Part 5 (1/2)

Cleek has drenched the net in water overnight and attached Brian's weights to the corners at either end. The net doesn't so much drop over her as it plummets plummets over her. The woman has fallen to her knees instinctively, twisting furiously inside it. Raging, howling. over her. The woman has fallen to her knees instinctively, twisting furiously inside it. Raging, howling.

He's got to be fast.

He half-jumps, half-slides down the path from the gra.s.sy roof of the cave to the entrance, the Remington over his shoulder. The woman has her knife free and she's standing, slas.h.i.+ng. Had she not gotten so tangled up at first she'd be out by now. Free. And that's a G.o.dd.a.m.n chilling thought.

She's roaring something.

”Deamhan! Sainmahiniu liom fuil! Deamhan!”

Whatever the f.u.c.k that that is. is.

The pelt has twisted in the net in front of her. To slash through to him it seems she must slash through the pelt. The man stands in front of her and she can smell his fear and can smell his excitement. The man wants to go to her. The man does not.

”Devil! I'll drink your blood! Devil!”

Her arm rises, falls. Her arm speaks her desire.

Kill.

The man dares a single step closer. Her own legs are entangled in his web. She cannot free them without doing herself serious harm. She slashes forward instead through the pelt and through the net and feels her arm finally come free of him, this extension of him, this man-thing. She lurches forward.

Falls.

He sees murder in her eyes. Or worse.

”Deamhan!”

Cleek stands over her. Not too close. She's still got that pig-sticker of a G.o.dd.a.m.n knife well in hand. And G.o.d, he thinks, look at those teeth! But she's tangled up pretty good now. Only that one arm free. That's free enough.

”I'm afraid I can't understand a f.u.c.king thing you're saying, lady.”

The b.u.t.t-end of the Remington makes a satisfying thunk thunk against her thras.h.i.+ng head. So that then she stops thras.h.i.+ng altogether. against her thras.h.i.+ng head. So that then she stops thras.h.i.+ng altogether.

Cleek allows himself to breathe.

The really hard, nervous part is untangling her. He has no choice but to do it right then and there in front of the cave because there's no way in h.e.l.l he's going to drag a sodden net with eighty pounds of weights attached - not to mention the woman herself - all the way back to the Escalade. He uses her own knife. He tests it with his thumb and it's far sharper than his own. Carbon steel honed to a feather-edge with a bolted wooden handle. His best guess was that it would date back to the 1930s or 40s. A real antique.

They made these things better then.

But he has to use both hands to cut her free, particularly her legs and that means putting the Remington aside and though he'd hit her pretty hard he doesn't like to think what she'll be wanting to do to him when she wakes. Even unconscious she looks formidable. Easily as tall as he was, maybe taller. Scarred, heavily calloused hands with long thin fingers. Powerful back, thigh and shoulder muscles. Cleek thinks of Olympic swimmers. Washboard stomach. In fact it looks to Cleek like her large-nippled b.r.e.a.s.t.s are the only fat on her body anywhere.

There are scars all over her.

Where the h.e.l.l has she come from? he thinks.

And where the h.e.l.l has she been?

As he pulls her free of the net he sees that he's neglected to remove a single small brown ornamental starfish from within its folds. He's overlooked it. He shakes his head.

With her it will be wise to overlook nothing.

He digs the plastic cable ties out of his pack and binds her feet together and binds her hands behind her back. Her skin is surprisingly warm and pleasing to the touch. As though she burns at some slightly higher temperature than he does.

He unpacks and spreads out the beach towel that said TIME FLIES WHEN YOU'RE HAVING RUM and rolls her onto it and starts dragging.

Twenty minutes later with several stops for his Evian bottle he has her up and into the back of the Escalade. It's only then that she stirs.

He uses the Remington on her forehead before she comes fully awake.

She'd have one h.e.l.l of a headache. But he doesn't want her awake for quite some time yet. Though the prospect of that time thrills the h.e.l.l out of him.

He puts the car in gear and heads home. The Escalade purrs.

In his mind, so does Cleek.

SEVEN.

Monday morning and n.o.body home, just as he knows it will be. The kids at school. Belle and the ladies of the Rotary Youth Exchange at their weekly tea-and-coffee klatch over at Trudy Forget's place. He has the house to himself. And the cellar.

Like his father before him Chris has always been a handy kind of guy. He can cane a chair, replace the drive belt on a lawn mower, paper a wall or fix your plumbing like a pro. So outfitting the fruit cellar has hardly been a challenge at all.

The only question in his mind is, will she stay out or will he have to whack her once again.

He hauls her up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and then eases her carefully down to the lawn while he opens the cellar door. Hauls her up again and walks her down the stairs. d.a.m.n! this lady stinks! d.a.m.n! this lady stinks! First thing he is doing to have to do is wash her down. With extreme prejudice. And he is going to need a shower himself just as soon as this is over. First thing he is doing to have to do is wash her down. With extreme prejudice. And he is going to need a shower himself just as soon as this is over.

The entire south side of the cellar is clean save some empty one-by-twelve pine shelving starting midway up from floor to ceiling. He sits her propped against the wall. Stands back a moment. Catches his breath. Watches her.

She doesn't move. Good. Good.

He takes two cable clamps from the shelf behind him - self-locking, polymer and stainless steel - kneels down and slips her wrists into them. From these depend a pair of high-tension tow cables threaded through st.u.r.dy eye bolts in the wall above her head. These he's fastened to a single cable which connects to a hand-cranked winch bolted to the wall beside him.

Cleek walks over to the winch and ratchets her up.

When she's upright in a standing position he adjusts her legs so that they conform to the pair of clamps bolted to the wall behind her, slips her ankles inside and tightens the nuts with his crescent wrench.

He smiles.