...

Carlisle had tried explaining that same thing to Gary Ladd years before, the morning after their little debacle, but the man had been hysterical when he learned the girl was dead, astounded that things had got so far out of hand while he slept.

Even then, things would have been fine if Ladd hadn't lost his nerve and gone back later to move the body so she could have a proper burial.

The fool dumped her in a water hole, for God's sake, thinking people would be stupid enough to believe she had drowned. With the rope burns around her neck and her nipple bitten off? What the hell kind of dumb-ass idea was that? And then, a week later, if Carlisle hadn't stopped him, Ladd would have gone to town and confessed for both of them, taking his tell-tale manuscript with him. Thanks a lot, buddy, but no thanks.

Carlisle shivered at the tantalizing memory, letting his imagination travel back to the cave, remembering that long-ago desert night and the girl. Despite her objections, he had coaxed her into that huge and immensely silent place. He had started a small fire-for light he had told her-but light wasn't all the fire was for, not at all. He had other plans for those burning twigs and coals.

To begin with, she had liked being tied up, giggling drunkenly as he bound her, thinking it nothing but some kind of kinky game. Gradually, as she learned the terrible truth, her tipsy laughter changed, first to fear and then to terror and dread as the tenor of the night changed around her. Carlisle hadn't much liked her screaming when it finally came to that. Screaming showed a certain lack of delicacy and finesse on his part. He much preferred the small, animal-like whimpers of pain and the begging.

God, how her begging had excited him! Even though it was in a language he didn't speak, he had understood her well enough. He hadn't stopped when she asked him to, of course, but he had understood.

And all the while that jackass of a Gary Ladd was dead drunk in the pickup. When he did wake up finally, after the fun and games were all over, Carlisle managed to convince Gary that he, too, had been an active participant in all that had gone before, that being too drunk to remember was no excuse.

'But she's dead,' Ladd had protested, as though he couldn't quite believe it Of course she was dead. Carlisle had always intended that she would be, that was the whole idea, wasn't it? But Gary Ladd was far too cowardly to value or take advantage of what he was learning, and he hadn't been smart enough to keep his mouth shut, either.

Carlisle shook himself out of what was almost a stupor and found he was sitting on the floor in front of Diana Ladd's couch. Both the boy and the old woman were tied up, although he didn't remember finishing the job. They were both watching him with strange expressions on their faces. Had he blacked out for a moment or what?

These episodes were beginning to bother him. It had happened several times of late, and it scared the shit out of him. Was he losing his mind? He'd come back to himself feeling as though he'd been asleep when he knew he hadn't been. Sometimes only seconds would have passed, sometimes whole minutes.

He inspected the knots. They were properly tied, but he had no recollection of doing it. Somehow it seemed as though his body and his mind functioned independently.

He'd have to watch that. It could be dangerous, especially in enemy territory.

'Who are you?' the boy demanded.

Carlisle looked hard at the child, recognizing some of Gary Ladd's features, but the boy had a certain toughness that had been totally lacking in his father.

'Well, son,' Carlisle said in a kind tone that belied his words, 'you can just think of me as retribution personified, a walking, talking Eye-for-an-Eye.'

Davy Ladd frowned at the unfamiliar words, but he didn't back off.

'What does that mean?'

Andrew Carlisle laughed, giving the boy credit for raw nerve. 'It means that the sins of the fathers are visited on the sons, just like the Good Book says. It also means that if you don't do every single goddamned thing I say, then I use my trusty knife, and you and your mother and this old lady here are all dead meat. Do you understand that?'

Davy nodded.

The room was quiet for a moment when suddenly, sitting there, looking him directly in the eye, the old lady began what sounded like a mournful, almost whispered chant in a language Carlisle didn't recognize. He glowered at her.

'Shut up!' he ordered.

She stopped. 'I'm praying,' she said, speaking calmly.

'I'm asking I'itoi to help us.'

That made him laugh, even though he didn't like the way she looked at him. 'You go right ahead, then. If you think some kind of Indian mumbo-jumbo is going to fix all this, then be my guest. But I wouldn't count on it, old woman. Not at all.'

'Why did you do it?' she asked.

'Do what?'

'Why did you kill my granddaughter?'

Prosecutors and lawyers and police tend to limp around questions like that. Carlisle wasn't accustomed to such a direct approach. It caught him momentarily off guard.

'Because I felt like it,' he said with a grin. 'that's all the reason I needed.'

A while later, Coyote followed the trail to where Cottontail was sitting. 'Brother, you tricked me back there, and now I really am going to eat you up.'

'Please, ' said Cottontail, 'don't eat me yet. I don't want to die until I have seen a jig dancer one last time. Do this for me and then you may eat to your heart's content.'

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