tagNovels and NovellasPalmer Ch. 11

Palmer Ch. 11

byhal_tee©

Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world – thesoundandfury. And check out his new novel – Models and Super Spies. Thanks Ken, not only for your editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 11: New beginnings

It was mid morning when Palmer emerged. The additional four hours deep sleep, followed by a cool shower, had left him more refreshed than he thought possible. He felt, he smelled better, and he was done with that bed. Yes, he was still weak, but he'd never been one for lying in bed when he could stand on his feet.

The sling around his left arm was a pain. The doc had said it needed support, but it had taken some persuading for him to let Roxanne fix it. It restricted his freedom and Palmer hated that.

But the redhead had a way of convincing him what was best for him. He listened to her, she was the biggest factor in re-energising his mind. He glanced across at her when he entered the small living room. If anything, she grew more beautiful each time he saw her.

As Roxanne watched him emerge, it didn't need words to tell her their lovemaking had left him invigorated, not tired. His smile was enough.

"Well," Donny Webster grinned, as the young cop surveyed the busy room. "Look what we have here. The walking wounded. Ain't you supposed to be in bed for the next couple of days?"

Palmer smiled. A grin from Webster was worth its weight in gold. He appreciated the way Goodwin stood up and allowed him to take his seat. He ambled over to the patterned chair beside the window, beads of sunlight dappling the fabric.

"I'm feeling stronger," he simply said, as if that explained everything. "Besides, we have a case to crack."

Webster nodded, rubbing a hand across his five o'clock shadow. "We do. That's been the focus of our conversation for the last hour. But you won't be part of it, Palmer. You're staying out of action for a couple of days."

The young cop was about to argue, but held his peace. There was more than one way to skin a cat. "What's the plan?" he asked instead.

"We've retrieved the two bodies and are running scans on them. Going to have to call you Wyatt Earp if you continue like this," Goodwin joked.

Palmer's face remained impassive, refusing the barrel-chested cop the encouragement of even a grin at the lame joke. He wanted an update. To understand what was happening. "Fill me in," he said.

The Vice Chief nodded. "If you're right about DeVere," he drolled, "this is big time. And I mean big time. He's a powerful man. Rich, too. Has a lot of contacts. We're putting our heads on the blocks if we go after him, particularly with Homicide still out of the picture."

"If we go after him?" Palmer repeated.

"We're going after him," Wilson chimed in, her eyes sparkling at the thought. "We've done quite a bit of research over the last twenty-four hours, Jack. We're pretty sure we can nail Giovanni to the Savannah shooting when we catch him."

"Unless Wyatt Earp gets to him first," Goodwin drooled in a good-natured way, smiling across from his position against the door.

Palmer ignored him. "Have we got a lead on his whereabouts?"

There was a moment's brief, uneasy silence at Palmer's question. The weary look on the faces that suddenly refused to look at him gave him his answer. It wasn't good.

"I checked out the bookie," Goodwin cut in. "I'm pretty sure it was the Italian who was betting. Couldn't get any further than that, though. Giovanni calls him randomly. The bookie says he's never seen him, nor has any idea where he's located."

"Same with 'Elvis'," added Sandra Wilson, returning to the room from the kitchen with a tray full of fresh coffee. "Sounds like it's Giovanni he's sold the pills to, but his modus operandi is that he never personally meets his punters."

Palmer pulled a face, accepting the steaming mug. He'd need to find something to eat, too, before too soon. "Sounds like a lot of work," he sighed. "But it seems we're no closer to finding him."

"Regrettably, that's about it," Webster conceded.

"So…"

"So…" Webster responded, his gravely voice regaining some energy. "We keep looking for him. But he's not our only focus."

Palmer's raised eyebrow encouraged him to continue.

"We've also got a lead on a Harry Bannerman," the Vice Chief said. "He works for DeVere. It looks like he may be the arranger when there's any dirty work to be done. DeVere is clever enough to remain one step removed from everything. I reckon that if we can get to Bannerman, we'll force the link to DeVere."

"You got a description?" Palmer asked, easing his aching body back in the uncomfortable seat. "What does he look like?"

Wilson flicked open her notebook. "Middle aged, slightly balding, fat. Average height."

"That narrows it down," Palmer responded, his tone more sarcastic than he intended. He was becoming more depressed by the second.

