"Won't you come in for a nightcap, Randall?"
Randall had just walked Kathy up to her room. They had just returned from their first date since she had come back to school in the fall. They had spent the evening talking, bringing each other up to date on their respective summers.
He remembered from the previous spring exactly what she meant by a nightcap. It had absolutely nothing to do with a drink --- alcoholic or otherwise. Now it was time to stop talking the talk and to walk the walk. He grinned at her. "Of course, Kathy." He followed her into the apartment after she unlocked the door for them.
Sure enough, as soon as she had closed the door behind them she pulled him into her arms, holding him much tighter than any other girl ever had. She pulled his face down to hers for a crushing kiss.
He also held her tighter than he had ever held any other girl. But then she easily broke his embrace, pushed him away, and turned her back to him. She looked back at him over a shoulder as she lifted her long blonde hair up and away from her back. "Unzip me, please?" she asked.
He suppressed a grin. She might be a couple of thousand times stronger than any ordinary girl was, but she still needed help with her clothes. Not that he minded helping her in this way, he knew what was to follow. He pulled the zipper down and helped her slip out of her dress, caressing her sides as he did so. As usual, she wasn't wearing a bra, her firm breasts not needing any artificial support despite their large size. Nor was she wearing any panties. Still standing behind her, he ran his hands up her graceful body and cupped her breasts, pulling her body to his. "I missed you, Kathy," he whispered in her ear, and then began nuzzling her neck.
"I missed you too, Randall." She leaned into his embrace, covering his face with her long golden hair.
As he squeezed her firm breasts, he thought that they felt softer than they ever had before. "You're getting better at softening your body," he whispered in her ear, squeezing her breasts with all of his strength.
"Umm, it feels better this way," Kathy cooed as she leaned further back into his embrace. It felt really good to have his hands on her body, especially when she softened her body as she had learned to do. Even when she softened herself, her breasts were still much firmer than any ordinary women's were, but Randall could dig his fingers into them a little more. Certainly much more than Jim had been able to do.
She had been working on it for much of the summer, especially after she had hurt Jim with her seemingly soft breasts. Still, she knew that she could hurt --- and probably even kill --- Randall with her feminine mounds.
She had meant it when she had told him that she had missed him. Ever since she had felt the differences between Jim and Randall's bodies, she had known that there could be no other man in her life besides Randall.
Jim's caresses had been so light that she had barely felt them. And his body had been so soft, so fragile. She had been gentler with Jim than she had ever been with Randall, yet she had left Jim's hard muscular body badly bruised.
Not that Randall was perfect, by any means. There were times when she wished that she could really hug him tight, that he could hug her back really tight. But there was nobody in the world that could do that. Except perhaps for SuperFemme, and there were obvious differences there that ruled out any possibilities, at least as far as Kathy was concerned.
Lightly grasping his wrists with her fingers, she pulled his hands away from her breasts and turned around to face him. She then took him in her arms. She was careful not to hug him too tight, yet she still held him quite a bit tighter than she had held Jim when she had bruised his muscular chest.
She savored the feel of his hard muscular body in her arms, as his arms squeezed her back with all of his superhuman strength. Yes, it definitely felt better than having Jim in her arms.
She slid her arms down his body, until she was holding his tight ass. Lifting him up off of his feet, she carried him into the bedroom. She laid him down gently onto the bed and quickly undressed him. Her clothes quickly joined his on the floor. Then she leaped onto the bed, her mouth again finding his, as she softened her breasts to avoid crushing his hard muscular ribcage.
Even though he was on a bed, it was several hours before Randall could sleep. But it wasn't insomnia that kept him awake that night. And he had nothing to complain about.
When it reached the Palomar estate on the outskirts of the city, armed guards searched the catering van. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, they allowed it through the gate and onto the grounds. Randall got out of the van with the rest of the catering crew, after retrieving his weapons from their hiding place. He helped carry the folding tables and the boxes of food, setting things up for the yard party. As he helped set out the trays of food, he looked at the large mansion dominating the estate. This friggin' house is bigger than the orphanage I grew up in, he thought to himself, thinking back to his early childhood. You could easily put a couple of hundred kids here. What a friggin' waste, to use it for just one man. And his women.
Jasper Palomar was a movie producer. But none of his movies would ever be shown on the Disney Channel. None of his movies would ever be reviewed by Siskel and Ebert. None of his movies would ever be nominated for an Academy Award. Certainly not for Best Costume. In Jasper Palomar's movies, the actors and actresses spent as little time as possible in clothes.
