Author's note: If you're a regular reader, you know my stories are usually pretty vanilla. This one is different: dark and violent and graphic. It's one of those that took on a life of its own in the writing. It disturbed me to write it, and I walked away from it for quite a while. I've edited it severely; the original would easily have deserved an MA rating.

I debated publishing it here, even in its present abridged form. But it contains story elements that are important later on. This is no story for a new reader; start with one of the entry stories listed in the profile. If any regular readers have problems with this sort of thing, you can just read the first and last chapters and skip the rest without continuity loss.

April 21 2006
Escondido, California

These men weren't muggers, Anna decided, and they certainly weren't International Operations agents. As the three of them stepped out from among the cars in the parking lot and surrounded her at her minivan, she analyzed them while feigning unease at their approach. Two of them looked soft and overweight, one of them obese; the third was taller, and looked quite muscular, but her hearing picked up a wheeze from him that indicated years of cigarettes. Her threat assessment software assigned them a value near zero, even when the one with the salt-and-pepper ponytail pulled back the loose tail of his flannel shirt to discreetly reveal a gun.

"What, what do you want?" She hugged the large paper bag of groceries tight to her chest. The man with the gun looked her over, and she could tell by his eyes that he didn't know any more about her than what he saw: early twenties, five-one and a hundred pounds. Cute and scared, an alarmed and timid little housewife. "I have money, if that's…"

She debated whether to engage them. As close as they were crowding her, she felt sure she could let go of the bag and kill all three before it hit the pavement. No parking lot security cams would expose her; she always parked her minivan in this section of the lot because she had discovered a blind spot in the coverage.

Take the big brute first, then the ridiculous ponytail with the gun. Save the tubby one with the clown haircut for last; even if he runs, he doesn't look like he could get in view of a camera before I drop him. Keep it neat, so I don't mess up the van too much when I stuff them in. Then head for the city limits. There are places I can dump them forty feet from the shoulder and they won't be found for days. She felt her awareness and time sense stretching as she moved toward her decision.

The one with the gun answered. "Just a little talk, missy. With you and your good friend Lynch. Come along quiet now."

All thoughts of killing them out of hand disappeared, as suddenly as a light when the plug is kicked out of the wall. How do these men know Jack? And how did they find us? It's a brand new safe house - we haven't been here a month.

While Ponytail held the gun on her, the tall one plucked the car keys from her hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors. Clown Boy slid open the side door of her minivan and climbed into the second seat. The gunman pushed her in from behind, followed her in, and closed the door. Neither man reached for her bag. It keeps my hands in sight, and limits my movements. They've done this before. Once she was firmly sandwiched in the seat, the big one with the keys got behind the wheel.

Hands gripped her upper arms. She smelled the anesthetic before the cloth was pressed to her face. She struggled convincingly for a moment before she went limp, letting the groceries spill out of her lap. Her unarmed seatmate grabbed the bag and pressed her back into the seat, copping a leisurely feel as he did so. Jerk. I don't care if you turn out to be Jack's long-lost brother; sometime soon, that hand is going to get broken.

"Kinda cute," said the masher, the one she'd tagged "Clown Boy" for the bushy hairline that circled the crown of his head.

"Runt of the litter," said the tall one, Gorilla Man, as he started the engine and carefully backed out of the parking space. "Even smaller than the jailbait with the dye job."

"Yeah, but I'd take any of em. Whaddaya think, Ace? We want some leverage with this guy, maybe two's better than one?"

I'd like to see you losers try kidnapping one of my girls. I'm sure they'd introduce each of you to some novel way of shuffling off this mortal coil: toasted, crushed, or just hurled into orbit, maybe. Whoever you guys are, you don't know squat about Genactives.

"Forget about it," replied 'Ace,' the one with the gun and the ponytail. "This one's runnin the house. You really think Lynch is tappin her?"

"She's the one who rushed out the front door to give him a kiss just before he turned outta the driveway. Took em two minutes. We got the right one."

"The old goat. She looks like she's hardly outta trainin bras."

Sometimes, you just can't help yourself. She let her head fall sideways as Gorilla Man turned out of the lot, giving Ace a solid skull rap in the ear. He cursed and pushed her away. "Hang on to her, dammit!"

"Sure." Clown Boy put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close; she let her head fall loose on his shoulder. He parted the unzipped front of her red hooded jacket, pulled the sides down around her shoulders, and cupped her breast in his hand through her shirt. "More than a handful's a waste, I always say."

It's hard to feed yourself with two broken hands, I always say. If I was sure I could spare the moisture, I'd drool into your collar.

"That the same stuff we used last time? She went down kinda quick."

"Yeah, I just got more on the rag. When I loaded it up, we weren't sure which one we were gonna pick up, and I didn't wanna take any chances with the redhead; she looks like she could put up a fight."

"Put up a fight." She could kill you in the middle of a sneeze.

From the front seat, Gorilla Man said, "Well, get that sucker back in the baggie, before we all start gettin woozy."

They headed north on I-15, pacing traffic and driving cautiously. She wondered if knocking her out was an attempt to conceal their destination, as well as keep her quiet. If so, it was utterly futile. The anesthetic had no effect on her, and she was able to open her eyes for ten milliseconds at a time, scanning her surroundings without her bio captors noticing, thanks to their much slower image processing. Her built-in milspec GPS unit registered the car's transponder continuously and located her within a four-meter circle. Given that these boys spoke like New York goodfellas, she was sure she had a better feel for their location than they did.

Twenty minutes into the trip, Ace said, "Time to give her the rag again?"

"Not if you want her to wake up ever," said Clown Boy. "Why you always wanna dip em in this shit? It's easy to OD somebody on it. Little as she is, she might not start to come around for an hour yet. Wait till she stirs some before we hit her again."

"In that case, are ya sure you didn't kill her off already? That would make me real unhappy, Bennie."

"Don't worry, Ace. She's breathin on my neck here, steady as a little metronome. Lemme check her temp." She felt Clown Boy's/Bennie's hand leave her breast and start working on her shirt buttons.

"Ah, Jeez, Bennie," Ace said. "Get your hand outta there and button her back up before somebody sees that. Even with tinted windows, somebody might spot it at a light. We don't want to be remembered, remember?"

"Yeah, sure." He restored her clothing, but refastened only the lowest of the shirt buttons. Two minutes later, she felt his fingers working at the button of her jeans. "Hey, these are comin off anyway. Any bets she's a nat-ural blonde?"

Forget the hands; it's the balls that have got to go.

Gorilla Man looked into the rear view mirror. "Ain't you gettin enough, man? I know the old lady ain't puttin out for ya no more, but Poker Night was just two Saturdays ago. The little party with that hooker was all you could talk about for days."

Bennie had snugged her up tight against him, and was working his hand down into the front of her unzipped pants. "Yeah, that was a pretty good Poke-Her night, but a hooker's just a hooker. I got a thing for these glee-club types: act like butter won't melt in their mouths, but lotsa times they turn out to be perfect little sluts. I bet this one fucks like a mink."

One at a time; first the left one, slowly, then the right. Then I'll make you gag on your own penis, before I detach it… She caught herself. What am I thinking? Where's this attitude coming from? She executed a file log query to determine her recent file usage, and looked at her execution queue. As she'd expected, the Alpha file had opened at the same time these men had accosted her, and was now hovering near the top of her queue. My CPU must have accessed my combat-skills package as soon as they showed up, and again for information on abduction technique. She sighed. So now the bitch is out of her box.

"That feel good, baby?" His breath smelled of beer and garlic. Crushing his windpipe would be half a second's work. She restrained an impulse to grab his throat, and tried to talk herself out of her murderous urges.

Come on, Anna, he's not some IO storm trooper; he's just an old pervert who has to share a prostitute with his buddies to get any sex. None of them would survive a Two-style interrogation; the way Gorilla Man's breathing, he could keel over at the wheel any second. If I'm going to find out what they know, I've got to coax it out of them. So let's just keep our temper down and our claws sheathed.

But it's damned hard to do with this jerk. Being limp and unresponsive sure isn't dimming his interest; what else can I do? Embarrass him, maybe. Try messing with his head, and maybe I'll stop thinking about messing with his intestines.

She took a breath and let it out slowly, turning it into a sigh. His hand stilled.

"Whoa. Control, we have liftoff."

"She wakin up?"

"Not sure. I think she might be dreamin," he said, as she moved her head slightly, to a more natural position against his shoulder. One of her hands slid loosely from her lap to his. His pheromone count shot up; inthe closed car, the other two men responded in kind, unknowing. Their respiration roughened.

Softly, but quite clearly, she murmured, "Mmm. Again, Jack?" She pressed her hand against the inside of his thigh ten inches from his crotch. She moved her fingers as if searching for something, then let a puzzled frown drift across her features. "Where'd y'go?" She said mushily.

She had been hoping to embarrass Clown Boy, perhaps initiate a joke or two at his expense that would make his behavior seem ridiculous instead of macho. The response she got was telling and unexpected.

Ace snarled, "Fuckin little bitch." She heard a soft pop, and the drug-soaked cloth was pressed hard against her face, knocking her head off Bennie's shoulder and slamming it into the back of the seat.

Bennie yanked his hand out of her pants so fast she was grateful her pubic hairs had been so firmly attached. He gripped Ace's hands in both of his, trying to pull the rag from her face, but the other man's grip was stronger; he had turned around in the seat and had a lot of his weight behind it. The car swerved slightly. "Shut…the fuck…up," Ace said, emphasizing each word with an extra push, as if his hands were on her throat instead of covering her face. She heard his heart speed up, hitching like an engine with its timing off.

