David Dun - Necessary Evil

"Had a run-in with my supervisor. He had strong feelings about my taking some favors from some rich business types. Just vacations. They were recruiting for private security. It was the one really thick thing I did, but believe me, it was enough. Got demoted very quietly. At first I thought it was a disaster. Until I learnt the private money was a lot better, if you don't count the lost pension."

Tillman was silent while he thought about it. Something made him slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was the way Doyle told the story so easily, as if he'd never lived it.

"How do you propose to do this?"

''Tonight we leave the greenest men in the house. You and I get on the most likely trails. We put a few more men, the best ones, in the woods around the house. We try to capture him or her-either one. Preferably the bird. But we've got no control over that. If anybody gets either of them at gunpoint, I come along and promise to save them when I can. Then I pitch them."

"You turn them loose?"

"Certainly not. But if I convince them I'm on their side- maybe I can get the sixth volume."

"Sounds like a long shot. Might work."

"To make it work I need something."

"What's that?"

"I need to know whatever Kier would know if he read Volume Six. If I were the FBI and investigating, you see, I'd know why the hell I'm investigating. Only way to be convincing is tell them some seemingly secret stuff."

It was a seductive pitch. Doyle was the brightest of his men. The subterfuge would be elegant if it worked. Tillman wanted to trust him.

"In short, I need to know what's going on or I won't be effective."

Tillman wanted a drink and rose to pour one.

"You like a Scotch?"

"Please."

Tillman had discovered that the Donahues had no liquor cabinet. An oversize kitchen drawer held the libations. He removed a bottle of Glenlivet, amazed that the Donahues would have a single malt.

As he returned to the table and poured them two Scotches, neat, he decided to begin by giving Doyle a rundown of the Marty Rawlins diary, then observe his reaction before deciding how much more he would disclose.

He might even tell Doyle just how far ahead of the rest of the world he really was.

It didn't matter in what light he saw her, the clothing she wore, composed or unkempt, perspiring or chilled-he found her beautiful.

Kier wanted her.

Jessie seemed resigned to losing him, judging from her sigh, from the sadness in her eyes, from her frown. The gulf between them measured mere inches, but added to that separation were the expectations of his family, friends, and, even though he had not proposed marriage, the innocent expectations of Willow. Once Kier reached across to Jessie, would it be the beginning of a betrayal or the end of one?

He could not think of what to say or how to speak what he felt.

"I never asked you about the mare. What were you doing with the pointing and the chanting?" she asked.

''Body language that a horse would understand. The chanting really just underscores the body language… helps get their attention with the changes in volume and tone."

Finally he managed to move his hand so that it was touching hers. Every millimeter that separated them was closed by him. She gave him no help. But the feeling was heady.

"Body language is important with horses too, huh?"

"The most important by far. They're herd animals. In the wild, horses have a pecking order in their band. The lead mare enforces behavioral norms. When she runs a horse out of the herd to enforce discipline, certain things have to happen for the horse to be accepted back. At first the dominant horse squares off, looking the outcast in the eye-challenging. When the subservient horse turns broadside and cocks an ear, it's a half-apology, so to speak. If the lead horse is satisfied, it also turns broadside, takes its eye off the bad horse, and ignores it. If the half-apology doesn't work, the outcast may have to drop its head to get back in-that's a sure sign it wants to come back.

''I was using the two horses as a herd; I was the lead mare. I got her thinking about joining the herd. It's a natural thing for a horse in trouble. I just followed the pattern."

"How did you learn all this?"

"Here and there. A little from Grandfather. Mostly though from horse trainers-even books." He chuckled. "And vet experience. It's not genetic. We Tiloks walked around the mountains. My ancestors didn't have horses nearly as early as the plains Indians. Only the chant was Tilok, and it's a medicine chant to ward off evil spirits and promote healing. I don't know if it works, I just prefer it to humming or yelling."

''I read that people sometimes use body language more than they use words," she said.

''Yeah. First, they square off, like this.'' He looked into her eyes. "But with people it's more of an invitation."

"And how does a person accept this invitation?"

"Prolonged eye contact," he replied while she continued returning his gaze.

"Will that do?"

"That will do. Then you come closer to me."

In response she came around the table. He rose and she pulled him tight. "Like so?"

''You pick up on this very well. Now you get heavy-lidded and half close your eyes. Then you turn your face up just slightly."

Before she finished he covered her lips with his, silencing her next line.

She finished it in her mind: Should I put my head down now? The kiss was better than good. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw the trouble there.

"I'm not sure what we're doing," he said.

"I think," she said, her voice husky, "I think you're asking the wrong person."

She let her eyes meet his. Slowly, as if each millimeter were a separate and painful deliberation, he reached for her again. In him she saw a quiet desperation that he could never voice. They stood wrapped in each other's arms as the flicker of the dying lantern lengthened the shadows and the darkness enfolded them.

She felt no constraint but her fear. His hands moved over her back as if they were at worship, relaxing her, comforting her, making her want more of him. Having once touched, neither wanted to pull away lest good sense intervene. After the failing lantern died and they were bathed only in the soft glow of the remaining one, his searching eyes met hers. In them the pieces of her dreams fit seamlessly together. The touch of his finger across her lips was real, like the rough boards under their feet.

Taking his first finger between her teeth, she tasted his skin and nibbled at his knuckle. Then they pulled each other closer so that her breasts were pressed against his chest, and her lips wandered over his face, placing kisses on his light beard and weather-toughened skin. She learned the nuances of his body. Her hands moved first at the back of his neck, then to his shoulders and the mass of his frame. She ran her hands over his smooth chest, following the contour of a giant pectoral muscle, then teased his nipples between her fingers. On his belly she felt the coarse hairs. Then she cupped the bow of his erection through his cotton shorts. Trailing her fingers along its length, she felt the shudder run through his body. Looking him in the eye, as if daring him to flinch, she reached beneath his shorts and took hold of him.

She felt the tightening in his thighs. Kier's hand trailed across her shoulders. She pulled the cotton briefs over his thighs, strewing soft kisses down his belly as she went. He groaned with longing, and the strength of his hands on her upper arms made her feel delicate. She sensed his body stir with need.

When she saw the question form on his face, she breathed his name and put her lips to his to tell him nothing more need be said or committed to. Jessie pulled him to the bed. Slipping off her T-shirt, she stood before him in her pale blue panties. His large hands caressed her shoulders as he bent to kiss her neck. She shivered at his touch, and she knew with certainty that he was worth the pain of the good-bye.