The Lake

She swung around. Looked into her dresser mirror again, posing, admiring her body. She eased up her breasts till the tops bulged out from her bra. She posed, hand on hip, drawing in her midriff so that her waist looked really small and neat.

Her flimsy panties stretched across her hipbones. She sure was glad she’d kept up with those abdominal workouts. They’d been a bore, but they made one helluva difference to her figure.

“Not bad!” she told the mirror. “Warren’s eyes are gonna stand out on stalks when he sees me tonight…”

Thick black hair tumbled around her shoulders.

Full, firm breasts brimmed out of their cups. Her nipples almost showing…

What would Warren think if he saw me now?

She imagined his eyes, watching her, longing to touch her, take her in his arms—but then, not wanting to, not after the bad experiences she’d hinted at.

What if Warren wanted to…wanted to see more of me? Anything’s possible—especially if I kinda give him the go-ahead. Maybe I should go over myself with the LadyShave. Just in case.

She ogled her reflection in the mirror.

Then teased both breasts out of their cups, pushing them up, just a little more, till she could see the dark pink aureole of her nipples.

That’s better!

She literally flowed out of her underwear now.

Almost too much…

Tossing a seductive smile at her reflection, she slowly stroked her breasts, her waist, her hips. She pushed her panties down ever so slightly, revealing her taut flat belly—and dark curly wisps of pubic hair.

She groaned, hating the wiry growth peeking out of her panties.

She paused.

What was that?

A movement. A step, disturbing the quiet beyond the open door of her room…

Is anyone there?

Can’t be Mom…

She’s still at the restaurant.

I’m alone in the house.

Warren?

Nah. He hasn’t got a key.

And Nelson’s dead.

Isn’t he?

Then who else…?

Catching a ragged breath, her heart leapt to her throat.

She frowned. Peered into the mirror.

A familiar figure filled the doorway.

It moved toward her.

Slowly.

Mace!

His eyes dark. Intense.

Staring at her.

His mouth hung slack, open a little. She caught a glimpse of white, even teeth.

Horrified, Deana whirled around. Her arms flew up, crushing her breasts.

Mace.

How did he get in?

He stood before her.

His hands reaching out.

FORTY-THREE

“Stay away from me, you creep. You BASTARD!”

Terrified, Deana backed away.

MACE!

The bastard—what’s he doing here?

His arms dropped to his side. His shoulders hunched slightly. “Deana. Ssshh,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…Didn’t mean to scare you…”

“Oh, no? What d’you take me for—a moron or something? What’re ya doing in my room? In my house, come to that?”

“Take it easy, will ya? I said I’m sorry. What more—” His eyes looked dark, wild.

“What more do I want? I’ll tell ya what more. I want you outta my room and outa my LIFE. Outta my life and Mom’s, too.”

She snatched up her robe, struggled into it, wrapped it around her body, holding it tightly closed.

“You’re a fuckin’ creep. You know that?”

Mace backed away, hands lifted, palms up.

He looked dazed. But his eyes still looked wild.

And his mouth still gaped open like he was in a trance. His brow and upper lip were shiny with sweat.

God, he looks so weird. What’s up with him?

Seems like he’s having a tough time with his words, too. He was stumbling around, trying to find the right ones.

Not much like the Mace she’d known up to now.

Where had his control gone? One thing about Mace. He was always so in control. Of himself and situations.

It was weird, the way he was now.

“Er…Look, Deana,” he said thickly. “I’m going. Right? I wasn’t here, right? No…no need to tell Leigh…I’ll tell her myself. Later…”

“You bastard. You come in here spying on me, and now you tell me to keep my mouth shut?”

“About the size of it, Deana. Stay mum—and so will I.”

Suddenly, he was getting more lucid by the minute.

The old Mace.

The one she hated so much.

Deana held her breath. Tried to calm down. Wouldn’t do to get him riled up. Way he’d looked a few moments ago, he might just turn on her…

But she had to know exactly what he meant.

“Whatdya mean—and so will you?”

“We both have our little secrets, honey. Don’t we? Like you sneaking back into the house around two-thirty a.m. You tell your mom about that, did ya? Or your visits to that house with the two redwoods in front?”

She picked up her hairbrush from the dresser, and he backed off.

“Okay. Okay. I’m going. Sorry for coming on to you like that. It’s just…”

He faltered. Looking bewildered again.

“It’s just what?” prompted Deana.

Don’t think I’m gonna be able to handle him like this. God, Mom, where are you, for chrissake?

This was a different Mace, all right.

An iffy Mace.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ at all,” he muttered.