Mack Bolan had, for more than 48 hours, been a guest in the apartment of Valentina Querente. He had learned that she was a teacher of history at the local high school, coincidentally the same school to which Bolan had been assigned as ROTC instructor-an assignment he would never fill. He had learned also that she was 26 years of age, single, given to swift changes of mood from the deeply sober to the richly humorous, that she appeared to be both virginal and worldly-wise, easily embarrassed by the most innocent of things while entirely at ease with some of the most sexually suggestive. They shared the same bed, with a rolled blanket separating them, Bolan practically naked in nothing but jockey shorts, Valentina well-bundled in a bulky gown. Her hands moved freely upon him in an assistance to his awkward attempts at dressing and undressing and he had observed her on several occasions in nothing more than panties and bra, yet their bodies had never touched, nor had their lips-not even their hands.
Bolan awoke to his third morning in the Querente bed with the lovely young woman seated beside him and peering into his face. "Hi," he said. Her eyes shifted away from his in obvious embarrassment.
"You always wake up and catch me staring at you," she complained.
"I really can't think of a nicer way to wake up," he told her. His hand found hers and enfolded it, for the first time.
"Don't, uh-you'd better not," she said breathlessly, feebly attempting a withdrawal from his grasp.
"Why not? It's a nice, soft little hand, entirely comforting to hold."
"It, uh, that's your sore arm."
"It isn't all that sore now. I could probably even hug you with it."
"Get serious, Mack," she said soberly. "Really-the reason I was sitting here like this-I mean-well, it's about time you left the nest, isn't it?"
"You kicking me out?" he asked.
She nodded her head. "Especially if you're feeling all that strong."
"All what strong?" he asked whimsically.
"All that strong to hug me with your sore arm."
"Lie down here and let's give it a test run," he suggested.
"I want to," she replied, her eyes unwavering. "That's why I think..."
"That I'd better be leaving?" he said.
"Uh- huh." She withdrew the hand from Bolan's and clasped both her hands nervously in her lap.
"Have you ever been in love, Valentina?" Bolan asked softly.
"Oh gosh, please don't start-"
"No fooling," he said, "and no line. Have you ever been in love?"
"Of course," she replied. "Two or three times."
"What does it feel like?"
There was a brief silence, then: "You are serious, aren't you?"
"I said I was."
"Well I just said that. I don't know how it feels to be in love. I mean, really in love. I've had crushes. I think I have one on you, now. I think."
He chose to ignore the not-so-surprising declaration. "I'm thirty years old," he said musingly.
"I know that."
"Years ago, a lot of years ago, I used to think that someday I'd fall in love with some girl."
"How many years ago?"
"I don't remember thinking much about it for a long time now. Long time. All of a sudden I'm thinking about it again. How come?" He was staring at her intently, as though perhaps expecting to find the answer to his question in that stare.
"Oh, Mack-please-don't..."
His arms went about her and he pulled her onto him; her face was suspended directly above his, eyes large and frightened. "Mack, please don't let's be in love," she whispered. "I don't want to be in love with a murderer."
His eyes froze and she saw the veils sliding across them. He released her and she flung herself away from the bed and lurched through the door. Bolan was muttering beneath his breath. He swung his feet to the floor and looked about for his clothing. He could hear Valentina sobbing, in another room. "Thanks," he muttered. "Thanks for reminding me." He went into the bathroom, found his clothes hanging just where they'd been that first morning, relocated them atop the vanity, turned on the water, and stepped into the shower. He removed the bandage from his shoulder, slid back the shower curtain, and inspected the wound in the mirror. He decided that soap and water would not hurt it any, closed the curtain, and took a leisurely bath. Then he dressed and went into the kitchen. Valentina had his breakfast waiting for him, but she was nowhere in evidence.
He ate mechanically, in sober contemplation, and he had finished a cigarette and was working on his third cup of coffee when he heard the front door open. Valentina appeared a moment later, slightly breathless, very lovely in shorts and bare-midriff blouse.
"I moved your car again," she told him, sinking into a chair opposite his and regarding him with misty eyes.
"Thanks," he said softly. "I'd like to give you a citation for service above and beyond, or something. I guess instead I'll just give you ten grand."
"Ten what?"
"There's a lot of money in the trunk of that car. I'm going to give you ten thousand of it."
"I don't want any money," she said, eyes clouding. "Anyway, where'd you get it?"
"The money?" He smiled and took time to light another cigarette. "Well, besides being a murderer, I'm also a thief, but that's something that did not get reported. They couldn't afford to report it. I stole a quarter of a million of the Mafia's secret bucks."
"My gosh!" she cried. "All that money is out there in that car?"
He nodded. "And I intend to keep it. There's no telling how long this war will last, and it takes money to wage war. So-I'll fight 'em with their own money. See? I not only kill, but I also steal, cheat, and lie."
"I- I don't really think of you as a murderer, Mack," she said contritely. "I-don't know why I said that."
"No, you're right," he told her. "School starts tomorrow and you'll be going back to the classroom, I'll be going back to the battlefield. That's the way it has to be, and there simply is no room for anything in between." He looked at her and grinned. "I'm sorry I lost my head."
"I- I really don't think of you as a murderer," she repeated, avoiding his gaze, "-and I'm uh, not going to kick you out of the nest, either. You can stay as long as you'd like, but you'll have to sleep on the couch from now on. Unless..."
Bolan's eyebrows raised. "Unless what?"
"Unless nothing," she mumbled. "I guess I'm not kicking you out of my bed either." She underwent one of those lightning changes of moods, smiling impishly, eyes sparkling. "Twenty-six, never kissed, and never a man in my bed-until you. Now you don't think I'll let you out all that easy, do you?"
"I just might slap you silly," he growled, dropping his eyes to the coffee cup.
"All righty, I'll even let you slap me silly." A tear oozed out of each eye and slid silently down the smooth cheeks. Their eyes met and Bolan knew a wrenching of the heart he had never before experienced.
"God, Val!" he groaned. They left their chairs simultaneously, meeting at the end of the table and falling fiercely into each other's arms. Bolan ignored the tiny twinge at his shoulder and clasped her in tight enfoldment. Her face tilted to his, lips moistly parted, and her mouth grafted to his with consuming urgency, the petite body melting into him in total surrender. His hands moved automatically to the vibrant flesh between shorts and blouse and she twisted against him with a racking sob. She dragged her lips away from his and moaned, "I can't help it, Mack, I just can't help it."
Without a word he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom, she clinging to him and moaning breathless little sounds into his ear. He stood her up on the bed and undressed her, placing a moist kiss upon each of her hips and upon the delicately folded belly button. Her fingers curled into his hair and she shuddered, then dropped to her knees, arms about his neck, mouth hungrily seeking his as she wriggled against him. She pulled away abruptly, weakly gasping, "Oh, oh, oh." His lips nuzzled into her throat and followed the delicate contours onto firm little breasts, the nipples of which were stiffly extended and vibrantly responsive.
"Let me- help-you," she panted, her fingers twisting ineffectually at his clothing.
Bolan gently pushed her hands away and disrobed himself. She fell back onto the pillow and lay very still, gazing up at him with glistening eyes. "I love you, Mack Bolan," she whispered.
"Thank you," he said softly, settling beside her.
"You're quite welcome," she gasped.
"You, uh, have to put your legs, Val-uh, like this."
"Oh, oh Mack!"
"God, you're sweet. You're so damn sweet, Val."
"I- love you-Mack."
"I love you too, Val."
"Oh, Mack-oh- Mack !"
"God, Val, God!"
"Oh Mack! Oh Mack! Oh Mack !"
And so ended the lull for Executioner Bolan.