Bennie was still pulling futilely at Ace's wrists. "Let go you're gonna kill her! Ace, if she dies, the whole plan turns to shit. Don't do this, man, let go. Let go, so we can have our little talk with good old Jack." She could feel the hand holding the rag to her face tremble, then suddenly jerk away. The springs in the seat back, relieved of pressure, shoved her forward, and would have tumbled her limp form onto the center console between the front buckets; but Bennie caught her and pressed her back into the seats, by the shoulders this time, and felt her wrist for a pulse. She let it stutter to a stop for five seconds, then resume.

"Shit. For a second there, her heart stopped, I swear. Don't do that again, Ace. Just let me keep her quiet, okay?"

"Then keep her quiet. I do not want to hear that shit."

Gorilla Man rolled down a window. "Jesus Christ, get that fucker in a bag. I almost missed the turnoff. How bad is it back there?"

She felt a thumb on her eyelid; she expanded her pupils to indicate a heavily sedated state just as Bennie lifted one, then the other. "Jeezus, the color's gone out of her eyes, her pupils are so fuckin big. You do that again, we'll lose her for sure." He fumbled with her zipper, trying to pull it up.

"Leave that. Like you said, they're comin off anyway."

"The kid's gonna see us bring her in."

"So?"

"So he's nervous enough already. How much you want him to suspect, before we spring this little surprise party?" He got the zipper up, and closed the button of her jeans.

Gorilla Man said, "Kid don't have a clue; he believes what I tell him. Thinks we brought him along to start him in the family business. We're lookin to put the squeeze on a guy who ran out on a debt, that's all. He doesn't expect to be told anything yet, he knows the rules." He paused as he selected an exit. "Close enough to the truth."

Shades of Don Corleone, are these guys for real?

Ace settled back into the seat. "The biggest lies are always like that, Chucky boy."

"Been tellin you for fifty years not to call me that, since we were kids sharin the same bedroom I been tellin you that."

"And I been ignoring you for just as long; ain't nobody called you by that pussy name your whole life. Get over it."

They left the interstate, and almost immediately entered a small town or subdivision that had seen better days; most of the houses had the run-down look of poorly managed rentals. They slowed at a home almost indistinguishable from its neighbors and turned into the driveway, stopping at the side door.

Ace's mouth twisted as he looked at the house and driveway. "Why the hell didn't you get a place with an attached garage? Now we gotta carry her out of the car, in front of God and school kids and all the neighbors."

"You only gave me three days to set this up, from home no less," Gorilla Man/Chucky replied. "This place is furnished, some, and the outside walls are brick, nice and secure. The house that overlooks the door is vacant. People who move in around here mind their own business and get the hell out as soon as they can find something better. Nobody knows anybody. It's Friday afternoon, so the kids are still in school. Quit your bitchin and let's do this."

Chucky got out, climbing two steep steps, and beat on the door. She couldn't see it open without moving her head, but she heard the hinges squeak. "Where the hell were you at? You were supposed to be watchin for us."

"Sorry," came a new voice, much younger. "You were gone for hours. I was cleaning up in the other room. What do I need to do?"

"Just hold the door open, and make sure nobody's watchin."

The van door rolled open. Ace slid out. Bennie pushed her over so that she fell across the seat, head towards the door, then tucked her hands into her front pants pockets. Ace got his hands under her arms and pulled. When her rear end was about to clear the seat, Chuck got his arms under the small of her back and lifted, grunting. "Heavier than she looks."

"Shit, you're just gettin old. I got a dog weighs more than this."

It's not my weight, Chuck; it's the distribution. I have an extra ten pounds in my forearms that Ace can't feel.

As they continued to pull her out of the car, Bennie slid out and grabbed her calves just before her heels came off the seat. Clearly, they were as practiced at removing limp bodies from cars as they were at forcing unwilling passengers in. There may be something to this gangster act, after all.

"What's wrong with her?" The stranger sounded like he was standing at the door. Ace's backwards progress to the doorway put her head in about the right position. She opened her eyes for a snap scan of the new man, and was so startled that she almost didn't close them in time.

The face, staring at her in alarm, was Bobby's. Well, not really; the hair and eyes and complexion were all darker, Latin-looking. But in his cheeks and chin and the shape of the eyes, he resembled Jack's son so strongly that it riveted her attention for an extra millisecond.

Ace was through the door with her head and shoulders; Bennie, with his hands under her knees, placed a foot on the step. Chuck, forced to walk sideways up the steps in a crouch, missed the top step, stepping off the stairs entirely, and lost his grip on her waist. Her butt dropped to the doorsill as she folded, then Ace lost his balance and, still holding her under the arms, fell backwards to the floor. Her legs slipped out of Bennie's grip and she landed on her back, on top of Ace.

Hilarious. Jack would have thrown me over his shoulder and opened the door with his free hand. These guys might have been truly dangerous once, but those days are long gone. What do they want with Jack?

"Fuck," Chuck said.

"Just get her in here and shut that fucking door."

"She's not dead, is she?" It was the boy again.

"Hell, no, she's just dead weight," was Bennie's reply.

With a few more curses, Ace managed to push himself upright and lifted her shoulders again. "Okay, let's go." He and Bennie carried her through the dingy living room. The kitchen was open to the living room, and littered with fast-food wrappers. A door was set in the back wall, not far from the kitchen table; they opened it and took her through.

The room behind the kitchen, apparently an add-on, was a windowless space about fifteen by twenty feet, dimly lit by an overhead fixture. In millisecond glimpses, she catalogued the meager furnishings as they maneuvered her into the room: a grimy wall-to-wall carpet of indeterminate color, a pressboard armoire, and two floor lamps. Not quite against the right-hand wall, incongruously, stood a beautiful antique four-poster made of tarnished brass, its massive head and foot boards shaped like wrought iron fences. The sheets lay tumbled on the floor at its foot; the mattress, she noted, was solid as a board, as they dumped her sideways across it with her legs dangling over.

"Bennie, I want that car back in the lot fast, so stick to business, hear me?"

"No problem." She felt Bennie's fingertips on her wrist. "Damn. Pulse is like, fifty and faint. She might croak on us yet."

"Then, maybe we better hurry? Chucky, get her purse, go through it and see what you find."

Bennie unlaced her shoes, a pair of sturdy cross trainers, removed them, and set them on the bed. "Aww, look at the cute little footie socks. Got little pink ribbons on em, too. Let her keep em?"

"Not a stitch. It all goes with Chucky, along with the pictures."

Her pants went next; Bennie undid the button and zipper, then gripped the cuffs and pulled sharply, trying to whisk them off. She slid bonelessly off the edge, the hoodie rucking up around her neck, and her rear end bumped to the floor. Ace, busy at the open armoire, glared and came over to help hoist her back onto the bed. "If we lay her out lengthwise, do you s'pose you can finish this up without dumpin her?"

"Hey, her pants were just a little tight, that's all."

"You didn't notice that when you had your hand down em?"

Chucky appeared in the doorway. "I been through a lotta chick's purses, and I seen some weird shit, but this is some weird shit."

Ace snorted. "What, a gas powered vibrator, maybe?" He moved towards the door, while Bennie resumed his work.

"More like Batman's utility belt. Everything's in pockets, looks like they're made just for what's in em, and there's a ton of stuff in here. Check this out: two cell phones."

"Two? So what's she do, talk to herself?"

"No. Looks like she doesn't use em at all."

"How so?"

"Neither one's got a call history; phonebooks are empty too. If she uses em, she erases the calls when she's done."

I don't need the phone book, and you erased the traffic logs when you tried to access them without punching in my security code first.

"Driver's licenses – two of em, different names; her hair's different on the second one. Pack of credit cards an inch thick, but they're in four different names." He riffled through them. "Huh. The first names are all just initials; can't tell if they're a man's or a woman's. And a Black Card. Shit."

"A what?"

"Special credit card. Gotta be a millionaire to get one. Big wad of cash, too, maybe ten grand. A little bit of makeup, a sewing kit, one of those twelve-tools-in-one things, a photo wallet like grannies keep pictures of all the rugrats in … And look at this." He held up a plastic case the size of a paperback. She heard a click as he opened it; Ace's body hid it from her view, but she knew what they were seeing: it contained a number of small brushes, including two on long folding handles, and a small bottle of light oily fluid. "Tell me what the hell this looks like."

"It ain't for cleanin her sewing machine." Ace examined the two bore-cleaning brushes. "Look at the size of these suckers. The small one looks like it's for a forty-five, but the big one … Christ, what caliber do elephant guns come in? Is it for a shotgun, maybe? What the hell is she doin with this?"

"Dunno; she ever pulled the trigger on something like that, it'd knock her on her ass."

"Go see if she's got a gun under the seat." Ace turned to Bennie, and discovered his partner hadn't been listening; he'd been totally focused on removing the rest of her clothing, and had just finished up. The process had been quick, with only one departure from the businesslike method Ace had demanded: when he had rolled her over to remove her bra, her last article of clothing, he had briefly caressed her buttocks, cupping one in his palm as if measuring it.

Now he stood over her; she kept her eyes closed, but the pheromones seemed to be thickening the air, they way they were pouring out of the man. Softly, as if to himself, he said, "Man, this is so fine. This is quality."

