The Siren Scent

This story will make more sense if you read

The Siren Scent

first.

Special thanks to several readers for encouraging this sequel.

All characters are over age 18.

The Dancing Harlequin

The young couple instinctively pulled each other tighter as they entered the door to the noisy tavern. "Are you sure we ought to eat here?" the wife asked.

Her husband shrugged uncertainly. "The desk clerk at the motel said it was the best place at this hour of the night."

As they made their way over to a small table off to one side, they were buffeted by loud voices, partially heard tunes from the piano on the far wall and gales of laughter. "What is a Dancing Harlequin, anyway?" the young wife demanded, gesturing at the sign over the bar.

The man shook his head just as the waitress arrived. "What can I get you folks?" she shouted above the ruckus. They settled on the breakfast menu, and the slim young woman hurried away to place their order.

"Did you see her?" the man asked, leaning over the table to be heard. "She had the largest eyes I think I've ever seen."

His wife crossed her arms and glared at him. "Well, I was watching your eyes, and it wasn't her face you were staring at."

His protestations of innocence fell on deaf ears.

Soon the waitress was back with their order, and the wife noted approvingly that this time her husband carefully stared at nothing but his plate. The food was good, they found, and after traveling all day, they were hungry enough to consume it quickly.

Just as they were finishing, a loud bang startled them as the door to the tavern flew open and hit the wall. In swaggered a tall man sporting a large belly and clothes still dusty from the road. As he strode into the tavern, his boots clomped loudly on the floor. "I hope you've got plenty of beer on tap," he hollered, "'cause I've got me a powerful thirst."

The husband noticed that several of the people seated near him turned away, not eager to attract the fellow's attention. But the waitress apparently had no such qualms; she marched up to confront him and said pertly, "If you'll bring the volume down to a low roar, Mister, I'll be glad to fetch you whatever you like."

The man stared at her and blinked. "Well, well, ain't you a pretty little thing? Maybe I'll hold off on that brew and have a big swig of you instead."

She looked around the room as if to engage her audience, then turned back to the brawny fellow. "Sorry, I don't think you're big enough to handle me."

The crowd laughed and the newcomer's tone lost its joviality. "They call me Big Bill, and it ain't because of my height." He grabbed his crotch lewdly and laughed, then put a big paw around the woman's waist and pulled her to him. "So why don't you and me go someplace where I can show it to you?"

Instead of flinching, the waitress stepped even closer, then thrust her hand down onto the man's crotch and squeezed. He howled in pain and staggered backwards. "Just like I thought," she crowed, "that's no sausage, just a cocktail weenie."

The laughter from the crowd erupted again, and now the big man's face turned deep red with anger. "Nobody disrespects Big Bill and gets away with it."

"You're all talk and no action, Little Bill," she taunted. "You've got no game, and you sure as hell don't have . . ." she pointed at his crotch.

The man roared his rage and charged. "Oh my God," the little wife moaned, "he means to kill her!" She turned her face away, so all she heard was a loud crash followed by an "Oooh" from the other patrons. The young woman turned back to see Big Bill lying stunned on his back. The big-eyed waitress was kneeling between his legs, her knee pressed against his groin.

"This has been a lot of fun, Big Bill," she said evenly, "but if you don't want me to mash your balls into a paste, I suggest you leave and don't come back, understand?" To emphasize her point, she pressed down slightly with her knee, producing a deep groan of pain from the big man.

When she eased up, he scrambled backwards, then rolled over and headed for the door. "And don't forget your big cock," she added, "if you can find it." More laughter and applause from the crowd serenaded the man as he rushed out into the night.

The waitress looked around and grinned. "Well, folks, that concludes tonight's entertainment. We'll be closing soon, but you probably have time for one more round before we kick you out."

Her announcement was followed by applause, and a number of patrons moved to the bar for last call. The young married couple, however, tossed some credits on the table and hurried to the front door. "We are definitely going to find another place to eat tomorrow," the wife pronounced, yanking on her husband's arm.

The waitress walked behind the bar and grabbed the red-headed bartender around the waist. "So, husband of mine, you weren't going to defend your wife's honor?"

