Beware. Part 5

She stood up. She lifted one foot out of the water and stepped over the tub's wall. With that foot firm on the rug, she leaned out. In the vague light from the window, she searched the bathroom. She saw no one. The door appeared to be shut.

Must be shut. Still locked. I'd have heard the b.u.t.ton pop...

Okay, maybe the bulbs in the fixture blew. Three bulbs? Fat chance. How about a general power failure? Sure thing. No, it had to be the fuse box.

He's in the house!

Slowly, she raised her other foot out of the water. She stepped clear of the tub and stood aiming at the door.

Naked and wet, she felt more vulnerable than ever before in her life. She backed up, and knelt beside the hamper. Switching the pistol to her left hand, she reached in. She pulled out her jeans, her blouse.

The blouse was easy. She got it on without letting go of the gun. But she needed two hands for the jeans. She set the pistol on the counter by the sink, within easy reach.

Stupid, she thought as she fumbled with her pants. This is just the moment he'll choose to bust the door in. But she heard nothing. Only a car speeding along, somewhere far away. If he'd just hold off for a few seconds, she would be dressed and ready for him. She had to be dressed.

She was bent over, balanced on one leg, her other foot high and pushing into the jeans, when she felt fingers clutch her ankle and jerk it out from under her.

She hit the floor.

Rough hands jerked her pants off. She tried to scramble up, but the weight of a man drove her against the floor, forced her legs apart. Her blouse was ripped off her back. Then he was lying on her, pinning her arms to the floor. She felt his hardness against her rump.

"Scream, c.u.n.t, and I'll rip off your head."

She pressed her face to the rug. She cried, she whimpered with pain, she bit her lips until she tasted their blood, but she didn't scream. At some point, with the man grunting and thrusting in the darkness above her, Lacey pa.s.sed out.

CHAPTER SIX.

Dukane landed his Cessna Bonanza, that night, at Santa Monica airport. He stepped into the pa.s.senger cabin.

Alice smiled at him. "h.e.l.lo, dead man."

"Pleasant flight?" he asked.

"Very nice. I spent it thinking about what they'll do to you."

"Nothing too drastic, I hope." He bent down and unlocked the cuffs chaining her left wrist to the seat's armrest.

"You messed with Laveda, man. You're good as dead."

"Better than dead, at the moment."

"Sure, joke. You'll be laughing outa the other side of your face when they catch up with you. And they will. And I'll be with'em, you can count on it. I'll be the one with the knife, cutting out your eyes."

"Such talk," he said.

"You can't hide from us. We're everywhere. We know all. We're all powerful."

"Yep. Okay, stand up." He backed away. Alice stepped into the aisle. She looked good in the yellow sundress-fresh, and even younger than her nineteen years. Dukane had bought it at a Penny's in Houma, leaving Alice drugged in the pa.s.senger seat of his rented car. After buying the dress, he drove to a deserted stretch of road. He braced her against the side of the car, stripped off the oversized shirt he'd earlier used to clothe her, and wrestled her limp body into the dress.

"Are we getting outa this plane, or you just gonna stare at me all night?"

"We need to make a decision. I can either take you out of here handcuffed, as a prisoner, or you can agree to cooperate and we'll go to my car like friends. Which do you prefer?" "You don't need the cuffs." "If you try to get away, you'll be hurt." "I know, I know. You proved that back in the bayou, didn't you? Well, I'll tell you something. I don't have to get away from you. They'll come for me. Wherever you take me, they'll come. I don't have to lift a finger-just wait and use my powers to call them."

"Fancy car," Alice said as Dukane climbed into the Jaguar beside her. "Kidnapping must pay good."

"Yep." The car grumbled to life.

"How much did my folks pay you?"

"Enough."

"Enough to die for?"

"That's not in my plans."

"It's in mine. They'll have to die, too. Can't go messing with Laveda."

"You're a sweetheart," Dukane said. He backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce, and headed for the exit.

"Wouldn't want to be in your shoes, man."

"I know. You're all powerful. You've drunk at the river."

"f.u.c.kin' right."

"Imagine. All that from drinking a gal's blood."

"The blood is the life."

"Where've I heard that before," he said, and switched the radio on. He turned left onto Ocean Park Blvd.

"This isn't the way home."

"I'm not taking you home. You've got a date with a certain Dr. T. R. Miles. He specializes in deprogramming screwed up kids."

"Deprogramming?" She made a quiet, nasal laugh. "What do you think I am, a Moonie?"

"I didn't hire him, your parents did. Far as I'm concerned, you and the rest of Laveda's gang ought to be burned at the stake."

Her head jerked toward him.

"That's how the old-timers dealt with witches, I believe."

"We're not witches," she muttered.

"Near enough. Laveda's got her own set of rules and rituals, but it boils down to the same thing-you're a bunch of homicidal lunatics on a power trip. You need to be stopped."

"We can't be stopped," she said, but the earlier tone of scornful confidence was gone from her voice. "We're everywhere."

