Posing as a friar from a distant monastery, Carrillo traveled from church to church begging sanctuary for the night. It was always granted, and in the morning when the priest came to open the church doors, all the valuable artifacts would be missing, along with the good friar.

Unfortunately, fate had double-crossed him. Two nights earlier in Bejar, a small town near Ávila, the priest had returned unexpectedly and Miguel Carrillo had been caught in the act of pilfering the church treasury. The priest was a beefy, heavyset man, and he had wrestled Carrillo to the ground and announced that he was going to turn him over to the police. A heavy silver chalice had fallen to the floor, and Carrillo had picked it up and hit the priest with it.

Either the chalice was too heavy or the priest's skull was too thin, but in any case the priest lay dead on the floor.

Miguel Carrillo had fled, panicky, anxious to put himself as far away from the scene of the crime as possible. He had passed through Ávila and heard the story of the attack on the convent by Colonel Acoña and the secret GOE. It was fate that Carrillo had chanced upon the four escaped nuns.

Now, eager with anticipation, he studied their naked bodies and thought: There's another interesting possibility.

Since Colonel Acoña and his men are looking for the sisters, there is probably a nice, fat reward on their heads. I'll lay them first, and then turn them over to Acoña.

The women, except for Lucia, who was already dressed, were totally naked. Carrillo watched as they awkwardly put on the new underclothes. Then they finished dressing, clumsily buttoning unaccustomed buttons and fastening zippers, hurrying to get away before they were caught.

Time to get to work, Carrillo thought happily. He got down from the chair and walked out into the store. He approached the women, studied them approvingly, and said, "Excellent. No one in the world would ever take you for nuns. I might suggest scarves for your heads." He selected one for each of them and watched them put them on.

Miguel Carrillo had made his decision. Graciela was going to be the first. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. And that body! How could she have wasted it on God? I'll show her what to do with it.

He said to Lucia, Teresa, and Megan, "You must all be hungry. I want you to go to the cafe we passed and wait for us there. I'll go to the church and borrow some money from the priest so we can eat." He turned to Graciela. "I want you to come with me. Sister, to explain to the priest what happened at the convent."

"I—very well."

Carrillo said to the others, "We'll be along in a little while. I would suggest you use the back door."

He watched as Lucia, Teresa, and Megan left. When he heard the door close behind them, he turned to Graciela.

She's fantastic, he thought. Maybe I'll keep her with me, break her in to some cons. She could be a big help.

Graciela was watching him. "I'm ready."

"Not yet." Carrillo pretended to study her for a moment.

"No, I'm afraid it won't do. That dress is all wrong for you.

Take it off."

"But-—why?"

"It doesn't fit properly," Carrillo said glibly. "People will notice, and you don't want to attract attention."

She hesitated, then moved behind a rack.

"Hurry, now. We have very little time."

Awkwardly, Graciela slipped the dress over her head. She was in her panties and brassiere when Carrillo suddenly appeared.

"Take everything off." His voice was husky.

Graciela stared at him. "What? No!" she cried. "I— I can't. Please—I—"

Carrillo moved closer to her. "I'll help you, Sister."

His hands reached out and he ripped off her brassiere and tore at her panties.

"No!" she screamed. "You mustn't! Stop it!"

Carrillo grinned. "Carita, we're just getting started. You're going to love this."

His strong arms were around her. He forced her to the floor and lifted his robe.

It was as though a curtain in Graciela's mind suddenly descended. It was the Moor trying to thrust himself inside her, tearing into the depths of her, and her mother's shrill voice was screaming. And Graciela thought, terrified, No, not again. No, please-not again…

She was struggling fiercely now, fighting Carrillo off, trying to get up.

"Goddamn you," he cried.

He slammed his fist into her face, and Graciela fell back, stunned and dizzy.

She found herself spinning back in time. Back . . Back .

Las Navas del Marques, Spain

She was five years old. Her earliest memories were of a procession of naked strangers climbing in and out of her mother's bed.

Her mother explained, "They are your uncles. You must show them respect."

The men were gross and crude and lacked affection. They stayed for a night, a week, a month, and then vanished. When they left, Dolores Piсero would immediately look for a new man.

In her youth, Dolores Piсero had been a beauty, and

Graciela had inherited her mother's looks. Even as a child,

Graciela was stunning to look at, with high cheekbones, an olive complexion, shiny black hair, and thick, long eyelashes. Her young body was nubile with promise.

With the passage of years, Dolores Piсero's body had turned to fat and her wonderfully boned face had become bruised with the bitter blows of time. Although she was no longer beautiful, she was accessible, and she had the reputation of being a passionate bed partner. Making love was her one talent, and she employed it to try to please men into bondage, hoping to keep them by buying their love with her body. She made a meager living as a seamstress because she was an indifferent one, and was hired only by the women of the village who could not afford better.

Dolores Piсero despised her daughter, for she was a constant reminder of the one man whom she had ever loved.

Graciela's father was a handsome young mechanic who had proposed to the beautiful young Dolores, and she had eagerly let him seduce her. But when she broke the news that she was pregnant, he disappeared, leaving Dolores with the curse of his seed.

Dolores had a vicious temper, and she took out her vengeance on the child. Any time Graciela did something to displease her, her mother would hit her and scream, "You're as stupid as your father!"

There was no way for the child to escape the rain of blows or the constant screaming. Graciela would wake up every morning and pray: Please, God, don't let Mama beat me today.

Please, God, make Mama happy today. Please, God, let Mama say she loves me today.

When she was not attacking Graciela, her mother ignored her. Graciela prepared her own meals and took care of her clothes. She made her lunch to take to school, and she would say to her teacher, "My mother made me empaсadas today. She knows how much I like empaсadas."

Or: "I tore my dress, but my mother sewed it up for me.

She loves doing things for me."

Or: "My mother and I are going to a movie tomorrow."

And it would break her teacher's heart. Las Navas del

Marques is a small village an hour from Ávila, and like all villages everywhere, everyone knew everyone else's business.

The life-style of Dolores Piсero was a disgrace, and it reflected on Graciela. Mothers refused to let their children play with the little girl, lest their morals be contaminated.

Graciela went to the school on Plazoleta del Cristo, but she had no friends and no playmates. She was one of the brightest students in the school, but her grades were poor. It was difficult for her to concentrate, for she was always tired.

Her teacher would admonish her, "You must get to bed earlier, Graciela, so that you are rested enough to do your work properly."