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I kicked open the white wooden door and
brought Wilhelmina out from under my jacket
as I entered the room. The blinding, white sun-
light streamed into the cabana and illuminated
Nozdrev.
"If you want to live," I said, "don't move." I
waved the luger as he moved his hand toward his
chest. His hand retreated. Again he lifted his
hand toward his chest, but he didn't complete
the gesture.
Then I noticed the spot of red near the shoulder
of his white beachrobe, and the slowly-forming
pool of red on the white tile floor of the
cabana

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NICK CARTER
"Nick Carter out.Bonds James Bond."
—Buffalo Evening News
"Nick Carter is America's #1 espionage agent."
—Variety
"Nick Carter is razor-sharp suspense."
—King Features
"Nick Carter is extraordinarily big."
—Bestsellers
"Nick Carter has attracted an army of addicted
readers .
. the books are fast, have plenty of
action and just the right degree of sex . . .
Nick
Carter is the American James Bond, suave,
sophisticated, a killer with both the ladies and
the enemy."
—The New York Times
NC-A
i



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A Killmaster Spy Chiller
-NICK
AND KING
CHARTER
r•ew YORk





Chapter One
The midday California sun sent glimmers off the
deep blue water. Her pale blond hair was like a
diamond against the blue, as she swam across the
Olympic-sized pool.
Her house was named "Paradise," and paradise
it was: a long, white luxurious structure set among
the pool and citrus gardens and beautifully man-
icured lawns. High in the hills above Los Angeles it
had the most spectacular view of the city you could
imagine. Even the smog seemed to have taken its
leave up here, at least temporarily.
I'd flown out here for a much needed R and R
after a brutal job in Athens. She had met me at the
airport and immediately spirited me up to this
haven. She'd cancelled all of her appointments,
and for a week now it had been just the two of us.
Even her servants kept discreetly out of sight. Diir-
ing the day we explored the nearby hills and swam
and lay beside the pool. At night we watched the
stars from her glass-enclosed living room and then
lay for hours on the satin sheets of her large oval
bed. We satisfied our desires until both of us were
exhausted and then drifted into sleep, usually not



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Chapter One
The midday California sun sent glimmers off the
deep blue water. Her pale blond hair was like a
diamond against the blue, as she swam across the
Olympic-sized pool.
Her house was named "Paradise," and paradise
it was: a long, white luxurious structure set among
the pool and citrus gardens and beautifully man-
icured lawns. High in the hills above Los Angeles it
had the most spectacular view of the city you could
imagine. Even the smog seemed to have taken its
leave up here, at least temporarily.
I'd flown out here for a much needed R and R
after a brutal job in Athens. She had met me at the
airport and immediately spirited me up to this
haven. She'd cancelled all of her appointments,
and for a week now it had been just the two of us.
Even her servants kept discreetly out of sight. Diir-
ing the day we explored the nearby hills and swam
and lay beside the pool. At night we watched the
stars from her glass-enclosed living room and then
lay for hours on the satin sheets of her large oval
bed. We satisfied our desires until both of us were
exhausted and then drifted into sleep, usually not




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until near dawn. Paradise it certainly was.
She finished her lap, and as though she sensed
my presence, she looked toward the terrace where
I stood. She saw me and her sensuous lips parted in
a smile over those perfect white teeth.
"Come on in, the water's fine," she called. That
was no surprise; the water was always fine here.
"Come on in," she repeated in that sophisti-
cated, sultry voice, which was a delightful contrast
to the perfect innocence of her face. It's a voice
you'd recognize. And you'd recognize the face too.
Her name is Susan and for the last couple of years
she's been one of the top actresses in pictures, a
genuine star.
I liked watching her glide across the pool, but I
knew I'd like being in the pool even more. I
shucked my clothes, walked down the half dozen
flagstone steps from the terrace to the pool, and
dived in. I opened my eyes under water and swam
toward those long shapely legs, now treading water
with all the grace of a ballet dancer. I reached out
and encircled her legs with my arms and then
moved my hand up to her tanned, undulating
stomach. Slowly she slid underwater, her legs, her
torso, her full breasts gliding past my eyes. And
then her face was opposite mine. Our bodies
moved together underwater, and I felt an electric
shock as her breasts moved against my chest; and I
felt her quiver too. I moved my tongue to her
mouth and taking her in my arms, floated us both
to the bottom of the pool. We lay there in a pas-
sionate embrace, like two sea creatures, lost in
time. Finally she moved her hand against my
cheek, indicating that she needed air. I held her






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firmly and sprung us both to the surface of the wa-
ter. I placed my right arm around her rib cage, cup-
ping one of her beautiful breasts in my hand. With
my other arm I sidestroked to the edge of the pool,
carrying her beside me.
"Here, darling," she said, almost breathlessly, as
we reached the blue-tiled side of the pool.
She stretched out her arms to brace herself and
then flattened her backside against the tiles. I en-
tered her in a single thrust, displacing the water be-
tween us. Our bodies moved like one, sending rip-
ples back across the pool's entire surface. The rip-
ples became waves as our own intensity increased.
As we reached a peak, she cried out like a creature
from the nearby hills.
Afterwards we lay on the warm flagstones of the
terrace. Her eyes were closed against the sun, and I
traced a remaining rivulet of water down her fine,
firm breasts. The sun seemed to give energy to my
own drained body, and lying there beside her I felt
more peaceful than I'd felt in a long, long while. I
stretched back and watched a bank of cumulus
clouds move against the blue sky. The only sounds
were of a blackbird chirping in the nearby woods
and of a telephone ringing in the distance.
"Telephone for Mr. Brody," the maid's voice
announced over the intercom system.
That was me. Brody, Charles Brody, was the
name Susan knew me by. She smiled up at me as I
lifted my body from the ground, but I wasn't smil-
ing. Only one person had my phone number here.
And a call from him could only mean one thing.
I moved to a phone which sat on a glass table
near us.




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