Kelly looked around the kitchen for a weapon. She had no way of knowing which drawer held the knives. On the counter was a box of angel hair pasta. On the stove was a pot of boiling water, and next to it, a smaller pot with a red sauce that was cooking.
Sam walked into the kitchen and put his arms around Kelly.
She pretended not to pay any attention. She looked at the sauce on the stove.
"Looks wonderful." He was stroking her body. "It is. What do you like to do in bed, baby?" Kelly's mind was racing. She said softly, "Everything. I used to do something kinky to Mark that drove him crazy." Sam's face lit up. "What was that?" "I would take a warm, wet washcloth and-" She picked up a soft cloth on the sink. "I'll show you.
Drop your pants." Sam Meadows grinned. "Yeah." He loosened his trousers and dropped them to the floor. He was wearing boxer shorts.
"Now your shorts." He dropped his shorts, and his organ was engorged.
Kelly said admiringly, "My, my? She picked up the soft cloth with her left hand and moved toward him. With her right hand, she picked up the pot of boiling water and hurled the contents onto his genitals.
Kelly could still hear his screams as she took the key out of the armoire, unlocked the door, and fled.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ROCKENDORF'S IS ONE of the outstanding restaurants in Germany, its art nouveau decor long serving as a symbol of Berlin's prosperity.
When Diane walked in, she was greeted by the maitre d'. "May I help you?" "I have a reservation. Stevens. Miss Fronk is going to meet me here." "This way, please." The maitre d' seated her at a corner table. Diane looked around carefully. There were about forty customers in the restaurant, most of them businessmen. Across from Diane's table, an attractive well-dressed man was dining alone.
Diane sat there, thinking about her conversation with Heidi Fronk. How much would she know?
The waiter handed Diane a menu. "Bitte." "Thank you." Diane glanced at the menu. Leberkds, Haxen, Labskaus?She had no idea what any of the dishes were. Heidi Fronk could explain them.
Diane glanced at her watch. Heidi was twenty minutes late.
The waiter came to the table. "Would you like to order now, fré‹źlein?" "No. I'll wait for my guest. Thank you." The minutes were ticking by. Diane was beginning to wonder whether something had gone wrong.
Fifteen minutes later, the waiter came back to the table. "May I bring you anything?" "No, thanks. My guest should be here any minute." At nine o'clock, Heidi Fronk still had not appeared. With a sinking feeling, Diane realized that she was not coming.
As Diane glanced up, she saw two men sitting down at a table near the entrance.
They were ill dressed and mean looking, and the word that came to Diane's mind was thugs. She watched as the waiter went to their table, and they rudely waved him away. They were not interested in food. They turned back to stare at Diane, and with a feeling of dismay, she realized she had walked into a trap. Heidi Fronk had set her up. Diane could feel the blood rush to her head. She looked around for a means of escape.
There was none. She could keep sitting there, but eventually she was going to have to leave, and they would grab her. She thought about using her cell phone, but there was no one who could help her.
Diane thought desperately, I've got to get out of here, but how?
As she looked around the room, her gaze fell on the attractive man sitting alone at the table across from hers. He was sipping his coffee.
Diane smiled at him and said, "Good evening." He looked up, surprised, and said pleasantly, "Good evening." Diane gave him a warm, inviting smile, pleased that he spoke English. "I see we're both alone." "Yes." "Would you like to join me?" He hesitated a moment and smiled. "Certainly." He rose and walked over to Diane's table.
"It's no fun eating alone, is it?" Diane said lightly.
"You're quite right. It's not." She held out a hand. "I'm Diane Stevens." "Greg Holliday."
* * *
KELLY HARRIS HAD been stunned by her terrifying experience with Sam Meadows.
After her escape, she had spent the night walking the streets of Montmartre, constantly looking behind her, in fear that she was being followed. But I can't leave Paris without finding out what's going on, Kelly thought.
At dawn, she stopped at a small cafe and had a cup of coffee. The answer to her problem came to her unexpectedly: Mark's secretary. She had adored Mark. Kelly was sure she would do anything to be helpful.
At nine o'clock, Kelly made the call from a telephone kiosk. She dialed the familiar number, and a female operator with a heavy French accent said, "Kingsley International Group." "I'd like to talk to Yvonne Renais." "Un moment, s'ilvousplait." A moment later, Kelly heard Yvonne's voice.
"Yvonne Renais. May I help you?"
"Yvonne, this is Kelly Harris." There was a startled exclamation. "Oh! Mrs. Harris-" In Tanner Kingsley's office a blue light flashed.
Tanner picked up the telephone. It was three a.m. in New York, but he had resolved not to leave his office until the troublesome problem was disposed of.
Now, as Tanner listened on the phone, he heard the conversation that was taking place in Paris.
"I'm so sorry about what happened to Mr. Harris. It was so awful." "Thank you, Yvonne. I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere? Are you free for lunch?" "Yes." "Someplace public." "Do you know Le Ciel de Paris? It's in La Tour Montparnasse." "Yes." In his office, Tanner Kingsley made a mental note.