The Tiger's Wife Read online

  Bohy didn't move except to puff smoke at him. He said; "It's gone, so quit wasting your time. Something else you'd better quit doing is hijacking rich ladies. I guess that's what you had in mind."

  Cherry had lost his glasses. He squinted through the gloom as he felt his shoulders where Bohy's weight had landed. "Oh, you're the smart nosy bastard from the hotel," he sneered. He began reviling. Then he brought Jill's name into it.

  Bohy stood up and stepped forward and hit Cherry with both hands in succession. Then he picked the gunman up and hit him again. He lost control and, puffing his cigar, he kept pounding at Cherry until he heard the bone in the pug nose snap. He stopped then and felt a little ashamed of himself.

  Cherry was sitting in the roadway, holding his face and moaning. The blood spilled between his fingers and splattered the front of his suit. He whimpered like a baby when Bohy picked him up again.

  Bohy said gruffly, "I'm not going to hit you any more. Sorry I broke your nose. Now, that's the way to town. Get moving."

  He gave Cherry a shove that sent him stumbling away. He watched the gunman weave awkwardly down the roadway until the darkness swallowed him. He muttered to himself, "What the hell, he deserved it." Yet he never had liked fights where nobody hit back.

  And Cherry hadn't landed a blow. Bohy's suit wasn't mussed and his knuckles weren't even scraped. He regretted this a little. He had vanquished evil and he didn't have any wounds to show his lady fair. Lucius Bohy, despite his age and experience, was still a romantic. He went back to find his lady, hoping that he hadn't perspired.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sunday, December 2, 10:00 p.m.

  Jill was sitting up, holding her head. At Bohy's approach she clutched the sweater and slacks up in front of her body, a tense white shadow in the sandy cove.

  He stopped a little distance away so as not to alarm her. "Don't worry, Mrs. Spring. I'm not the one who hit you."

  Her voice was shaky. "I don't know who you are."

  "But I'm Luke Bohy. You remember. The big ugly fellow who acted like a fool this afternoon, then I sent you all those orchids."

  A short pause, then she laughed nervously. He was happy to be remembered. He said, "I followed you tonight. I mean, I saw that other bugger following you and I got worried about your safety."

  "Oh."

  "I got here just when he was going to hit you again. He had you spotted as a rich widow, alone." Bohy ambled closer, hoping the gruesome details would make an impression for him. "I guess he was going to dump you in the ocean after. People would think you'd come afoul of the rocks and drowned. Lucky I trailed along."

  "Did you call the police?"

  "Uh, no." The notion surprised him; he wasn't a man who instinctively dealt with police. "No, I just sent him packing. I'm sorry, Mrs. Spring."

  "Oh, that's all right," she said absently. "The bag-would you mind?"

  He hastened to hand it to her, keeping his eyes averted from her body, also from her underthings.

  She stopped groping in the straw bag to gaze up at him. "I must be very upset, more than I care to admit," she said slowly, "not to have thanked you. I'm grateful beyond words, Mr. Bohy."

  "Good," he said. He sat down. "You know, this isn't a good place for a lone woman to come at night." He gestured at the silvery stretch of sand. "La Caleta's the morning beach. People go to Homos or La Quebrada at night. Somebody should have told you."

  She blinked and smiled in the way he remembered.

  "Somebody did. I prefer to come here. I swim in the moonlight alone and I lie listening to the waves alone and I have thoughts all my own. Much nicer than people." He grunted. "Well, maybe you'd like me to get out of here, then." He was a little nettled that she hadn't made more over his heroics; after all, he didn't save a woman's life every day.

  But she said, "Of course not," quickly enough, and he was mollified. "Though I would like you to turn your head for a moment."

  He swung around so his back was toward her and he listened to the intimate sounds of her dressing while he stared at the mantle of flowers that softened the nearby cliff. He said, "I acted like a fool this afternoon. Just by opening your door you put me in a funk. You're a tall girl, anyway, and you suddenly looked so damned queenly."

  "Queenly." She gave a pleased chuckle. "You may turn around now."