"And there's George Blair."

The four cops all turned to their left. The voice was Roxanne's.

"What?" the Vice boss snapped, pausing mid air after taking a drink from his mug.

"He's in bed with George Blair, too," she repeated. "DeVere. That may be what's behind this."

Palmer's eyes widened. "The next Prime Minister?"

Roxanne nodded.

"Spit it out," Webster responded. This woman knew more than she was letting on.

"I've been with Blair," the redhead said, making sure her gaze stayed away from Palmer. "I think they saw that as a threat to his ambition to be Prime Minister. George told me it was over between us, but I think DeVere wanted to make the ending permanent."

The three cops sat quietly for a moment. Palmer stared across at Roxanne, willing her to meet his eyes. When she did, the worried look on her face tore at his heartstrings. The last thing he intended to do was to cast judgement and he hoped his expression conveyed that.

"A bit late to be telling us," Webster snapped, turning his attention back to the others. "More difficult, but we can add Blair's name to Bannerman's. They're both avenues to DeVere. And guess what—"

"What?" Palmer unnecessarily asked, his head still struggling to take everything on board.

"This afternoon, would you believe, DeVere and Blair are holding a joint press conference."

"What?"

"That's right," Sandra Wilson confirmed. "The benefit of a few hours research on the computer. DeVere's about to unveil a new theme park of Walt Disney proportions. It's near Trump's development in Aberdeenshire. He's tying Blair into it. Kind of neat, isn't it, with the Prime Ministerial vote just around the corner?"

"I have an idea." It was Roxanne's voice again.

"Which is?" Webster's voice sounded exasperated.

"We go to the press conference. Me, too. If they're looking for me, that's the last thing they'd expect."

"Could smoke 'em out," Goodwin said thoughtfully.

"No way," Palmer blurted before he could stop the words. Webster's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, Chief, but it's too dangerous…" He held up the arm in the sling, wincing as he did. "Look at me. This is what the bastards are capable of. It's far too dangerous."

Webster's thoughtful eyes swivelled around the room.

Roxanne interrupted again before he could make a decision. "Jack, remember what we said last night? Get this case closed and see where we go?"

"See where who goes?" Goodwin asked, staring at one then the other.

The redhead ignored him. "This is a chance, Jack. Maybe the best chance we have. Sounds like you guys are treading water. This could be a chance to make something happen."

"You're willing to try?" Webster asked, turning his thoughtful look away from Palmer and back to the redhead.

She nodded. "Absolutely."

"That's good enough for me," the Vice Chief barked. "Wilson, find out the time of flights. We don't have much time. And get Taffy Boyd to meet us on route to the airport. Tell him we need to be wired."

Wilson nodded, jumping up from her seat and heading over to the phone. "Four tickets, boss?"

"Five," interrupted Palmer. "I'm coming, too."

***

The sun was streaming into the high ceilinged bedroom, despite the closed curtains. What time was it? Kelli had no idea. All she knew was that she was closing in on another orgasm. It took her a few seconds to focus, and then a little longer to take in what was happening.

She edged up on her elbows, staring down to the sight of the head between her legs. Gabrielle's black hair had shaken free of its ponytail, bouncing in time with the tongue that was doing delicious things to her body. When her left hand found the brunette's head, Gabrielle paused to grin up at the blonde.

"Don't stop," Kelli murmured. "Please don't stop."

She chewed on her lower lip as the Frenchwoman slid her tongue back to her sensitive clitoris. Her hips raised a little in reaction to the long, circular, licking motions. With a deep sigh of gratification, her head flopped back on the soft, white pillow.

Images of Erin floated behind her closed eyes. Then Brooke. Rosalina and Adrianna, too. Life was simply perfect.

The blonde arched her back and lifted her hips against Gabrielle's face. Kelli was reaching her nirvana and it thrilled the French model to be the one delivering her. She rotated her face across the wet, swollen lips. A hand lifted the blonde's right leg over her shoulder and she dove deeper. Slithering her tongue over the moaning girl's dewy folds, she increased the pace of her tongue-fucking.

Kelli's back arched higher. Little, animalistic yelps escaped her parted lips as the first spasms of her orgasm overcame her. Her sex ground into Gabrielle's covergirl face, her trembling buttocks held by the hands that slid under her ass to support her.

