Two-to-one odds aren't very good, especially for a cop dealing with crooks who may not care that much if they live or die.
He considered honking the horn to alert the people in the house of the impending danger, but that might do more harm than good. If Diana came outside to see what was going on, she might possibly fall into the wrong hands.
What if the crooks took off with her before help arrived?
Finally, Walker hit on the only strategy that seemed feasible. He would attempt to make his way to the house undetected. Once inside, he and Diana could probably hold the bad guys off long enough for help to arrive and catch them in a cross fire. Once the decision was made, Walker moved to put it into action.
Closing his eyes so the overhead light wouldn't rob him of night vision, he eased open the passenger door and quickly dropped to the ground. The door closed behind him with a dull thud, and he scuttled silently off into the desert. swinging wide and hoping to make it to the side of the house before Carlisle and his pal realized what he was up to.
The bacon turned to hard, brittle curls in the pan, but an oblivious Andrew Carlisle continued talking. 'There are tools for rape, you see, things you wouldn't normally think about, but in prison you have to use whatever's handy.
You'd be surprised what people get off on. This gun, for instance.
What would you think if I crammed that all the way up inside you?
Would it make you come? The metal gun sight might bother you a little.
don't you think?'
Diana's stomach lurched with dread, and the hand holding the wooden spatula trembled uncontrollably.
His voice rose in pitch. 'Look at me when I speak to you. I asked you a simple question. What would you think of it?'
She looked. He was grinning at her, holding the .45, fondling it, sensually stroking the long barrel with his fingertips. I wouldn't like it,' she said.
'Wouldn't you?' he asked, eyeing her speculatively. 'I think you would. Maybe after I eat, we could have a lesson.
I'll show you how it works right here on the kitchen table.
Mr. Colt has a permanent hard-on for you. I think he'd enjoy it.'
He paused, as if waiting for Diana to comment. When she didn't, he bent over and pulled something out of the top of his boot. She saw him out of the corner of her eye and trembled to think that he had retrieved his knife, which he would use on her as well, but when he straightened up, he wasn't holding the knife at all. Between his fingers was a key-a familiar, old-fashioned skeleton key.
'Or maybe, little Mama,' he added with a malicious grin 'since you don't think you'd like it, maybe I should get that kid of yours out here and cram it down his throat or maybe up his ass a couple of inches. How much could he take? How much could you? What would you do then.
Diana? Would you ask me to stop? Would you beg me to do it to you instead of him? Would you crawl on your hands and knees on the floor and kiss my feet and beg?'
A shock of recognition sent needles and pins through her hands and feet.
Davy wasn't dead after all. He was alive and in the root cellar.
There was still hope, still a chance.
Suddenly, frowning, Carlisle stood up. 'Hey, wait a minute, aren't you burning the bacon?'
Putting the key down on the table and retrieving the gun, he started toward the stove. When he was three steps away, Diana grabbed the overheated handle of the frying pan and heaved it full in his face.
Pieces of blackened bacon clung to his skin wherever they landed. He screamed as fiery-hot fat burned through his clothing, sealing it to his skin. Diana dodged to one side as the gun roared to life, shattering the window behind her.
Walker, riveted by both the ungodly scream and the gunfire, knew his worst nightmare had come true. Somehow his opponents had made their way inside and were firing guns. Someone was hit and dying.
Forgetting about cover, Walker charged toward the house himself, circling around the thicket of gigantic prickly pear and coming up on the front porch from the opposite direction. He tried the door handle and found it locked. He tried kicking it, but the stout old door didn't give way.
The windows all had screens. From inside the house, Walker heard the sounds of an ongoing battle, but off to the side of the porch, the detective caught sight of movement.
'Stop,' he shouted, but two shadowy figures simply disappeared into the darkness beyond the porch. Two of them, he thought. Some inside and at least two still out here.
How the hell many of them are there? Walker wondered grimly.
In silent pursuit, he moved sideways off the porch. At the side of the house, he encountered only a massive wall with a tall wooden gate. He tried the gate, but it appeared to be latched from the inside.
Through a nightmare of searing pain, Andrew Carli tried to wipe the clinging grease from his face and He could see nothing. I'm blind! he thought furiously.
bitch blinded me!
He slipped on the greasy floor and crashed into the table, banging it into the wall before managing to right himself With superhuman effort, he pulled himself above the terrible pain.
'I'll kill you,' he whispered hoarsely. 'So help me God, bitch, I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do!