"What are you talkin about? I seen Girl Scouts with bigger tits. If she was my bitch, I'd send her to a surgeon."

"Fun bags from Jugs-R-Us would just ruin this." He brushed his fingertips along her lips. "Look at her … not a pockmark, or a scar, or a needle track. Flawless skin, smooth and soft as a baby's, not a stray hair or blemish anywhere." His fingers traced a line down her neck to the collarbone, down the center of her chest, dipped momentarily into her navel before coming to rest on a spot low on her belly. "One look at her, you know she was a daddy's girl when she was little; and before she quit playin with dolls, she knew she was meant to be some man's prize. Probably went to a fancy finishing school and got a degree in interior decorating; cookin classes too. Bet she keeps that house spotless, even with a bunch of kids livin in it. And she spends eight hours a week in the gym, keepin that little ass nice and tight for the old man. Not that she has to work at it real hard; she was born to look this way, from her perfect eyebrows down to those faultless little toes. Ace, there's girls out in the gym right now, runnin the treadmill and hittin the workout machines till hair sprouts on their upper lips, tryin to look like this." He ran three fingers through her pubic hair and lifted it gently. "Fine and silky as a little girl's. It's exactlythe same shade as her eyebrows, ya notice? And just two shades darker than what's on her head. Perfect shape; doesn't have to shave to wear a bikini. Fuck, it's even got a part, like she brushes it every day. As if each little hair was put in place by the hand of God."

Well, by the hand of some technician on the prosthetic team at the Research Directorate, anyway. A man less caught up in his fantasies might be a little more suspicious.

Benny went on, "This ain't no hooker, or a ditzy hitchhiker, or some drunken bar bag you pick up at closing time - don't you feel it? This little filly's a thoroughbred, been pampered and groomed her whole life, secure and protected and sure of her place in the world. If we hadn't snatched her, she'd probably be bakin cookies right now, and thinking what she's gonna wear for ol' Jack when he gets home. We're gonna have to be real careful with this one; she ain't used to rough handling."

"What, you fallin in love or somethin, bro? Havin a change of heart, think maybe we should untie her and take back to her car, let her go home to her old man?" His tone of voice made it clear he didn't believe a word of it.

"Oh, hell, no. We just hit the lottery." His hand moved in slow circles on her belly, between navel and pubic hair. "Bet she's never had to miss a meal or make an unpleasant decision or even had a moment's pain, unless maybe her manicurist slipped with the file. Makin a believer outta this one … I can't wait to get the party started. A chick like this won't have a clue. Mark my words, man: we're gonna remember this one the rest of our lives."

"We'll see. Let's get her ready for pictures."

A flash registered on her eyelids. Good thing my eyes weren't open; a camera might have caught it. She resolved to keep them closed.

"Pick up her ass, while I slide this under." Hands slid under her bare behind. Bennie's hands, unmistakably; the letch has been pawing me so much, I can recognize them by the calluses. Some sort of bikini bottom was drawn between her legs; strings at the hips were tied, securing it. She smelled leather. "Okay, now sit her up and lift her arms." Her arms went into something sleeveless, also leather, mostly bare in back and open in front, ending at the bottom of her rib cage; they laid her back on the bed and began to close the front of the garment, somewhat, with three attached straps. She felt the ends of some sort of quick-release buckles click together, then the straps were drawn tight. "Give the top one an extra tug, Ace. Push those little puppies right up." When they finished, the outfit, tight as a corset, was still wide open for four inches down the center.

"Got it. Now, she needs a little jewelry." She felt a handcuff snap around her wrist, then her arm was pulled up to the corner of the headboard; she heard the other end being secured high on the bedpost. Her other wrist was shackled to the opposite post, spreading her arms in a wide Y. When Bennie cuffed her ankles and tugged the chain, he cursed.

"What is it?"

"She's too frickin short. The cuffs don't reach." She felt him begin to unfasten a wrist restraint at the bedpost.

"Sure they do." One at a time, her ankles were pulled roughly towards the footboard corners, turning the Y into an X. The chains went taut as they were secured to the posts a foot above the mattress. A stupid way to treat someone still unconscious from anesthetic. If I had lungs, they'd be awfully constricted by this leather jacket already; with my arms stretched over my head like this, they're risking respiratory arrest.

"Jeez, this ain't no good."

"They're on, ain't they?"

"She looks like she died on the rack."

"Should take a good picture, then. Do it."

Several flashes, then Bennie said, "Okay. Lemme go stick the card in the printer, and we'll see what we got." She heard him turn for the door.

"Bennie."

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"You two done good, settin this all up. Everything's goin according to plan. I'm just beat from the drive, that's all. Christ, I thought drivin to the Poconos or Miami was a trip. Woulda flown, but I didn't wanna risk takin our baggage through."

"Yeah." Bennie huffed. "You know, three days ago, when you sent us out here, I thought somebody'd been jerkin your chain. I mean, twenty years without a clue, and somebody drops him in your lap? We went to the address you gave us, and it was like a friggin sorority house, chickies poppin in and out."

"I told you to look for that."

"Yeah, but I still couldn't believe Lynch was really livin there. Then, when he did show, I almost didn't recognize him. Face is all scarred up, looks like he lost an eye." Sour amusement tinged the man's voice. "Wouldn't want to meet the fucker did that. Still built like a fuckin drill instructor, though. And got all his hair."

"And the fucker's still got a harem."

"Or a stable; there's two punks livin there, too. Either way, he must be loaded." Bennie left. With the camera gone, she resumed sneak-peeking.

Chucky returned. "No gun. I even checked underneath. Spare tire well, everything." He looked at their captive. "Black's not her color. She looks dead."

"Jeezus, will you guys shut up about that? I just got pissed. I didn't wanna hear her give a blow-by-blow of Lynch doin the nasty with her; I just wanted her to shut up. She'll be fine, she just won't wake up for a while, okay?"

"Sure." He gave Ace a very direct look. "Saw Bennie comin outta here with that look. The outfit's not really just for show, is it?"

"Neither's the kid, Chucky." Ace glanced her way. "You know what he did. What better way to even the score?"

"Uh huh. You're callin the shots, Ace. But she's no good to us dead. Don't lose track of what you came here for."

"Don't worry, we'll all get what we came for, and maybe a little bonus. Where's the kid?"

"Baggin up all the trash; this place is startin to smell like old grease. I'm gettin tired of burgers and pizza, man. A real meal would sure be nice."

"Just wait and see how this plays out. We could be on our way home by tomorrow. I don't wanna show our faces at some restaurant – or are you talking about actually cookin something?"

"Well … What's in Little Red Ridin Hood's grocery sack?"

"Hell, I don't know. Anybody bring it in?"

"Must've, it's not in the car."

Bennie called from the kitchen. "Pictures are comin off the printer."

Alone for the first time, she opened her eyes and studied her situation. The shackles on her limbs were sturdy enough, though definitely not police equipment; bought at some adult novelty shop, no doubt, along with this one-size-fits-all outfit. Some matching boots, black lipstick and a dog collar, and I'm ready to hit the Goth clubs. Oops, better include a skirt. This bottom … She squirmed slightly. Well, of course it's a thong: what else would these overgrown adolescents pick out for their female captive? Be thankful it's not crotchless.

She could hear their voices in the kitchen, as plainly as if they were in the bedroom; if she had reason, she was sure she could do so anywhere in the house.

"Bennie, you bring in that sack from the grocer's?"

"Kid followed us in with it when he shut the doors. It's all put away."

"What was in it?" Asked Chucky.

"Holy shit," said Ace, "she looks even worse in the pictures. Fuck, she looks embalmed. Her old man will piss himself when he sees these. Okay, wrap em up in her clothes and leave it all on the front seat. Take this heap back to the lot, wipe down everything you touched, and pick up the rental. Then shag ass back here -"

"This ain't the first time I done this, you know. And I might shag ass to the store to pick up some real food on the way back. What was in the bag?"

"Ask the kid, I didn't put it away." She heard Chucky's heavy footsteps retreating towards the side door.

"Before you start singin hosannas to this little bitch again, take a look at what she packs out of the house every day." She heard the contents of her purse being dumped on the kitchen table.

Presently, Bennie said, "It looks like she's ready to bolt at the sound of a twig snappin. But what's this?"

"Dunno; no gun anywhere. So, she's thinking about runnin out on him?"

"Maybe. But, if your wife had a purse like this, one she carried all the time, wouldn't you know it? I think he sends her out of the house this way. But she never saw us comin, so who is she lookin over her shoulder for?"

"Well, maybe we'll find out when she wakes up, after she makes her phone call to the old man. Till then, don't answer it if it rings."

"Look at the photo album yet?"

"Yeah. Made my day, seein what a train wreck the sonofabitch turned into."

"Uh huh. What about the pussy? Too bad we couldn'a just walked into the house and set up shop. Lay the two punks in the basement and let Lynch watch us play with all his toys. Think Billy would give us an extra week?"

"What you been smoking? Give some mook two weeks runnin our operation, we'll have to shoot him to get it back. Bennie … tell me that ain't her panties stickin outta your pocket!"

"Aw, come on, Ace."

"That fuckin collection is gonna get you in deep shit someday. Those were supposed to go with Chucky."

"He left with everything else. Hell, let em wonder where they're at. Listen," Bennie said, his voice low and soothing. "I know how big a stake you got in this, but you're wound way too tight over it. Relax, everything's goin fine. This could end up bein our best 'hunting trip' ever." She heard a drawer open. "No TV, but I got a deck of cards. Let's just kick back a while till something happens. Let the wheels turn."

