"Okay. Let's go into a huddle," Nolan said. "But I can tell you this. If the thing went down in north central Pennsylvania, it's in some pretty rugged country." "Great," Cartwell snarled. CHAPTER THREE The dream was of a woman. He was lying on a strangely made bed, the warm breezes of evening rolling in off the crashing sea and the woman stood in the ornate doorway that entered the bedroom. About him lay all manner of bright silks and strange colored cloths. The woman smiled and his eyes caressed her. Her hair was as gold as the noon sun and her eyes, lifting slightly at the outer corners, were as blue as the sea. Her lips petaled back over the white strength of her teeth and her fingers did strange things to make the flimsy robe drop from the rounded softness of her shoulders. He watched her walk, upon curvaceous legs, to the edge of the bed. For just a second, she smiled down at him. "Father is sleeping like a baby," she whispered. He felt himself talk: "Good." Then his fingers curled about the curve of her thigh. His fingers tightened and the crimson smile broadened; he pulled and felt her resist him with maidenly demureness, but in the end she came to him. He felt the yielding firmness of her body pressing down into his on the bed and his arms furled about the softness that she offered. The warm cones of her breasts worked on the hardness of his chest and his mouth fused against hers in a passionate kiss. "Lors, Lors, darling. You've been gone so long." Her voice was a kitten purr in his ear, warm and gentle. "I'm back, Jela," he smiled, his hands caressing the lithe length of her body, folding her against him tightly. She moved away from him, rolling, tugging at him to respond, but he needed no encouragement. His body rolled with her, his arms pinning her to him tightly so that she could move nothing ... nothing but her legs, but then there was little need to move anything else... * * * * * The dream faded and he cursed, and tried to get back to sleep and the beautiful woman who awaited him. Sleep came, but the dream was gone. Andy, shaking his shoulder, woke him about sundown and Nick swung his legs off the cot and stood up. Still sleepy, he fingered the heavy stubble on his face and looked at the old man. "Y'kin use my razor t'chop off that beard, son," he said. "C'mon, get around now. Got soup and sandwiches ready an' some famous Hocum coffee." Nick straightened his wrinkled clothing, shaking the last remnants of weary fog from his brain. Andy went on talking to him and said something that woke Nick Danson up completely. "Yer buddies was here, couple o' hours ago, son." "What?" It was almost impossible to keep the surprise out of his face and voice. Andy didn't seem to notice anything wrong. "Th' fellers y'got drunk with. Wanted t'know if I'd seen any strangers on th' road. I said I hadn't, 'cause I figgered they might want t'slap y'around again." "Thanks, Andy."