Still, there was enough demand for the adult movies that he produced to allow himself to live comfortably. Quite comfortably, as evidenced by the luxurious estate.
And, despite any personal feelings Randall may have possessed about the subject, it was a completely legal way for a man to earn his living.
However, the reason he was here today had absolutely nothing to do with movies. Tyler Winslow, the three-month old son of a wealthy industrialist, had been kidnapped for a million-dollar ransom last week. An informant had led him to believe that little Tyler was being held somewhere here on the Palomar estate.
When he had learned about the party that Palomar was throwing for some of his distributors, Randall had managed to get himself inserted into the catering crew. He hoped to either overhear something at the party, or to get a discreet look inside the mansion.
He had also managed to get Kathy onto the estate, as an aspiring young 'actress'. With her looks, it hadn't been very difficult. He knew that she had received a brief tour of the interior yesterday, but she had found no sign of the little infant.
As he worked, he caught a glimpse of a group of girls, all of whom were scantily clad, on another part of the yard, separated by a line of trees. Palomar's so-called 'actresses', for the most part, he assumed.
He had mixed feelings when he saw Kathy among them, wearing the outrageous purple swimsuit that she had shown him the previous day. On the one hand, he had hated to ask her to work with him on this case. He wouldn't wish that meat market treatment on anybody, let alone on his girlfriend. And she'd had no formal training in any type of police work. He sincerely hoped that things wouldn't get sticky, that it would turn out to be the lark that Kathy seemed to think it was.
On the other hand, he couldn't think of a better person to have at his side if things got sticky, training or no training. Well, except maybe for SuperFemme. He quickly banished that thought from his mind. According to the tabloids SuperFemme seldom bothered herself with what she referred to as 'Terran' criminals, concentrating her efforts on the threat posed by the alien Arions. And besides, what would SuperFemme know about this case? So far, it had been hushed up, kept out of the media. But it wouldn't stay that way for long. Not unless he and Kathy could find and rescue Tyler.
And, training or no training, he'd much rather have Kathy on his side than an entire SWAT team. And she had insisted on coming. "If you're going to be risking your life, I want to be there to try to protect you," she had told him.
"I don't need any protection," he had tried to tell her.
"If you were bulletproof, maybe," she then had said. That had ended that discussion. Or perhaps it had been her little finger that had ended the discussion, as she held it in the middle of his chest, pinning him down to the bed.
But today, they weren't here about the movies. Nor was he expecting a pitched battle. For now, he would have to maintain his cover and wait for a chance to go inside for a discreet look-see. A couple of times, he sneaked looks over in her direction. He noticed that he wasn't the only man looking in that direction, some of those girls really were lovely. Though he didn't think that any of them quite measured up to Kathy. But then, who did?
Looking in that direction, he saw her again, as she gave him a quick smile from behind a tree, before she ran off to rejoin the other girls. From the sounds of it, there was a pool over there.
He hoped that Kathy was getting a chance to enjoy the pool, that nobody was asking her to go through a so-called casting call. He knew from having interviewed some of the 'actresses' that Palomar's primary casting couch was a king-sized waterbed with satin sheets.
Kathy was splashing around in the pool with some of the other girls when she heard a man's voice calling out to her.
"Jean, could you come over here a minute?" Kathy had used her middle name when she had first come here yesterday.
"Sure thing, Mr. Thompson." Michael Thompson was one of Palomar's assistant producers. That was his official title. Procurer would be a more appropriate description of his duties than producer was. Dreading the worst, she pulled herself out of the pool and toweled off before walking over to him.
Thompson was talking with another man. "Jean is one of our newest girls. She's got great potential. I think you'll like her."
Then Thompson turned to Kathy. "Jean, this is Mr. Martinez. He's one of our biggest distributors in the Southwest. I'd like you to take good care of him while he's here with us today."
She knew exactly what Thompson meant by 'take good care', like all of the girls here, she'd been told exactly what was expected of them at this party.
Martinez was a Hispanic man, overweight and short, about an inch shorter than she was. His black hair was beginning to turn gray at the temples. His eyes were set too close together. His bushy mustache didn't cover enough of his pockmarked face. His yellow teeth were uneven. He was wearing a red Western shirt, blue jeans, and black cowboy boots. "Pleased to meet you, Senorita." He was all but drooling already, as he checked out Kathy and her 'potential'. His surveillance didn't cover much territory, as his eyes simply went from one breast to the other.