He hugged her back. "Are you kidding, Lamia? The only question I had was whether that big ox would be able to walk after you finished with him." His grin grew broader. "But seeing you in action got my juices flowing, if you know what I mean. So as soon as we get the place cleaned up, how about you and I . . ." He leaned closer and whispered in her ear.

Her eyes brightened. "We're closed tomorrow -- we can clean up in the morning," she said huskily.

When he awoke the next morning, Colin, her husband, found that Lamia was already awake. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling pensively. "Is everything alright, Babe?" he asked, pulling her to him.

"Of course," she said quickly, "everything is fine. Why wouldn't it be?" She snuggled closer to him.

"I was just afraid maybe you were unhappy about being stuck on Frontier 4. Life here has to be pretty different from what you had on Salicia. I know it's a lot different from Terra."

She bit his earlobe playfully. "You silly man, the only thing that affects my happiness is being with you." Then a thought crossed her mind and she grew serious. "You're not unhappy, are you?"

He pulled her tighter still. "The last year -- starting a new life with you -- this has been the best year of my life. As long as you're happy, how could I be anything but?"

"Good answer, husband," she growled, and tavern clean-up was once again postponed. And later, after another rousing session between the sheets, if a hint of pensiveness returned to her expression, Colin didn't notice it.

That afternoon, when much of the cleaning was done, Lamia nudged Colin to get his attention. "Don't forget that I'm going over to Alford to see Terri's new baby. They want me to stay for dinner, and if it gets too late, I may spend the night with them. Sure you don't want to come with me? They said they'd love to see you."

"I can't. I really need to stick around here and work on that refrigeration unit. It's been acting erratically, and I'm afraid it's going to conk out on us just when we need it."

"Alright," she smiled, "but you be good while I'm gone."

"You know I will," he promised.

When he finally had a chance to deal with the refrigeration, it took him several hours and a skinned knuckle to get the unit working properly. By then he was greasy and sweaty, so he jumped in the shower instead of preparing some dinner. As a result, he didn't eat until later than usual. He was just putting his dishes away when he heard a knock on the tavern door.

"Sorry, we're closed today," he shouted, but the knocking persisted. He walked out of the kitchen to take a look and saw a woman's face indistinctly through the leaded glass on the door. She was alone and looked to be in distress. "Crap, I'm probably going to regret this," he told himself as he opened the door.

The woman outside was tall, with straight black hair pulled back from her face in a mannish style. The tights she wore were cobalt blue, emphasizing her slim, athletic figure. He'd never seen her before. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm desperate and I didn't know where else to go. Can you help me with this?" She held up a small black cylinder, and when he leaned closer to peer at it, she pushed the concealed button on top, spraying a fine mist into his face. He jerked back in surprise, then crumpled unconscious to the floor.

A Voice from the Past

The curly-haired man pulled out an old-fashioned pen and signed the contract with an elaborate flourish: Harry Lime. "I hope you don't mind," he told the other man, gesturing at the signature. "Thumb-prints still strike me as impersonal, you know?"

"As long as you transfer the funds like we agreed, you can draw a cartoon on it for all I care," his supplier said. Then the man's face grew hard. "And if you don't make the transfer, all the fine pens in the world won't save your ass."

"Harry Lime" smiled easily. "I'm a man of my word -- you know that. You'll get your credits as soon as I get delivery on the merchandise. Easy-peasy, everyone's happy."

The second man stared at the buyer a moment longer, then his face relaxed. "You've never screwed me before -- no reason to expect trouble now." The two shook hands and the curly-haired man walked out of the building whistling.

He hadn't gone far before his equanimity was shattered by yell at him from a distance. "Diego? Diego Torres? Is that you?"

He whirled around and was dismayed to recognize an old comrade from the Terran Intelligence Service approaching. Torres strode over to the man, took his arm and hustled him out of sight into an alleyway. There he grabbed the man by the shirt and shoved him against a wall; at the same time he slid his right hand behind his back and put his fingers on the pistol hidden under his jacket.

"Henderson," he barked, "Why are you following me?"

"Following you?" the man shot back with a puzzled expression. "Why would I be following you -- you're supposed to be dead!"

"What are you talking about?"

"That's the way you're listed back at Intelligence: 'missing in action, presumed dead.' I was more surprised to see you than you were to see me."

