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trust the man had placed in him by accepting his enrollment. Of course, his
dad had also placed a lot of jack in Mr.
Brady's hands along with responsibility for his son's tutelage.
But Dean wasn't exactly thinking things through that night. Somehow he wasn't
able to.
Seeing Phaedra lying there under that blanket, all curvy and unaware, had
numbed the guilty pangs.
Light-footed as a cat and just as sure, he crept into the room. He glanced at
the other bed
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%20-%20Mars%20Arena.html and saw the girl sleeping there, her head thrown
back, snoring softly. He knew her, too, but he couldn't remember her name. He
didn't even care.
He moved closer to Phaedra's bed, eyes running along the womanly body under
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the lightweight lavender blanket.
At least, it looked lavender in the moonlight. She smelled of vanilla, too,
just as he knew she would.
He'd always known women had different shapes than men. Rona had been beautiful
and he'd bathed with her, and Dean was aware of the stares Krysty got whenever
they were around men.
The time was magical for Dean in ways that be knew he'd never be able to put
into words. It was one of those pictures he knew he'd carry around in his head
forever. Except for the sight of Calgary Ventnor's head hanging down in view
of the window like some ugly fruit, it was perfect. The boy motioned for Dean
to hurry.
Gently Dean reached out for the edge of the blanket, took it between his
finger and thumb and began to pull it down. He hadn't done more than reveal
one bare shoulder when he noticed that Phaedra Lemon's eyes were open and she
was staring right at him.
The girl's mouth started to round out, opening, and she took a deeper breath.
Figuring she was going to scream, Dean dropped a hand to her face and covered
her mouth, wondering what had driven him to be stupe enough to get caught in
her bedroom.
Chapter Ten
Ryan spotted Doc leaning down into a hole in the ground. Then he heard the old
man shouting Krysty's name. Another big tremor hit, nearly knocking Ryan from
his feet as he redoubled his efforts. He skidded across a boulder, shaving
skin from both palms.
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In five more long strides over the wobbling ground, he was beside Doc.
"Where's
Krysty?"
"There!" The old man pointed.
Squinting his eye, Ryan peered into the fissure. It was dark inside, but he
could just make out the dying embers of a torch as it skittered over the side
of another, widening crack in the earth. For an instant the torch flared to
new life, no longer battered by the stones it rolled across.
In the sudden light, Ryan saw Krysty as the wreckage of a helicopter emerged
from the cracking stone wall above her, disgorging its trapped prize like a
heifer giving birth.
Krysty was struggling to maintain a grip, but Ryan knew the falling helicopter
would rake her from her precarious perch the instant it ripped free of its
earthen womb.
Then the torch disappeared into the yawning abyss below, not scattering in all
directions from an impact. It simply kept falling, drawing farther away.
Everything went dark. The scream of tortured metal continued, letting him know
the helicopter was still in motion even though he couldn't see it.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder and saw that J.B. was already tying a rope
around an outcrop nearly six feet from the lip of the fissure.
"I volunteered to go down in her stead," Doc said, his face pale and drawn. He
didn't move from the edge of the fissure. He gazed back down into the dark
hole. "I truly did, but she would have none of it. I am very sorry, friend
Ryan."
"She's not dead yet, Doc."
Ryan grabbed the free end of the rope. "Jak, get that light shining into that
hole. I need to see."
The albino quickly moved into position. The flashlight came on with a burst of
incandescence as he pointed it into the fissure. "Help's coming," he yelled
down to
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Krysty. He couldn't throw her the rope; she was using both hands to hang on.
"How much rope are you going to need?" the Armorer asked.
Ryan peered into the hole, trying to gauge the distance from the fissure's
mouth to
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Krysty's position. "Give me twenty-five, thirty feet beyond the lip."
"Fifty-foot rope," J.B. said. "I get you shored up good and proper, that's
going to cut it close to what we've got to use."
Ryan nodded.
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