Part 22 (1/2)

His mouth went away briefly. Then it took a breast, sucking gently, the tongue probing and flicking.

This is how it should be, she thought. Gentle and slow and loving, the desire almost painful, wanting him so badly that nothing else matters. For an instant, she thought of Hoffman cuffed inside the bathroom, only a few yards away, but the image was washed away with a thrilled tremor as Scott's hand slipped under the waistband of her shorts. A finger traced her pan ties' elastic strip, moving slowly from side to side, lightly sc.r.a.ping her skin, toying with the band.

Lacey pushed a trembling hand down the front of his pants. Sliding it inside his shorts, she felt his hot erection. As she curled her fingers around it, she felt Scott's hand slip into her pan ties. She gasped as he found her opening. While she stroked his thick shaft, his fingers glided against her, slipped into her, probing and pus.h.i.+ng. Her own hand explored Scott, wanting his p.e.n.i.s inside her. He eased away. Kneeling beside her, he tugged her pants down. She kicked them off, reached out for him, and opened his trousers. She pulled them down, freed his erection, fondled it, held its burning flesh as he climbed onto her, then guided it between her spread legs.

It sunk into her, filling her, gently pus.h.i.+ng deeper and deeper.

”Oh dear G.o.d,” she sighed. ”Dear Scott.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

Dukane knelt alone at the window, staring through its open louvers at the area in front of the house. The low, morning sun made his eyes burn. An effect of going too long without sleep. He closed them. The lids shut out the sunlight, felt soothing on the raw tissue.

He saw Nancy. She winked at him, and lifted her pink nightgown. He expected bare skin, a thatch of pubic hair, perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s with upthrust nipples. But no. Not yet. Under the nightgown were red gym shorts and a tank top. She pulled the top over her head, and there they were, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, firm creamy mounds with nipples erect. She began to dance, whirling, waving the s.h.i.+rt like a flag as her other hand lowered to her gym shorts. But now they were faded blue cutoff jeans. She opened them, continuing to dance, and they slowly slid down her legs. She skipped out of them.

She lay on her back, knees up, thighs apart, rubbing herself with both hands, then beckoning him. But as he approached, he saw jagged shards of gla.s.s embedded in her skin. They protruded from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, belly, thighs-glistening, clear blades waiting to rip him up. With a grin, she opened her mouth. Her tongue slid out, weighted with a jagged triangle of gla.s.s. Reaching between her legs, she spread her flesh. Powdered gla.s.s spilled like salt from her v.a.g.i.n.a.

”f.u.c.k me,” she said.

”Not till you take the gla.s.s out,” he told her.

She spat the chunk from her mouth. It shot out like shrapnel, flipping and twisting toward him. He flinched away. His forehead struck the windowsill.

He awoke with a gasp.

”Christ,” he muttered, angry at himself for dozing off, and shaken by the dream.

He scanned the area in front of the house. Still no sign of the car or any people. Getting to his feet, he crossed the room. He knelt on the couch and parted the curtains behind it. Fifty feet away stood a garage of white stone. n.o.body at its corners or visible on its roof. But off to the left, a hundred yards away, a figure was lying p.r.o.ne on a rise among b.a.l.l.s of cacti. Dukane saw a rifle in his arms. He ducked away, and hurried into the kitchen. From its window, he saw another distant sniper.

He filled a gla.s.s with water. As he sipped it, he entered the hallway. Scott and Lacey were asleep on the floor, holding each other. He carefully stepped around them, and entered the bedroom. From its window, he spotted another man with a rifle.

At least they're not a.s.saulting the place, he thought. Containing us. Maybe waiting for reinforcements. That would explain why the car hadn't shown up again. One of them must've taken it to alert others.

If the girls got away all right, they'd go for the authorities. An army of cops might descend on the place any time.

Interesting to see which army arrives first.

Setting down his empty gla.s.s, he went into the hallway and shook Scott's foot. The man woke with a start. Lacey moaned, but didn't awaken. Scott gently untangled himself from her, and followed Dukane into the living room.

”I want you to take over the watch. They've got snipers stationed on both sides and the rear. Maybe one in front, but I haven't spotted him.”

”All right.”

”I don't think they'll rush us, but we can't rule it out.”

He left Scott by the front window, and went into the kitchen. He searched a utility closet, a cupboard under the sink, and wasn't surprised at not finding what he wanted. People don't usually store combustibles in the house.

He returned to the living room.

”I'm going out for a second,” he said, unholstering his automatic.

Scott frowned.

”We've gotta get the paint off Hoffman.”

”What for?”

”Have to make him disappear in case the cops show up. That's a.s.suming you're still hot to get his story for yourself.”

”I am. But I don't like the idea of you going outside.”

Dukane slapped his shoulder. ”Buck up, boyo, I'll be back.”

He led Scott to the window over the couch, and pointed out the rifleman. ”I don't expect you to hit him at this range, but put a few rounds close enough to worry him if he starts tracking me.”

With a nod, Scott opened the louvered window.

”You have the keys?”

Scott fished Jan's key case out of his pocket. Dukane took it. He went to the front window.

Scanning the area in front of the house, he saw no one. He pushed open the door and stepped out. Back against the wall, he searched the barren terrain. Odd if n.o.body was covering the front. If there were only four, though, and one had to drive for help...Well, the two at the sides could easily pick off anyone trying to break from the front.

He stepped off the edge of the stoop. Pressing his back to the wall, he made his way toward the corner. p.r.i.c.kles stung his legs, and he looked down to see cactus spines clinging to his trousers. The girls had apparently planted ”jumping cactus” along the wall, a variety that seems to shoot its quills into anyone venturing too close.

Nice of them, he thought.

At the corner, he blinked sweat from his eyes and crouched down. The spines dug into his calves. Ignoring the pain, he peered around the wall's edge. He glimpsed the sniper, saw the rifle aimed his way. Two shots blasted at once. As a bullet whined off the wall inches from his face, he sprang up and dashed for the garage. Gunfire erupted from both the house and sniper, a roar that seemed to jolt the air around him as he ran.

A bullet tugged his sleeve near the shoulder.

Abruptly, there was silence. He threw himself against the side door of the garage, and shoved a key at the lock face.

Didn't fit.

He tried another. This one slid in. He turned it, threw open the door, and burst into the stifling heat of the garage.

There were no windows.