when speaking of her fear and astonishment, putting both of their still-clasped hands on her chest.
“I just didn’t know what to do,” she said, collapsing her head helplessly against him, leaning there for a second, then turning her head up to his, like a cat waiting to be stroked. She was pressing the back of his hand firmly into her breast.
“What should I have done?” she asked.
“Sometimes you just have to go along with things,” Becker said.
“I knew you would understand.”
“Did he do it again, or just that once?”
“It was the only way he really could do it,” she said. “Is it wicked of me to tell you that?”
Becker looked into her eyes and brushed his free hand against her cheek. For a moment he thought she was going to swoon.
“You should tell me everything you need to,” said Becker.
“I thought there was something wrong with me. Wasn’t I attractive enough by myself? Do you think there’s anything wrong with me?”
She moved his hand up and down so that it rubbed against her nipple, which was hard under the blouse. This was not the recommended investigation technique, he thought, suppressing a laugh.
She had her head tilted back, her mouth partly open, her eyes half closed. Becker wondered if she had learned her methods from 1940's movies.
“If there’s anything wrong with you, I haven’t found it yet,” he said.
“There’s one other thing I could tell you, but you’ll hate me if I do.”
“Nothing you could say would make me do that,” said Becker.
“Oh, I shouldn’t.”
Becker tipped her chin up with his finger and looked in her eyes. I’ve seen the same movies, he thought.
“Yes, you should,” he said.
“When I saw him standing here, all covered in white like a ghost he was-you know.”
“What?”
“You know.” She rolled her eyes to avoid contact with his, acutely embarrassed-or her feigned version of embarrassment, Becker thought.
“I don’t know. You have to tell me, Helen. What was he?”
She closed her eyes. “He was as hard as I’ve ever seen a man,” she said. Becker felt her hand slipping between his legs. “Until now,” she added.
Becker carefully bent his knees and lifted her into his arms, hoping his back wouldn’t go out on him and then realizing it would be a good way out of this, if it did.
She sighed as he carried her to her bedroom and gasped with false surprise as he eased her down on the bed. But then he pulled away from her and stood.
“I can’t,” he said.
She stopped brushing a profusion of pillows off the bed and looked at him in confusion.
“I’m on a case. You know what that means.” He bit his lip in a display of sorrowful regret, then sighed. “Much as I’d like to.”
Helen thought of saying that it wouldn’t take long, but feared he might misinterpret the remark. She could see he was already upset and it would be cruel of her to make it any more difficult for him.
“Oh. A case. Of course.”
“Regulations,” he said.
He clenched his fists and shuddered in frustration, then shrugged, his face a study in sorrow and resignation.
Helen could not help but admire his dedication. “You wouldn’t want me if it meant betraying my duty,” he said.
“I understand,” she said.
Becker kissed her forehead and eased toward the door.
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“Call me,” Becker said. “Anytime. Anytime.” He grinned at her. “I think we need to investigate this matter further.”
“Oh, Agent…?”
“Hatcher,” he said. “Agent Neal Hatcher. Just call.”
Helen knew the agent would be back. She had sensed his longing and the urgency with which he had wanted her. It had been very hard for him to leave, and in a way she respected his sense of integrity. Yes, she did, she admired him for it… but she knew he would have to come back, and when she heard his tentative knock on the door she could not resist smiling triumphantly. He had had just time enough to walk to his car, think about the heaven that was waiting for him with her, and return. There were some powers that transcended duty, and she had sensed correctly that Agent Hatcher was more susceptible to them than most men, despite his protestations of obligation.
She waited for him to knock again, not wishing to appear too eager. It came quietly, almost as a scratch. Timid, like a schoolboy, not certain of the reception he would get. It made her feel even more powerful. She would not toy with him any longer. She would welcome him with all her warmth, and his timidity would melt and he would be as strong and vigorous a lover as she knew he could be.
Helen opened the door with just a hint of a knowing smile on her lips. Dyce grabbed her by the throat and propelled her backward, squeezing hard on her neck so she could not cry out. She hit her legs against the bed and tumbled down and Dyce was on her, his weight pinning her down, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her windpipe.
With his free hand Dyce scrambled across the floor, wincing with the pain in his injured arm, searching for one of the pillows that Helen had not yet replaced in anticipation of the agent’s return. He came up with the red and white checked cat with the whiskers and stuffed it into Helen’s mouth.
He sat on her chest, holding her down, and pressed his knees against her arms. She tried to roll her head from side to side, desperately seeking relief from the suffocation on her throat and in her mouth, but he put his free hand on her forehead and pushed her head down onto the bed.
He was saying something, but Helen could not hear it over the pounding of blood in her ears, the strangled sounds entrapped in the back of her throat.
“Calm down, Helen,” Dyce said. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just want you to be quiet.”
He eased the pressure on her throat and Helen gasped, then sucked greedily for air through her nose.
“Just hold still,” he said. He held his finger to his lips, shushing her. “Everything’s all right, you’re all right. I just wanted to keep you from yelling. You understand that, don’t you? Of course you do. You understand. There now, there now, just calm down. I’m going to remove the pillow, all right? I’m going to let you talk, but you mustn’t raise your voice, do you understand? Of course you do, of course you do. There now, calm down, Helen. That’s a girl, that’s a good girl.”
He smiled at her; his voice was oddly soothing and Helen felt herself relaxing. Again shushing her, he removed the pillow from her mouth, but held it close to her face. His eyebrows arched up in question, waiting for her reaction.
Helen wanted to speak but could only cough at first.
“I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said. “You know I’d never hurt you, Helen.”
She wanted to tell him that he was hurting her now, sitting on her chest, but something in his face told her he would do much worse if she complained.
“Are we all right now?” he asked. “Are we settled down? No need to talk yet. Just nod. That’s right, we’re fine. Now when you do talk, I want you to do it quietly, and when I tell you to do something, I want you to do it immediately and without question. Do you understand? Just nod. Good, Helen.”
Dyce leaned his weight back slightly and eased the pressure of his knees on her arms.
“Now tell me, why are there policemen at my house? Why was that man just here? I know that man. He knows me. Why was he visiting you, Helen?”
Dyce looked at her calmly, quizzically, a slight smile of encouragement on his lips. Helen stared at the blood