The French star lapped at her juices throughout the stinging climax. Eventually, she slithered up the still shuddering, perfect body. The still moaning blonde eagerly accepted her cum-soaked kiss.

"You like that, mon cherie?" the Frenchwoman asked. "Time for you to pleasure Gabrielle," she smiled upwards into Kelli's delicious brown eyes.

Switching position, Gabrielle pushed her ass back against the headboard, gripping the blonde's silken hair and pulling her head to her for another kiss.

Even as their lips met, Kelli's hands were dancing across Gabrielle's perky tits, teasing her nipples from side to side. When the French supermodel let out a throaty growl against her mouth, Kelli dropped her head and swirled her tongue across each hard bud.

The whimpering brunette allowed Kelli to suckle on her nipples, letting the pressure build between her legs before applying downward pressure on the blonde tresses. Her clit was already standing up and begging for attention.

The young model didn't need asking twice. She whirled down between the shapely legs, dipping to softly kiss along the Frenchwoman's thighs towards the treasure awaiting her. Her first laps along the sensitive, wet lips rewarded her with a burst of wonderfully tangy juices.

With exaggerated slowness, her tongue licked around and across the waiting clit, waiting for sweet sounds of surrender before burying itself inside the breathtakingly tasty body.

Reaching down, Gabrielle held the blonde's bobbing head, pushing her hips upwards to grind her pussy against the hot and willing mouth. When she pulled her legs upwards and back, Kelli took the hint, licking the brunette from her clit to her ass, then back again.

"Oui, cherie! Qui a été incroyable!"

As she instantly came, the French supermodel poured her juices into the lapping, licking, and sucking mouth. Her ass thrust upwards from the bed. Her fingers pulled on her breasts. Her language changed from French to English and back again. The words meant the same.

Kelli fingered herself through Gabrielle's orgasm, and was close to reaching another of her own when the Frenchwoman's hand covered hers. "Wait, mon cherie. I 'ave something for us "

Her hand pulled out her prize from under the pillow. Kelli gasped, recalling the way Erin had used her similar double-ended dildo on her.

***

Harry Bannerman was breathing heavily. The killing of Parkinson and his brother had spooked him. If DeVere knew they were dead, and that Palmer had escaped, God alone knew what he'd do!

Harry wasn't a man who panicked easily. This morning he was panicking.

Making a telephone call to the cop had been unusual. He never phoned Willie Dixon. Unable to get any answer from Toby Parkinson's cell phone, he had no alternative. The small time killer had missed his deadlines for checking in with Bannerman. That meant trouble.

To add insult to injury, someone had called him from Parkinson's phone. It was so obvious it was pathetic. A cop was going through all numbers on the cell phone in the laborious process of attempting to identify all contacts.

Bannerman was too smart for the phone he used to be traceable. That wasn't an issue. He'd listened to the heavy breathing on the other end of the line and then cut off the call. The number was now obsolete.

What had worried him more was what had happened to the thug and his brother. His telephone call to the reluctant Dixon had given him the information he'd needed. Yes, the Sergeant had been pissed off at Harry calling him at his desk, but he'd flown to Aberdeen that evening and there was no other way of obtaining the information.

It turned out that Parkinson was dead. So was his brother. A third body hadn't been found. Not according to Dixon. That suggested that Palmer had somehow escaped.

He'd find out more when he met with the edgy Sergeant on his return. It had taken all of his persuasive efforts during the phone call just to weed out the little bits of information he had. Dixon was a naturally cautious man.

He'd find out more when he met with the edgy Sergeant on his return. It had taken all of his persuasive efforts during the phone call, just to weed out the little bits of information he had. Dixon was a naturally cautious man.

That was fine. So was he.

He'd yet to share this information with DeVere. His employer would instantly go into a rage. He knew those tempers well. They didn't happen too often. And he'd never been on the wrong end of one.

It was much better to keep the events to himself. For the moment, at least. DeVere had brought Giovanni to Aberdeen to talk to him about killing the wrong woman. To point the finger. That was just part of it. He'd lured him there with the intention, and expectation, that Bannerman would arrange for his demise.

Now that the Parkinson brothers had made such a mess of things, he'd take their place. He had no other option. He would – he had to – kill Giovanni. That way, DeVere would be none the wiser. He'd see that Bannerman was fully capable of taking care of problems when they came along.

