A Time of Predators

Debbie stripped in the left-hand bedroom. She had shut the door behind her, and the window was filled with the dark green branches of a fir tree close behind the house, so she studied her nude body in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. Long and slender legs, without any excess flesh inside the thighs, where so many girls jiggled when they walked. Waist tight and firm, breasts thrusting and well-formed, without a woman’s mature fullness yet to draw them down.

A tiny scratching from the window made her spin about with a muffled yip, trying ineffectually to cover her groin and both breasts with only two hands; then she giggled and sank down on the bed. A chipmunk peered in at her intently, one paw up with a single tiny claw hooked through the screen. He jerked his head twice, a comic’s double-take, and was gone with a flirt of the tail, so instantaneously that Debbie could not be totally sure he ever had been there at all.

What a cutie he was! She’d put out nut meats for him later.

She got into her bikini quickly, the funny hollow feeling back from having seen herself nude; in a few hours Ricky would have explored every secret place of that body...

“Hey, quit gawking in the mirror and c’mon,” he called.

“I wasn’t gawking,” she said as she emerged. “This chipmunk...”

Her voice trailed off. She wore just the skimpy halter and abbreviated trunks of the most daring bikini she’d been able to find in Los Feliz, and Rick’s avid stare, hot and frank and wanting, made her blush furiously. He’d never even seen her in shorts before, and now he could see almost all of her.

“I... I’ll race you to the water!” she exclaimed, avoiding his gaze, frightened again by his nearly nude, very male body.

They splashed in almost together, with yells from Rick and squeals of despair from Debbie at the fifty-degree temperature; then it was a water fight and finally a thorough ducking despite Debbie’s pleadings and shrieks. Rick finally desisted; they kissed hurriedly, then ran back up the sand to the dry, sun-warmed beach below the dunes, where they flopped out on their towels out of the wind.

Julio, no longer able to see them from his place of concealment in the conifers by the foot of the gravel drive, gritted his teeth and turned away. He climbed up the narrow track, went over the locked gate, and trudged back to the Rambler parked in the view-area two hundred yards beyond.

Lying bastard, pretending he wasn’t making it with Debbie! For all Julio knew, he was balling her right there on the beach right now. He’d go make sure, if he could be sure they wouldn’t see him. It was all right that he’d been following Debbie, off and on, since the Fourth of July, looking for proof that she might betray their identity to someone as the attackers of Paula Halstead; but he had no excuse for having followed her and Rick today.

He got in the Rambler, U-turned back toward San Conrado, the nearest town, some ten miles north. Yeah, it was a sort of sick scene, following them today. Especially when he knew he would come back after dark, try to actually see them making out. It was like a goddamn fever or something, which had gotten worse the more he followed her. He had seen no signs of treachery, but he had learned every turn of her head, every expression of her face, all the movements and graces and occasional coltish awkwardness of her body. He had fed upon her, had even considered picking her up and just taking what she was giving to Rick.

Anything, in fact, to put out the fire which raged in his guts.

At sundown they went in and shut the windows and got a fire started in the wood stove. Debbie made steaks and baked potatoes and salad and warmed the French bread; they sat cross-legged on the living-room rug to eat, facing one another.

Debbie felt herself getting tense again whenever Rick, dark and handsome and intense by the reddish flickering glow from the stove, caught her eye. Finally they were finished eating, and then Rick took her Coke out of her hand, set it aside, and gently pushed her down on her back. They were still in their swim suits. He started kissing her, then put his hand in the hot V between her breasts, his fingers curving around her breast under the halter.

She tore loose suddenly, and started sobbing. “I’m sor... sorry, Ricky. I just... I... please, be patient...”

“Patient? What the hell...” He was sitting up, panting, his eyes glowing angrily. Then he took a deep breath and nodded. He stood up. “Okay, Deb,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”