She kissed me again, pressing me down and writhing against me and
obviously getting a kick out of my reaction.
Then I came alive and threw her off with no warning. I sat up, and swung a
roundhouse right that clipped her on the jaw and sent her rolling over and
over. Her eyes glazed for a moment but she came out of it and looked
pained and miserable.
"You promised," she said huskily.
"Promised?"
"To kill Scarmann."
"Yeah?"
"You thought how you'd kill Scarmann for me, Steve."
"Someday," I said flatly, "I may kill Scarmann, but it won't be for you!"
She tried to claw me but I clipped her again and this time I made it
stick. She went out cold and she was still out like a frozen herring by
the time Lieutenant Williamson arrived with his jetcopter squad to take
her away.
The last time I saw Martha Franklin, she was still trying to convince
twelve Rhine Scholars and True that any woman with a body as beautiful as
hers couldn't possibly have committed any crime. She was good at it, but
not that good.
Funny. Mental sensitives always think they're so damn superior to anyone
else.