"Put the torch to Laveda, and the whole gang would fall apart."

"Shut up."

A layer of fog hung over the road as they neared the ocean. It swirled in the headlights, rolled off the windshield. Dukane slowed down. He squinted ahead, searching for the dim glow of traffic lights.

In the silence, he thought about Alice's bl.u.s.ter falling away at the mention of fire. She seemed to have an exaggerated fear of burning.

He'd noted the same dread in the man named Walter. The muscular fellow had acted brazen, at first, during Dukane's interrogation three nights before the bayou gathering. Like Alice, he'd claimed to be invulnerable. He'd refused to talk. But he broke down, whimpering and pleading, when Dukane doused him with gasoline. In short order, he told about Laveda's group, its structure and purposes, the extent of its membership, the time and location of the meeting. What Dukane learned had scared the h.e.l.l out of him, but it gave him all he needed to know in his search for Alice.

At the blur of a red light just ahead, Dukane eased down on the brake. He hit the arm of the turn signal, hoping this was Main, and turned left when the light changed. He drove slowly, gazing into the fog, seeking a landmark. When he saw the Boulangerie, off to the right, he knew where he was. He continued down Main, glimpsed a cl.u.s.ter of vague figures at the entrance to the Oar House, and kept going until he reached the traffic signal at Rose. A pair of dim lights appeared ahead. He waited for the car to pa.s.s, then turned left and parked at the curb.

"Let's go," he said.

They climbed from the car. Alice followed him up the street, hunched slightly and moving fast, her bare arms crossed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"We're almost there," Dukane told her, his chin shaking. He clenched his teeth, then made a conscious effort to relax his muscles and stop the shivering. Alice, he knew, must be freezing in her thin sundress. He put an arm across her shoulders, but she whirled away.

"Don't touch me," she said.

"Just trying to help."

"I can live without it."

They crossed a dark street, and hurried up the sidewalk. "This is it," he said, nodding toward the lighted porch of a small, wood-frame house. He opened the gate. They rushed up a narrow walkway. Dukane took the porch stairs two at a time, and rang the doorbell.

Alice waited beside him, legs tight together, arms hugging herself, teeth chattering.

The door was opened as far as the guard chain allowed. A black-haired, attractive woman studied them through her wire-rimmed gla.s.ses.

"We're here to see Dr. Miles," Dukane said.

"Yes?"

"I'm Dukane."

The woman nodded. She shut the door briefly, then swung it open. "Please come in."

They stepped into the warm house. The woman shut the door, took a sip of coffee from her Snoopy mug, and turned to them. "You must be Alice," she said.

Alice curled her nose.

"You both look chilled to the bone. Let's go in by the fire, and I'll get you some coffee."

They followed her into the living room. It was wood paneled and cozy, with the feel of a summer cottage. Alice crossed toward the fireplace. She stopped two yards from its screen, and held out her hands.

"Cream or sugar?"

Alice didn't respond.

"I'll take mine black," Dukane said.

"Back in a jiff," the woman said, and left.

Dukane stepped past Alice. He stood close to the fire, feeling its heat through his trouser legs, then crouching to warm his upper body and face. He turned around, still squatting, and smiled up at Alice. "Nothing like a nice, crackling fire."

"Get f.u.c.ked."

The woman came back, carrying a coffee mug in each hand. Dukane noticed the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggled slightly under the cashmere of her white turtleneck. Below the hem of her tweed skirt, her calves looked trim and well defined. Probably, Dukane thought, she jogs on the beach-just like half the other residents of Venice.

He stood, and accepted a hot mug. This one came from the Hearst Castle gift shop. She held out a Big Apple mug to Alice.

Alice swatted it from her hand. The mug flipped away, exploding coffee, and bounced off the rug.

The woman slapped her face.

Alice leaped at her, snarling, hands out like claws. As Dukane set his mug on the mantel, he saw that the woman needed no help. She grabbed Alice's right arm, jerked it toward her, and swiveled around. Her rump caught Alice low. The girl flew over her back and hit the floor with a grunt.

"Sorry about that, but I won't allow intemperate behavior." Her sweater had pulled up, revealing lightly tanned skin above her belt. She adjusted her sweater, and stared down at Alice. "Is that understood?"

Alice gazed at the ceiling. "You're gonna die."

"Not before I've straightened you out."

"You're Dr. Miles?" Dukane asked.

Her smile caught him off-guard; he'd expected a condescending smirk. "Don't be embarra.s.sed," she said. "A doctor with a name like Teri Miles is begging for erroneous a.s.sumptions of gender. You thought I was the good doctor's receptionist?"

"Or wife. I was starting to envy him."

She smiled, and surprised him again-this time by blushing.

Dukane took a sip of hot coffee. "I see you can handle yourself well."

"One has to, in this line of work. I've had patients a lot rougher than Alice."

"She seems to think she'll get away in short order."