  He did. She had packed her sweater and slacks and underwear away in the bag. She had put on a dark two-piece swim suit of an unsubstantial-looking material. She seemed more naked to Bohy than before. The trunks embraced her loins and emphasized the bare length of her legs. The halter curved with her deep breasts and held them as disturbingly as hands.

  "Please don't stare."

  "It's you," he offered obscurely.

  She eyed him curiously, then held out an ornate silver half-pint flask. "Usually I swim first. But tonight we'll dispense with rules of order. You're Luke and I'm Jill and you've earned first drink."

  He said, "Thank you, Jill," just to use her name. The tiny flask appeared to be an expensive antique. He hoped against hope there was rum inside. He poured a drink into the fancy silver cap and tossed it off. He somehow avoided gagging.

  "It's kummel," Jill said, taking the flask back. "I hope you like it. It's all I do like." She drank her portion ceremoniously. "I'm sorry there's so little."

  "It's a pity, all right." Their eyes met, smiling, while they considered each other frankly. She was no longer queenly to him, but no woman, once seen without clothes, could be. He wanted badly to hold her, an emotion torn between wanting to baby her and lusting after her and simple admiration. He fumbled, "Didn't you like the flowers?" He longed to know what she was thinking about him.

  "Oh, yes, they were overwhelming. But I'm afraid-the maid admired them too and told me a very sad story about wanting to decorate the church altar, so I hope you'll forgive me."

  "Yeah. Sure. Worthy cause."

  "I know they must have been very expensive."

  "Well, I'm pretty well fixed," he blurted out. He wondered then why he had always considered himself such a hand with women.

  She said solemnly, "Yes, I'm well fixed too. But I meant you have a right to be annoyed with me."

  "Not a chance. Plenty more flowers where those came from."

  She nodded as if he'd said something bright. He knew better. She asked, "Who are you, Luke?"

  An adventurer who had banked some money, a bandit according to several biased Asiatic outposts, a godsend and a gun-runner to certain self-appointed generals, a headache to some consuls and an intimate of others-a man of Violence with no roots. But he wanted roots, so he said carefully to Jill Spring, "I'm in the trucking business, sort of. Retired." His last job had been to run a convoy of arms across Bhutan.

  She chuckled. "You sound as if you didn't care for the trucking business." She knelt over her bag, searching out a swim cap. She fitted it over her hair as she talked. "Since one confession deserves another, I'm a widow. My home's in Los Angeles at present, but I'm originally from New England."

  He asked if she had children-she had none-and she asked if he were married. Some miracle had them sitting nearer together while they exchanged minor statistics. She smelled fragrant to him, and the tight dark swim cap brought out the fine calm sculpture of her face. He preferred to keep the conversation on her.

  She shrugged at some fancy of her own. "My family's rock-ribbed Yankee stock, very old and very strict. They wouldn't approve of moonlight swims. Neither would Howard-that was my husband, an investment broker. He was very good at it, for which I'm completely grateful, since I can afford to do the sort of things now that he wouldn't approve of. He was killed in the war."

  "That's too bad," said Bohy, clearing his throat. She was absently trickling sand over her round thighs, just above the knees. The firm flesh, her unconsciousness of it, aroused him; he put his eyes elsewhere.

  "Oh, I don't know," she said and threw a handful of sand into the air. "I'm sorry for Howard, certainly. But I'm not sorry for me. Did you ever notice that most sorrow is merely self-pity? I like living too much to kill part of me with self-pity." She turned suddenly and the tip of one breast touched his arm. "I've got such a love for life it's positively indecent. I-"

  By both arms he jerked her against his chest and mouthed her brutally. With his gust of animal passion he was at first conscious only of the heightening of his own sensations, the luxurious grope of his hands over her skin. Then he gradually became aware of her. She didn't fight and she didn't help. Her lips were soft and impersonal. When he realized this, Bohy released her suddenly. He was ashamed of his bestiality and he cursed himself, not daring to meet her eyes.

  Her voice said, "You're a strange one. Part of the time you act like a boy… or is that a method?"

  "No," he muttered. "I'm sorry I did that."

  She was studying him coolly. "And I really believe you. That's what I mean by strange. Tell me, who in the world buys your ties? Both that I've seen are horrid."

