In the glow of the headlights, the car swallowed the road voraciously and they moved toward the north country - not, he noticed, on route 87. They had not been seen leaving the city, nor had they been seen packing the car. The garage had a door that led into the kitchen, and Nick had laid on the back seat floorboards until they were in the country. Now, sitting in the front seat, he wondered vaguely if Beth, in her joy at having him home, had given herself away to her friends. He hoped not. He glanced sidewise at her and noticed that she drove with a smile on her face.

“Is it far to the cabin?” He asked.

“Not now. We’re almost to the turn off.”

He lapsed again into silence, the old questions still whirling about in his mind. Who were the men who were after him? What did they want? How much had the FAA learned of the plane? Had they found something to pin it on him? What were these tiny, fleeting thoughts that cropped up in his mind? Was his mind trying to tell him something via the nightmares? And what of his best friend, Nolan Brice. Where has he been? What is he up to? It struck Nick as odd that he had not encountered the detective yet: surely he and Beth had been close the past year. How close? Suppose Brice stumbled upon Andy Hocum. Would the old man talk?

Feeling more helpless than he had ever felt in his life, at least the life he remembered, Nick stared at the road until Beth turned off on another road that was little more than a wagon track beside a small creek. A few minutes of bouncing over [p70] ruts and stones, and she turned off again, parking beside a grey, frame cabin.

“Here we are, darling.”

They got out, each taking a box from the back seat, and Nick followed her up the stairs to the porch. Beth set her box down and found the key. A moment later the lock clicked and she shoved the door open.

“Wait’ll I find the light, Nick,” she whispered.

A moment later, the light snapped on and a soft glow filled the front room of the cabin. They took the boxes to the kitchen and set them on the table, then went back into the front room. Nick studied the place.

He liked the room a lot; there was a rugged manliness in the stone fireplace and the knotty pine walls, mingled with just a touch of Beth’s femininity to make it neat. All in all, it was a well laid out place. He was attracted to the oil paintings that hung about the walls.

“Like it?” Beth asked.

He nodded.

“But it doesn’t bring back any memories?”

“No. Hell, honey, I can’t even remember what I did for a living.”

She smiled sadly. “Want to see?”

When he nodded, she motioned him to the other side of the front room and opened the door. She flicked on the light and he stepped into a small study filled with the trappings of an artist. Tubes of paint lay on small tables, beside cans of turpentine, lacquer and old paint rags. A half finished nude adorned one of the heavy easels. There were a few water color sketches laying around as well as several oils.

“Want to see some of your favorite models?”[p71]
He nodded numbly, and she drew open a drawer in the table and pulled out four fairly large oil paintings done on commercial painting boards.

The first two were of Beth, one a nude and the other a semi-nude, with only her lovely breasts exposed. The second two paintings were of a girl who was not familiar at all. In the first picture, a portrait, she was seated before a table, contemplating a vase of flowers. A rather good looking girl with jet black hair and a soft, warm looking face. The next painting was of the same girl, but this time she had been painted as a Hawaiian dancer and her skin was a trifle darker. She was a pretty girl, but her face and nicely formed body didn’t ring a bell.

“Who is she?” He asked.

“Her name is Janet Holman. She lives about four or five miles from here, on her father’s farm.” Beth nodded toward the green filing cabinet in the corner. “You have her file over there with your records. Doesn’t any of this ring a bell, darling?”

“No.”

She looked at him sadly, her face mirroring the way she felt. “I hope it’ll come back, darling.”

He reached out and pulled her to him, holding her tight. “It’ll come back,” he whispered. “C’mon. I want to build a fire in that fireplace. It’s cool in here, even if it is summer.”

They went back out into the front room and, while Beth found some kindling, Nick wadded up some newspapers and stuffed them in the fireplace. When she brought it in, he lighted the stuff and after it was going good, he added a couple of logs. He snapped off the light and grinned at her.

“I like firelight,” he told her. “It’s restful.”[p72]
She smiled back at him. “Restful? I think it’s sexy.” She had kicked off her pumps and was lying before the glow of the hearth on the thick rug. He arranged the mesh screen before the fire and laid down beside her.

“Sexy, huh?”

“Uh huh. I don’t know, darling ... the warmth of the fire warms me up, I guess.”

He grinned and dropped his head to the cushions of her breasts. Her fingers played in his hair.

“I’m glad,” he told her.

“You used to be. That used to be our favorite way of spending an evening.”

“Laying in front of a fire?” Nick asked.

“Not just any fire, darling. This particular fire, sans clothes.”

“Sounds like fun,” he mused and rolled over to kiss the ripe redness of her lips. Her tongue stabbed a blade of passion at him and her arms pulled him close; then, after a moment, she shoved him away and stood up.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. Her smile was impish as she unfastened the buttons of the white blouse and pulled it from the waistband of the navy blue skirt. Her fingers unhooked the snaps of the bra and dropped it to the floor beside the blouse. The firelight was golden against the swelling lift of her breasts and the flat expanse of her stomach. Nick felt the thundering beginning again to slam through his veins with the holocaust of a napalm bomb exploding against the ground as she unzipped the skirt and dropped it into a puddle on the thick rug. He watched in pounding fascination as she stepped daintily from the whorl of the skirt, clad only in the pinkish transparency of her [p73] panties. Then they too were a thing of the past, and Beth was smiling down at him, passion spearing from her eyes.

“Will I still do?” She asked.

“Do what?” He croaked.

“You know?” She laughed at him, kneeling on the rug. “Will I still do as a model?”

He laid down flat and chuckled. “A model, sweetheart, is a small imitation of the real thing. You don’t look imitation to me.” He reached up and grabbed her arm to pull her down with him onto the rug, but she jerked away.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You have to undress too.”

He grinned at her and peeled off his clothes quickly. She came into his arms then and they made love, letting the glowing warmth of the fire caress them hotly. His hands smoothed her breasts while his mouth worked at the fire that was coming to life throughout her body.

“Just like old times?” He asked, softly.

“Better, darling ... much better.”