Torres glared at him a moment longer, then released his grip on the man's shirt. Taking his arm again, he steered the man toward a coffee shop he'd spotted. They both got a cup and then sat down at a table away from the other customers. The man made no effort to escape; in truth he seemed more curious than afraid.

"I can't believe I just ran into you like that," he offered after taking a sip of the hot brew.

"Yeah," Torres growled, "it seems a little coincidental to me too."

Henderson noticed his old colleague still kept his right hand behind his back. "I'll bet you've got one of those little STEP guns back there," he said, gesturing towards Torres' right arm. When Torres made no reply, the man sat back in his chair. "Yeah, strobing electron pulses are fine at close range, but I'd rather have a blaster any day."

"Uh-huh. So why don't you show me your weapon -- nice and easy."

Henderson shook his head. "They took mine away when they kicked me out of the Service. I haven't carried one since."

"Kicked you out? I thought you were tight with Gunderson."

At the mention of the name, Henderson's expression darkened. "Gunderson's no friend of mine. He's the bastard who forced me out, sent me packing just months before I was eligible for a pension."

"Sorry to hear that," Torres replied. He leaned toward his companion. "So I'm MIA, hunh? What did they say about my last mission?"

Henderson shrugged his shoulders. "You mean your visit to Pisces? Everybody thought you were a hero for getting the Pisceans to pledge allegiance to the Confederation."

"No, I'm talking about the mission to Salicia."

Henderson shook his head blankly. "Never heard about that one. There sure wasn't any mention of it in the little memorial service Gunderson held for you and what's-his-name, your red-headed protégé."

"Interesting. So Gunderson was singing our praises?"

Henderson's face turned sour again. "Listen, if I were you, I wouldn't trust that man any farther than I could throw a Balagan. The word around the Service is that right after he held that nice little memorial, he assigned one of his top people to go looking for you. That's why I wasn't all that surprised to run into you."

"'Top people,' hunh?"

"Yeah, you know, an operative." He leaned closer to Torres. "If I ever ran into one of those types, I'd damn sure want to be carrying a blaster, not one of those electric pop guns."

Torres chatted a little longer, then made an excuse and hurried out of the coffee shop as quickly as he could. As soon as he felt comfortable doing so, he pulled out his communicator and tried to call Colin. There was no answer. "Come on, Colin, answer," he muttered to the phone. "If that blowhard Henderson was able to find me, one of Gunderson's assassins should be able to do the same thing. And he won't be that easy to get the drop on."

Assignation with an Assassin

Colin felt dizzy and disoriented as he slowly climbed back to consciousness. It was only when the bucket of water splashed over him that he became aware of his situation. He was sitting in an old-fashioned straight-back chair, his arms tied behind him, each leg bound to the legs of the chair. The only clothes he had on were his briefs.

The woman he'd tried to help was standing in front of him, staring intently at his eyes. When she was confident he was fully conscious, she demanded "Where's Torres?" in a loud voice. Colin looked at her in confusion, and she swore. "Where's Torres?" she repeated, and this time she brandished a wicked-looking combat knife. "The next time you don't answer, I'll have to start cutting, and you won't like what goes first. Now where's Torres?"

He tried to answer, but his eyes lost focus. His head drooped to his chest and he mumbled something unintelligible. "What did you say?" she demanded impatiently, stepping forward to lift his chin. When she leaned near him, he spat in her face.

Instinctively she jerked away, and her voice filled with rage. "You son of a bitch, I'm gonna cut off your dick for that!" She lunged forward and dropped to one knee, reaching for his crotch with her free hand. The red-head closed his eyes, hoping he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life.

But the hand on his thigh was gentle, and when he dared to look, he saw confusion in his assailant's eyes. She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, and the rage he'd seen before was gone now, replaced by a different kind of passion.

Noticing the knife in her hand, she flung it away, then knelt in front of him, both hands reaching for his briefs. In an instant she'd freed his penis; then she parted her lips and began to lick it, trying almost desperately to bring it to erection.

Suddenly there was a yell from behind the woman followed by the crackle of electricity and the smell of ozone in the air. The dark-haired woman's back arched away from Colin and her limbs writhed spasmodically. A moment later she collapsed unconscious beside the chair, her muscles still twitching.

