The Killer Touch Read Online Free PDF

rustle and snap of clothing.
    â€œCome here, Burt, and help me with this damn hook.”
    â€œNo, Joss,” he said, opening the door. “I don’t think we will.”
    He was groping his way down the steps when he heard her voice behind him. “Burt, where are you going?”
    â€œGood night, Joss.”
    The door slammed, hard, and Burt smiled to himself. Joss would have only a vague recollection tomorrow, just enough to look at him uneasily and wonder exactly what she’d said and done. Maybe she’d eliminate him as a candidate for husband number seven or eight, whichever it was.
    His head felt light. Not so straight yourself, March. Better take a walk, sober up, avoid tomorrow’s hangover. He left the path and walked between cabins three and four to the beach. He walked on the sand and let the spray blow in his face. The surf thundered; the fumaroles moaned. He decided to put on his trunks and take a swim. As he passed cabin two, he saw the yellow glow of lamplight in the window. Strange woman, up late and alone …
    There was a warning as he opened his cabin door—perhaps a pressure in the air, a smell, or a mental message. Someone else was in the room. He whirled, wasting a precious second in reaching for his absent shoulder holster. Something struck his right shoulder so hard it numbed his arm and sent pain shooting to his fingertips. Burt had no idea who his attacker might be; he didn’t even think about it. Here was hostility, and questions would have to wait. He swung his fist at a shadowy bulk and struck a glancing blow somewhere high on the face. There was a sound strangely like a laugh. Could it be? Burt saw the pale blob of a face, and a vivid whiteness where the mouth should be. Lord, he was smiling, white teeth flashing. Burt swung again, discovered too late that he’d put his weight on his bad leg. Fool … too much booze . He missed, staggered forward, and clutched at the other man. The man moved back, quick as a cat, and Burt realized he was going to fall. He didn’t feel himself hit the floor; something struck the back of his neck and all the light went out of his mind.

TWO
    Joss’s voice sliced through a shrieking whistle in his brain.
    â€œYou’ve made a mistake, Mr. Keener, this is a guest, Burt March.”
    â€œYes?” said a calm, cultured male voice. “What was he doing in my cabin?”
    â€œHe … I said he could use it. Until you came.”
    Her voice seemed to come from a great distance, but Burt could tell she was still muddled from drink. Slowly he extended his senses; he smelled Joss’s perfume, felt a soft fabric beneath his neck. Under that was firm flesh. He opened one eye a slit and saw that he lay on the floor with his head across Joss’s thighs. Looking up beyond the curving shelf of her bosom (she wore the robe he’d given her; beneath that there seemed to be only Joss) Burt saw the faintly pouched underside of her chin. Without moving his head he traced her gaze to a man seated on the bed. His legs were crossed negligently, and he was cleaning his nails with a penknife. In the glow of the kerosene lamp, the man looked very tall, with wax-blond hair, blue eyes, and a neat blond mustache. He could have been made up for a part in a Hollywood yachting movie; blue jacket, white linen scarf, white trousers, and white canvas shoes. Burt saw a reddened swelling high on his cheek; it looked incongruous on the porcelain serenity of the face, like a wart on a Dresden doll.
    Burt groaned and sat up, blinking his eyes. “What happened?”
    â€œBurt! I was telling Mr. Keener—”
    â€œI’ll explain,” said the man, and without halting his nail-cleaning operation, regarding his hands from time to time in the lamplight, he introduced himself as Rolf Keener. He’d rented a power-launch in St. Vincent and piloted himself to the island. The surf must have covered the sound of his