Beware. Part 22

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 pushing. 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 pushing 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 shirt 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.

Feeling along the wall, his fingertips found a light switch. He flicked it. A single bulb came on.

No car.

But he smiled as he saw what he wanted.

Lacey, shocked awake by the shooting, grabbed her revolver, scrambled off the makeshift bed, and rushed into the living room. She saw Scott kneeling on the couch, aiming through the open slats of a window.

He glanced around at her.

"Come here," he said.

She hurried to the window.

"See that guy out there? Dukane's in the garage. He'll be coming out in a minute, and the guy'll try to nail him. Take my place here. I'll go to the front. When Dukane comes out, start shooting."

"It's too far."

"Doesn't matter. With fire coming from two angles, he won't know whether to..."

"s.h.i.t or go blind?"

"Exactly."

Lacey nodded, and Scott ran out the front door. She c.o.c.ked the revolver. She lined up the distant man in the sights, glanced away at the garage door, then back to the man. From his location, it looked as if the garage would give Dukane shelter for the first two or three yards. Then he would be in the open.

Her hand was sweaty on the walnut grips.

Too bad the man's so far away, she thought. If he was half that distance, she'd stand a much better chance of hitting him.

Just as well, maybe. She didn't need another killing on her conscience.

The garage door opened. She sighted on the man and held her breath. Then she glanced again at the door. Dukane stepped out, a large metal container in each hand. But he didn't run. Instead, he set them outside the door and vanished into the garage. Moments later, he reappeared. With a ladder!

He spread the ladder's legs, climbed it, and boosted himself onto the roof of the garage.

He was gone.

Seconds pa.s.sed. Lacey licked her parched lips.

Then a single gunshot roared in the stillness.

The distant figure of the rifleman lurched as if kicked, and dropped flat.

Dukane climbed down the ladder. He made a thumbs-up gesture toward Lacey, then carried the ladder back into the garage. He picked up the two containers, and strolled across the open area.

He and Scott came into the house, beaming like boys who'd just won a no-hitter.

"Nice play," Scott said.

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d came too close, first time across. I chickened out of the return run."

"Wonder if we can get his rifle."

"Not worth the risk. The rear man would pick us off. But I got what I wanted." He raised the cans: a two-gallon tin of gasoline and a gallon container of turpentine.

Lacey frowned. "Turpentine? You're going to take the paint off Hoffman?"

"Right."

"Don't."

"Could come in very handy. Lacey, you stay out here and keep an eye on the situation. Scott, get your recorder. No time like the present to get his story."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Statement of Samuel Hoffman July 20

Okay. You want me to talk, I'll talk. Give you everything you need to know for your f.u.c.kin' book that's gonna get you killed.

I'm Sammy Hoffman. You guys know that, right? Okay. So I'll start with something you don't know. How about this? I banged my English teacher way back in high school. She was a c.u.n.t. That's what you do to c.u.n.ts, bang'em.

The one I really wanted, it was Lacey. Used to spend all my time looking at her, thinking how she'd look naked, thinking how her t.i.ts'd feel, and her a.s.s and her puss. Now I know, now I know. Only wish I'd got her then. She was just sixteen. Should've took her someplace and kept her. But I was chicken-s.h.i.t. She was too d.a.m.n beautiful. Scared me off. Yeah, well, got her at last. Well worth the wait, I tell you that. You guys oughta have a sample, if you haven't already.

Okay, so I had this hard-on for Lacey but I was scared to touch her and this English teacher b.i.t.c.h p.i.s.sed me off so I did her instead. Right on top of her desk after school. It was a kick.

I was dumb, then. If I was smart, I'd of turned the b.i.t.c.h's switch off so she couldn't put her mouth on me. But I didn't, and she did.

Adios, Oasis.

So I'm on the road, here and there and everywhere, doing people every chance I get, always on the move. s.h.i.t, I've probably got kids from one end of the country to the next,'less all the hons got themselves sc.r.a.ped. Yeah, well, plenty were probably on the pill.

Left lots of graves, too. Dead men don't yap. Learned my lesson from the English teacher. See, she taught me something, after all. Thought I was stupid.

Stupid, all right. I should've stayed on my own. That was my big mistake.