suppose so,” Lacey said. “But there’s only one here, and he’s probably figuring a way, right now, to get at us. You aren’t going to have much luck writing a book about him if we’re both killed, so next time…My God!” Jumping to her feet, she rushed to the desk and grabbed a straightbacked chair.
“What?”
She ran to the door with it, tipped it backward and braced it under the knob. “Maybe that…” she muttered. She turned to Scott. “A passkey. He could get one so easily.”
Scott sighed. “Damn, I should’ve thought of that. Afraid I’m not helping much.” He looked at her with despair. “Sorry. I’m really not good enough for this kind of thing. Living it isn’t quite the same as writing it.” He propped his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face.
Lacey went to him. Crouching, she placed a hand on his back. “Hey, it’s all right. Don’t feel bad. If you hadn’t been here, he would’ve had me.”
Scott raised his head and looked at her. “Thanks.”
“It’s the truth. You saved my life.”
He smiled slightly. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
“But I’m right, too,” he said. His face changed, turning hard and determined. “This is out of my league. I’m not going to let my inexperiencejeopardize you any longer.” He touched her cheek, stood up, and walked toward the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling in reinforcements,” he said, and picked up the telephone. He set his automatic on the desk, then dialed with quick, sure strokes of his forefinger. Eleven numbers.
Long distance?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The bedside telephone woke Dukane, and he saw a naked woman bending over him in the darkness. Her head jerked toward the phone. In the moments between the clamors of the first and second rings, Dukane realized that the woman—a stranger before he brought her home tonight—had been interrupted in the process of tying his left wrist to the headboard.
He yanked both arms. The headboard shook and a cord bit into his right wrist, but his left pulled free.
The woman grabbed it, tried to force it down.
“Thanks,” Dukane said, “but I’m not into bondage.”
He twisted his arm out of her grip. As the woman reached for it again, he clutched her neck and thrust her forward, ramming her head against the oak of his headboard. She slumped. He shoved her off the bed, rolled to his right, and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dukane? It’s Scott. I’m in deep trouble, pal.”
“What’s the problem?”
“There’s a killer after me. An invisible killer.”
“Invisible?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but believe me, it’s true. He just murdered a guy here in the room.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“The Desert Wind hotel in Tucson. Room three sixtytwo.”
“Where’s this killer?”
“Probably right outside the door.”
“Okay. Hang tough, kid, I’m on my way. It’ll take me about four hours, though. Maybe less, but don’t count on it.”
“Hurry.”
“Right.” Dukane hung up. He slid open a drawer of the nightstand, took out a switchblade knife, and severed the cord binding his right hand to the headboard. Then he turned on a light. He climbed across the bed and knelt over the unconscious woman.
She lay on her back, breathing deeply as if asleep, her arms and legs outflung. A beautiful, slim, smallbreasted blonde. Just his type. To o much his type, perhaps. But he’d known a lot of women over the years, and only a handful had turned out to be plants. He should’ve been a lot more careful, after Friday’s disaster. He should’ve expected something like this.
Confidence kills.
She began to stir, her eyelids squeezing tight with a stab of pain, a hand rising to her head. She pursed her lips and said, “Oooh.” Then her eyelids fluttered open. She gazed at Dukane with confusion for a moment before her memory apparently returned and she bolted upright.
Dukane clutched her throat and slammed her down. “Who sent
“What?”
She ran to the door with it, tipped it backward and braced it under the knob. “Maybe that…” she muttered. She turned to Scott. “A passkey. He could get one so easily.”
Scott sighed. “Damn, I should’ve thought of that. Afraid I’m not helping much.” He looked at her with despair. “Sorry. I’m really not good enough for this kind of thing. Living it isn’t quite the same as writing it.” He propped his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his face.
Lacey went to him. Crouching, she placed a hand on his back. “Hey, it’s all right. Don’t feel bad. If you hadn’t been here, he would’ve had me.”
Scott raised his head and looked at her. “Thanks.”
“It’s the truth. You saved my life.”
He smiled slightly. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
“But I’m right, too,” he said. His face changed, turning hard and determined. “This is out of my league. I’m not going to let my inexperiencejeopardize you any longer.” He touched her cheek, stood up, and walked toward the desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling in reinforcements,” he said, and picked up the telephone. He set his automatic on the desk, then dialed with quick, sure strokes of his forefinger. Eleven numbers.
Long distance?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The bedside telephone woke Dukane, and he saw a naked woman bending over him in the darkness. Her head jerked toward the phone. In the moments between the clamors of the first and second rings, Dukane realized that the woman—a stranger before he brought her home tonight—had been interrupted in the process of tying his left wrist to the headboard.
He yanked both arms. The headboard shook and a cord bit into his right wrist, but his left pulled free.
The woman grabbed it, tried to force it down.
“Thanks,” Dukane said, “but I’m not into bondage.”
He twisted his arm out of her grip. As the woman reached for it again, he clutched her neck and thrust her forward, ramming her head against the oak of his headboard. She slumped. He shoved her off the bed, rolled to his right, and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Dukane? It’s Scott. I’m in deep trouble, pal.”
“What’s the problem?”
“There’s a killer after me. An invisible killer.”
“Invisible?”
“I know it sounds ridiculous, but believe me, it’s true. He just murdered a guy here in the room.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“The Desert Wind hotel in Tucson. Room three sixtytwo.”
“Where’s this killer?”
“Probably right outside the door.”
“Okay. Hang tough, kid, I’m on my way. It’ll take me about four hours, though. Maybe less, but don’t count on it.”
“Hurry.”
“Right.” Dukane hung up. He slid open a drawer of the nightstand, took out a switchblade knife, and severed the cord binding his right hand to the headboard. Then he turned on a light. He climbed across the bed and knelt over the unconscious woman.
She lay on her back, breathing deeply as if asleep, her arms and legs outflung. A beautiful, slim, smallbreasted blonde. Just his type. To o much his type, perhaps. But he’d known a lot of women over the years, and only a handful had turned out to be plants. He should’ve been a lot more careful, after Friday’s disaster. He should’ve expected something like this.
Confidence kills.
She began to stir, her eyelids squeezing tight with a stab of pain, a hand rising to her head. She pursed her lips and said, “Oooh.” Then her eyelids fluttered open. She gazed at Dukane with confusion for a moment before her memory apparently returned and she bolted upright.
Dukane clutched her throat and slammed her down. “Who sent
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