When was the last time you were on a horse? she wanted to ask. "How do you do?" was what she actually asked. She forced herself to smile as he shook her hand. Unfortunately, she knew that this was going to be the most pleasant physical contact she would have with him. How do the other girls put up with this crap week after week, month after month?
"Now, Jean, you'll be very nice to him, won't you?" Thompson asked her.
Yeah, sure, I'll be nice to him. I'll only knock him into next week. You, I'll knock into next month. But that wouldn't be appropriate behavior. Not if she wanted to maintain her cover. "Yes, Mr. Thompson, of course."
"Why don't you give him a tour of the mansion, Jean?"
She knew that a 'tour' was supposed to go as far as one of the guest bedrooms, of which there were a good number inside. "Certainly, Mr. Thompson."
As she led him up the flagstone walk towards the mansion, she forced herself to take his hand. It was clammy, and she had to resist the urge to crush it to a pulp. But the move was also out of self-defense, at least this way she could control where his hand was. "So, Senor Martinez, where do you live?" What she really felt like saying was, Where should I send the flowers for your funeral?
From the sounds coming from inside, she could have told which bedrooms were occupied without even knowing about the discreet signal lights. She quickly found an unoccupied bedroom and led him in. She closed the door behind them and flicked the switch to claim the room.
He was upon her immediately. She let him 'force' her onto the bed. His hands fumbled with the straps of her swimsuit as he buried his head between her large breasts. She was careful not to use her strength as she 'responded' to him, carefully undressing him. She had to resist the urge to take his feet off with his boots.
His efforts were doing absolutely nothing for her. His soft fat body was doing absolutely nothing for her. She barely felt his clumsy feathery caresses. Sheesh! You'd think he'd have learned something from all of those movies, she thought to herself.
It was apparent that he was getting quite a bit out of it, though.
She also thought about just knocking him out and leaving him here. Now that she was inside the mansion, she might be able to go looking for little Tyler. But if she ran into any of Palomar's people, what would she say to them? And eventually, somebody would miss Martinez and start looking for him. She lay back on the bed and endured more of his disgusting caresses, concentrating on making her body as soft as she could.
As he helped serve the food, Randall thought that he recognized one of the guests. Yes, he was certain that the tall black man in the white shirt and jacket was Otis Jackson, a known drug dealer. He had helped nab Jackson several times, but had never been able to put him away for keeps, always losing him on one technicality or another.
He turned his head away as Jackson struck up a conversation with Palomar. God, did he recognize me? He strained his ears to hear the conversation --- looking out of the corners of his eyes --- wondering whether Palomar was also mixed up in the drug business. Maybe he's just a customer.
"So, Mr. Jackson, are you enjoying my little party?" Palomar said. "You haven't found a girl to keep you company yet? I'm sure we could find someone to your liking."
"Forget the girls." Jackson waved away Palomar's comment. "Tell me something, Mr. Palomar. Are you in the habit of inviting policemen to your little parties?"
"What? What policemen?" Palomar almost dropped his drink as he looked around.
"That one, for starters," he pointed straight at Randall. "I know that man. He's a police detective."
Palomar immediately gave a sign, pointing to Randall. Several of the large men who had just been standing around keeping out of the way of the guests began converging on Randall.
Knowing that his cover had been blown, Randall looked around. Two of the men were coming at him from the front. There were four others coming at him from behind and from the sides. Kathy was nowhere in sight.
It would be a tough fight against six men. He didn't know how many more he'd have to face. And if they were armed...
Putting his hands under the table, he lifted and heaved. The table struck the two men coming from the front, knocking them backwards as the food went flying in all directions. Without waiting to see whether the two men got back up to their feet or not, he took off for the nearest cover. He certainly didn't want to be standing out in the open when they started shooting.
Unfortunately, the nearest cover meant going into the mansion. "Blue! Blue!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. He then leaped for the large plate-glass window, tucking himself up into a ball to protect his face as he hit the glass. He rolled to his feet amid the glass shards, looking around himself. Through an open door, he saw a hallway.
The hallway was paneled with dark rich wood. Framed oil painting lined one wall. All of them were originals. None of them would have been out of place in the finest of art museums.
He didn't see the paintings as he ran down the hallway, going deeper into the mansion, shedding his white caterer's jacket as he went. There was a wide curving staircase at the other end. He bounded up it, taking the steps four at a time.