  "I buy them," Bohy snapped. "Why?"

  "I believe that, too. I can see you doing it with the same aesthetic regard you showed a minute ago." Jill looked down at her halter. Now only a ripped shred fastened it between her breasts. She broke the shred with her hands, slipped out of the remnant, and handed it to him. "Was this what you had in mind, Luke?"

  He gaped at her stupidly, holding the torn cloth in his big fists. Her full taut breasts stirred proudly as she breathed.

  She said, "If you let me know in advance, we can kiss properly."

  Her lips, so flaccid before, were intent and seeking this time. Her bosom found its passionate residence against him and their hips meshed. The surf noise got into Bohy's head and became a physical throbbing all through his body. Finally she pushed back and they both
gasped and stared at each other.

  Her smile trembled. "I like having something to say about it, too."

  She got to her feet shakily, felt the heat of her face with both wondering hands. "I usually do what I start out to do. I came here to swim. Won't you join me?"

  "I don't have a suit."

  She shrugged playfully. Then she scampered for the surf. He allowed himself only an instant's amazement before he began ripping at buttons. He caught her before the first warm breaker rolled lazily over them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thursday, December 6, 11:00 a.m.

  Four mornings later-Thursday-he lay in her bed and watched the pedaling movements of her pretty legs as she went through her calisthenics by the window. The air was scented with sea and flowers, and the Mexican sunlight made a halo around her entire nude body, and Bohy sighed with the happiness of it. In words, he said, "God, you're like a beautiful doll."

  "An unbreakable doll," Jill added. "Thank you, darling." When she'd finished the pedaling exercise, she lay flat on the carpet, looking at him seriously. "You don't think there's a bit too much of me? Here?" She touched her breasts with her fingertips. He said no, loudly, and they both laughed. "I always have been a bit bust-conscious. I can't decide whether you're curing me or making me worse."

  "Come on back to bed." He was full of the immensity of his emotion, their emotion. He had never been plunged so deeply in love before, and she had proved she hadn't either. It was dizzying, and each of the four nights had been more so.

  But she said, "I've been back to bed twice already this morning." She rose suddenly and stood there critically studying his face on the pillow. "Why haven't you ever grown a mustache, Luke darling?"

  "Don't like them on blond fellows. Like so much corn silk. Hey, this bed now-"

  "Bless that bed," said Jill, and, switching about airily, draped a white tailored negligee over her shoulders. She commenced brushing her red mane. "I think I'll unpack your things. Wouldn't that be homier?"

  "Too much trouble. When we move back to my room tonight."

  "Oh, let's stay here. Can't we?"

  "Well, I guess. I thought we both wanted it the other way, one night your room, the next night mine. But sure, anything you say." He raised up on an elbow to watch her dreamily as she briskly attacked his two suitcases. "What do you want to do today?"

  "Build up our strength." She flashed him a wicked smile.

  "Maybe hire a boat and go over to Puerto Marques. Take a lunch, do some swimming. It's probably pretty deserted and we could be alone."

  "It'd better be a big lunch." Then she raised her eyebrows quizzically and displayed the quart bottle she'd found among his underwear. It was unlabeled.

  "Rum," he said. "Private stock and plenty good. A friend makes it."

  Jill put it on the dressing table with her perfumes and next she was wrinkling her nose over his boots. They were big and limp and black with old sweat. She said, "You need some new ones, don't you?"

  "Not on your life," Bohy said indignantly. "What would I do with new ones? Those are like old friends to me."

  "But they smell!"

  "So do most of my friends," he said, grinning. "No, seriously, Jill, those boots have been everywhere with me. I've had luck in them. They're comfortable as all hell."

  "But, darling, why-" Jill stopped suddenly. He sat up quickly at her expression and then he saw what she was holding: his automatic pistol, an Astra, in its holster and belt. "Luke, what's this?"

  "A gun," he said jokingly, and then he saw it wasn't a joke to her. He took a deep uncomfortable breath. "Well, I guess the time's come to tell you. On the beach that first night, that wasn't the truth."

  Her eyes searched him, shocked.

