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Authors: Roland DeForrest
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breasts, heaving in the tight coin-bra from
the recent exertion, rose and fell like rapidly inflating and deflating balloons, their creamy skin filmed with perspiration.
She swung to him questioningly and his heart hammered even harder. She was even more breathtaking in person. Her large, pale
eyes stared boldly into his, and he could not find his tongue to speak.
“Yes?” she asked lightly.
“I… I think I’m in love with you,” he stammered. She laughed as if she’d heard that line before. “You’re from the States?”
He nodded, transfixed by her mesmerizing allure. Shelaughed again at his silence and stepped behind a folding screen of tightly woven latticework. From behind it she asked, “What
brings you to Cartagena?”
“I… I came to find you…”
“Me?” she queried, her blonde head appearing briefly above the screen. “Why?” With a soft clinking sound, she flung her coin-covered
bra onto the top of the wood screen.
Just thinking of her womanly body being exposed behind the lattice wiped all other thoughts from his mind, and for a moment
he forgot the pressing reason for his visit. With a soft rushing sound, her billowy blue skirt appeared next to her bra, then
her heavy coin girdle. She poked her gorgeous head up again. “We don’t get many Americans down this way,” she commented easily.
A bemused but interested smile graced her lips.
Pulling his thoughts together, he fumbled into a pocket of his blue blazer and brought out, a slightly crumpled copy of the
photograph of his vanished blonde. Hesitantly he took a step forward and held it out.
Perplexed, Jamilia reached a graceful hand over the screen and took it, holding it up to the ceiling light to look at it.
At once her face blanched. “Kolina?” she gasped, and disappeared.
“Kolina?” he repeated. “You
do
know her, then?”
With a flurry, Jamilia scooted from behind the screen, gathering a sky-blue silk robe about her nude figure, her lovely face
a mask of concern. “Where did you get this?” she demanded hoarsely.
“I took it myself. In New York.”
“When?”
“A week ago Sunday,” he replied, increasingly concerned by her obvious alarm.
Almost frantically she searched his face, then burst into tears. “My darling Kolina,” she sobbed, and kissed thephoto. She collapsed into a straight-backed chair and wept openly into her hands. In a flash he was kneeling beside her, his
arms around her soft body, pressing her head to his shoulders, his fingers tracing the silken robe on her back. She did not
resist his embrace, and he marveled at her open trustfulness. “There, there,” he said quietly into her blonde mass of sweet-smelling
hair.
She cried for several moments, and with each renting sob, his desire to help her intensified all the more. Finally she pushed
away and her tear-filled eyes sought his, imploringly. “You must tell me everything you know about her. I beg of you.”
Burning with his own curiosity, he hurriedly relayed the entire story of his encounter with the girl in Central Park, her
plea for help, and the two thugs who chased him and whisked her away. He finished with how and why he had come to Cartagena,
then quickly added, “Now it’s your turn. Who is this Kolina?”
She stiffled a sob. “She’s my younger sister. And she’s been missing for over a month.”
As Jamilia hastily pulled on her street clothes behind the lattice screen, she explained in broken phrases, often interrupted
by a new burst of tears, what she knew of Kolina’s disappearance. Much to Dirk’s disappointment, he learned very little, but
he could piece together a general outline.
Jamilia had been paying for Kolina’s education in an exclusive girl’s school in Switzerland ever since their parents had drowned
in a freak boating accident in the Mediterranean, some five years earlier. She and Kolina were very, very close and would
meet in Paris each summer to spend
the recent exertion, rose and fell like rapidly inflating and deflating balloons, their creamy skin filmed with perspiration.
She swung to him questioningly and his heart hammered even harder. She was even more breathtaking in person. Her large, pale
eyes stared boldly into his, and he could not find his tongue to speak.
“Yes?” she asked lightly.
“I… I think I’m in love with you,” he stammered. She laughed as if she’d heard that line before. “You’re from the States?”
He nodded, transfixed by her mesmerizing allure. Shelaughed again at his silence and stepped behind a folding screen of tightly woven latticework. From behind it she asked, “What
brings you to Cartagena?”
“I… I came to find you…”
“Me?” she queried, her blonde head appearing briefly above the screen. “Why?” With a soft clinking sound, she flung her coin-covered
bra onto the top of the wood screen.
Just thinking of her womanly body being exposed behind the lattice wiped all other thoughts from his mind, and for a moment
he forgot the pressing reason for his visit. With a soft rushing sound, her billowy blue skirt appeared next to her bra, then
her heavy coin girdle. She poked her gorgeous head up again. “We don’t get many Americans down this way,” she commented easily.
A bemused but interested smile graced her lips.
Pulling his thoughts together, he fumbled into a pocket of his blue blazer and brought out, a slightly crumpled copy of the
photograph of his vanished blonde. Hesitantly he took a step forward and held it out.
Perplexed, Jamilia reached a graceful hand over the screen and took it, holding it up to the ceiling light to look at it.
At once her face blanched. “Kolina?” she gasped, and disappeared.
“Kolina?” he repeated. “You
do
know her, then?”
With a flurry, Jamilia scooted from behind the screen, gathering a sky-blue silk robe about her nude figure, her lovely face
a mask of concern. “Where did you get this?” she demanded hoarsely.
“I took it myself. In New York.”
“When?”
“A week ago Sunday,” he replied, increasingly concerned by her obvious alarm.
Almost frantically she searched his face, then burst into tears. “My darling Kolina,” she sobbed, and kissed thephoto. She collapsed into a straight-backed chair and wept openly into her hands. In a flash he was kneeling beside her, his
arms around her soft body, pressing her head to his shoulders, his fingers tracing the silken robe on her back. She did not
resist his embrace, and he marveled at her open trustfulness. “There, there,” he said quietly into her blonde mass of sweet-smelling
hair.
She cried for several moments, and with each renting sob, his desire to help her intensified all the more. Finally she pushed
away and her tear-filled eyes sought his, imploringly. “You must tell me everything you know about her. I beg of you.”
Burning with his own curiosity, he hurriedly relayed the entire story of his encounter with the girl in Central Park, her
plea for help, and the two thugs who chased him and whisked her away. He finished with how and why he had come to Cartagena,
then quickly added, “Now it’s your turn. Who is this Kolina?”
She stiffled a sob. “She’s my younger sister. And she’s been missing for over a month.”
As Jamilia hastily pulled on her street clothes behind the lattice screen, she explained in broken phrases, often interrupted
by a new burst of tears, what she knew of Kolina’s disappearance. Much to Dirk’s disappointment, he learned very little, but
he could piece together a general outline.
Jamilia had been paying for Kolina’s education in an exclusive girl’s school in Switzerland ever since their parents had drowned
in a freak boating accident in the Mediterranean, some five years earlier. She and Kolina were very, very close and would
meet in Paris each summer to spend
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