Harry knew the Italian was fast and deadly. Like a snake. He was fully aware he'd have to do it quickly. There'd be no second chances. But he had the advantage. He knew where Giovanni would be. It would be unexpected. The Italian hit man didn't know him from Adam.

The automatic in his pocket would do the rest.

***

"You like, cherie?" Gabrielle asked, grinning at the lascivious look on the young model's face.

Twisting around, she slipped her long and shapely legs through the blonde's. Her sparkling eyes trained on the young beauty's as she slowly eased the thick plastic cock into her own wetness.

Kelli watched spellbound as the Frenchwoman's labial lips erotically wrapped themselves around the thick shaft, until almost half the hard length of the phallus disappeared inside her body. Then she couldn't resist. The blonde reached out and took the surprisingly warm cock in her hand, slowly beginning to fuck the supermodel.

"Tres bien, cherie," the brunette purred, thrusting back for a few moments. "You learn quickly. But this is even better…"

She wriggled forward, closing the distance between them, the pink, rubber cock obscenely sticking out of her body. Scissoring their legs together, she slid closer to the blonde. Holding her gaze, she fed the phallus into Kelli's wickedly smooth sex. The blonde's lustful moans reverberated in her heart and across her pussy.

"Tres bien, Kelleee," the Frenchwoman purred as she pulled the blonde even closer. The dildo disappeared completely as their hot pussies pressed hard against one other.

She moved gently at first, allowing the blonde to get used to the new sensations. Her wild eyes never left the young woman's. Her own arousal increased with each shift of Kelli's expression.

At first, the young blonde was happy to let Gabrielle do the work. But soon, it became too much. Her head went back. Her blonde tresses bounced on her shoulders. Her shuddering body responded.

She mirrored the more experienced woman's moves, even dropping her hand to stroke her clit when she saw the supermodel do the same. Both women began to moan softly, the sounds mingling with the sensual slurping of the pleasuring dildo.

Their undulations increased as they gave in to the oncoming orgasms. Hands gripped each other's ass more tightly. Hips raised further from the virginal white sheets. Feet dug into the mattress as they desperately sought out even more of the delicious friction.

"Cum for me, Kelleee," Gabrielle gasped as she saw the blonde's eyes disappearing upwards into the back of her head. Her own climax was only moments away, too.

The blonde did. Seconds ahead of the brunette.

Her head jerked back. Her eyes closed. A heavy flush ran up her heaving breasts. With her fingers working frantically on her clit, the low hum changed into a long scream.

In the back of her mind, she heard her wails joined by the brunette's orgasmic cries. It was all too much and a second, mini orgasm flowed through her spasming sex. She simply couldn't stop cumming.

The sound of applause that ran around the room shocked the recovering blonde. Her weary head jerked around. A naked Max lay on the other bed, stroking his monster. Oh, God! How could she have failed to notice him? He'd been watching since the beginning!

***

DeVere was a happy man. For a formal press conference, the atmosphere had been amazing. He'd choreographed it perfectly - full of interest and anticipation to begin with, then a carefully executed ramping up of the excitement.

The press briefing had begun with the use of computer-generated images. Enough to excite, but not inflame. Slowly does it. Take them there gradually. Much more impact that way.

Press and celebrities alike had been invited to the cocktail party being held in the control room. The mood had begun to build at that point, but was nothing compared to the subsequent atmosphere. Once Amélie's skills at the control panel brought the robot dinosaurs into action, the entire demonstration had simply blown everyone away.

Dominic had known it would.

The bubble of excitement had pervaded the entire room as the invited ensemble watched from the viewing window. Then came the clamour to be let loose in the grounds, to actually experience those dinosaurs.

"You're sure they're not real?" was a question repeated time and time again by a wondrous inquisitor.

DeVere's reply was simple. "Go down and find out for yourself."

His satisfaction was enhanced by the smooth way he'd linked the project into George Blair. The forthcoming vote by MP's was a formality. Dennis Price had done his job well and in return, Dominic had made sure that his sexual needs were well catered for. He'd do the same for his political aspirations.

Dinosaur World would simply reinforce Blair's growing reputation. Today was only the start to the long task of increasing his personal popularity among the populous. That would help to bring Labour back into contention for the next election.

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