All the while, he was hoping that Kathy had heard him giving the signal that his cover had been blown. He knew that she had sharp hearing, even better than his own. But could she have heard it, above all of the other noise at the party?
Not only had he not see the paintings in the hallway, he also had not seen his gun slide out of his holster and go skittering across the room as he had rolled to his feet.
Kathy had been doing everything she could to delay Martinez, short of simply hauling off and knocking him into next week. But now, he was on top of her on the bed, his face buried in her breasts, and with another part of his body buried in another part of hers.
She stiffened when she heard the commotion outside. Then she heard Randall's deep voice yelling out the code word telling her that his cover had been blown, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
Even as she realized that Randall was in trouble, a part of her mind was relieved. At least she wouldn't have to put up with Martinez' disgusting touches any more. She rapped him lightly on the side of his head with her knuckles. She was careful not to cave in his skull; still, her blow was harder than anything a heavyweight boxer could have thrown.
She laid his limp body in the bed and pulled the covers up over him. She quickly put her swimsuit back on. Leaving on the signal to indicate that the room was occupied, she opened the door and looked out.
The hallway was empty. Apparently none of the other guests had heard the noise. Or else they were too busy with other things.
Randall came out of the stairway at the top. He ran down the hallway to the last room. Trying the door, he found it unlocked. Opening it, he went in.
He closed the door behind himself and looked around. He was apparently in an office of some kind. A large wooden desk surmounted by a personal computer dominated the room. Three chairs sat in front of the desk, and there was a plush leather chair behind the desk. There were a couple of metal filing cabinets along one wall.
He also saw that he was trapped. The only door was the one he had just come through. The windows were barred. If he had time, he might be able to bend the bars enough to slip through. But time was the one thing he didn't have right now; already he could hear the approaching footsteps in the hallway.
He crouched behind the heavy wooden desk. He reached for his holster. It was empty. "Damn!" he swore under his breath. He still had the knife strapped to his leg, but against guns, his knife and superhuman muscles didn't stand much of a chance.
He crawled under the desk. Bracing his shoulders, he lifted. There! The desk rose an inch off of the floor. He carefully lowered it back down. With some luck, he could take out two men with the desk, and then make a run for it before they recovered.
The footsteps stopped just outside the room. He could hear Jackson's voice giving out instructions, but he couldn't make out the words. Then he heard the door opening and some additional footsteps as somebody came into the room. More than one somebody, to judge from the footsteps.
He heard a voice telling him to surrender. Using all of his superhuman strength, he heaved the desk in the direction of the voice. He was gratified to hear a scream He was even more gratified to hear the scream cut off as a loud CRASH rang out, followed by the sound of wood splintering.
"Freeze! Hold it right there!" That was Jackson's voice, coming from behind him.
He slowly got up to his feet, his hands over his head. Looking around, he saw Jackson in the corner, behind him, covering him with a gun. There was a man by his shoulder, also with a gun aimed right at him. There was yet another man by the door, with his gun also aimed right at him. It was only a small consolation that the man under the remains of the desk wasn't aiming a gun at him.
"So, we meet again. Mr. Johnson, I believe?"
"Johnston," Randall corrected him automatically. It was a common enough of a mistake, he'd been correcting people for most of his life.
"Mr. Johnston. I'm sorry. It's so hard to keep track of all of you." While Jackson kept him covered, the other man came in from the door and patted Randall down, finding the knife strapped to his leg.
"Hey, what's going on here? You guys having your own private party?" This was a new voice. Soft and feminine. A voice that Randall knew very well. He turned his head towards the door.
The other three men also turned their heads that way. They saw a beautiful blonde in a purple swimsuit. The man under the desk didn't turn his head and thus missed seeing the gorgeous vision.
"Get her outta here, Smitty," Jackson said to one of his underlings, a tall redhead.
Smitty started walking towards her. "You heard the man. Get outta here, babe." He waved his gun to make the point. This is one babe I wouldn't mind taking care of the slow way. Too bad I've got to do it the quick way, he thought to himself.
She put her hands on her hips and pouted. "C'mon, that's not the gun you really want to use on me, is it, Smitty?"
Smitty couldn't believe what she'd just said. That wasn't what babes usually said when he was pointing a gun at them. At least not this gun.
Maybe he could do it the slow way after all, after using his other gun on her first. He looked her over. Yes, she did fill out that purple swimsuit of hers quite nicely. Very nicely. Keeping his gun in his right hand, he reached for her with his left hand.