  "About the trucking business, I mean. What I am is a soldier, a hired hand for anybody who's got the money. That's all I've ever been. Border fighting, training natives, running guns. That's my history. It's what I was scared to spring on you the other night, scared you wouldn't like a rough bugger like me." He grinned weakly. "Part was the truth, though. I am retired now."

  Jill dropped the holster belt and padded over to the bed and curled up in his arms. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she whispered. They kissed, and she had to be told about some of it while she stared wonderingly. She had to be told about each scar and the missing ear lobe. He censored out his defeats, and tried to keep from bragging, too.

  At the end she murmured, "Tuan Machan-for heaven's sake!"

  "Well, it's all over. Don't worry about that."

  She squeezed him and glanced roguishly at the framed official document that hung over the head of their bed. "All that matters is what you are now, what we are. And what I am. Mrs. Machan, Mrs. Tiger."

  "Just Mrs. Bohy." He was vastly relieved that she had taken it so well. "Not many old blackguards end up with such a damn pretty lady. Now let's hope the kids take after you instead of their daddy."

  "Kids?"

  "You know-babies, beaucoup of them." He stretched his heavy arms luxuriantly. "That's the life, Jill honey. A whole squad of the little bastards running around the place. Not all boys, understand-half of them have to be girls, too, girls with witch eyes like their mommy."

  Her mouth was still open with amazement after he'd kissed her roughly. "You keep astounding me, Luke. You mean every word of it."

  "You bet your ruddy boots." He came out of his daydream. "Don't you feel that way too? I hadn't noticed you taking any precautions."

  She hid her blush against his shoulder. "Yes, I feel that way too-but you might be more tactful about details. Not many people keep astounding me like you do."

  He lifted her hair and blew on the wispy back of her neck. Then he pushed the negligee down her smooth sweep of back. "Like being astounded?"

  "Crazy about it," she whispered.

  "I notice you're back in bed."

  "Half homing pigeon," she said against his mouth.

  But there was a discreet knock at the hall door. Bohy was going to answer it but Jill had already made her negligee secure and disappeared into the sitting room. She wandered back, frowning, reading a telegram.

  Bohy half expected her to read it aloud or give it to him to read himself. But she didn't. She only balled up the paper and envelope and threw them into the wastebasket. Then she stood thinking.

  "Bad news?" he asked finally.

  "In a way," she said absently. Either she wasn't particularly upset or she had expected it. "I'm afraid I must go back to L.A. right away. Something's come up, some business."

  Bohy swore in annoyance. "How soon do we have to leave?"

  "We?" This seemed to surprise her. Then she said, "Oh, of course. Well, I'll call the airport and find out when the next flight is." She was already picking up the phone, asking the desk to connect her with the field.

  Bohy swung out of bed and ambled barefoot toward her. "Here, I'll take care of it."

  "That's all right, Luke."

  "Turn loose." He took the receiver away from her, grinned at her. "In my book the husband takes care of such things. Better get used to having a man around the house, Jill."

  She said contritely, "Forgive me, darling. I'm not used to it. I've had to be both man and woman for so long."

  "A waste of talent," he said, and they kissed fondly over the mouthpiece. "You can relax from now on. You be the woman and I'll be the man. I'd sure hate to be called Mr. Spring." He laughed.

  She laughed too.

  The receiver crackled Spanish. Bohy made the arrangements and hung up. "There's a plane leaving for Tijuana this afternoon about five. Stopover in La Paz and we'll be there tomorrow morning."

  "Wonderful." Jill looked around the sunny room and sighed. "I guess that settles what we do today. We pack."

  He held her close. "Suppose we keep the suite here, if you like. That way, when we get your business cleared up we can fly back here and take up where we left off." She looked doubtful. "After all, neither of us has any strings. Not until the kids start coming."

  "All right, Luke," she said quietly. "Whatever you say."

  He started to stuff his clothes back into his suitcase. When he came to the holster belt he stopped and considered. Then he winked at his wife. "Won't be needing this any more." He dropped it-gun, belt and holster-into the wastebasket. The metal basket gave a pleasant ring of finality.