Houses of Stone by KATHY (booksvooks .TXT) 📕

of the romances had felt. Which was worse, to be shut in by impenetrable walls or to know that the walls were not impenetrable—that something threatening could get in? Right now I'll take the impenetrable walls, she thought, and prayed for rain as devoutly as any drought-afflicted farmer. A heavy downpour would cool the pursuers' enthusiasm.

The voices rose to a clamorous howl and then stopped. "Shit," said a voice loudly. "There's nobody here."

"Where'd he go?" demanded another voice. "I told you you shouldn't've yelled like that, he heard us and now he's run off like the yellow coward—"

"There's no place he could run to." That was Bobby. "You see any way out of here?"

"Well, damn it, he ain't here, is he? Maybe he's hiding in the house."

"Or someplace closer," Bobby said.

Turning, Karen saw Cameron's head and shoulders silhouetted against the opening. "Get back," she mouthed at him, but she dared not speak, and she knew he was probably incapable of going farther inside. She could hear the crackle of brush underfoot as someone approached the stone walls.

"Come on, Bobby," one of the others called. "I tole you, he ain't here. Let's get out of this place. I don't like it."

"Is the little boy scared?" Bobby's voice was terrifyingly close. "Did his mammy tell him scary stories about bad things in the woods? Don't worry, little feller, Bobby'll protect you from the boogeyman."

The object of his derision muttered something obscene. Bobby laughed. "Here, have another drink. Nothing like it to chase the spooks away."

There was a brief silence while—Karen assumed—the bottle was being passed around. Then twigs snapped under approaching feet. He was so close she heard his breath go out in a soft, ugly sigh of satisfaction. The form silhouetted against the lacy fretwork of vines was not Cameron's. He had flattened himself against the wall.

Karen clawed at the rock beside her, trying to break off a fragment large and sharp enough to use as a weapon. The limestone crumbled under her nails. Lifting Peggy's jacket, she fumbled frantically in the pockets, hoping against hope there would be something there. Even a nail file would be better than nothing. Not much better, though . . .

Crumpled Kleenex, cigarettes, lighter. Nothing sharp, nothing heavy. Turning with difficulty in the cramped space, Karen snapped the lighter. The small flame wouldn't be visible from outside with her body shielding it. Anyhow, Bobby knew they were inside the tunnel. He had burst into raucous, off-key song—something about a fox in its hole.

Karen crawled forward, holding the lighter high. Through her mind ran a prayerful litany: a large rock, a forgotten trowel, a lost knife . . . Why don't you pray for a .45 Magnum while you're at it, she thought despairingly. The ceiling lowered till it brushed her bowed head. She saw it drop to meet the floor, marking the end of the tunnel, and at the same moment she heard the crackle and crunch of brush and a shout of triumph from Bobby. Cameron had gone out. Damn him and his gallantry! If he had stayed put, they would have had to come at him one at a time, and it wouldn't have been easy for them to drag him out into the open. But then they might have seen her.

The lighter was scorching her fingers. Her desperate gaze swept the rough surfaces. Nothing. Bucky had been too damned efficient: he had taken his tools with him and cleared out every rock larger than a pebble.

Then she saw it—a rounded shaft, brown, brittle and broken. Too fragile to serve as a weapon—but her fingers closed over it, and before the lighter died she saw other things in the dust.

The incredible message they conveyed would have meaning to her later; now she shunted it aside into a separate compartment of her mind. No time now, no time for anything except trying to stop what was happening. The sounds she heard, distorted though they were by echoes and distance, turned her stomach.

Her sudden appearance made the men start. They hadn't known she was there. Stupid of them, she thought with icy detachment; they ought to have noticed Peggy's car.

"Well, just look what we got here!" Bobby crowed. "Reckon this is your lucky day, honey. Take good care of my favorite brother-in-law, boys, while I give the little lady a hearty welcome."

Cameron raised his head. Two of them were holding him by the arms. He would have fallen if they had let go; his eyes had difficulty focusing and blood dripped from his mouth. "Don't be a damned fool, Bobby," he said thickly. "If you lay one finger on her she'll press charges, and so will I. Aren't you in enough trouble already?"

One of the men holding him relaxed his grip and said uneasily, "I don't need that kind of shit, Bob. Maybe we better—"

"It'll be their word against ours," Bobby said. Thumbs hooked in the belt of his jeans, he studied Karen from head to foot and back again. She knew, with the same cold detachment, why he hadn't moved in on her. He was waiting for her to run.

Somehow she doubted that the application of conscious virtue would have much effect on Bobby. Running or screaming would have been fatal, though. He'd love a show of fear. She stared back at him, unblinking, and said coolly, "My word carries more weight than yours, Bobby. I'll have your ass in jail if you don't let him go and get the hell out of here right now."

"You and who else?" He took a step toward her.

"The others will be back soon. Professor Meyer—"

"The big hero that saved you from being run over?" Bobby's grin stretched another couple of inches. "Who do you think it was set that up, honey? The cheap bastard only paid me fifty bucks, so I gave myself the pleasure of coming a little closer than he expected. He won't interfere with me. He wouldn't want the fuzz to find out about