"You may be too worried about that one part of it," Frannie said. "I mean, if there is a picket line, wouldn't it have to be strung pretty thin?"
"Yeah. One man every fifty miles, something like that. Unless he's got five times the people we do."
"So unless they've got some pretty sophisticated equipment already set up and running, radar and infrared and all that stuff you see in the spy movies, wouldn't Tom be apt to walk right through them?"
"That's what we're hoping. But - "
"But you've got a bad attack of conscience," she said softly.
"Is that what it comes down to? Well... maybe so. What did Harold want; honey?"
"He left a bunch of those survey maps. Areas where his Search Committee has looked for Mother Abagail. Anyhow, Harold's been working on that burial detail as well as supervising the Search Committee. He looked very tired, but his Free Zone duties aren't the only reason. He's been working on something else as well, it seems."
"What's that?"
"Harold's got a woman."
Stu raised his eyebrows.
"Anyway, that's why he begged off on dinner. Can you guess who she is?"
Stu squinted up at the ceiling. "Now who could Harold be shackin with? Let me see - "
"Well, that's a hell of a way to put it! What do you think we're doing?" She threw a mock-slap at him, and he drew back, grinning.
"Fun, ain't it? I give up. Who is it?"
"Nadine Cross."
"That woman with the white in her hair?"
"That's her."
"Gosh, she must be twice his age."
"I doubt," Frannie said, "that it's a concern to Harold at this point in his relationship."
"Does Larry know?"
"I don't know and care less. The Cross woman isn't Larry's girl now. If she ever was."
"Yeah," Stu said. He was glad Harold had found himself a little love-interest, but not terribly interested in the subject. "How does Harold feel about the Search Committee, anyway? Did he give you any idea?"
"Well, you know Harold. He smiles a lot, but... not very hopeful. I guess that's why he's putting in most of his time on the burial detail. They call him Hawk now, did you know that?"
"Really?"
"I heard it today. I didn't know who they were talking about until I asked." She mused for a moment, then laughed.
"What's funny?" Stu asked.
She stuck out her feet, which were clad in low-topped sneakers. On the soles were patterns of circles and lines. "He complimented me on my sneakers," she said. "Isn't that dippy?"
"You're dippy," Stu said, grinning.
Harold woke up just before dawn with a dull but not entirely unpleasant ache in his groin. He shivered a little as he got up. It was getting noticeably colder in the early mornings, although it was only August 22 and fall was still a calendar month away.
But there was heat below his waist, oh yes. Just looking at the delectable curve of her bu**ocks in those tiny see-through underpants as she slept was warming him up considerably. She wouldn't mind if he woke her up... well, maybe she would mind, but she wouldn't object. He still had no real idea of what might lie behind those dark eyes, and he was a little afraid of her.
Instead of waking her up, he dressed quietly. He didn't want to mess around with Nadine, as much as he would have liked to.
What he needed to do was go someplace alone and think.
He paused at the door, fully dressed, carrying his boots in his left hand. Between the slight chilliness of the room and the prosy act of getting dressed, his desire had left him. He could smell the room now, and the smell was not terribly appealing.
It was just a little thing, she had said, a thing they could do without. Perhaps it was true. She could do things with her mouth and hands that were nearly beyond belief. But if it was such a small thing, why did this room have that stale and slightly sour odor that he associated with the solitary pleasure of all his bad years?
Maybe you want it to be bad.
Disturbing thought. He went out, closing the door softly behind him.
Nadine's eyes opened the moment the door was closed. She sat up, looked thoughtfully at the door, and then lay down again. Her body ached in a slow and unrelieved cycle of desire. It felt almost like menstrual cramps. If it was such a small thing, she thought (with no idea of how close to Harold's her own thoughts were), why did she feel this way? At one point last night she'd had to bite her lips together to stifle the cries: Stop that fooling around and STICK me with that thing! Do you hear me? STICK me with it, cram me FULL of it! Do you think what you're doing is doing anything for me? Stick me with it and let's for Christ's sake - or mine, at least - end this crazy game!
He had been lying with his head between her legs, making strange noises of lust, noises that might have been comic had they not been so honestly urgent, so nearly savage. And she had looked up, those words trembling behind her lips, and had seen (or only thought she had?) a face at the window. In an instant the fire of her own lust had been damped down to cold ash.