She sounded closer, now. Somewhere in the hallway, not far from the bedroom door.

Is she by herself? Hunter wondered.

Even if she is, so what? If I try anything, she'll cut me to pieces.

"Where are you?" she sang. "Here, kitty kitty kitty."

Looking for a cat? Hunter had a moment of joyful relief before realizing he had misheard her. She hadn't said "kitty."

She chanted again, "Here, kiddy, kiddy. Where are you? You can't hide from me, my little sweety-pie. I'll sniff you out."

The light came on.

Squatted behind the painting, Hunter cringed.

She can't see me, he told himself. I can't see her, so she can't see me. She doesn't even know I'm in this room.

"Hmmm," she said. "What have we here?"

She can't see me!

"What wonderful paintings! Oh, my! How macabre! How delightful! Ooo, that one gives me goosebumps. I'm prickly all over, just looking at it. All prickly and goosebumpy. Delicious."

After saying that, she went silent.

No voice, no sound of footsteps.

Maybe she left.

Silence.

Trying to make no sounds himself, Hunter held his breath. He heard only the pounding of his heart.

She is gone, he told himself. She went to look in a different room.

Then he heard the floor creak.

It creaked quietly, its sound almost silenced by the carpet, but it creaked so very close to Hunter, where he crouched behind the painting, that he almost groaned in despair.

"Ah." The voice came from straight above him.

Cringing inside, Hunter tilted back his head.

He saw the undersides of two sweaty breasts. The woman did have goosebumps, just as she'd said. And very large, stiff nipples. Above and between her breasts, her face smiled down at Hunter.

"Gotcha," she whispered.

The painting blocked his view of everything below her breasts, so he couldn't see if she had the saber.

"I give," he said to her.

She looked amused. "Give what?"

"Up."

"You give up?"

He nodded.

"Glad to hear it."

As she smiled strangely down at Hunter, her right breast lifted slightly. Then both breasts lurched. The lip of the saber popped through the canvas, rammed toward Hunter and pinned his shill to his chest. He tumbled backward, escaping from the blade but only for a moment.

It jabbed him in the chest. "Ow!"

A satisfied smile on her face, the woman stepped back and slashed the canvas to tatters. With the blade, she lifted the remains of the painting and hurled it out of the way. It crashed into others, knocking a few of them to the floor.

Slumped in the corner with nothing to shield him from the woman, Hunter raised his hands in front of his face.

"Don't," he whimpered. "Please."

"Don't what?"

"Kill me."

"Why not?"

"Please."

"Put your hands down."

He kept them up, ready to block the descending blade. "Down."

Lowering them, he glimpsed the patch of red wetness on the chest of his shirt. He crossed his forearms over it and looked up at the woman.

She was smirking down at him, the saber in her right hand raised high as if she were all set to slash downward and finish him off. Her body glistened with sweat. She looked sleek and strong, like women Hunter had seen sometimes on TV bodybuilding shows.

Strong enough to cut me in two.

She had no make-up on. No tattoos. No jewelry. She wore only a brown leather belt, loose around her hips. On the right side of the belt hung a large leather sheath with a knife in it. Below her belt buckle, she was hairless and smooth.

"Take a good look, kid. I'm the last one you'll ever..." She flinched as if prodded in the back. Gasping, "Yah!" she whirled around and cocked her arm, ready to slash the intruder.

An intruder she couldn't seem to find Her head jerked this way and that.

Hunter saw no one, but the woman's naked body was blocking much of his view.

"Screw with me," she said, "I'll chop you to ribbons."

She was starting to breathe hard. Hunter saw her shoulders rise and fall as he scooted quietly toward her, feet first. Dribbles of sweat were running down her spine. A droplet slid down the crease between her round, solid buttocks.

"Who's there?" she demanded.

"Everything okay up there?" a man's voice called out. It sounded as if he were shouting from downstairs.

"Fine and dandy," the woman muttered to herself.

"Eleanor?"

"No problem!" she yelled. "I've got the kid. I'll be right down!"

Hunter drew back his right foot, aimed the sole of his sneaker at Eleanor's Achilles tendon, and kicked forward.

CHAPTER NINE.

Last year, a member of his cross-country team had accidentally gotten kicked in the Achilles tendon. The kid had let out a scream of agony. An axe to the back of his foot couldn't have done a better job taking him down. He hadn't been able to get up again. They'd carried him off the field and he'd missed the rest of the running season.

When Hunter struck out at Eleanor's tendon, he hoped for similar results.

He didn't get them.

Instead of shrieking in pain, she gasped with surprise. Her right foot shot forward, flew high. She waved her arms. Her saber slashed the air. Then she fell backward onto Hunter. Sat down hard on his thighs, slammed his back against the hardwood floor. An instant later, the top of her head clipped his chin. His teeth clashed together.

Though barely conscious, he felt Eleanor's weight on top of him and knew this was his only chance.

Already, he could feel her trying to sit up.

If I let her get away...

He hooked his left arm across her throat and squeezed, trying to choke her. But something was in the way. Her chin? Then one of her hands was pulling at his arm while her other hand tried to bring the saber into play. He hammered his right fist down against her face again and again and again. She grunted and whimpered. She bucked. She thrashed and writhed, but she couldn't free herself from his squeezing forearm and clubbing fist. Though she jerked the saber this way and that, she couldn't get at him with it. Then she let it fall and caught hold of his wrist.

"Stop!" she gasped. "Stop. I give."

He stopped pounding her face, stopped trying to choke her.

She released his arms, then lay limp on top of him, panting for air.

After a few seconds, she said, "Let me up."

"Don't move." Keeping his left arm across her throat, Hunter reached out with his other hand and grabbed the saber. He raised it over Eleanor's face to let her see that he had it.

"Put your arms out," he said.

"Huh?"

"Like wings."

She stretched out her arms.

"Keep them that way and sit up. If you do anything, I'll chop you."

With her arms out straight to the right and left, she sat up. Hunter winced at the weight on his thighs.

"Now stand up," he said. "But keep your arms like that."

She drew her knees in close to her chest and leaned forward. As she rose to her feet, Hunter sat up and shoved himself off the floor.

Standing behind her, he pressed the edge of the blade against the side of her neck.

"Now take off your belt. Unbuckle it and let it drop. Keep your hand away from the knife."

She lowered her arms and head.

Hunter could only see the backs of her arms down to her elbows. From elbows to hands, they were in front of her... unfastening the belt buckle by the sounds he heard.

He watched the sheathed knife by her right hip. A couple of times, his eyes strayed over to her buttocks. He tried not to stare at them, though.

Soon, the belt, sheath and knife fell to the floor.

"Okay," Hunter said.

"Okay what?"

"That was good."

"Right."

"Okay." He took the sword away from her neck. "Now put your hands on top of your head."

"Gonna book me?"

"Just do it, okay?"

She did it, then turned around, fingers interlaced on top of hoi head, a smirk on her face. Her cheeks were ruddy from the punch. One eye was puffy. Blood ran from her nostrils, coated her lips and dripped off her chin.

Hunter felt a little sick, realizing he had done this to her. he fore the pounding, she'd had a pretty face... if you didn't count its smirk and meanness.

She had it coming, he told himself. For godsake, don't feel sorry for her. Feel sorry for Connie. And Laura and Shannon.

Crap, she almost killed ME.