The Lake

SEVENTY-FIVE

“STOP! Police! I got ya covered, Mace!”

Mattie.

Right behind him.

Both hands gripping her gun.

Shoving it into his back.

His hands went up.

Carefully, still keeping him covered, she reached for her belt. Unhitched the cuffs. Snapping one open, she moved forward to slip it onto Mace’s wrist…

Then Sheena appeared. Wet from her swim.

“Save it, honey,” she told Mattie, not taking her eyes off Mace. “He’s mine.”

Droplets pooled around her naked feet. She glowered at the back of his head.

Mace stiffened, his hands dropping a little, poised for action.

Sheena was ready.

“Jack off, Mace,” she snarled. “Or should that be Jess?”

Mace froze.

Then his shoulders and hands relaxed.

“Sister Tania,” he said quietly. “We meet at last.”

He swiveled around and stared, a bemused smile tilting his lips. Taking in the long black hair, sleek and wet, dripping over her shoulders. The tawny skin gleaming in the shadows…

She was like a warrior queen, risen from the sea. Dressed in black: Apache-style band around her head, Guns N’ Roses T-shirt clinging to her body. Her breasts and nipples standing proud beneath.

His eyes played around her breasts, then dropped to the tight leather shorts showing a couple of inches below her top.

“Seen enough, punk?”

He didn’t reply. His eyes still traveled over her. They were hungry. Taking in the shiny, well-muscled arms. The long shapely legs, planted firmly apart.

A slow smile curved his lips. He shook his head as if to say “Well, whaddya know…”

“So it’s Tania,” he drawled. “After all these years.”

Her eyes leveled with his. Daring him to move.

“Time to turn in ya stripes, Mace,” she said softly.

Slowly, her hand reached back, easing up her T-shirt, feeling for the knife in its holster. It rested warm and hard against her damp leather shorts.

“C’mon now, sis. This is your brother here. Don’t wanta harm your own kin now, do ya?”

Suddenly, his arm went up and Sheena was staring at a 9mm Sig. Sidestepping neatly, she brought up her knife. Whirled it through the air. It landed, quivering, in his biceps.

Blood spurted a little, then slowly, steadily, pumped down his arm.

His face darkened. He made a grab at the wound. The knife shook a little but still held. The Sig hit the floor with a clunk, and Sheena lunged forward, forcing his arm back and down.

Mace snarled. She snatched back her knife.

“My move, punk,” she said with a brief smile, wiping the blade across his shirtfront. She leapt back, crouching, weaving from side to side, tracing circles in the air with her blade.

Spying his chance, avoiding the knife, Mace bounded forward, throwing a sideways kick at her face. He missed.

Then aimed a karate chop to her throat.

Sheena danced away, still crouching, knife in hand, arms outstretched, still weaving from side to side.

Mace saw red.

“I’ll get ya, bitch!” he spat out, his eyes bulging.

He aimed and missed again, his arm slicing through thin air.

Mattie closed in, clips at the ready, edging her way around the hole, while Sheena went for Mace with her knife. Looking wildly from one to the other, he tripped and lost his footing.

Leigh gasped, “Oh my God!”

The hole. The one Charlie went through.

They watched Mace go, in a cloud of dust and splinters, his legs swinging around in the deep black void, his hands scrabbling, grasping at the soft rotted wood.

They heard him whimper, then gasp out, “Help me help me… help…”

Fascinated, they watched the wood crumble and break away in chunks as he grabbed it. Then he dropped, screaming into the dark below.

A final bloodcurdling shriek and a dull squishy thud told them when Mace hit the deck.

Dust motes danced from the gaping hole, caught in a shaft of the dying sun.

They stared at each other in silence.

Then Mattie’s gaze dropped to the floor.

She saw the Sig and picked it up.

“Mmmm. Nice piece,” she murmured, tucking it into her belt.