He began to move down her stomach, licking and kissing, and she grabbed his hair and yanked up. “Later,” she said, needing full body contact, none of that passive lying around, getting serviced, “fuck me now,” and he said, “Right. Now,” and put the condom on, shaking his head, but the hell with him, she knew what she needed, she needed to pound somebody, somebody was going to pay, goddammit. When he reached for her, she moved over him, straddling him again, and he guided himself into her as she sank down, shivering at the shock of penetration, grabbing on to the headboard and jerking against him because he felt so damn good, thinking damn it damn it damn it damn it damn it, banging hard into him with each curse, working off all that frustration and rage while he gripped her hips and held on. She ground into him, not even realizing she’d let go of the headboard and was pounding his shoulders with her fists until he grabbed her wrists and rolled her over, pinning her down while she writhed under him. He rocked inside her and the heat built, but it wasn’t enough, she wanted to move, wanted to be the one punishing, and she smacked her head against his shoulder, writhing and biting hard in frustration until he said, “Damn it!” and slid out of her. “No,” she said, clawing at him, but he flipped her over, and before she could swing on him, he’d pulled her up and slid into her from behind, his hand stroking down her stomach and into her, and she sucked in her breath as he pushed farther up into her, trapping her against him as he rocked. “Harder,” she said, pounding on the mattress, and he slammed into her, and she gasped as lust finally wiped out rage, and the full impact of what she was doing with a semi-complete stranger hit her.

Wait a minute, she thought, but the heat was everywhere and so was he, his hands on her, his body wrapped around her, in her, her skin itched and crackled and she couldn’t stop shuddering, it was too late, and he wasn’tstopping, his breathing ragged and out of control behind her, she couldn’t even see him, massive behind her, surging into her, and the pressure built, and her blood pounded, the tension everywhere, her breath coming in little gasps as she writhed under his hands and his weight, and then he shifted and rocked into the perfect spot, and she screamed, “Oh, God,” and came her brains out, rattling the headboard so hard, she woke up Rhett and made him bark right before she collapsed onto the mattress with Shane on top of her. A moment later, the electricity went out.

In the darkness, all she could hear were the crickets and somebody breathing really hard. That was her. Shane was so still, he was immobile, completely silent, for minutes, hours maybe, while Agnes felt her body spiral back from the good stuff, and then he relaxed, sucking air as hard as she was. He’d been listening, she realized. For what, God knew. Maybe another dognapper.

He pulled out of her and put his hand on her back. “Are you okay?” he said after a minute, still breathless.

Agnes thought about it. “Yes.”

She moved away carefully, assessing the damage she’d brought on herself. There was surprisingly little, considering how much banging around she’d been doing. Mostly it was just that every-cell-I-have-has-just-collapsed feeling that a really good orgasm gave her. She breathed for a while, trying to sort things out, and then she said, “How are you?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, sounding bemused. She heard him sit up in the dark and she did the same, cautiously. “Sorry?”

“No. No complaints. What happened to the lights?”

“Sometimes they do this.” She tried to catch her breath. It seemed to have gone permanently. “The circuit breaker blows. Or on hot nights sometimes the grid goes.” Well, this is weird. And how was it for you? She drew another deep breath. “I’ve got flashlight lanterns stashed all over the place.” More breathing. “There’s one by the door and a couple more in the kitchen.” She could see the paler moonlit blue squares of her bedroom windows now that her eyes were accustomed to the dark. Her body was coming back, too. It was her mind that was leaking out her ears. “Usually when the circuits blow, it’s because there’s too much power being drawn, but we weren’t using any power.”

“Oh, there was a surge there at the end.”

As pillow talk, it wasn’t much. On the other hand, her foreplay had been trying to kill somebody. Definitely time to go back to therapy. “Thank you for taking the fork away from me.”

“You’re welcome.” He got up and put on his jeans, and she could have sworn he’d picked up his jacket and taken out a gun. He put whatever it was in his waistband. “We need to get that kid out of the basement and ask him who sent him, although my money’s on Grandpa Thibault. Then tomorrow I’ll go take care of whoever it is, and you’ll be safe again.”

“Oh. Good.” Agnes squinted at him, still trying to see what he’d put in his waistband. It wasn’t like he needed guns. He was terrifying all by himself. Which reminded her. “Thank you for threatening Taylor.”

“My pleasure.”

“Listen, did I do anything awful to you? I mean, just now?”

“No, Agnes,” Shane said, sounding exhausted. “You had sex with me. I’ll take pretty much anything that comes with that.”

“Okay.” She slid down a little in the bed.

“So we don’t have power, which means we don’t have air-conditioning,” Shane said.

“Right.” Agnes realized that sweat was already dripping between her breasts. “Oh, hell. And you got me a new unit, too. Well, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Doyle got the screens up on the back porch before he left.”

“Yes.”

He moved and she saw his silhouette against the window as he looked out. Big guy. Well, she knew that. She tried to move and felt the effects of him everywhere. Really big guy.

“After we deal with the kid, let’s sleep on the porch.”

“We’ll have to wake up early,” Agnes said. “I always do,” Shane said.

“Okay.” Agnes got out of bed and picked up her pillow. “You know, I wouldn’t have killed Taylor.” Probably.

“Hell, Agnes, you almost killed me.” Shane picked up his pillow.

“Humor. Har.” Agnes gathered up the comforter and opened the door, turning back to get her clothes. “I-”

Shane pointed a gun and fired straight at her twice, the muzzle flash lighting the room, bullets cracking past her ear, then a thud-

Shane went by her, his face expressionless, his hand on her shoulder, pushing her down. “Stay there,” he said, and she turned on her knees and saw a guy lying in the moonlight in the kitchen, his arms splayed out at his sides, a gun in one open hand, and Shane, firing twice more into the man’s chest as he went past on his way out the back door.

Agnes nodded, even though he was gone.

As near as she could tell, the guy with the bullets in him was big. Older. Not skinny like the kid who’d died in the basement last night. This one outweighed her. He’d have shot her even if she’d thrown raspberry sauce at him.

Not that it was a problem now. He was dead.

She saw her glasses on the floor there, where they’d fallen off when she’d been fighting Shane on the way into the bedroom. She crawled forward gingerly and picked them up, not sure why she was being careful since the guy had four bullets in him. He wasn’t getting up again.

She put her glasses on.

Those last two bullets. Just fired right in as he went by. Agnes put her head on her knees and shook.

After a while Shane came back in and said, “He did something to the power. We’ll get it back tomorrow.” He went over to the body and put the flashlight on the face. “You know him?”

Agnes stood up very carefully and went to look, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. He was older, grizzled hair, broad ugly face, two bullet holes in the center of the forehead, two more in his chest. Two holes. Like in Taylor’s neck. “No.”