When she saw the large redhead's left hand come towards her, Kathy lashed out with her right hand, closing it about his wrist. A simple flick of her wrist brought him towards her. Her left hand closed about his gun, easily twisting it out of his grip. Then she flung his body on top of the pile of wreckage in the corner. His body, like the one under the wreckage, didn't move any more.
She turned towards the other two men. They both were staring back at her. The tall black man, the one who had given the order to have her taken out of here, seemed ready to go into shock, his arms were hanging limp at his sides, his gun pointed at the floor. The other one had his gun pointed in her general direction, but seemed to be too busy getting him mouth to close to take good aim.
But as she started walking towards them, the black man seemed to recover. He pointed his gun right at her. "Hold it right there, bitch!" he snarled.
She put her hands on her hips and kept walking towards them.
Not wanting to endanger Randall with the ricochets off of her body, she leaped at the two men. Before either man could fire at her, she had their guns in her hands.
Taking the opportunity, Randall leaped at Jackson. He easily twisted the empty gun out of the drug dealer's hand, putting his other arm around Jackson's neck. "Okay, Jackson. I don't know what you're doing here, but maybe you can tell me where Palomar is keeping Tyler Winslow."
"Fuck you, Johnson."
"Johnston." Randall tightened his arm around Jackson's neck. "Tell me about Winslow."
"Wh-who?" Jackson gasped out, continuing to struggle.
Randall ignored Jackson's struggles. "Tyler Winslow. The kidnap victim."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."
Randall started tightening the hold around Jackson's neck.
"We have to get out of here," Kathy said. "I hear more men coming."
Randall continued tightening the hold around Jackson's neck, until he felt the body stiffen and then go limp. He dropped the unconscious drug dealer to the floor. "Until next time, Jackson." He then followed Kathy to the door.
She stopped and listened at the door. "Okay, this way. Follow me."
He followed her down the hallway, around a corner, down another hallway, and finally into a bedroom.
"Kathy, this isn't the time or place."
"I know." She gave him a quick kiss anyway.
"We really do have to get out of here. We can't..."
She put up her hand to stop him. "Shh. Listen," she whispered to him.
He listened. "I don't hear anything." That wasn't quite true. He could still hear the sounds of the party down in the backyard. If he listened carefully, he could make out the sounds of the lovemaking coming from the other bedrooms on the floor. And he could hear the pounding of his heart. It usually pounded like that anytime he was near Kathy.
"I hear a baby crying," she whispered as she turned her head, trying to determine the direction.
"Winslow! It's got to be Tyler Winslow!"
"Shh. Let me try to find him." She cocked her head, first in one direction, then in the other. "This way." She led him back to the door.
Kathy listened at the door. Not hearing any signs of pursuit nearby, she opened the door and stuck her head out. Nobody in sight. Taking Randall's hand, she began running down the hallway.
She stopped in front of a door. Trying the door, she found that it was locked. She twisted the knob a little harder. The knob came off in her hand. Pushing against the door, she opened it and stepped inside.
Randall followed Kathy into the room and looked around. There, on a table in the middle of the room, was a child car seat, with a baby strapped into it. The baby was crying softly, so softly that he could barely hear it even though he was in the same room.
He looked carefully at the face, comparing it to the pictures that he'd seen. "That's him."
She picked up the child seat by the handle. "Now, we can leave." She led him back out into the hallway, going deeper towards the back of the mansion. He followed her down a flight of stairs.
They came out of the house into the side yard. "We can get out this way," she said, pointing towards a row of trees lining the yard. "There's a gate through the wall over on the other side of the trees."
As he started to sprint towards the gate, he felt himself being lifted up into the air. He saw that she had an arm around his waist as she ran towards the gate a lot faster than he could have, while still carrying the baby seat in her other hand.
When she let him down after they got there, he saw the chain holding the gate closed. Then he saw the padlock. "Damn! It's locked."
"Here, hold this." She handed him the baby seat. She then walked up to the gate. "You don't think this little thing is going to stop me, do you?" She took hold of the chain. He heard the metal squeal in protest. In spite of the dangerous predicament that they were in, he felt a tightness in his pants as he saw the massive muscles explode onto her back and onto her arms as she pulled.
He heard the clanking that told him that the chain had lost the unequal battle against her beautiful muscles. Then she turned around and lightly swung the gate open, gesturing for him to go through first. "After you, sir."
