He pulled a compact two-way radio from his belt and punched a button. "Jimbo," he said. "Take the Jeep and run the fence-line in Sector Four. We've got a cunt on the run. What dogs do we have available?" He paused and frowned. "Gunter's bloody beasts? Well, they'll have to do. Bring them over to the barn. She left her knickers, so they shouldn't have much trouble picking up her scent."

He put the radio back on his belt. "You've caused a lot of trouble," he said.

"Well, we paid a lot of money," said Tom. "And what the hell to we have to show for it?"

"I'll find out what you have to show for it soon enough," answered Sims. Then his face softened a bit. "That cut looks pretty nasty," he said to Davis. "Take the cart and get yourself to the infirmary. It's a low building just this side of the hotel. Do you feel steady enough to drive?"

"Yeah," said Davis. "I guess so. I just wish I could get my hands on that bitch."



# # #



Greta felt relaxed. She had had two glasses of a local Sauvignon Blanc with lunch, and now she was looking out of the wide dining room window on a peaceful valley. A line of trees about half a mile away marked what must be a stream. Beyond it was another rise, like the one the hotel stood on. Someone was just coming over the far hilltop, a small figure, far away.

Distruggio was droning on about the Ranch, about how it was intended for business and non-profit retreats in a natural setting, with hiking and riding trails instead of golf courses and tennis courts. He talked about the program for the weekend, which seemed to involve some sort of athletic competition. He was such a bore.

The figure was coming toward the hotel. It disappeared into the trees that lined the stream and soon emerged on the near side. It appeared to be a woman. From this distance, Greta still couldn't see what she was wearing. She almost looked as if she were nude. Then something else caught her attention. Some sort of animals had come over the rise where the woman had first appeared. Could they be deer? No, not deer. They ran, then stopped and put their heads down toward the ground, then they ran again. Dogs. Yes, they must be dogs. Big ones.

The dogs were approaching the stream. Meanwhile, the woman had stopped, as if uncertain which way to go. Finally, she turned and ran back toward the trees. Is she trying to hide, Greta wondered. Had she seen the dogs on the other side of the stream? No, the trees would have blocked her view.

"Would you like another glass of wine?" Distruggio asked.

Greta turned to him. "No, thank you. I'm feeling a little tipsy."

When she looked out again, neither the woman nor the dogs were visible. They must have met in the woods, she thought. What must it be like, to meet big dogs in the woods? Big dogs, with big dicks. She laughed softly.

"Do I amuse you?" asked Distruggio, with a puzzled smile.

"No. Well, yes, I think you're quite amusing. But I feel very tired. I'd like to take a nap before the reception tonight."

"But of course," said Distruggio. Then he glanced out the window. "What a lovely view. I find it very restful."

They rose, and he escorted her back to her room.



# # #



Sims followed the dogs on horseback. They had a head start, and he lost precious seconds when his mare, the usually docile Giselda, reared as a pheasant burst into flight from the tall grass. He worried he would arrive too late. When he reached the stream, he realized he had.

The dogs had lost interest in their quarry and were sniffing through the cattails along the farther bank. One lifted a leg and pissed on the trunk of a weeping willow tree. Sonora, or what had been Sonora, lay on her back, her head and upper torso underwater. Through the ripples, he could see that her throat had been torn, but her face was peaceful, eyes half shut. The running water had washed away all the blood.

She's like a wood nymph, he thought, a wood nymph or a water sprite who ran into something evil in the forest - an ogre, perhaps. Or a pair of 180-pound mastiffs.



# # #



Greta had left a message with the desk to call her at five o'clock, but the gentle knock that awakened her seemed to come within seconds of her closing her eyes. She was wrong. The clock on the bed table said 3:33. She had been asleep at least an hour.

"Just a minute," she called. She grabbed her T-shirt from the chair and pulled it over her head. Should she put on her khaki shorts? Naw, the heck with it. Bikini panties would do. Give whoever was at the door a real thrill.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Troy Parris, from the front desk," came the reply. "Just checking to see if everything's okay. Hope I didn't disturb you."

She opened the door a crack and looked out. He stepped back a bit. To reassure her, she thought. It was his way of saying, I'm no rapist, honey, just here to say hi.

"You didn't disturb me." She paused. "Want to come in?"

"Not necessary," he said, with a slightly embarrassed grin.

"No, come on in." She pulled the door open but remained behind it. He walked into the room, then turned back to look at her. "I'm only halfway decent," she said. "Hope you don't mind."

"I'd be crazy to mind. You really are quite beautiful."

