In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

Stupid."
     
     
She thought she'd caught the South in his voice, and edged a little closer. "Pretty late at night for moving day."
     
     
"Well, my girl-ex-girlfriend," he said with a grimace, "works nights. She said if I wanted my stuff, I had to haul it out when she wasn't around. Another bad break," he added with a hint of a smile. "My brother's supposed to be here, but he's late. Typical. I want to get this stuff loaded before Donna gets back, and I've only got the rental till six A.M."
     
     
He was cute.. A bit older than her usual type, but she liked the. hint of twang in his voice. Plus he was in a jam. "Maybe I could give you a hand with it."
     
     
"Really? You wouldn't mind? I'd really appreciate it. If we could just get this bastard in, maybe Frank will show. I think I could handle some of the other stuff."
     
     
"No problem." She stepped closer. "Maybe if you get up in the back, I could push it, and you could guide it or something.".
     
     
"We'll give it a shot." He climbed in, hampered somewhat by the cast.
     
     
She did her best to lift and shove, but the- end of the sofa thudded on the pavement again.
     
     
"Sorry. " "It's okay." He grinned at her, though she thought he looked exhausted. "You're just a little thing, aren't you? If you've got' another minute, we could try it the other way. I can- take the weight. Use my back, shoulders. Maybe you could come up in here, hold it steady, sort of pull while I push.'
     
     
There was a vague ring from a warning bell in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She clambered up into the truck, warmed by his grateful smile as he slid out.
     
     
He called out instructions as he grunted and cursed his brother, Frank, in. a way that made her laugh. As the sofa began to slide in, she backed up, tugging it along with a fine sense of accomplishment.
     
     
"Mission accomplished! Hold on, just a minute. Let me." He boosted himself in, swiping his good arm over his brow. "If we could just shove it, that way."
     
     
He started to point, and though the warning bell had pealed louder when he'd climbed in with her, into the small dark cave, she glanced over at the direction-of his finger.
     
     
The first blow caught her on the side of the head, and sent her staggering. She saw lights flash, and felt a terrible and confusing pain.
     
     
She stumbled, catching her foot on the leg of the sofa and pitching to the left without any idea that the spill saved her skull from a second, brutal blow with the cast.
     
     
It smashed her shoulder instead, had her whimpering as she tried to crawl away from- the attack,' from the pain.
     
     
She could hear his voice through the screaming in her head, but there was something different about it. Something ripped-her clothes, her body-as he hauled her back.
     
     
No, you don't. Sneaky little twat.
     
     
She couldn't see now, there was' only dark and those awful flashing lights. But she tasted blood, her own blood, in her mouth. And she could hear, just hear through the screams in her head, horrible things panted out in a horrible voice.
     
     
She was crying, making tiny animal sounds that turned to moans as more blows rained on her back. With a trembling hand, she reached into her; pocket, fighting to stay conscious, fighting to make her numb fingers grip the gift her uncle had given her when she'd gone to work for him.
     
     
With blind instinct, she pointed it toward the sound of his voice.
     
     
He howled-a grotesque sound that told her the mugger spray had hit the mark. The panic siren attached to the device wailed. Sobbing-she thought she was sobbing, but it might have been him - she tried to crawl again.
     
     
Pain, more pain exploded inside her when a vicious kick hither ribs, her jaw. She felt herself falling, falling, and the world was already dropping away when her head hit the pavement with a violent crack.
     
     
At four A.m., Eve stood on the sidewalk studying the blood on the pavement. Marlene Cox had been transported to the hospital an hour before. Unconscious, she was not expected to live.
     
     
He'd abandoned the rental, and his props, and left his victim bleeding on the street. But he hadn't finished her.
     
     
Eve , crouched, and with her sealed fingers picked up a small shard of white plaster. She'd fought back long enough, hard enough to chase him away.
     
     
She studied the ball cap and wig already sealed in evidence. Cheap models, she mused. Tough to trace. The sofa looked