He stepped through, carrying the child seat. "Aren't you coming too?" he asked, when he saw that she wasn't coming with him.
"You go on ahead. I'll head 'em off and lead them somewhere else."
"What! Kathy! I can't just go and leave you here." He couldn't conceive of running off to safety while leaving a girl behind in danger, he'd never done anything like that before.
"I'll be okay. You have to get the baby to safety. I'll meet you back at the station. Stay to the back, and I'll lead them to the front. Now, go!" They both could hear the shouts coming from the mansion, on the other side of the trees.
He realized that she was right. Somebody had to take care of the baby. And of the two, he was obviously the right one for the task. Not that he was better suited for the task of taking care of an infant. But at least, Kathy was the right one to stay behind and head off the pursuit.
Reluctantly, he turned to go. As he hurried off, he turned his head. He saw her standing by the gate, the broken chain hanging from the padlock. "Don't worry, I'll be okay," she reassured him. He suddenly heard a squeal of metal and saw one of the bars glow cherry-red as her hand crushed the steel. Even as he continued to watch, she leaned into the gate. He saw the bars bending where her breast leaned against them, the hard steel proving to be no match for even her softest flesh. Then she waved, closed the gate, and headed back onto the estate. He sincerely hoped that that would not be the last sight that he would ever have of her.
Kathy could hear the shouts as she headed back towards the mansion. To try to lead them away from Randall, she stayed behind the trees and circled around to the other side of the estate.
As she approached the pool, she saw some of the girls there. Not too surprisingly, none of the men were in the pool with the girls.
As she ran by the pool, she heard some shouts behind her. A shot rang out and a bullet whizzed by her head. She picked up the pace a little, satisfied that she had been spotted and that the pursuit would be coming after her, instead of after Randall and little Tyler.
Reaching the trees on the other side of the pool, she paused to make sure that they were indeed coming after her. When they got closer, she started running again, leading them around the house. She heard more bullets whizzing by her, and felt at least one hit her in the back.
As she came around the corner, she saw two more men. They managed to get off one shot each, one hitting her in the face and the other in the stomach, before she plowed into them. She had more effect on them then their bullets had had on her, as the two men went flying head-over-heels, landing on a hedge over twenty feet away.
When she got to the front, she saw men getting into a couple of cars, getting ready to go in pursuit of anybody who might have left the estate.
She beat the first car to the main gate. "Run the bitch down!" she heard one of the men yell, as the car bore down on her. Bracing herself, she put her hands out in front of her body. She caught the front grill and the car came to a stop, dead in its tracks. The engine screamed as driver floored it, all four wheels spinning helplessly and kicking up large clouds of dust. She started walking forward, pushing the car before her.
The two hundred horses of the roaring engine were no match for the young girl, as she pushed the car back. Taking a deep breath she pushed harder, putting her stomach and thighs against the grill, feeling the power of the engine against her body. Savoring the vibrations, she continued pushing until the rear end hit the front end of the other car.
With both cars now out of action, she ran back to the gate. As she went through the gate, a man leaped out and tackled her around her legs. Catching her unprepared, she went down. She landed on her front, her breasts making two new potholes in the asphalt pavement. As she bounced up, she lashed out with a foot, catching him in the face, sending him flying for ten feet before he landed on the pavement. He bounced once, but did not get back up.
Getting up to her feet, she closed the gate. She tore one of the steel bars from one side of the gate, wrapping it around the bars of both sides, to lock it. Satisfied that any immediate pursuit would have to be on foot, and coming to the front, away from Randall, she turned around and prepared to run off to get back to the city and to find Randall.
Suddenly, she realized that she really was not dressed properly for going into the city. Her dress was back in the mansion, and she really didn't feel like going back to get it. She looked at the unconscious man on the pavement beside her. Reaching down, she quickly took off his suit and put it on. It was much too large for her, reaching down almost to her knees. And there was some blood on it, from where she had kicked him. But at least, it would serve to cover her up some.
With the suit flapping around her, she ran down toward the highway.
Randall ran down the road toward the highway, being careful not to shake the baby too much. He occasionally stopped to listen for any signs of pursuit, but didn't hear any. Once, though, he thought that he heard some gunfire. But it was distant. He wondered whether Kathy was being shot at.
He hoped that she truly was as bulletproof as she had shown that time, on their first date. But then, she had only taken one hit from a handgun. Could she take repeated hits? Would a bullet from a high-powered rifle hurt her?
