"Laymon, Richard - AmongTheMissing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Laymon Richard)

_The Rendezvous_


When he heard the car, the man stood up. He brushed pine needles off the seat of his jeans, then hurried out of the forest and trotted down to the roadside. As he neared the moonlit pavement, headlights swept around a corner to the south. They were very low and close together.
_Could be a Jaguar._
_Has to be_, he thought.
He glanced at his wristwatch. 2:32.
_It's gotta be her. An hour late._
With a grin, he showed his thumb.
The car sped closer, its engine tearing the silence, its headlights growing.
_A Jag, all right. So how come she's not slowing down?_
He took his eyes away as the car blasted by. Then he looked again. The Jaguar's taillights vanished around a wooded curve.
"Bitch," he muttered.
But the engine noise didn't fade with distance. Instead, it decelerated from a roar to a choppy grumble. A few seconds later, the taillights reappeared. This time, they were accompanied by a pair of white backup lights. With jerking bursts of speed, the Jaguar made its way toward him.
It stopped in front of him.
"How about a lift, stranger?" a familiar voice called through the open window.
"I could go for that."
When he opened the door, a map-light came on above the glove compartment. He bent low to climb into the car and looked at the woman behind the wheel. "Nice outfit," he said.
"It's the latest thing in tryst-wear."
It was a see-through white nightgown that hung by cords from her shoulders, clung to her breasts, and covered very little of her lap.
"The door?"
"Almost forgot, the view's so nice." He shut it and the light died.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're very welcome."
"And where would you like to go?"
"Well . . . Anywhere's fine."
"Somewhere not too far away?" she asked, and started to drive. "I shouldn't be out too long under the circumstances."
"How long have you got?"
"Well, I really should be home before dawn. I wouldn't exactly like to be _seen_ in this outfit. Not by just anyone." Turning her head, she smiled at him. "Only by someone extra special, like you."
"You're pretty special yourself."
"Are you surprised I actually showed up?" she asked.
"I was starting to wonder."
"Well, I made it, didn't I?"
"A little late."
"A smidgen."
"I guess they can call you 'the late Mrs. Parkington.' "
"That's not terribly funny."
"Sorry."
"That's the sort of quip I might expect from Grant, the pretentious asshole. Always with the quips. _Nasty_ quips. I can't imagine why I stay married to him."
"It's not his good looks?"
She laughed. "Now, _that's_ funny! _Very_ good." Reaching over, she patted his thigh. "Anyway, where shall we go?"
"Well, how about Harrah's at South Tahoe?"
"I'm not dressed for _that_ sort of gambling, buster."
"I hear they've got great guest rooms."
"Well, isn't Tahoe a trifle far?"
"Less than an hour."
"That's too far for me. I don't want to spend the whole night driving. Can't you think of a nice, romantic place that's perhaps five minutes from here?"
"Well . . ."
"Help me out here, fellow. _I_ haven't a clue. For all I know, we could be in the Black Fucking Forest of Bavaria."