Free Tonight You're Mine by Carlene Thompson Page A

and I are having trouble. You’ll have fun.”
    â€œOh, okay. But I’m not gonna tell him about the werewolf. He’ll probably try to make me come live with him if he knows, and I don’t want to live with him.”
    â€œI know you don’t, honey.”
    â€œBut I’m still a little worried about the werewolf. Can I sleep with my lamp and radio on?”
    â€œYes, if you can sleep through all the noise and light.”
    â€œI can.”
    Ten minutes later, a thin scarf thrown over Shelley’s bedside lamp to dim the light, her radio turned low, Jesse settled firmly by the child’s side, Nicole returned to her room. She looked out the window, wishing they had a stronger dusk-to-dawn light out there.
    What had come with the house looked like an old-fashioned gaslight and put out only a dim glow.
    No doubt their prowler was merely a teenager wearing a mask, but she didn’t like the fact that he’d appeared outside Shelley’s window, which faced a backyard encircled by a six-foot-high wooden fence—a fence whose gate Nicole had padlocked shut after some neighborhood kids opened it and let Jesse loose, nearly resulting in his being hit a second time by a car. Whoever had peered in Shelley’s window must have taken the trouble to climb the fence. There were many other houses in the neighborhood without fences, and it wouldn’t have been easy to scale six feet of smooth boards, indicating a determination that made her uncomfortable.
    Quietly Nicole dragged her dressing-table chair to her closet, stood on top, and began rummaging through shoe boxes. Finally she found the one where she’d hidden the gun. It was a Smith & Wesson .38, not an expensive model, but one that could do some damage if necessary. After her attack, she’d asked her father to buy her a gun and let her take lessons. He’d refused, abhorring firearms, but when she left San Antonio, she did as she pleased, buying a handgun and going regularly to a firing range until she developed a respectable skill. When she married Roger, he insisted she get rid of the gun, saying she had no need of it when he was there to protect her. She’d acquiesced, as always, even though she didn’t know how Roger intended to protect her. He’d never even been in a fistfight in his life.
    Once again on her own, she’d bought the gun after Roger left, knowing he’d be outraged if he knew she was keeping a gun in the house. “But you walked out and left me alone with a child,” she muttered to an invisible Roger. Besides, the locks on the doors had been changed since he moved out, so there was no danger of his walking in unexpectedly and accidentally being shot by a panicky wife. That’s why she had only one set of keys—so no one else could come in. She was also careful to keep the windows locked.
    Nicole started to put the gun back in the closet, then decided it would do her no good if it took her ten minutes to find and load it. Instead she loaded it and put it in the drawer beside her bedside table. Then she locked the drawer and tucked the key under her mattress.
    Taking another quick look around the backyard, Nicole climbed into bed. She was so tired, she expected to fall immediately asleep. Instead, she tossed restlessly, haunted by the dream Shelley had interrupted.
    She’d always had vivid dreams and relived the attack many times over the years in nightmares, but this one had been different. Never had she seen Luis Magaro and Ritchie Zand sitting beneath the overpass talking about the rape.
    Talking about the rape . Talking about the rape as if it had already happened.
    Nicole sat up in bed. Why on earth would she dream that they were talking about the attack as if it were in the past? How could she have overheard a conversation like that?
    â€œYou didn’t,” she said aloud. “It’s impossible. You have no idea what they said to each other later. It was