"Somebody needs to be in there, in case she wakes up before Chucky gets back."

"Not much chance of that; she's still limp as a rag doll. Send the kid in to watch. Do you both some good to keep him out of sight." The cards rracked as Bennie shuffled. "Hey, kid! Come on in here."

"What are you talkin about?"

"You make him jumpy, Ace. He sees you look at him like you'd just as soon kill him. And lookin at him is makin you jumpy. That's no way to act around your nephew. Send him outta harm's way, for a while."

Ace growled, "Little bastard's no kin of mine." Quickly he regained his composure. "Yeah, get him the hell outta here."

She considered her opportunities. Despite their bickering, the three older men were a solid team; not much chance of dividing them over anything of substance. The boy, however, offered possibilities: inexperience and apparent alienation from the others might leave him open to handling.

The door opened, and Bennie entered, followed by the boy.

"Yeah, she's all right. She just got a little too much Uncle Ben's Medicine, is all. You keep an eye on her; once she's conscious, we're gonna have a little conversation, and then she's gonna make a phone call to her old man. We collect what he owes, and we're on our way home."

"Why is she … all like that?"

"You mean the costume? Or the handcuffs? When she wakes up, she's gonna be scared. When he sees the pictures of her like this, and she calls him all panicky, he won't be in a mood to argue about payin up."

"So, we're not really going to hurt her." The relief in his voice was plain, even without her enhancements.

The uncle chuckled. "Well, I didn't say that. We're not bluffin, kid. We might have to show the old man we're willin to take penalties and interest out of his little squeeze here." They stood at the bedside, looking down at her. "If you lost something this fine, what would you pay to get it back, heh?" His hand traveled down her inner thigh, rolled around to caress the back of her knee, and then cupped her calf. "Smooth as glass. Musta shaved these just this morning. Or maybe she waxes."

Bennie left, and, through closed eyelids, she focused all her attention on the boy. Heart and respiration were normal, and pheromones in the air were dropping now that Bennie was gone; but he hadn't moved, apparently still staring at her.

Well, why not? You're easy enough on the eyes. This must be like sneaking a peek at his dad's girlie magazines. He exhaled softly as he bent over the bed. Okay, here we go. What's he up to; teenage hormones got the best of him? Is he about to get handsy? The sheet slid up to her collarbone and was tucked in around her.

Well, well. A gentleman. But is he protecting his modesty or mine? And why is he sitting down on the bed? Well, duh: there aren't any chairs in this room; it's either the bed or sit on the floor.

She waited fifteen minutes, and then coughed softly to get his attention. Raise the curtain, it's show time. Half opening her eyes, she said mushily, her voice barely above a whisper, "Why'd you guys pick a hideout next door to… construction site?"

"Huh?"

"Pile drivers. The whole house's shaking." She blinked and opened her eyes somewhat. "It's in my head, isn't it? Ow ow ow. The pain just caught up with th' thump." She moved as if to touch her head, and was immediately brought up short by the shackles. She looked up at them without moving her head. "Oh, this can't be good."

He got up and moved towards the door.

"Where you going, Speedy?"

"I'm supposed to tell somebody when you're conscious."

"You call this conscious? Room won't hold still. I can't focus my eyes. How about a couple minutes? Give a girl a break, can't you?"

He hesitated, so she turned her head, retching weakly. It was almost comical, watching his eyes jump around the bare room, looking for something for her to vomit into - until he rushed to the bed and cupped his hands under her mouth. She subsided.

"Uhh. Uhh. Oh, I am so glad I missed lunch." She squinted at him. "You were really going to let me puke into your bare hands?"

"I can wash my hands. Tied up like that, you'd have had to lie in it."

Gallantry and sympathy, she thought. Yes, definite possibilities. "Thanks." She made a show of looking around, until the wisp of black fabric on her shoulder caught her attention. She stared down at herself, trying to discern details under the sheet. "What am I wearing?"

"I don't know what it's called, but there's not much of it. I covered you up; you had to be cold."

"Oh. Thanks again." This time she added a small, brief smile. "What's your name, gallant knight?"

"Luis."

"Considering the circumstances, I can't say I'm glad to meet you, but I'm glad you're here. I answer to Anna, Annie, or Anne, take your pick."

He lifted an eyebrow. "What's the other one?"

"What other one?"

"The one you don't answer to."

"Oh." He wants to share secrets … give him something, and we're conspirators already. She frowned and said, in a low voice, "Annalise."

"Annalise … that's really pretty. Why don't you use it?"

"Are you kidding? It's a name for a fairy princess."

"Yes." He smiled into her eyes. "It suits you."

Pheromone count in the room is still dropping, but are they still all Bennie's? Probably. He's not really flirting; he's trying to lift your spirits. She remembered the sheet. Girls, this one's a keeper.

But how to respond? Don't flirt with him; totally inappropriate for a bound prisoner. He's not stupid. He'd get suspicious and you'll lose him. Try embarrassment; that's usually endearing.

She looked disgusted. "Great, now there's two of you. I've got a girlfriend who calls me Tinkerbelle. She's great most other ways, so I let her live." And I'm sure she wouldn't mind loaning me her name.

"Okay, I'll call you Anne. But I'll be thinking 'Annalise' every time I say it."

"I can live with that." She winced. "Feeling a little better, but I'd really rather face the big guys with a clear head, if I can. Can we just, like, chat for a little while?" When he frowned, considering, she added, "If the door opens, I'll pretend to be asleep. I won't let you get in any trouble, Luis. I promise." She tugged at her shackles, giving him a solemn look. "I really don't feel like a party right now."

"Anne, I don't know how long they'll wait. They really want to talk to your husband."

"What do they want with us, Luis? Who are they?"

"Well, they're my uncles, and I guess you'd say they're mobsters. Although, that's kind of like saying that the guy who runs a gas station's working for Exxon. I don't know much about it, but they say your husband ran out on a debt, and they've come to collect. It was a long time ago; I don't think they knew where you were till now."

Just what I was afraid of: we left tracks when we moved, or else there's a security breach at our new location. If these mooks could find us, how can IO not?

"Hey, don't look so worried. It'll all work out, really. I know this has got to be scary, but my uncles just want to make sure your husband doesn't run out again. They'll come to some arrangement, and everything'll be fine."

"Luis, Jack doesn't run out on his obligations. And I'm having a hard time imagining him ever going to your uncles for help."

"Like I said, it was a long time ago; twenty years, I think. They've been stewing over it the whole time, my Uncle Ace especially." He leaned close. "He really, really hates your husband."

Didn't take him long to run out of cheerful things to say. "I know I only just met him, and first impressions can be deceptive." She arched her back and craned her neck upwards to look at her wrist shackles, and gave them a tug. "But I don't think your uncle's a very nice man." She settled back down. "What are you doing here, Luis? You don't really seem to be part of this. Are you just here to clean up?"

"I'm not sure how much I should say."

"Then don't say anything, forget I asked. Change of subject. Do you have any brothers and sisters?"

"Two brothers, one sister, all older. You?"

She put on a somber face. "I was born second of a set of quintuplets, would you believe? All girls. I'm the only one that lived."

"Wow. Sorry, Anne."

"Well, it's not like I remember them, you know? But I wonder, sometimes, what it would have been like." The best lies have a bit of truth, isn't that what Jack says?

"That must have crushed your mom."

"She died during the delivery. It was just Dad and me. He tried, but he wasn't up to raising a girl on his own, and he never remarried. He's dead now." The boy was silent, scarcely breathing. "Jack and his kids, they're all the family I've got."

"Yeah? How many kids?"

"Two boys, three girls, all gorgeous."

"Uh huh."

"That's not mother's pride talking; ask anyone who's ever seen them. Let me tell you about Caitlin …"

She went to work. No one watching them would have thought he was witnessing an interrogation. She did most of the talking, in the beginning at least, and the subjects she covered were mundane: family, friends, school, music, hobbies. But the boy's body language and biometrics were eloquent. As she flitted from one subject to another, he sent subconscious messages telling her which subjects were safe to press on, which weren't, which might yield up secrets. Behind the informal chat, a machine intellect evaluated statements, drew conclusions, and tested assumptions, trolling for useful information in casual remarks, an implied statement, or a question that told more than it asked.

" … Bobby loves the Crotch Rockets; I think they're his favorite band right now. Seems like every boy his age is humming their tunes."

"How old is he?"

"He'll be nineteen next birthday. How about you, Luis?"

"Eighteen in a week and a half. What about you, Anne? You seem awful young to have a husband my uncle's age."

"Luis, you never ask a female past puberty how old she is; if you can't help asking, expect her to lie. Still want to know?"

"More than ever."

"I'm twenty-five." She grinned. "Honest."

As Luis warmed to the exchange, he began speaking more freely, dropping dots of information that were carefully connected by her intelligence-gathering subroutine. Gradually, a picture emerged.

Luis's uncles, and Luis himself, were members of one of the last of the old East Coast crime families, the Bennettis. The outfit had long since evolved from its origins as a gambling-and-prostitution monopoly, run by a single extended family, into one resembling the Russian model, which provided, in addition to its numerous criminal enterprises, social services to legitimate customers in exchange for "fees." Gradually, the Family became the Organization, or, in its public-service guise, the Association. If you wanted a pothole on your street moved to the top of the city's to-do list, and your dues were paid, just see your neighborhood wiseguy. Kids from out of the neighborhood spray painting graffiti on your storefront? The Association would get it cleaned up and it would never happen again.

