Mortal Pursuit

22

Cain was in a hurry, no time for diversions, but he’d enjoyed making the Kent girl cry.

Maybe he could have her do one more little thing for him.

“This is a nice necklace.” He plucked a bauble from the table. “Same one you wore last Saturday night”

She sniffed. “Yes.”

“Put it on.”

The heavy swallowing motion of her throat was good to see.

“Why” she breathed.

“Because I said so.”

“I … I don’t …”

“Put it on.”

With shaking hands she hooked the string of pearls around her slender neck.

“Sweet,” Cain whispered, and both of them stiffened abruptly, catching the note of desire in his voice.

Quickly she took off the necklace and returned it to the pile.

Cain watched as she rummaged in the back of the safe for its last holdings. When he spoke again, his question and tone were safely neutral.

“How old are you, Ally”

She removed a wad of travelers’ checks. “Fifteen.”

“Going into the ninth grade”

“Tenth. I … I skipped ahead.”

“Smart girl. I never made it past the ninth grade, myself. Kept getting busted-for stuff I didn’t do.”

This time she dared a glance in his direction, and with the glance an arched eyebrow. “Right.”

And suddenly Cain knew he had to have her. It was the lifted brow that did it, and the reckless courage and adult sophistication it implied.

She was a child in some respects, a woman in others-baby fat and pert breasts, freckled nose and lipsticked mouth.

“Okay, you got me.” He holstered his gun, leaving both hands free to use the handcuffs in his pocket. “Stuff I did do. I did all of it and lots more besides they never found out about.”

“Big surprise.” She started pulling leather concertina files from the safe’s bottom shelf.

“Leave those. They probably are stock certificates.”

“And if you can’t steal it,” she said with cold irony, “you don’t want it.”

“Stealing’s not stealing if you don’t get caught. Most times I don’t. It’s funny how much you can get away with, if you try. Like, say, if I touched you … here.” A gloved hand slipped under her scalloped neckline with the oily quickness of a snake and closed over the left cup of her bra. “You wouldn’t tell, would you”

No arched eyebrow this time, no sly remarks, only fear, whole and pure and beautiful to see. “Don’t.”

“No, you wouldn’t tell.” He massaged the bra cup gently. “Nobody would ever have to know. Your parents wouldn’t even want to know. It would only hurt them to know.”

“Don’t. Please.”

He rubbed harder. It was a strange kind of sexual contact, a glove against a bra, black leather against nylon lace. But he could feel the shape of her breast inside the cup, could picture it, white and firm, kneaded in his grasp.

Ally stared up at him, wide brown eyes shiny like pennies in the lamplight, freckles dusting her wet cheeks.

“You know you want it, Ally,” he breathed.

“Leave me alone!”

She pulled away, the neckline tearing, a button popping free. Cain trapped her against a wall of bookshelves and pressed his body to hers.

Distantly he told himself that it was dangerous to go any further. This never had been part of the plan.

But hell, no harm in taking a little bonus.

The girl was ripe for deflowering. The job would take only a minute, and she would be grateful for the rest of her life.

“Please don’t,” she whispered over and over. “Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.”

“Well, gosh.” He used his best disappointed tone. “If that’s the way you really feel …”

He moved back slightly. Ally had a moment to believe he was honestly releasing her-one last moment of naive innocence-and then he grabbed her arms, pinning them behind her with one hand, while with the other he reached for the hem of her dress.

“No!” She struggled, trying desperately to knee him, but unable to maneuver in such close quarters.

Cain laughed. “Hey, relax, freckle-face. I won’t hurt you. I’m giving you something that feels good all over.”

His hand slid between her squeezed thighs, ripped open her panties. She squirmed, arms jerking helplessly. He tugged down his sweat pants.

This would be easy. He wouldn’t even need the handcuffs. He could bang her standing up, quick and dirty, her party dress hitched above her hips in a cheesecake pose.

“Here it comes, Ally.” His phallus sprang erect. “Say hello to love.”

She felt his hardness brush her thigh. With a scream of terror she twisted sideways, wrenching free, and her hands, quick as startled birds, flew at his eyes.

Instinctively Cain ducked, pulling away, and her clutching fingers hooked onto his ski mask.

The mask turned inside out and came loose, his face uncovered.

In the wash of light from the banker’s lamp, he stared at her and she stared back, both of them frozen for some timeless moment.

Cain moved first. His arm swung up. “Bitch.”

He smacked her.

Again.

Again.

She slumped against the shelves, her chin bearded in red, a bruise swelling the corner of her mouth.

Breathing hard, Cain got control of himself. His erection was gone. He tucked himself in and pulled up his sweats. No loving tonight.

No loving for poor Ally-ever.

“You’re in trouble now,” he whispered as the girl’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. “Oh, yes, pretty baby. You are in some world-class trouble now.”