Gregson needed approximately two days to recover from chasing a woman and a killer who got away. Detecting is a hard grind—and to stay in the game, one needed to appreciate a soft bed, and a soft lifestyle. Men who are soft are always trying to get hard. Gregson was hard, and he enjoyed soft things—roses, romantic literature, wild women, perfumes, silk sheets, and bubble baths. He drove back to his cabin, and on the way, he got a hot chocolate from a bikini barista that he sipped in the cool mountain air. He licked the foam from his lips, while snowflakes floated out of the sky from nowhere. It was good to be alive.

Most men try to conquer, but Gregson believed all good things would happen by letting them happen. Women were another matter. Gregson thought about getting married, but he loved being a bachelor—this was why, whenever he chased women, they ran away. If he stood still—if he sat on a park bench—if he enjoyed who he was, the women came to him, and they were always unattached, not wanting to get attached—they were like cats—curious about the big man, who would love them, but loved himself more. Some men do what society says, and some men are destined to listen to their own voice. They are incapable of following the crowd—even when they chase after it.

The cabin was half-buried in snow when Gregson got there. He opened the door, and felt a stiff breeze. The wood pile was next to a wood stove and he lit a fire. He stripped off his white and red snowsuit, and got into a hot shower. Soon, his muscles relaxed. Gregson thought he heard the door opening and closing. Then he felt the unmistakable cold air. Someone was in the cabin. He grabbed his .357 Magnum from its leather shoulder-holster hanging next to the shower, and wiped off the mirror, so that he could get an angle into the adjoining room. There was movement. He was totally naked, as he opened the bedroom door. There was the girl from the ski-lift in his silk sheets.

“My, you have a big gun,” she giggled. “I thought it would be big.”

Gregson lowered his barrel.

“Why don’t you get in bed and I’ll relax you?” She giggled.

Gregson did as he was told. Her warm skin pressed against his. He lay on his stomach, and the girl rubbed hot oils onto his back—her golden hair and naked body rubbed against his.

“I thought you didn’t like women,” the girl accused.

“I do—I’ve just been thinking of love.”

“Oh, that’s different,” she said.

Gregson could feel tremors in her hot body. Then, out of the woods, he spotted a man in a white suit, carrying a long hunting rifle. There was in-season hunting, but the man didn’t move like a weekend predator. He embodied violence, walking towards their cabin.

Gregson got excited, and the ski lift babe screamed with pleasure.

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