"Thanks," she said. "Beautiful girls seem to be the specialty here. I saw several in the dining room. There was even a woman, I don't how beautiful, running around naked down in the valley. I saw her through the window at lunch."

"Really," said Parris. "And what exactly did you see?"

"Not much. She was so far away. She came down a hill and crossed the stream, then went back into the trees. And there were a couple of dogs. They must have following her."

"How interesting." But he didn't seem interested in her story. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her intently. She was leaning back against a bureau, her legs slightly apart.

"You look horny," she said.

He paused before answering. "Looking at you makes me very, very horny. I would like to fuck you into the middle of next week."

"Great. I love Wednesdays." She moved toward him, and he pulled her belly to his face. He kissed and licked her navel, then he pulled down her panties and slid his tongue down through her blonde bush and caressed her clitoris. She moaned softly and stroked his hair. He stood, moved behind her and cupped her breasts in his hands.

"Kneel," he whispered. "Put your knees on the floor and bend over the bed so I can fuck you from behind." She did as he commanded. She heard him unbuckle his belt and heard his pants fall to the floor. Then, suddenly, savagely, he was inside her.

He fucked with wild energy, and she responded with equal passion, her wet pussy gripping his throbbing dick. Then he slowed the pace, and it felt even better. "Get on the bed, on your back," he said hoarsely. She pulled herself off his prick, lunged onto the bed, then rolled onto her back. He straddled her on his knees. "Suck it," he commanded, leaning forward. She took his dick in her mouth and worked it expertly with her lips and tongue. He groaned and filled her mouth with cum.

"God," he cried, "you're too damned good to lose."



# # #



The reception was in a room directly above the dining room, with a window looking out on the same scene. The valley was suffused with golden light from the setting sun, but Greta wasn't concerned with the scenery. As she entered the room, wearing a simple white cocktail dress and a fake but impressive pearl and emerald necklace, she knew she was in competition with the other women in whatever it was the Ranch had in mind for the weekend. Of course, she always felt competitive with other women, at least when they were roughly her age and good looking.

She was facing some stiff competition this time. A quick glance told her that there were five other women, all knockouts, and more than twice that many men. A big-breasted woman in a tight black dress came forward and held out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Mariah," she said. "You must be Greta. That was the only name tag left on the table."

"You're right. I'm Greta. And I hope you're not as confused by all this as I am."

Mariah laughed. "Sorry. I'm clueless."

They walked over to a table and Greta put on her name tag. A waiter asked her for a drink order. "What are you drinking, Mariah?" she asked.

"Gin and tonic."

"I'll have the same," said Greta. "Who's the guy with the shoulders?" she asked in a lower voice, nodding toward a powerfully built man with gray hair and steel-rimmed eyeglasses. He wore an expensive looking shirt and slacks and an air of enormous confidence. Two other men were talking with him, but they kept glancing at Greta and Mariah.

"He's Gunter McTeague, the big boss, the president of the Ranch," said Mariah. "I just met him. Come on, I'll introduce you."

The men turned to them as they approached. "Hello again, Mariah," said McTeague, "and this young lady must be Greta." They shook hands. His was huge and meaty. It was a hand that could do enormous damage.

"Greta and Mariah, I want you to meet Bob and Paulie."

Greta smiled and said, "No one seems to have a last name around here."

"No, that's not quite right," said McTeague. "Mine's McTeague. And you've met Mr. Parris and Dr. Distruggio, I believe. We who are here to serve you have last names. You who are here as guests will be on a first-name basis. I think most of you would prefer it that way. Am I right, Paulie?"

"Quite right, McTeague," said Paulie. He was younger than most of the other men, and he wore a loud Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts. His hair was thinning, but he wasn't bad looking, thought Greta.

Another man joined their group. His arm was in a sling, and he had the look of someone in a perpetually sour mood.

"Davis," said McTeague, "you haven't met Greta."

"So, are you on staff, Mr. Davis?" she asked.

He stared at her coldly. "Davis is my first name," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She paused, embarrassed. "What happened to your arm?"

"It's my shoulder. I cut it doing something nasty to a girl like you." Greta was taken aback. The others, except for McTeague, laughed nervously.

"Maybe you've had enough to drink for now," said McTeague. His voice was soft, but he sounded like he meant business.

Greta and Mariah left the group and moved around the room, meeting others. Greta could tell from the look on the men's faces, and the sidelong glances of the women, that she was doing well in the competition, at least when it came to looks. She felt pleased, and a little drunk. She was on her third gin and tonic.