Courtney wakes before Duncan does. With a pleasant soreness, she props herself up on her elbows and looks down at his snoring form. She flattens a few hairs he has sticking up after his fedora fell off between positions and climbs off the bed. Pulling on her bra, she rummages through Duncan's clothes until she comes up with a gun.
With a smile, she slides back into bed, straddling Duncan. Lightly, her fingers dance down his chest. Courtney leans down to press her lips to his collarbone, then trails her tongue up his neck. He shifts a little, the corners of his mouth turning up.
"Yer a frisky one, arent'cha?" he mutters sleepily. With one arm behind his head and his eyes still closed, he runs the other hand slowly up her inner thigh. "I like a dame with initiative. Barely done with round three and yer already raring for round four."
"You could say that," she purrs. Courtney sits up and points the pistol at his face. "Now wake up so we can get started."
Ever so slowly, Duncan blinks open his eyes. The hand on her thigh pauses.
"Now," Courtney says, keeping her voice coy. "Let's talk about me joining your little rag-tag team of criminals."
Duncan looks her over for a long moment, sitting up slightly. Then, with a groan, he flops back down on the pillow.
"My momma warned me 'bout messin with beautiful, dangerous women," he says.
Courtney smirks. "You forgot intelligent."
Duncan's hand whips out from under his pillow, a revolver in hand, and Courtney flinches back.
"No I didn't."
He points the gun at the space between her breasts and, smirking back at her, says, "You look spiffy, Barley. Do something with yer hair?"
"It's Bonnie, you uncultured swine," Courtney growls, gripping her pistol harder.
"But it ain't, is it," he says, smiling knowingly, "Courtney?"
His arousal presses against her ass. Courtney doesn't let it distract her from her standoff with a seasoned criminal.
"Did you really only recognize me now?"
"Darling, you insult me," he says playfully. "I may not remember every gal I've offered my trigger finger to, but I sure as hell can remember a dame who asks for it." He trails his fingers up her inner thigh, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "You can't say I didn't deliver."
Courtney slaps his hand away, blushing. Duncan laughs.
"Wow, darling, yer dead fish husband must've been a really fucking dead fish if ya followed me all the way from Texas just for a good rub. You haven't even seen half the things I could do for ya, baby doll."
"Only one thing I'm interested in right now," she grinds out.
Duncan eases back into his pillow, revolver still pointed at her breastbone. "So ya want to join the crew, huh? Be my gun moll? Well, sorry babe, but that train left the station. The offer only stood while we were at the bank. It's no good anymore."
Courtney pulls the hammer back on the gun. "You don't have much of a choice, babe. I'm coming with you, or I shoot you."
"Hm," Duncan says thoughtfully, pressing the tip of his gun against her skin and moving the fabric of her bra aside to admire her nipple.
She slaps his hand away again, growling, "Are you listening to me? I'm serious! I'm coming with you!"
"Well, if yer so ready to run with a gang of criminals," he says, "I'm sure ya came ready with a loaded gun, right?"
Courtney blinks, looking at the gun in her hand.
Duncan bolts upright, throwing Courtney onto her back and pinning her arms above her head single-handedly, his knee digging into her hip.
"Now," he says casually, clicking open his revolver so she can see that it has the full six bullets, then shutting it again. "How did ya find me, Mrs. Jones?"
Courtney thrashes under him, squeezing the trigger frantically. The gun clicks empty. "Let go of me!"
"You seduce and threaten an expert criminal and don't expect anything in return?" He shakes his head and tsks. "If you could find me, anyone can. How'd ya do it?"
She saves her energy and sets her jaw. "I'm not telling you anything."
"Ya ever been shot before?" The gun's cool metal press against her side, just under her ribs. "It ain't a pretty feeling, darling. How'd ya find me?"
"I got lucky," Courtney snarls.
Duncan's smile curls mischievously. "No one's that lucky, doll. Except me. Tell me how, and I'll only leave ya slightly less pretty than how I found ya."
"I followed your paper trail to here," she says. "You're not exactly invisible."
"Then?" he asks.
"Then I asked every suspicious character in every bar in Chicago if they'd seen you until I found you," she lies.
Duncan starts drawing little circles on her skin with the tip of the gun. "And where does yer husband think you are?"
"He doesn't get back from a business trip for a few days. I left him a note telling him I was leaving him for you and if he wanted to—" Duncan starts shaking his head. "What?" she demands.
"Telling yer soon-to-be-ex husband the name and location of the man yer leaving him for?" He sighs. "Y'know for a married gal working at a bank, I pegged ya to be a mite smarter."
Duncan tucks his gun into the elastic of her fishnets, grabs her by the waist, and pulls her off the bed. Courtney kicks and screams but Duncan quickly clamps a hand over her mouth and pins her arms to her sides.
"We're going to be quiet now, ain't we, peaches?" he says in her ear. "I'd sure hate for any of them drunk, horny, slobbering hooligans downstairs to come rushing up and find ya in this tantalizing outfit."
She breathes hard and glares at him as he briefly releases her mouth and leans over to his discarded pile of clothes to pull out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.
"I was saving these for later, but they'll be mighty helpful now," he comments as he throws her back on the bed, catching her as she scrambles away. He holds her down long enough to handcuff her through the rails above her head. "I will say I'm impressed though. The coppers have been tryin to track me down for years, and you swing it in a couple of months 'cause yer horny."
"Go to fucking Hell," Courtney spits. She yanks at the headboard. She needed to get her hands out of the cuffs and around Duncan Clyde's throat.
He slaps her ass. "Been there, done that," he says and picks up his fedora from where it was resting on the pillow beside her. He slips on his clothes, snatches her suitcase from the floor, and heads for the door.
"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Courtney shouts after him. "You can't leave me like this! Please! I wasn't...I wasn't really going to kill you!"
"Oh I know," Duncan says, pausing by the doorframe to grin at her. "You don't have that killing look to ya."
"Please!" she begs, straining against the cuffs. "Please, what am I supposed to do? I left everything for this! I...all my money's in that suitcase."
"I know," Duncan says again, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up.
Courtney finally says, "Please don't do this to me. I can't go back home. I won't."
"You can and ya will," he says after a drag. "This ain't the life ya want, doll. Trust me. It's good for a weekend vacation or a story to tell yer friends but you wouldn't last—"
"I will!" she shouts. "I can! Help me! Help me learn and I can help you! I can do this!"
Duncan looks her over, chained to the bed in barely her unmentionables. He crushes the cigarette under his heel and walks over to her. Then, smirking, takes his gun from her waistband.
"Go home, love. You'll thank me for this later."
He turns and walks out the door.
"Duncan!" she screams after him. "Duncan Clyde!"
"Catch ya on the flip side, Courtney."