There was nothing he could do about it now, though. He wished that he had argued with her a little more, convincing her to come with him.
Making it to the highway, he was able to flag down a car. Flashing his badge, he was able to get a ride into the city and to the police station. Carrying the child seat, he took the steps two at a time up to the second floor. Emerging from the stairwell, he entered the detectives' area. His home away from home. Other than Kathy's apartment, that is.
"Johnston! Where the hell have you been?" His partner, Henry Miller, was getting up from his desk and walking towards him.
The Captain was right behind Miller. He looked at the child seat Randall was carrying. "You're supposed to be working on the Winslow kidnapping, Johnston, not doing some babysitting."
"I was working on the Winslow case, sir, and I think I found a major break." He handed the child seat to the Captain. "Captain, I'd like you to meet Tyler Winslow."
The Captain wasn't stunned enough to drop the child seat, though he handled it as if was a ticking bomb.
Kathy emerged from the woods when she reached a road. At this time of the day, it was deserted. She headed towards the city, jogging along the shoulder at an easy sixty miles per hour.
She slowed down to a normal walk when she heard the car coming. The first car didn't slow down at all, though she could see the driver giving her a good look. There was a woman in the passenger seat, probably the driver's wife or girlfriend.
The second car stopped. A window rolled down and a woman's head appeared. "Do you need a ride, dear?"
Kathy knew that she could run faster than the car could go, but then she would be certain to be seen. And going at a normal pace would certainly be slower than going in a car.
She looked at the people in the car. A driver and a passenger. Both female. Both middle-aged. Deciding that they probably had nothing to do with Palomar, she accepted the ride into the city, getting into the back seat.
The woman in the passenger seat turned around and looked at her. "Where are you going, dear? You didn't leave home dressed like that, did you?"
"I... I was attacked," she answered, trying to act as shaken as she could. And then I attacked them.
"Oh, my!" She apparently caught sight of the blood on her suit. "Are you hurt, dear?"
"No, I'm, I'm okay. It's not my blood. I got away before they could do anything to me." Not that they didn't try. Shooting me, running me over with a car, just some little stuff like that.
"Can we take you home?" the driver asked.
"If you're going downtown, could you drop me off at the police station?"
"Certainly, dear." She turned to the driver. "It's not too far out of our way, is it, Marge?"
"Of course not. We can take you wherever you want to go."
"I'd like to see Detective Randall Johnston, please."
Police Sergeant David Benton looked up from his desk. Standing in front of his was a young blonde woman wearing a man's suit, and apparently very little under it. He'd seen her ilk before, and he had specific instructions. There had been a memo about it just last week. "Look, if this is a singing telegram or something like that, you're just going to have to give it to him somewhere else. This is a police station, not a frat house."
"A singing telegram? Why, you..." Kathy took a deep breath, restraining herself. After all, this was a policeman, doing what he thought was his duty. Instead, she leaned over his desk, not caring whether he could see down her cleavage. With one hand, she picked up the phone handset from the phone on the desk. She held it up to his head while her other hand held his head in place.
Sergeant Benton had a brief look down the front of her jacket, and saw the deep valley between her breasts. He just saw a hint of a swimsuit or something. Then she was holding the phone to his head with one hand, while her other hand held his head. He took hold of her arms. He was surprised to discover that he couldn't pull out of her grasp, even though he was using all of his strength.
"Now, why don't you call Detective Johnston and ask him if he wants to see me. My name is Kathy Norris." She gave him an extension number.
Giving up the attempt to free himself from her grasp, he punched in the number she had given him.
Kathy couldn't quite make out the other end of the conversation. "Detective Johnston? There's a young lady here to see you. She says her name is Kathy Morris." "I'm sorry, that's Norris," he said after she corrected him. She didn't bother to correct the stress he put on the word 'lady'. She decided to ignore it for now.
"Yes, sir. I'll tell her." He shook his head and then spoke to her. "He says you can go on up."
She let him go and hung up the phone. She read his name off of his nameplate. "Thank you, Sergeant Benton." She turned and headed for the stairs.
Randall met her on the second floor landing. "Oh, Kathy, I was so worried about you." They hugged and kissed for a long minute before he led her onto the floor and to his desk.
"Oh, it was nothing."
"Did you have any trouble?"
"Just with the sergeant at the desk downstairs. He didn't want to let me come up. He thought I was delivering a singing telegram or something."
