I opened the front door very quietly. I waited, then eased outside, looking toward the cliffs, sweeping my SIG Sauer slowly around in a wide arc. There was a big moon floating over the water, but roiling dark tattered clouds kept sliding in front of it. The night was blessedly dark. I waited until the moon was covered, then ran low to the Taurus, Savich, Sherlock, and Laura on my heels.

Both women were in, down on the floor of the backseat, Savich in the passenger seat as I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. I tried again, then stopped. "Somebody disabled the car," I said.

"They must have been very quiet about it," Savich said. "Let's get back inside. I'll cover you."

No one tried to shoot us on our mad run back.

Once the four of us were back inside the cottage, the front door closed and locked, Savich said, "This is interesting. We're in America and we're as effectively cut off from help as you were, Mac, in North Africa." I remembered that day when I thought my ticket was punched. There'd been help there though.

Laura shook her head, her face drawn. 'This should have been just me. It doesn't matter that you're cops too, this wasn't your assignment. You're innocent bystanders. I'm sorry you got tossed into the middle."

"I made the decision with you," I said. "It's Sherlock and Savich who are the innocent bystanders." "Shove it, Mac," Savich said.

"Coffee," Sherlock said. "We might as well start making some. We're just going to have to wait for the sheriff. You do think she's coming to check on us, don't you?"

"I don't think they're going to let us just sit here and snooze all night, Sherlock," Savich said. "They're going to come for us."

"Interesting how they got off at least a dozen shots at us, Laura, and missed. Don't you think that's strange?"

"They don't want us dead for some reason?" Savich said, a dark eyebrow hoisted up an inch. "Maybe not," I said.

In the next instant, all three windows across the front of the cottage imploded, spewing in shattered glass, tattered bits of curtains, and heavy metal canisters that struck the floor and rolled. They made loud popping noises and gushed out smoke. The smoke was something caustic, bitter, something that burned the very air, something that burned the breath in your mouth.

There was no time. I looked at Laura, who was staring down at one of those small egg-shaped gray cylinders that was releasing a steady stream of the pale blue smoke not six feet away from her.

"It's ice acid," she said. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm very, very sorry."

I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault. I opened my mouth, inhaled some of the ice acid, and thought my tongue would burn off. I wanted to yell with the pain, but my throat was burned closed. I was shutting down and it was the strangest feeling. I was beginning to feel cold, my mouth was numb, my teeth chattering. That's why they called it ice acid. It did that to you before it laid you flat.

Before I closed my eyes, I saw Savich holding Sherlock tightly against him, his head against the top of hers. Laura was on her side on the floor, her legs drawn up. She wasn't moving. I tried to get to her. Then I couldn't see her. My eyes were freezing shut, tears seeping out, ice cold on my cheeks. I wanted to tell Savich that we had to get out of here.

Then I didn't feel a thing.

Chapter Twenty

I knew I was awake because I heard myself moaning. But there wasn't any pain. Laura was calling my name, over and over. "Mac, don't do this. Please, please, Mac, stop. Wake up!"

I opened my eyes and stared down into Laura's face. "Oh God, you're awake. Mac, you've got to stop."

For a moment I didn't know what she was talking about. Stop what? "Mac, please, get away. Stop it, Mac."

No, I wasn't feeling any pain, but what I was feeling was harsh and real. It was shattering me. I didn't understand it.

"Mac, wake up!"

I was on top of her. She was naked and I was naked as well and between her legs. I was poised to come into her. I felt such overwhelming lust, I didn't think I could stop.

"Laura, my God, Laura."

"Mac, stop!"

"Oh, God, I don't think I can." I was panting, trying to slow the movement of my body. The urge to come into her was killing me. I locked my muscles and yelled. I wasn't going to rape her. I wasn't. The need to do just that was beyond what I could understand. It was pushing me, driving me, and I yelled again, trying to get hold, to get my mind, my will, back. I could feel her flesh against me and I didn't think I could hold back.