Local authorities held an uneasy truce with the outfit; law enforcement generally left Association neighborhoods alone, which was generally how the neighbors preferred it. The Association provided the neighborhood foot patrols that the police had abandoned decades before, and dispensed swift judgment that never returned repeat offenders to the street; random, unorganized crime averaged a lot lower in areas where the Association still operated. So long as the Organization's illegal activities were kept within limits, the occasional bribe was sufficient to assure the outfit a free hand in its own neighborhoods.

Feds were another matter. The Organization dealt with agencies ranging from the National Security Agency, through their influence over port operations, to the Environmental Protection Agency, arguing with thin-lipped bureaucrats about landfill contracts for their garbage-hauling business, and a dozen others. In Luis's world view, they formed a sort of Greek pantheon: entities powerful but not omnipotent, capricious, malign and often dangerous, jealous over their prerogatives. Federal law enforcement and RICO were twin thunderbolts that had struck down numerous relatives.

"Doesn't that scare you off joining up?" She asked.

He seemed to consider. Their faces were only a foot apart. The boy had given up perching on the edge of the bed and talking to her over his shoulder; he lay on his side facing her, with his knees bent and shoes hanging off the bed, their bodies separated by the sheet and two inches of space. His head was in his hand, propped on his elbow, looking down at her; her shackled arm was under his. Cozy. Just like pillow talk with Jack, except I'm with the wrong guy, in the wrong bed, and definitely in the wrong nightie. And, oh, yes, the chains.

"Anne, it's not like that. I was a member the day I was born, just from being in the Family. There aren't a lot of head-knocking jobs left; shoot, my dad works for them part-time, filling out insurance claims and running a tax service for the middle-level guys. That's how he pays them back for putting him through school. But even if they never call you, you know you're in the organization till the day you die. When Uncle Chuck showed up to get me, it was like I'd got drafted into the Army: no arguments, no questions about where I'm going or why me … just pack a bag quick and 'be careful, mind your uncle, keep your mouth shut, come back safe.' It was unreal." He looked at his watch. "Wow. You know, we've been talking for over an hour."

One hour, sixteen minutes. "Really?"

"This is so weird. I only know you for an hour, and I'm talking about stuff I never told a girlfriend."

She smiled enough to show dimples. "They say I'm a really easy person to talk to. I can't say 'good morning' in an elevator without starting a conversation; sometimes we'll even skip getting off and ride back down, still talking."

Abruptly, he rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed, facing away from her.

"Luis?" No reply. "Luis … what are you doing here? Why did they bring you along? What do they want you to do?"

Looking down at the floor, he said quietly, "Someone decided I'm going to be a soldier. Probably my Uncle Chuck. I think I'm here to make my bones."

"Do what?" She could have admitted that she knew the term, but felt it would be out of character.

"The Family does a lot of dirty stuff that brings in money for us. Soldiers are the guys who make it work. At the bottom of the ladder, soldiers guard the chop shops and gambling joints, stuff like that. You do okay, you move up into bigger jobs, like strong-arm work, squeezing for collections, 'protection' – keeping rival gangs and other competition out. Kidnapping for ransom isn't done, but sometimes they do it for leverage. It's usually a specialist's job, way up near the top, just below doing hits. Guess my uncles are giving me a leg up." He paused, for so long that she thought he might not continue.

"But soldiers have to be able to trust one another. Not just because they share danger, but because they're … witnesses to one another's crimes. You can't be trusted until you've committed a crime in front of witnesses. And if you're going to be trusted by somebody with a rap sheet like my uncles', it'd have to be a beaut." He paused again; she could hear his heart thudding in his chest.

"I should never have talked to you. I should have got Uncle Bennie as soon as you woke up, even if your hair was full of puke when we came back. I shouldn't have covered you with this sheet. I should never have looked at you until you woke up. For all I know, our little friendship is going to end with Uncle Ace sending me into the back yard to dig a hole for you. If I'm real lucky, he won't expect me to put you in it."

"Not going to happen, Luis. I-" She whipped her head to the side and closed her eyes as the door opened. She smelled cigarette smoke; Chucky was back.

"What the hell is goin on? What are you doin over there?"

And I thought Luis's heart was revved up before. "Nothing."

"Don't shit me. I heard voices." He took a step towards the boy.

Without opening her eyes, she spoke, her voice soft but clear. "You shouldn't smoke, it's bad for you."

Chuck and Luis both stopped breathing.

Then: "Where does a girl your age get cigarettes? Never mind, just keep it out of the house. Yech, you've got ashes on your jacket." She made her shackled hands twitch feebly. "Better. Beau'ful ag'n. don' f'get … sis's picking you up after school." She mumbled incoherently, and then fell silent.

"How long's she been doin that?"

Luis swallowed loud enough for her to hear. "She does it for a while, then she goes back to sleep. I keep thinking she's awake, but when I talk to her, she just babbles something like that."

A long pause; Chucky's heart skipped a beat, and then began to pick up speed. "My mom did that, just before she croaked. Lookin right over your shoulder, talkin to people been dead for years." He turned to the door. "I'll be right back."

She opened her eyes, to see Luis staring at her. "Jeez. Are you an actress?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

She smiled briefly. "No, but I am a desperate housewife," she whispered back, and then closed her eyes.

The brothers returned, all three of them. Ace approached the bed. "What are you, queer?" He yanked the sheet down to the foot of the mattress.

"She was cold."

"She was cold. Maybe if she wasn't so warm and comfy, she'd be awake by now."

Bennie felt her wrist. "Pulse is almost back up to normal; looks like she'll be okay."

"She was talkin, movin around in her sleep." Chucky sounded thoroughly spooked.

Bennie glanced at Ace. "Well, she's done that before, right? What time is it?"

"Just after five."

"Man. We picked her up around noon; that's a long time to be out. That second dose … she musta been hearin harp music."

She slitted her eyes. After a couple of soft coughs, she said, "Doctors don't use it on people anymore … too risky. Sometimes the patient doesn't wake up, or wakes up missing fifty points off his IQ. I feel kind of slow. Do I sound stupid?" She tugged at her shackles. "Maybe more like a frog … in biology class."

"How long you been awake? Tell the truth." Ace pointed his chin at the balled up sheet, as if to say I told you.

"Been drifting in and out, I think. Weird dreams. Did you guys really drop me on the floor? Twice." She looked down at herself. "Why am I dressed up like a pole dancer?" She peered at their faces in the dim light. "If you're Devil worshippers, or something like that, you picked the wrong girl for a virgin sacrifice."

Bennie chuckled; Ace glowered. "Maybe that shit did make you stupid. If you had any brains, you'd be scared."

"I don't know. I was scared before. Maybe I'll be scared later. What do you want with me?"

He showed her her phone. "How do you turn on the loudspeaker?"

"It's the button on the left. Hold it down for three seconds with the cover closed. And you have to punch in ten-ten when you open it, or it won't work."

"Done. Home phone?" She gave him the number, and he punched it in. He held the phone six inches from her ear. "Tell your old man what happened, and the fix you're in right now."

The phone began to ring. "He's not home right now."

He flipped the phone shut. "Okay, what's his cell number?"

"He's not at that phone, either."

His face began to glow in infrared, she noticed. Don't stroke out on me, Ace; I still need you. "And why ain't he carryin his cell?"

"Because it's useless. He's in La Paz."

"Well, where the fuck is La Paz? Mexico?"

Luis answered. "Bolivia." He added, "South America."

She shrugged, insofar as her bonds would allow. "Or he could be in Jakarta by now, but he usually calls if he doesn't come home first."

"Jakarta …" He looked at Luis.

Luis said, helpfully, "Capital of Indonesia, western Pacific."

Ace was shaking. "I wait twenty years to get hold of this asshole, and now you're tryin to tell me he's halfway across the world?"

"He's not supposed to be back all weekend; I guess you could let me go, and kidnap me again on Monday ..."

From a sheath on his belt, Ace pulled out a knife with a four-inch blade; he brought it up to her face until it was an inch from her eye. "Do … not … fuck with me."

Give it a glance; no matter how brave you're trying to be, it would be unnatural not to. She did, and then locked eyes with him. "He travels all over the world on business; he's gone twenty days a month. If you'd cased our house for a week, you'd know that."

And if you'd tried to case our house for a week, no matter how carefully, I'd have spotted you. Don't lose it, Ace; if you try to put that knife in me, the masquerade is over, and I'll have to try beating the information out of you. Frankly, I don't think your heart will take it; I can hear how hard it's working already. Then I'll go to work on your brothers.

I'll save Luis for last; I'm almost certain he doesn't know anything, but how could I take the chance? I really wish he didn't remind me of Bobby.

"He's gone twenty days a month, and you can't reach him? What kind of shit is that?"

"He'll call home at least once this weekend, but I don't know when. He calls when he can; I don't distract him when he's working."

"Well, ain't you the dutiful little wife?" he held the phone to her ear again; it was already ringing. "Talk to one of the kiddies. Make sure Daddy knows to call your cell."

After three rings, the phone picked up. "Hey, Mom, where are you? Running late?" It was Bobby, sounding casual and unworried; she wasn't late enough for a nineteen-year-old's concern, apparently. She could hear Caitlin's voice in the next room.

