Free Mind Prey by John Sandford Page B

face, not his voice, but the smell of him--she wanted to gag, andsometimes did, a reflexive clutching of her throat and stomach.
    But she couldn't cry.
    She hurt, though. She was bruised, and felt small muscle pulls and tears, when she'd struggled and twisted against his strength. There wasn't any blood: she checked herself, and though she felt raw, he hadn't ripped anything.
    She was dry-eyed, stunned, when Mail came back.
    They felt something, a muffled part of the sound, vibrations from the floor above, and knew he was coming. They were all facing the door, sitting on the mattress, when the door opened. Andi tucked her skirt beneath her.
    Mail was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and wrap-around sunglasses, and held a pistol. He stood in the open door for a moment, then said, "I can't keep all of you." He pointed at Genevieve. "Come on, I'm taking you out."
    "No, no," Andi blurted. She caught Genevieve's arm, and the girl pulled into her side. "No, John, please, no, don't take her, I'll take care of her here, she won't be a problem, John..."
    Mail looked away. "I'll take her out to the Wal-mart and drop her off. She's smart enough to call the cops and get back home."
    Andi stood up, pleading. "John, I'll take care of her, honest to God, she won't be a problem."
    "She is a problem. Just thinking about her in my head, she's a problem." He pointed the pistol at Grace, who flinched away. "I gotta keep her, because she'stoo old and she could bring the cops back. But the kid, here--I'll put a bag on her head and take her out to the van and drop her at Wal-Mart."
    "John, please," Andi begged.
    Mail snarled at Genevieve, "Get out of here, kid, or I'll beat the shit out of you and drag your ass out."
    Andi got to her knees and then to her feet, reached toward him. "John..."
    He stepped back and his hand came up and caught her throat, and for a half-instant she thought she was dead: he squeezed for a second, then threw her back. "Get the fuck away." And to Genevieve: "Get out of here, kid, out the door."
    "Wait, wait," Andi said. "Gen, take your coat, it's cold..." Genevieve had rolled her coat into a pillow, and Andi got it off the mattress, unrolled it, and fitted it around the child and buttoned it, kneeling, looking into Gen's eyes.
    "Just be good," she said. "John won't hurt you..."
    Genevieve went like her feet were stuck in glue, and Andi called, "Genevieve, honey, ask for a policeman. When you get to the mall, ask for a policeman and tell them who you are. They'll take you home to Daddy."
    The door slammed in her face. Faintly, faintly, she could hear footsteps outside in the basement, but nothing else behind the muffled steel door.
    "She'll be okay," Grace said. But she was beginning to cry, and the words came hard through the tears: "She's been in lots of malls. She'll just find a policeman and she'll go home. Dad'll take care of her."
    "Yes." Andi dropped to the mattress, her hands covering her face: "Oh my God, Grace. Oh my God."

    Chapter 6
    >
    "I hate rich people," Sherrill muttered. She was wearing the same coat as the night before, but she'd added her own hat, a green baseball cap with a pale blue bill. Her hair was tucked underneath. She finished the outfit with pale blue sneaks, a torn-boy-with-great-breasts look. With her rosy cheeks and easy smile, Black thought she looked good enough to eat.
    They'd dumped the city car in the parking lot outside Andi Manette's office building. The building, Sherrill thought, had been designed by a seriously snotty architect: black windows, red bricks, and copper flashing, snuggled into the side of a cattail-ringed pond, with a twisted chunk of rusty Corten steel out front. Black paused by the sculpture: the plaque said,Ray-Tracing Wrigley .
    "You know what that's supposed to be?" he asked, looking up at it.
    "Looks like a big stick of rusty steel chewing gum that somebody twisted," Sherrill said.
    Black said, "Jesus, you're an art critic. That's what it must be."
    Sherrill led the