The woman walked in. A sharp intake of breath from the dark–haired man who had been standing when Cross came in. Princess followed, his mask in place, a chrome .44 magnum in his fist. Then Rhino, also masked, turning sideways to get in the door. His hands were empty. He shut the door behind him, gently.

"Everybody on the couch," Cross said, gesturing with the Uzi. The men sat together, hunched, trembling. Cross pointed, and Rhino stepped behind the couch, looming over the seated figures. Princess stood to the left, his feet braced in a shooter's posture. Cross held his place on the right.

The woman stepped into the middle of the v. "You," she whispered, pointing a long, lacquered nail at the man who had been standing. "Look at me. You've been doing it for months–do it now." The man blanched.

Cross nodded at Rhino. The huge man walked out from behind the couch to the other side of the room. He picked up a marble coffee table like it was a book, carried it to a place in front of the couch. Then he picked up a straight–backed chair in each hand, fussily arranged them so that one was on either side of the coffee table. He took his place behind the couch again. The woman took one of the chairs. "Sit," she said to the dark–haired man, pointing at the other. He did.

The woman nodded at Cross.

"Here it is," Cross told the men. "We got paid to do a job. The job is, you all sit quiet. The lady wants to play a game. We got paid to make sure she gets to play it. We were going to kill you, we wouldn't be wearing the masks. You let the lady play her game, then we all leave. That's it. No violence, no robbery. You do something real wrong, you're going to get dead."

The woman took a deep, harsh breath. It was the only sound in the room.

"So this is the Stalkers' Club," she said. "How long have you been doing it?"

Nobody answered.

"Take the one on the end and break his arm," Cross said to Rhino.

"Two years." the one on the end squeaked. "Two years, this June."

"Don't you talk again," the woman said. "You"–pointing at the dark–haired man–"you do all the talking, understand?"

"Yes," the man said.

"You take pictures?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Video too?"

"Yes."

"You use the computers? Get information from the data banks on the women you stalk?"

"Yes."

"It's all in fun, right?"

"It is. We never…"

"You're a rapist, aren't you?"

"No!"

"You have me, don't you? All of you? Captured on your dirty little pictures. It's no fun after a while…unless they know, yes? I could feel you on me after a while. You like that, don't you?"

"It doesn't hurt…"

"Yes it does. And you know it. And you like it."

"I never…"

"Sex, it's all in the mind, isn't it? You have me in your minds."

"No!"

"Yes. I can prove it. Here's the game we're going to play. I bet I can make you come. In ten minutes. Without touching you. Just touching your mind. I'll bet a hundred thousand dollars I can do that. You want to bet?"

"What if I don't?" A trace of sulkiness in his reedy voice.

"Then these men take off their masks, understand?"

"Yes."

"You want to bet?"

"Yes."

The woman nodded at Princess. He walked over to the coffee table, opened the attaché case. It was full of money, banded bills, clean and new. He carefully stacked the cash on a corner of the table, stepped back.

"There's my stake. One hundred thousand. You ready to play?"

"I don't have that kind of money…."

"You want to put up something else' Like your right hand–the one you use on me when you're alone with your dirty pictures?"

"Are you crazy! I won't…"

"Stop lying," the woman said. "I don't have time. You have a safe here. Go and get it."

The dark–haired man got to his feet. Cross stepped next to him, the Uzi between them. They left the room.

They were back in two minutes. Cross dropped a double handful of wealth on the coffee table. Unmounted jewels, cash, gold coins, bearer certificates.

"There's more than a hundred…" the man said.

"Shut up, liar. What's there is what you're playing for. You ready?"

Princess shifted his weight. "Yes," the man said.

The woman stood up. Took off her coat. Under it she wore black fishnet stockings anchored by thick bands around the top of each perfect thigh. Her long legs ended in black spike heels. She turned slowly. A black silk thong divided her buttocks. She was nude from the waist up. The woman turned again, one full turn. Then she sat down on the straight–backed chair, nodded to Princess again. The bodybuilder holstered his huge pistol, took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket, and cuffed the woman's hands behind her. Then he wrapped a pair of thin black leather straps across her chest, separating her breasts bandolier style. He pulled the straps under the chair and around her thighs, securing her in place. Princess knelt, quickly wrapping two more straps around the woman's ankles. She squirmed against the bonds, unable to move.

"Ten minutes," the woman said. "Start counting."

Princess held another leather strap. The woman licked her lips, opened her mouth. Princess fitted the gag, tied it at the back of her head. The woman's eyes bored into the man facing her. Then Princess fitted the black blindfold in place.

Breathing was the only sound. The woman writhed under the bonds, an oily sheen popping out across her ivory–cream skin.

Dots of white flowered on the dark–haired man's cheeks.

Cross walked over to the computer, tapped a couple of keys. He inserted a floppy disk, hit the Return key. The screen went crazy. The hard disk whirred.

Nobody's eyes left the woman.

Cross prowled the apartment until he found the video library. He pulled a glass bottle from his coat, poured the clear contents over the stacked videotapes. A faint hissing sound filled the small room as the acid went to work. He stepped back inside. The woman's head was back, a throaty moan bubbling past her lips–her sweat mingled with a heavy perfume, choking the room.

The dark–haired man hadn't moved his eyes. His hands were clenched into fists at his side.

A tiny beep sounded from Cross's watch. "Time," he said.

Princess untied the woman. She put on her coat. Stood over the man, hands in her pockets.

"You get one answer," she said. "Did I prove my point? Did you come ?"

"Yes," the man said. Not looking at her.

The woman stepped around the coffee table, holding the man with her eyes. She took a cork–tipped ice pick from the folds of her coat. He was rooted. She snapped the cork tip off the ice pick with a fingernail.

"You can rape with your eyes, can't you?" she whispered.

"I…"

"Can't you?" Her voice was a whipcrack.

"Yes," he mumbled, not looking up.

"And you never know who's watching–don't forget," she said. The woman nodded to Princess. He scooped everything on the table into the attaché case, popping the sides so it expanded to hold it all. Then he handed her something that looked like a fiat disk with elastic straps. She slipped it over her nose and mouth as Rhino sprayed a canister of some greenish gas over the seated men. They all went down, swooning.