"Bobby, don't say anything, hon, just listen. I have two things to tell you, so listen carefully. First, you're on your own for dinner, I won't be home tonight. There's a casserole in the freezer, the one with the red top. Take off the plastic lid -"

Ace pulled the phone away. "What the hell is this about? Just tell him to have your old man call here."

"I've got obligations, Ace." She locked eyes with him, matching his glare with a level stare. "If you want my cooperation, you let me feed my kids."

He hesitated, then brought the phone back to her.

"Sorry about that. Okay, back to the casserole."

"Who was that? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Stay on task, Bobby; it's important."

A pause, then, "Okay. Freezer, casserole, red top."

He's got the message. Good. Otherwise, I'd have to insist he put Caitlin on the line, and Ace isn't feeling too patient right now. "Right. Pop the plastic top, but leave the foil underneath alone. Bake at three seventy-five for forty minutes, then take off the foil and put it back in for another twenty. Repeat it all back."

"Casserole in the freezer with the red plastic top, which I take off. Bake it at three seventy-five for forty with just the foil under the plastic lid, then without the foil for twenty more."

"Good." He's listening carefully, and rephrased it to show he's thinking about what I say. "Here's the other thing. Bobby, I know your father can't be reached right now, but he'll probably call from La Paz tonight or tomorrow morning. When he does, have him call this number. It's very important."

Ace pulled the phone away. "One more thing. Have him pick up your car. It's back in the lot."

"My car's at the grocery. Take Eddie or Caitlin with you to pick it up, will you?"

"Sure, but what's going on?"

"I'll explain it later, when I get home."

Ace's eyes glinted. "Your clothes are on the front seat, wrapped around some pictures we took while you were nappin." He grinned.

Quickly, she added, "Bobby, hon? There's a bundle of old clothes on the front seat." For Ace's sake, she let a little panic creep into her voice. "Do not open that bundle, that's for your father. Just put it in his office. Take Eddie, no one else."

"Okay, will do. Call you later." Concern edged his voice.

"No, don't. I don't have a charger for the phone, and I need to save the battery for your father's call."

"Call collect from a pay phone, then."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, baby, I can't. Love you. Bye."

Ace ended the call. "'Baby'," he said, seeming to savor the sound. "Sounds like Bobby and his step mom are pretty tight … for twenty days a month, anyway. Does he call you 'Mom' when you're alone?"

She said tiredly, "His mother died when he was a baby; he grew up without one. I'm the closest thing to a real mom he's ever known, my age means nothing to him, and he treats me like gold." Her eyes were still closed. "You know, I don't think that stuff has worn off yet; I feel like I'm going down for the count." Let's engage the tracking system; I'm not quite in range for direct tracking, but the sat system will show everybody's location within two meters. Cue on Bobby's transponder … why, the darling really is going to the kitchen. Well, he said he would, and never mind that he didn't say, 'I promise.'

"Aww, she's gonna pout," said Bennie. "Maybe somebody should cheer her up."

She opened her eyes. "If you want to cheer me up," she said, "let me fix dinner."

Ace narrowed his eyes. "Say what?"

"I assume my bag of groceries didn't go back home in the car?"

"Yeah, we got it."

"Well, then, you're in luck: we have all the trimmings for dinner at home, and Friday is Macho Meal Night."

"What the hell is that?"

"The night the guys pick the menu. Monday is Fem Fare, Friday is Macho Meals, Sunday is Jack's – when he's home. All the other nights are mine. There are four ten-dollar steaks in that bag; potatoes, frozen corn, mushrooms, a nice Vidalia onion, butter and rye bread-"

"Wait a minute. Are you offerin to cook for us?"

She smiled. "Didn't I just say so?"

"I don't fuckin believe it."

"Why not? I'm a good cook. You ever had pan-fried steak? With caramelized onions and mushrooms? You'll never grill one again."

Ace looked at Luis; the boy shrugged. "It's like she says: it was all fresh food, no cans or stuff like that."

She wrinkled her nose. "I should say not. Canned food is only fit for fallout shelters." She looked at them in turn. "Come on, guys. You've been eating out of boxes and bags the whole time you've been here; I can smell the grease on you. Give yourselves a break."

"So, all we gotta do is take the chains off, and you become our little domestic partner? I don't think so."

"Ace, you can't be this worried I'll get away, past three guys twice my size - excuse me, four guys. If you're that nervous about it, a pair of these around my ankles would keep me from running; even the big fella with the wheeze could keep me from bolting out the door."

"What's in it for you?"

"Besides getting the circulation back in my hands? Getting vertical might do something for this beast of a headache I've got from the sedative."

"And?"

And I have a sudden urge to cook a meal for Luis, the meal Bobby won't get now. I want to see Luis take a bite, and smile as he chews; see him push his chair back at the end of it and put his hands behind his head, satisfied. If I can have that, it'll more than make up for the twenty times Bennie will have his hands on my bare buttocks while I'm cooking.

She smiled at him. "It's entertaining, watching males feed on caveman food. I get a kick out of Macho Meal Night."Bennie looks halfway convinced; time to sweeten the deal. "It'd be nice to have something to throw around my waist, though, so I'm not feeling the breeze on my behind the whole time I'm bent over the stove." She looked at Bennie. "Not that I'd expect it."

Ace looked at his brother. "Are you nuts? A kitchen is a fuckin arsenal for a pissed-off woman."

My fingernails are made from a polymer that's as tough as synthetic diamond; with my bare hands, I could turn you into stew meat in less time than it takes to say it. "Ace? If you're that worried about me disarming the three of you with a carving knife, I've got a suggestion. I'm sure you know more about this than I do," she said sweetly, "but, on television, I've seen prisoners led into the courtroom in shackles. One of these things could go on my ankles; another, I'm sure, would fit around my waist like a belt. Tether my wrists to it with the last two." She looked at him, eyes challenging. "Then you could feel safe. Not that you guys are in any more danger from me in the kitchen than right here."

Ace gathered his brothers by eye. "Let's talk this over." They left for the kitchen.

Luis, last, paused at the door. "Thanks. For what you did with Uncle Chuck."

"I promised, remember?" She took a deep breath. "Tired. If they decide to keep me chained up, don't wake me up to tell me." She closed her eyes and adjusted her breathing. A few moments later, she offered the boy a sleepy smile as he drew the sheet up to cover her. "Luis? Don' worry. Do what they tell you, stay on … good side. It'll a' work out." She studied her tracking data as she pretended to sleep.

Bobby left the kitchen and joined up with Eddie in the living room, their transponders so close together that they showed as a single point in her awareness. A quick check located the other members of her family: Caitlin and Roxanne, also in the living room, but at the other end of that huge space; Sarah, out of the house and traveling at a moderate vehicle speed towards some unknown destination, and Jack in his study at the other end of the house, pretty much where she'd hoped he'd be.

The boys were heading down the hall to the study. When they reached it, the transponders of all three merged for a few minutes, presumably as Bobby described her call. Then, the boys left the house and went to the garage; Jack's blip entered the living room, paused for a moment, and left for the garage as well. The girls aren't coming along, thank goodness; I wonder what he told them?

Their blips merged, and began moving together down the driveway, along with the transponder for the Jack's car. She followed their progress to the market, not ten minutes' drive. They reached the market's parking lot and stopped near the van. Their blips separated, moved a short distance, and then began slowly circling the van's transponder. They've found the car; now they're looking it over before they open the door.

Jack entered the minivan. He stayed there, alone, for several minutes while the boys stood outside. Finally, the boys began to converge on the car, and Jack got out quickly. He moved away from both vehicles about ten meters, and then stopped. The boys pursued and joined him, their blips merging again. Jack has the bundle, or at least the photographs. He's trying to keep the boys from seeing them. Bobby, will you take it on faith from your father, just this once? She watched the three points separate, converge, and separate again. Arguing. They converged again for several minutes. Then, Bobby entered the car they came in, Eddie got in her minivan, and they drove off, leaving Jack in the lot. He remained in place until both vehicles left the lot, then started towards the house. He's walking home, giving himself some time to think… or maybe just cool off. The house is five miles away; that gives him about an hour to figure things out.

She could hear the brothers arguing in the next room, but gave it little attention. As soon as she had finished her proposal to them, she'd studied their body language, and already estimated her chances of being freed to cook at no better than thirty percent. Luis's support was a given, but his vote didn't count. Ace was against the idea on principle, but could be persuaded if both his brothers pressured him. Bennie was drooling at the prospect; he'd probably have a hard-on the entire meal, fantasizing about bending her over the kitchen table for dessert.

Chucky was the deal breaker. Although he'd been the first to complain about the lack of home cooking, a sea change had occurred in his attitude towards her since she'd 'awakened'; although he hadn't spoken to her, and hadn't given her more than a glance since he entered the room, his posture and watchfulness made her certain that she wouldn't get out of these chains if he had anything to say about it.

Inexplicably, he was afraid of her.

That warrants some examination; how did I raise his suspicions?

Her phone rang.

Jack was still walking; Eddie was in the garage; Bobby was in the house, in the phone alcove.

Keep arguing, fellas; maybe you won't hear it.

The voices in the next room stilled. She heard the door open, followed by Ace's heavy tread. She kept her eyes closed, apparently in deep sleep. Ace picked up. "Talk quick, Lynch, we're busy here." With his free hand, he grasped her head and shook it from side to side, to wake her.

The speaker was still on. Bobby said, "You're the asshole who chained her up like a dog?" The others entered the bedroom, silent.

