The chain slashed her belly.

"I did not expect them to come," the woman said in a trembling voice. "They threw her out. She's ours."

"Will we drink?" asked a voice.

"When I am done with her." Again, the chain whipped down.

Lacey bucked as it tore her.

"The dagger."

A teenaged girl in a bikini and Dodger cap handed a knife to her. Lacey stared at its thin, tapering blade.

"The river flows," said the woman.

"The river is red," chanted the others.

"The river flows!"

"Flows from the heart."

"The river..."

"They're coming out!" a man cried.

Lifting her head, Lacey stared over her torn body. Dukane and Scott were out of the house, walking slowly forward, tugging at the open s.p.a.ce between them.

She glanced at the woman, saw a fierce smile on her face.

"Tell the snipers not to shoot. I want all three alive."

A man spoke over his megaphone, ordering everyone to hold fire.

On both sides of the car, men and women lowered their weapons.

Lacey gazed at Scott, watched him struggle to hold his invisible, silent captive. The pain of her wounds was forgotten as grat.i.tude and despair brought tears to her eyes.

They're doing this for me, she realized.

Sacrificing themselves.

If only she'd had the courage to end her life back at the house when she had the chance...

They were thirty yards away.

"Go back!" she yelled, but she knew it was too late.

The men kept coming, jerking and swaying as if the beast between them fought to free himself.

Twenty yards.

She could see the grim, determined look on Scott's face.

Ten yards.

A low laugh came from the woman. "Bring him Tome," she called. "I have waited a long time for Samuel Hoffman. And for you, Matthew Dukane. This will be a great day for me."

"Every dog has its day," Dukane said. One side of his mouth curled into a smile.

He and Scott sprang apart, diving sideways and rolling through the dust. Four pistols appeared from behind them. They stopped rolling, and their gunfire stuttered through the stillness in a deafening roar.

Bodies whirled and flopped. Dirt exploded around Scott and Dukane as their fire was returned. Screams tore through the din. A man clutched his belly and sat down hard. The ball cap and b.l.o.o.d.y matter flew from the head of the teenaged girl as she fired at Dukane. He tossed a pistol aside and kept firing his automatic. A man spun, crashed into the side of the car, and fell.

Dukane yelled as he was. .h.i.t.

Scott rose to one knee, not even glancing at him, shoving a fresh magazine into the handle of his.45. Gravel kicked up beside his foot, but he didn't flinch. He worked the slide and resumed firing.

Dukane was on his knees, his left arm hanging limp, firing with his right.

A man raced forward, shooting. A bullet slammed him down.

Abruptly, there was silence.

Jerking her head from side to side, Lacey saw no one still standing. On both sides of the car lay crumpled bodies.

Scott ran forward in a crouch. Far off, a rifle cracked. Dirt spouted in front of him.

As Dukane dropped and crawled forward, Scott dived to the ground near a fat man. He grabbed the man's rifle. It had a telescopic sight. Settling himself in a p.r.o.ne position, he aimed toward the far left of the house.

A distant shot. The top of a cactus near Dukane exploded. Scott fired, then made a thumbs-up sign at Dukane. He swung the barrel to his right.

Dukane scurried forward. He reached the front of the car, and began to cut the rope at Lacey's foot.

A shot thunked the grill.

Scott fired. "Watch it," he called. "Still one out there."

Dukane freed Lacey's left hand, then rushed around the rear of the car and came up at her other side. As he sliced through the rope, a shot rang out. The bullet smacked the windshield inches above her head.

He scurried to the front.

Scott fired. "Got him!" he yelled. "That oughta be it."

Lacey sat up. As soon as her right foot was loose, she scooted off the hood. Scott, hurrying toward her, pa.s.sed the rifle to Dukane and pulled off his shirt. He draped the shirt over Lacey's back. Holding her by the shoulders, he looked down at her torn body. "Oh G.o.d, Lacey," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

With blurry, tear-filled eyes, she stared at his tormented face. She kissed him. Then she managed a smile. "Who do you think you are, James Bond?"

"Max Carter and Charlie Dane."

Dukane came up behind him. "I think I deserve a kiss, too."

He got one. Lacey hugged him, ignoring the pain of her own wounds, and kissed his dry lips.

"You guys are nuts, coming out like that."

"The best defense..." Dukane said.

Lacey gasped, her joy suddenly turning to cold fear. "Hoffman! You let him..." She staggered back, clutching the shirt tight to hide her nakedness, looking behind her as if she might somehow see him sneaking up.

"Hoffman isn't with us," Dukane said.

"I know. You let him..."

"He's still in the house," Scott interrupted. "Securely handcuffed in the bathroom."

"You mean...?"

"Pretty good act, huh?"

"Now," said Dukane, "how about attending to my arm before I bleed to death?"

"Oh," Scott muttered. "Forgot about that."

"I didn't."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

The bullet had smashed a bone in Dukane's forearm. Scott broke the stock off a rifle, and made ungainly splints from it. He used strips of Dukane's shirt to bandage the wound and lash the splints into place.

"We'd better get you to a hospital," he said. "Both of you, and Nancy."

"All in good time. See if the car works."

Scott helped Lacey inside.

"Right with you," Dukane said.

As Scott climbed into the driver's seat, Dukane wandered from body to body, crouching over several of the women for a closer inspection.

Scott turned the ignition key. The car came to life, blowing cool, welcome air onto Lacey.

"What's he looking for?" she asked.

Scott shook his head.

Finally, Dukane climbed into the backseat. In each hand, he held a large gold band, the bands Lacey had seen on the arms of the woman who'd whipped her. "I know I hit the b.i.t.c.h," he said. "Saw her go down."

"Who?"

"Laveda. But she's not here now. Just her d.a.m.n jewelry. Did you see anyone run off?"

"No," Scott said. "I thought we got them all."

"Okay. Let's pick up Hoffman and Nancy, and get the h.e.l.l out of here."

The car sped forward, b.u.mping over the rough earth, down a gradual slope, and up a rise to the flat area in front of the house. Scott turned off the engine. "You can wait here if you want," he told Lacey.

She didn't want to be left alone. "I'll go in," she said.

Scott pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out. Lacey opened her door. Stifling heat wrapped her like a blanket as she climbed out. She glimpsed the body of the man under the broken window, hammer still clutched in his outflung hand.

She entered the house behind Scott. Dukane followed and shut the door. The house was silent.

"Nancy?" Dukane called.

No answer.

He suddenly broke into a run, vanishing down the hall. Scott and Lacey rushed after him.

The bedroom was empty.

"Nancy?"

From the closet came a m.u.f.fled sob.

Dukane jerked its door open.

Nancy sat crouched in a corner, half-hidden behind hanging dresses. Her black hair clung to her face with sweat. Though the room was hot and she wore jeans and a wool shirt, Lacey could see her shivering.

"It's all right," Dukane told her. "It's over. Everything's fine."

"No," she gasped, batting away his hands as he reached for her. Her wide eyes blinked. "Not over. Wanta hide."

From behind them came a scream that washed over Lacey like a vile, chilling flood. It was the scream of a man.

"Get Nancy out of here," Scott snapped, and ran after Dukane.