t play hide the button with these guys.”
Shayne said, “Thanks, Will. Fifteen minutes.”
He cradled the phone and swung into the living-room. His eyes were hard and bright. He said, “Get up,” to the girl slumped in the chair.
Helen got up slowly. Her shoulders drooped and she avoided his gaze. She had put all of herself into her passionate appeal for his help and she knew she had lost.
“We’re having company,” Shayne said swiftly. “The law is coming up. Get in the bedroom and stay out of sight. Under the bed or in the closet. We’ll finish our talk after I get rid of my visitors. I’ve got a hunch I’ll have a lot of questions to ask you after I’ve talked to them.”
He stood aside for her to enter the bedroom, his face hard and inscrutable. She hesitated as
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