Ace grinned at her. "You're burnin up the battery, kid. You got something to say?"

"Listen, you soulless prick. You're headed straight to Hell, you know that? And if you hurt her, if you even make her cry, I'll make sure you get a preview of coming attractions."

Her kidnapper lifted his eyebrows. "Ooh, now I'm really scared. Bobber, we're in the middle of a party here. Next time this phone rings, it better be your old man." He ended the call. "What's he think he's gonna do, stick me with his Boy Scout knife?"

Since it's Bobby, I'm thinking he's probably going to stick you with a jet of air superheated past the temperature of molten steel. Sounds like a preview of Hell to me. "I've never heard him talk like that, but I've never heard him say something he didn't mean, either. He's his father's son."

Ace's jaw clenched. "Uh huh. Well then, I better make sure you stay safe." He yanked the sheet off her, balled it up, and tossed it in the corner. "Leave it there," he said to Luis. He patted her hip. "Lotta dangerous shit in a kitchen; best keep you away from it." He smiled. "I got a sudden taste for a big steak, broiled in the oven." Ace left; Chucky followed, almost stepping on his brother's heels. Luis started to follow, and then hesitated when he noticed that Bennie wasn't moving.

"Hey, kid! Get your ass in here and lend a hand."

"Your master's voice," she said. "Better go, Luis."

"And shut the door," his uncle added. A moment later, he approached the bed. He stared down, locking eyes with her, then reached out, tentatively, and touched her arm, just inside the elbow. His fingers traced a path down her arm, lingering at her armpit, then down her leather-clad flank, and finally to the string of her bikini bottom. His fingers slowly worked at the bow knot. His eyes never left her face.

"Bennie, what is it with you?" She assumed a tone of mild annoyance. "A man your age shouldn't act like he's always got one hand on his crotch, rubbing himself."

"The way you're acting isn't exactly on the bubble either," he said, freeing the string. His fingers slid over her bare stomach, just below her navel, to the other string. "A good girl like you ought to be struggling a little."

"If these chains were any tighter, I'd be lifting off the bed. I should try to squirm away, when I can't move more than a few inches? Or beg you to stop? Or maybe call for help? I have a feeling you'd get off on that, Bennie."

"Absolutely right. But it's still not natural." The other string came free; he folded the front of the garment down neatly on the bed, between her legs. Staring down at what lay revealed, he said, "You don't even trimit, do you? It grows that way. Perfectly even and symmetrical." He ran his fingers through her pubic hair. "You've got some very nice toys, little girl." His stroking became firmer, more insistent. A few minutes later, he stopped abruptly, clearly annoyed. "You one of those chicks has trouble?"

"What were you expecting, Bennie? I don't like you."

"Or maybe you're really a dyke?"

"Oh, please." She locked eyes with him again. "I'm a hetero female, with a twenty-year-old's appetite for sex. And I respond," she said slowly, "like a racehorse to its rider … if the right hand is holding the whip."

His breathing caught as he practically squirted pheromones into the air. She imagined him as an octopus in a cloud of ink.

"But there's only one man who can do that to me and he's not you. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a clumsy gynecologist." She broke eye contact and stared up at the ceiling. "Knock yourself out."

"I got you hot before," he said, sounding almost petulant.

"While I was sedated? I must have been dreaming of my husband. I can guarantee it won't happen while I'm conscious."

"If I had a week, I could make you get as juicy as a peach when I snap my fingers," he said harshly.

The door opened. "Uncle Ace wants some help with the oven."

He massaged her inner thigh. "We'll get back to this later."

As soon as he was through the door, the boy came to the bed and refastened her skimpy garment without looking down at his work. "He's a perv."

Unsmiling, she said, "With a capital P."

"Anne, you've got six people at home. Why only four steaks?"

Smart, and a good listener. Girls, you have got to meet this boy, if I don't kill him. "Because they're big steaks; the larger cuts are better quality. But we don't all eat a lot of red meat; Caitlin's the only girl who can keep up with the boys at the dinner table. So the rest of us share the fourth one."

"Jeez, you haven't had a bite all day. I'll bring you something when it's done."

"Rather you didn't."

"Huh?"

"I'm not hungry. Really."

"Anne, you've got to eat."

"No, I don't. A healthy person can go for days without food, as long as they have water. I'm not eating a thing until I'm out of this rig."

"I don't think they'll be impressed by a hunger strike."

"Neither do I. That's not the idea."

"Well, how about some aspirin for the headache?"

"Would that come with a glass of water?"

"Sure, no trouble. I'll just get Uncle Ace to give up a couple aspirin, and I'll be right back."

"Wait. You have to get aspirin from him?"

"He's got a big bottle; eats them like candy."

"Never mind, then. Don't ask, you'll just get in trouble."

"Over a couple aspirin?"

"Ace is not going to let you feed me painkillers." She pulled at her wrist manacles. "Luis, do you really think they put these on me to keep me from getting away? I'm in a windowless cell, practically naked, with nothing I can use for a tool or a weapon; if they think I've got a chance of dodging past three armed guards to the door, wouldn't it be enough just to chain one wrist to the bed? Even if they felt the need to bind my wrists and ankles, they didn't have to do it like this. Look at this bed: you could fasten these cuffs to an upright near the center, and I'd have about a foot of slack; not much, but my hands wouldn't be tingling all the time, and my back and joints wouldn't be aching from the constant traction. Instead, they spread-eagled me with the chains stretched to their limit. Luis, this has nothing to do with keeping me safe, and everything to do with making me hurt, without even a sheet for comfort. They're not offering me food." She shifted her hips. "So I'm not going to risk having to choose between soiling myself and begging them to let me up to use the bathroom."

"But, why? They don't even know you."

"Well, you could argue that they'd like me to sound all stressed out and hysterical when Jack calls; that they want him so upset for me, he'll do anything they say." She looked at him. "But I don't think that's the whole story. I think they're doing this to me ... for entertainment. To see if they can make me cry and beg. Don't be surprised if they forbid you to bring me food; and if they do, don't try to sneak any in. These guys are dangerous and crazy; don't cross them. Remember what your dad said. Just let this play out. Jack will get in touch, eventually, and settle with them, and that will be that."

"You have a lot of faith in Jack," he said skeptically.

"He's a man who inspires confidence; that's one reason he's rich."

Chucky stuck his head in the doorway. "Come on outta there, got a job for ya."

She turned her head to the big man. "Chuck? The offer still stands, if you guys haven't ruined the food."

Chuck entered the room, leaving the door open for Luis. Alone with her, he shuffled towards the bed, as if he were being pulled unwilling.

"Chuck, you have a problem with me, I don't know-"

"Shut up." He looked down at the sheet next to her head, avoiding eye contact. "Don't speak to me, unless I ask you a question. Don't call my name; don't let me hear you use my name when you're talking to someone else. If you do, I don't care what's goin on or who else is here, I'll put my fist in you." He turned away.

"Wait. Why-"

He whirled back and struck downward with savage force, driving his fist into her just above the navel. Although the angle was awkward, he was a big man, and he put the strength of his whole upper body into the blow. Held in place by her bonds and solidly backstopped by the stiff mattress, she felt his fist sink a respectable distance into her midsection. He's probably hit someone like this a hundred times; hope he doesn't notice anything odd about the way I feel against his fist.

"Huhhh!" She bugged her eyes out, pretending to be unable to draw breath, mouth open, heaving with the effort to pull in air. He stood watching. Waiting to see if I start breathing again. Might as well play this for all it's worth. She summoned tears, and felt them stream down her face as she writhed. Going to have to drink some water; I've got a feeling I might be expected to do a lot of crying soon. After almost two minutes, she let her struggles become weaker and unfocused her eyes, as if about to black out. Then, with a raw gasp, she drew a breath, then another, then coughed and gasped again.

Ace stuck his head in the door. "What the hell!" He rushed in. "What's wrong with her?"

"She pissed me off. I hit her. Just knocked the wind out of her."

"You stupid fuck, how's she supposed to get it back when we got her drawin quarter breaths as it is?" He popped the three releases on the front of the garment; it fell away from her as she heaved. Chuck watched the entire performance, silent and impassive, then turned and walked out. She continued to pant for a while, and then subsided.

"Ace, your brother's a … seriously disturbed man."

"Yeah, so am I. And you're one of the things that seriously disturbs me."

"This is news?"

He drew the bustier back together and began to refasten the buckles, starting from the bottom up. When he reached for the third and uppermost, he noticed her eyes on him; he let it drop, unfastened.

"What's wrong, Ace?"

"Just occurred to me: why bother?"

"Maybe you're turning queer. Care to explain how I seriously disturb you?" Breaking eye contact, she shifted her hips, as if trying to ease her back, nothing overtly seductive, but his eyes tracked the motion. Careful; leave most of Sarah's tricks in the bag, for now. "Is it a problem with girls in general? Or just the ones who sleep with Jack Lynch? Or a little of both?"

He stared down at her with an unreadable expression for ten seconds. Then, he abruptly turned and disappeared through the door. However, he returned moments later with a kitchen chair, which he set down next to the bed, and sat down facing her. "Since you're feelin chatty, let's play a little game; I call it 'Trading Secrets.' I ask you a question, you answer; you ask one, I answer. As soon as I think you're bullshittin me, the game's over – and I cinch up that last strap so tight, your eyes'll pop out. I'll go first: what kind of business is he in, that keeps him away from the wife and kiddies so much?"

