The hand over my face eased up, the noxious rag being pulled away. I wanted to gasp, to suck in air like a marathon runner, but I managed to take a slow, silent breath through my nose.

The fumes still clinging to my face smelled like gasoline, and by sheer will I didn't sneeze or cough. I kept my breathing slow, like I was sleeping, even though my heart pounded so loud and fast I could hear it.

"She's out. Grab an arm."

I felt myself lifted into an upright position, my arms over their shoulders. Then I was dragged, my feet scraping against the asphalt, which tore at my bare toes like sandpaper. I bit my inner cheek. If I made a peep, they'd use the rag again.

"Her feet! Watch her feet! I don't want them messed up!"

"Shh! Lift higher."

Then I was completely off the ground. I tried to peek, to see where we were, but everything was blurry and opening my eyes made the pain worse. I could feel the weight of my purse still hanging at my side, and I had a dull throb in my shoulder where I'd hit the pavement, but it didn't seem dislocated or broken.

"It's this one."

My body was shifted, and I heard the jingle of keys and a vehicle door opening.

"I'll get in first, pull her up."

"Check around for witnesses."

"We're alone out here, brother."

Another shift, and then strong hands under my armpits, pulling me up, hands on my ankle, my right shoe coming off, and then…

Something warm and wet on my big toe.

Jesus… he's got my toe in his mouth.

His tongue circled it, once, twice, and then I felt the suction. Heard the slurping. Heard him moan.

This freak is sucking my toe.

Wet and sloppy, like a popsicle. I wanted to flinch. I wanted to scream.

Stay still, Jack. Don't kick him. Don't move.

His teeth locked on, scraping along the top and bottom, not enough to break the skin but enough to hurt, the pressure increasing…

I felt a surge of revulsion unlike any I've ever experienced, and my muscles involuntarily locked and my stomach churned, threatening to upload the burger and curds. I was half-hanging out of a truck, and I couldn't see, but I was going to take my chances and kick this bastard in the face, hopefully burying my shoe heel into his eye socket. It was two on one, and they had my gun, but I wasn't going to let him chew my toe off without a fight.

" Taylor, let's hold off until we get her inside."

My toe was abruptly released, and then I was violently shoved upward onto the fat guy's lap. I assumed he was sitting in the driver's seat of a semi. I felt his hot breath on my ear, and then the clammy touch of his lips. One hand pawed at my chest, tugging at my bra through my shirt. The other slid up my leg.

"Such a pretty lady," he said, nuzzling my neck. "I'm going to love feeding you your face."

Breathe slowly, Jack. Don't tense up and let him know you're awake.

When his lips touched my cheek it was like a taser shock, and my bile began to rise again.

"Take her in the back," Taylor said. "We'll bring her up to the sleeper."

The fat man gave my knee a final squeeze, then grunted as he hefted me up in his arms and shifted his bulk. Once again I was lifted, tugged, and pushed. I chanced a peek, everything dark and blurry, wanting so badly to rub my eyes, and all I could make out was a ladder of some sort.

"There's a handle on the trap door. Turn it."

"Where?"

"Right above your head."

I was shoved through an opening in the ceiling of the cab, then dropped unceremoniously onto a mat. It was hot. I smelled bleach, cheap perfume, and the copper-pennies stench of fresh blood. Also, underneath everything, was an odor that scared me to my core, an odor I recognized from hundreds of cases from more than twenty years or cases. A cross between meat gone bad and excrement that all the bleach on the planet couldn't ever fully erase.

The stink of dead bodies.

People have died in this room.

"Warm up here."

"When we get started, I'll put the air conditioning on. I've also got recessed stereo speakers, for mood music, and an AC outlet up by the fire alarm, if you want to plug in any power tools."

"I like power tools."

"Give yours a tap, see if she's awake yet."

I heard a slapping sound, skin on skin, and then a feminine whine.

"She's still groggy."

"She'll be up soon. I know she's not much to look at, but that really doesn't matter once you get started, does it?"

"Actually, Taylor, as grateful as I am to you for inviting me into your home, I've been reading about Jack Daniels for years. She's every killer's wet dream."

There was a long pause.

"What are you saying?" Taylor said.

"I'm saying I want the cop."

"We already agreed, she's mine."

"You can have her feet. I want her face."

"Maybe I want the whole thing."

Donaldson laughed. "You know, you remind me of my younger brother. I miss that kid, so much that I sometimes regret killing him. But I remember something my father used to say when we were fighting over a toy. He said, If you can't share, then neither of you can have it. "

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of my.38 being cocked.

– 7-

Standing on the ladder, with his upper half through the trap door, Taylor stared at the gun in the kneeling fat man's hand. It was pointed at the cop's head, but Donaldson's eyes were focuses on him.

Goddammit, why did I let him grab the gun?

Taylor felt himself go dead inside, like his body turned to ice. He chose his words carefully, keeping his voice even. "You know what, Donaldson? Maybe you're right. Sharing seems like a fair thing to do, and it might even be fun. Besides, it would be a shame to deprive such a famous lady of either of our company. But I have to say that seeing you holding a gun makes me a bit nervous. We don't want to make enemies of each other, do we?"

Donaldson smiled, shrugged, and then uncocked the gun and shoved it into his front pocket. "I appreciate your generosity, Taylor. Really, I do. And normally I wouldn't be so ungracious to a fellow traveler. But this woman just does something to me. I haven't been this excited in years."

"I can see that." Taylor was eye-level with Donaldson's crotch. "Or maybe that's the gun."

"So let's have a meeting of the minds."

"Fine."

Taylor relaxed a notch now that the weapon was out of play, but he had no doubt Donaldson would use it again. His original fantasy of tag-team action had been replaced by the unpleasant image of Donaldson tying him up and feeding him his own face. When there are too many foxes in the henhouse, the foxes kill each other. A shame, because Taylor was starting to like the older man.

"Since you agree to sharing," Donaldson said, "would you be adverse to both of us going at her at the same time? You take the bottom half, I take the top?"

Taylor reached a hand behind his back and touched the folding knife clipped to his belt-Donaldson had given it back to him in the parking lot. Killing him right now would probably be the best bet, but the guy was big, and the knife blade was short. Unless he died quick, Donaldson would fight back and be able to grab his gun.

No, the knife wasn't the way to go.

But Taylor did have a sawed-off shotgun under his passenger seat. All he needed to do was jump down, lock the trap door, and grab it.

"Sharing would be okay." Taylor tried to look thoughtful. "But I want to look her in the eyes when I'm doing my thing. Be tough to do if her eyes were gone."

"They wouldn't be gone. They'd be in her mouth."

Taylor shook his head. "That wouldn't be good for me."

"I could leave her eyes alone. Maybe just take off her eyelids so she'd be forced to look. It could work. We could do a trial run on the whore, here."