Free Truck Stop by Jack Kilborn Page A

her breath, trying to listen to noises from downstairs. Maggie did hear something, but the sound wasn’t coming from the lower level. It was coming from the hallway right outside her bedroom.
    The sound of someone chewing popcorn.
    Maggie wondered what she should do. Say something? Maybe this was all some sort of mistake, some confused tourist who had walked into the wrong house. Or perhaps this was a robber, looking for money or drugs. Give him what he wanted, and he’d leave. No need for anyone to get hurt.
    “Who’s there?”
    More munching. Closer. He was practically in the room. She could smell the popcorn now, the butter and salt, and the odor made her stomach do flip-flops.
    “My…medication is in the bathroom cabinet. And my purse is on the chair by the door. Take it.”
    The ruffling of a paper bag, and more chewing. Open-mouthed chewing. Loud, like someone smacking gum. Why wouldn’t he say anything?
    “What do you want?”
    No answer.
    Maggie was shivering now. The tourist scenario was gone from her head, the robber scenario fading fast. A new scenario entered Maggie’s mind. The scenario of campfire stories and horror movies. The boogeyman, hiding under the bed. The escaped lunatic, searching for someone to hurt, to kill.
    Maggie needed to get out of there, to get away. She could run to the car, or meet Sal on the dock and get into his boat, or even hide out in the woods. She could hurry to the guest bedroom, lock the door, open up the window, climb down—
    Chewing, right next to the bed. Maggie gasped, pulling the flannel sheets to her chest. She squinted into the darkness, could barely make out the dark figure of a man standing a few feet away.
    The bag rustled. Something touched Maggie’s face and she gasped. A tiny pat on her cheek. It happened again, on her forehead, making her flinch. Again, and she swatted out with her hand, finding the object on the pillow.
    Popcorn. He was throwing popcorn at her.
    Maggie’s voice came out in a whisper. “What…what are you going to do?”
    The springs creaked as he sat on the edge of the bed.
    “Everything,” he said.

The following is an excerpt of Cherry Bomb by J.A. Konrath, now available everywhere books are sold from Hyperion Books…
    S tun guns work on two levels. The first is through pain compliance. Being hit with a million volts hurts like hell, comparable to being jabbed with a hot poker. But unlike a hot poker, the electric current also overrides a person’s muscles, causing them to twitch uncontrollably while simultaneously being unable to fight back.
    Alex holds the stun gun against Lance’s stomach long enough to drop him to his knees. Before he can recover, she hits him in the temple with the meat of her palm, hard enough to jerk his head to the side. He collapses.
    She drags Lance into the hotel room, locks the door behind her, and muscles him over to the bed. He’s heavy, cumbersome, but she lifts with her legs and jerks him onto the mattress. He begins to moan, so she juices him with the Cheetah stun gun again, causing his limbs to twitch and contract. She holds it there for a few seconds, and when she kills the power he’s limp and a line of drool is running down his chin.
    It takes a few seconds to start the roll of duct tape, but when she does she uses a long strip to bind his left wrist to the leg of the bed. The other limbs follow suit, until he’s spread-eagled and immobilized.
    Using the utility knife, she starts at his cuff of jeans and slices the fabric upward to his belt line, careful not to nick his skin. Then she does the other leg. Then his shirt, until all he has on are his shoes, socks, and
Duff Beer
boxer shorts. Alex tosses the knife aside, and tears off the shorts with her hands, feeling the excitement build, feeling herself get wet.
    It isn’t necessary for Lance to be naked. Alex could have gotten what she wanted just by unzipping his fly. But she likes seeing men naked. Especially good-looking men. It’s been