"The same sort of business he was in when you knew him twenty years ago, Ace." Only, you didn't really know him, apparently. "He's a security consultant; also a contractor. He's the best there is, which is why he's in demand all over the world; also why he's so well-paid."

"And what does a 'security consultant' do for his money?"

"Is that a second question?"

"Don't get cute. Gimme an answer that tells me somethin."

"Okay. Anybody with a security concern about anything comes to Jack: he's trained bodyguards, made nuke plants safe from terrorists, recruited mercenaries for brush wars. Does that give you a clearer picture?"

"Yeah. He's a spook. Ask your question."

"This debt Jack owes, supposedly. Is there a Family component to it, or is it entirely personal?"

He glared at her. "What do you know about the Family?"

"I watch a lot of crime shows on TV."

His jaw worked. "The Family closed the books on it a long time ago."

"That doesn't tell me much, Ace."

"It answers everything you asked. My turn. How'd you end up together? Not just you; I mean everybody we seen runnin in and out of that house."

"That's a lot of questions wrapped into one. Don't expect more than Cliff's Notes for an answer."

"Cliff's Notes?"

"Very short version, lots of details left out."

"Just make sure they ain't important details. Remember what I said about bullshit."

"Bobby's his son from a previous marriage. The other kids are the children of old service buddies of his, guys who died or went missing. He took them in. Two of the girls are sisters."

"Hmp. Very fuckin noble. How do they pay for room and board?"

"By getting good grades in school, Ace. Nothing else. Jack's just very loyal to his friends."

"What about you? How'd you end up with an old wreck like him?"

She gave him a cool stare. "That's my man you're talking about, and he's the farthest thing from an 'old wreck' that I can imagine. I'm assuming you're not looking for a graphic description of our sex life. So what, exactly, do you want to know about him?"

"Come on, the guy's probably older than your dad; he didn't meet you in a bar, or a frickin dating service. What could you possibly have in common, what brought you together?"

"Office romance, sort of. We used to work for the same firm. When he retired and went into business for himself, he … took me with him."

He leaned forward. "From an 'international security' firm, eh? Were you workin for him then, or was he just pokin you?"

"I think you're getting personal, Ace. I also think you're getting a lot of mileage out of your one question."

He sat back and grinned. "Ask."

"Jack did something that's been gnawing at you for twenty years; how come you're doing something about it now?"

The grin froze on his face. "Ask another one."

"How did you find us?"

"Try again."

"This game is rigged, Ace."

He shrugged with his eyebrows. "You get tired of playin, you can quit anytime. I won't even touch that third strap."

"The boy. This isn't Family business, so why is he here?" As the man's face clouded, she hurried on, "Come on. You don't like him, he's not here to get introduced to the business, and I'll bet your chain of command doesn't even know he's here. Why did you bring your nephew to witness this? Third time, Ace – you playing or not?"

"He's … got a stake in this. That's all you get. My turn. Care to explain that purse of yours?"

She lifted a shoulder slightly, the best shrug she could manage. "You've got some idea where Jack and I used to work. Old habits die hard."

"So you weren't a secretary at this 'firm,' hey? You were a soldier?"

"When I met Jack, I was, cross my heart and hope to die, warehouse security. The old habits are Jack's, not mine. He wants me to be able to run like a rabbit if any old friends come calling." She shrugged in her bonds. "Obviously I've got no skill at that sort of thing."

"You know, I think I just caught a whiff of bullshit there. You didn't explain the cleaning kit, the one with those big-ass brushes."

"Short-barreled shotgun. It's the only gun I can hit anything with. I usually keep it under the seat, but it's at the shop, getting a lighter stock."

He thought it over. "Shotgun, okay. Thought that might be it."

"My turn." She pulled on her wrist manacles and rolled her hips again, arching her back with a tiny exhalation that was almost a sigh. Although she was careful to avoid eye contact, her peripheral vision revealed his keen interest in her movements. "Is this part of what you think Jack owes you, or are we mixing business with pleasure?" She pitched her voice low, locking eyes with him. "What's the name of the other game, the one we start playing after Jack calls, and I tell him I'm all right?"

His eyes searched her face. What's he looking for? Apprehension, pleading … some sign of fear or weakness, I'm sure. What would serve me better, weakness or strength? These men don't seem to be men inclined to mercy … but they do rise to a challenge. She kept her face impassive, expectant. Finally, he spoke. "We call it 'Make a Believer.' And it's part of the debt your old man owes; what with twenty years' interest, it's more than he can ever pay back by himself." He stood. "What the hell do you see in him?"

"Last question, I take it, Ace?"

"Yeah. Last question, then you can go nighty-night."

"I wouldn't know where to begin; I surely don't know how to explain it so you'd understand. He's just got a gift – he knows how to treat a girl. He knows what she wants, even when she doesn't." She met his eyes. "And he can always give her what she wants."

His fists balled at his sides. Without a word, he turned and left. She checked her tracking system again; everybody was home, in the kitchen, except for Sarah, who was at Saint Lawrence mission - sorting through donated clothes, probably. Should have suggested a salad to go with the casserole; too late now.

Luis stuck his head in. "I'm back."

"Obviously. This room is like a bus terminal. Are you guys really taking turns, or does it just seem that way?"

He stepped in, carrying a tumbler filled with water. "Uncle Ace gets nervous when you're in here alone. Uncle Chuck won't come in here by himself, so that leaves me or Uncle Bennie."

"A clear choice. Maybe you could spend the night? Ooh, that didn't come out right, did it?"

"Slut. Shut up and drink." He tipped the nearly full tumbler towards her mouth.

"Wait-"

Instead of pouring into her mouth, the liquid ran straight down the side of the glass and off the bottom, splashing her throat and chest.

"-Too full."

He made a disgusted sound, pulled the bottom of his loose shirt out of the front his pants, and briskly wiped her off. Thoughtless of anything but getting her dry, he chased the last rivulet deep into the leather bustier, actually touching her nipple before he realized what he was doing. He snatched his hand away as if he'd touched a hot stove. "Aahh, crap! I'm so sorry, Anne."

She tried to ignore the incident. "You'd better drink about half, before we do that again."

"Maybe I should pour it on my head. Man. Anne, I knew better than to tip the glass like that. But … I noticed that loose clasp … oh, damn. " His face was flaming. "I got distracted. And then… how much worse could I have made it? Uncle Bennie'd be proud of me."

"Oh, pooh. You just got carried away while you were doing something nice. Thank you. As for the other…" She wiggled the fingers of one hand. "Hand. Here. Now." They linked fingers; she caught his eyes and held them. "Luis, you're eighteen years old; healthy guys your age have sex fantasies about every presentable girl they meet – it's perfectly normal. I know I don't really fill out this outfit, but it's made to be provocative. If looking at me didn't get you bothered a little, I'd be insulted." She grinned, squeezed his fingers, and released them. "And by the way, girls are different from boys, but we're not completely different. While you were swabbing my face, I got a pretty good look at what you've got under your shirt. Call me shameless, but I was enjoying the view – you're awfully buff for a guy who says he never works out. So, let's not get all weird about it, okay?"

"Okay." He drank, looking down at her. "You want that snapped up?" He gestured toward the undone top buckle.

"Not on your life."

"Look, I'll be careful. I just-"

"It's got nothing to do with you, Luis; this thing is excruciating when it's all done up. You don't believe me, try to fasten it together."

He did. "Holy…" he said, when the ends were still an inch apart. "I can loosen this up."

"Don't you dare. It's like that for a reason, and I'm sure, sooner or later, one of your uncles will be putting it back together. Until then, I can at least take a breath without feeling like I'm bench pressing my own weight."

He met her eyes. "You're amazing, you know that? The way you're taking all this. I've seen people lose it when somebody pulls out in front of them in a car, and you're acting like this is just some petty annoyance."

She felt her features smooth out. "Oh, it's all an act. You wouldn't believe how hard I'm working to keep my emotions in check. I keep reminding myself that the party's just getting started; I've got to pace myself. How about that drink? And, if it's not too much trouble, a little help with my head? Takes the strain off my upper back."

His hand cupped the back of her neck as he tipped the glass to her lips. She took dainty little sips, making an elaborate production of swallowing and moistening her lips, as if she were parched. She felt reluctant to finish the glass; she found that she was enjoying Luis's attention, and the feel of his hand. God, how I miss tender gestures already. At home with the kids, hardly an hour goes by without a brief touch, or a pat, or fingers in the hair. And when Jack is home… At last, the glass was empty; Luis released her and set it on the chair seat. Great. Now I'll have a good supply of tears for the next time one of these sadistic apes has a problem he needs to take out on me. It doesn't matter that they're not really hurting me; the constant exposure to all this willful cruelty is waking up something I'd rather leave sleeping. If Jack doesn't shake some information loose from these guys when he calls, I might just give in and throw my own party.

She noticed that Luis was staring at her. "What?"

"I think I just saw your self-control slip a little." He removed the glass from the chair, set it on the floor, and sat. "Unless they throw me out, I'm spending the night right here."

"Luis, I was just kidding. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."

"Uh huh. Well, for me, it's either this or a mattress on the floor, two feet from Uncle Bennie."

"Eww."

A high-pitched squeal, almost a whistle, sounded from the kitchen. Cursing followed, then the sound of the oven door opening, and finally the side door was slammed open.

"Smoke alarm," Luis said. "I didn't know this dump had one."

"Sounds like takeout again tonight," she agreed.