Colin looked up to see Lamia standing in the doorway holding the STEP pistol she'd just fired. She hurried over and looked down at her husband, a mix of emotions painted on her face.

"You just had to ensnare her, didn't you? Had to give her the full hormone treatment, hunh?"

"Babe, I had no choice. She was just about to . . ." He didn't get the chance to finish because Lamia had thrown her arms around him and was kissing him frantically.

"Oh, Colin, I was so scared when I saw her go for you with that knife. I thought sure she was going to cut you open."

He relaxed a little. "I wasn't trying to seduce her, Babe. I couldn't figure out anything else to try because, well, I'm sort of helpless here," he added, nodding down at the ropes binding him.

Lamia scurried away to fetch the assassin's knife and carefully began cutting her husband free. "I know, honey, I know. You did exactly the right thing. I was just giving you a bad time because I was so scared."

When he was free, he stood and threw his arms around the elf-like figure of his wife. "I was never so glad to see you in my life. But why did you come home -- I thought you were spending the night with Terri."

"Diego called to warn me about an assassin sent from Fleet Intelligence to kill us. He said he'd been trying to reach you but couldn't get through. Oh, Babe, I was so scared I'd be too late."

After a long while, Colin eased his grip on his wife and gestured at the unconscious assassin. "What do we do with her?" He held up the combat knife and raised his eyebrows in a question.

Lamia shuddered. "No, we can't do that. Let's just tie her up and wait until tomorrow when Diego gets here. Maybe she knows something that can help us."

"I guess you're right," he agreed. Looking around, he had an idea. "Let's tie her up on the food prep table. She can sleep there for the night."

The two of them lifted the unconscious woman and laid her on her back on the table. Then they tied her spread-eagled to the legs of the table with the pieces of rope Lamia had cut off Colin. When they'd finished, he laughed. "Looks like a scene from a bondage video." Lamia wasn't amused, and the two of them went off to their little bedroom at the rear of the tavern.

Between the letdown after his narrow escape and the lingering effects of the aerosol drug the woman had used, Colin quickly fell asleep. But soon Lamia shook him awake. "Do you hear that?" she asked, and then he noticed what sounded like crying coming from the kitchen. "It's just little Miss Assassin in there. She's probably contemplating her failure -- and her fate."

He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, only to wake again when he felt his wife get out of bed. "Where are you going, Babe?" he asked.

"I'm going to do check on her," she told him, and slipped off into the darkness.

He assumed Lamia would be right back, but seconds turned into minutes and still she hadn't returned. He was just about to go check on her when his wife reappeared. She had a strange expression on her face, and instead of reclining she sat up in bed facing him.

"It's Kayla," she told him. "That's her name. She's in agony, and I couldn't console her. Her heart is broken."

"What?"

"Colin, your hormones hit her hard. It's not just lust -- she's totally and completely in love with you. What makes it especially painful is she knows she'll never have you. It's killing her."

"Yeah, well she was going to kill me just a little while ago."

Lamia gave him a crooked smile. "So was I, at one time."

"But . . ."

"I talked to her for a long while, Honey. I know exactly how she feels." She sat there another moment and then seemed to make up her mind. "You need to go in there and . . . comfort her."

"Comfort her?"

"You know what I mean."

"Babe, you're my wife! I love you and I'm faithful to you, now and always."

"You don't think she's attractive?"

She saw him glance away momentarily. "You're the one I'm in love with, Babe."

She put her hands to his cheeks and kissed him tenderly. "I know, Colin, and I love you. But that's why I want you to do this -- because she loves you too now. I know what that feels like, when your heart is breaking for someone."

She nodded emphatically to reinforce her point. "This is the right thing to do, Colin. I know you don't understand, but a woman does. Now go in there and make love to her. It will save her life."

He still felt uncertain, but he saw that Lamia had made up her mind.

I don't get it,

he thought as he got to his feet.

This is crazy

But when he looked back, Lamia motioned for him to hurry. Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen.

When she sensed his presence, the dark-haired woman's head snapped around to stare at him Her eyes lit up with a mix of love and devotion. Then, to his consternation, her eyes closed and she began to sob in obvious agony. Despite his reservations, he couldn't help but be moved.