"I can see why, dressed as you are. Well, we've had a number of singing telegrams and strippers coming in. The Chief doesn't appreciate that kind of stuff very much. Probably because nobody ever sends him anything like that. But seriously, how was it? Did you have any trouble?"
She grinned at him. "It was kinda fun!"
He grinned back at her. "Not bad, for a rookie."
She glared at him. She looked around once before giving him a wicked little smile. She wagged a finger in his face. "A rookie, huh? Just wait until I get you alone," she whispered to him.
"First, you're gonna have to tell me all about it."
"We'll see. You may not be able to stay awake for it."
She stayed around while Randall finished his report on the rescue. He did leave out some of the details of his exit from the Palomar estate, merely saying that he rescued the baby and got out of there.
Once back in her apartment, he helped her out of her coat. Underneath, she was still wearing that purple swimsuit. And nothing else. "You were fantastic tonight, Kathy. You really saved my ass back there. Thank you."
She kissed him before she turned her back to him, lifting up her long blonde hair with her hands. He untied the knots holding her swimsuit on. As she slipped off her swimsuit, he ran his hands up her graceful body and cupped her breasts, squeezing as hard as he could with his superhuman strength. At the same time, he nuzzled her neck.
"Thank you. I was really in a jam there."
"Any time." She took him in her arms and lifted him up as she gave him a quick kiss before setting him back down on his feet. "I couldn't let them beat you up. That's my job." She grinned at him as she shook her chest, jiggling her favorite 'weapons' of choice whenever she 'beat him up'.
"I really mean it. I thought I'd bought the farm there, when they had me trapped." He wrapped his arms around her again. She turned around in his arms. His hands came up to cup her breasts as he nibbled her ear.
"Not bad for a rookie, huh, Randy," she murmured as she leaned into his embrace.
He let his hands drop from her breasts as if he had been burned. He took a step backwards. " Kathy, you know I don't like that name. I wish you wouldn't call me that."
She turned around and faced him, putting her hands on her hips, thrusting out her magnificent chest, and smiling that wicked little smile she had given him at the station. "Why don't you make me, Randy?"
"C'mon, Kathy. You know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do." As she started walking towards him, he spread his arms to his sides and started to back away. After a few steps, he felt his back hit the wall. Still smiling wickedly and keeping her hands on her hips, she stopped right in front of him, her bare breasts just inches from his chest.
"What's the matter, Randy? Is the big cop scared of the little girl?"
As he tried to dart to his right, she leaned forward. He felt her large firm breasts pressing almost painfully against his chest as she pinned him to the wall.
He still sometimes could not believe the person in front of him. He had never before met a man he couldn't whip with one hand tied behind his back. He had often wondered whether he would ever meet someone in his own strength class, or better. And now, the person in front of him, half a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, had just easily overpowered him, without the use of hands at all.
Oh, what a girl!
Yes, the most beautiful girl he had ever met had just overpowered him, without using her hands, while keeping her hands on her hips. She had just overpowered him without using her hands, using just her breasts as she pinned him immobile to the wall.
Knowing that he couldn't fight her, he brought his hands up to the sides of her breasts, stroking and fondling the large feminine mounds that were pinning him to the wall.
"Mmm, that feels good, Randy," she cooed again, backing off and easing the pressure on his chest a little.
He started squeezing her breasts as hard as he could. Yet even with all of his superhuman strength, his fingers were able to make only the slightest dimples in her firm feminine mounds. "Getting warmer, Randy," she cooed. Then she straightened up, putting her hands on his waist. He felt himself being lifted off of his feet as she began walking towards the bedroom. "I think you're going to have to be very nice to me tonight, Randy." She gently laid him down on her bed "Isn't that right, my little randy Randy?"
"Please, Kathy. Don't hurt me. Be nice to me, please."
"Oh, I won't hurt my little Randy. What's the point of rescuing him from those thugs, only to hurt him here in my bedroom? Oh no, I'll be very nice to him, but only if he's very nice to me." She pinned him to the bed with her little finger in the middle of his broad chest and began removing his clothes.
When she had him undressed, she lifted her finger off of him. He tried to roll away, but she was too quick. She leaned forward, trapping him by putting her breasts on his chest. With her face just inches away from his, she whispered to him, "Now, is my little Randy ready to thank the rookie properly for rescuing him?"
Kathy and Randall spent the night being very, very, nice to each other, as he showed her his gratitude for rescuing him. And she certainly convinced him that she was not a rookie. At least not in what she did that night.