'Give me an extra four boxes, then.'

'You'll want a cleaning kit.'

She nodded.

Driving home, Pen felt pleased with herself. She had really done it - really bought herself a shotgun.

She wished she'd had it Friday night. Things would've been different. No cord stretched across her doorway, for starters. No header into the wall, d.a.m.n near splitting open her skull.

Wouldn't have panicked.

Wouldn't have stabbed Bodie.

It had cost a bundle, but it was worth every dime. Besides, she told herself, just moving to a new apartment would've cost more than the shotgun.

And it would've been running away.

You don't run. now. You don't run ever.

You've got a 12-gauge pumpgun with magnum high-velocity buckshot loads.

You hold your ground.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

They drove past Harrison 's house. His Mercedes was still parked in the driveway. Joyce's Lincoln Continental was still at the curb on the next block.

'Why don't we go on back to your Dad's place?' Bodie suggested. 'We can pick up Pen's things and take them over to her.'

'Okay,' Melanie said.

Bodie didn't like it that Pen would be staying at her apartment. He would miss her. No more chances to be in the spa with her. No more sneaking into her room after Melanie was asleep.

Maybe they could talk her into returning.

Maybe I could. No help could be expected from Melanie on that. Remind Pen about the caller, the note left under her door, frighten her into coming back. If I push too hard, though, Melanie won't like it - might suspect I have something more on my mind than Pen's safety.

At least I'll have a chance to see her again when we take the suitcase over.

Maybe she's already changed her mind. She's had some time to cool off. With a little luck, maybe the caller struck again.

Bodie turned onto San Vicente and thought about calling her, himself. Use Joyce's phone. He'd have to get away from Melanie long enougha What if Pen recognized his voice?

I want to come in your mouth.

I want to spread your legs and stick my c.o.c.k up youra I can't talk to her that way. Not a chance.

I could just call her up and say nothing. That'd spook her.

A rotten trick, but it might really be dangerous for her to stay alone in that apartment. The guy just might pay a visit.

Bodie wondered if she had reconnected her phones.

'Have you decided what to do about school?' Melanie asked.

He shook his head.

'You don't have to stay here, you know. All thisa it's not your problem.'

'Trying to get rid of me?' he asked, and grinned at her.

'I just don't want you to feel that you have to stick around. You've got those cla.s.ses to teach, anda There's no telling how long Dad might last.'

'He might surprise you and recover.'

'Yeah, sure,' she muttered.

'I'll stay a few days. Besides, I want to help you get to the bottom of this business with Joyce and Harrison.'

'That won't take long,' Melanie said.

'You've got a plan in mind?'

She shrugged.

'We could always beat Joyce with a rubber hose until she spills the beans,' he suggested.

'Good idea.'

He turned and drove slowly up the narrow lane to the house.

Inside, he said, 'Do you think we could eat before I keel over?'

'Sure.'

Melanie found hot dogs in the refrigerator, buns in the freezer. She put them in the microwave. While they heated, she filled two gla.s.ses with Pepsi and found an open bag of potato chips. Bodie ate some chips while he waited. They were a little stale, chewy and with a strange under-taste that reminded him of drinking water from a garden hose.

Melanie put the steaming buns and hot dogs on plates. Bodie lathered his buns with mustard. They sat at the kitchen table to eat.

'I guess you should pack up Pen's things when we're done.'

Melanie chewed.

'Want me to help?'

'You'd like that,' she said.

Indeed I would, he thought.

'I can wait down here.'

And call Pen?

And breathe.

It'd be for her own good.

But when they finished eating, it was Melanie who went to the telephone. She dialed 411.

'Who are you calling?'

'Directory a.s.sistance.'

'I know that.'

' Santa Monica,' she said into the receiver. ' Harrison Donner. On Twenty-first Street.'

Bodie's back stiffened.

Melanie pressed down on the cut-off b.u.t.ton, let it up, and began to dial.

'What the h.e.l.l are you doing?'

'You'll see.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.'

'h.e.l.lo. Harrison? This is Melanie Conwaya Just fine. Dad's come out of ita Yeah. I'm calling from the hospital. He's just come out of his comaa Yeah, isn't it great? Anyway, the thing is, he says he has to talk to youa No, I don't know what it's about but I guess it's pretty important. Could you come right over?a Great. See you in a few minutes.' She hung up.

Bodie stared at her.

'Let's get going,' she said.

'Whata?'

'We're gonna take a look at his Porsche,' she said.

'Good Christ, Mel.'

Pen sat on the sofa with the shotgun box heavy across her lap. She opened it and lifted out the weapon. The wood and steel were glossy in the light from the window at her back. There was a faint, pleasant odor of oil.

Though she'd never fired a shotgun, a boyfriend had taken her out to the hills near Valencia one Sat.u.r.day and they'd had a fine time plinking cans with revolvers and his rifle. The rifle was a.30 caliber lever-action. She remembered the way it crashed her shoulder when she fired it. And the G.o.dawful noise.

The shotgun would probably be similar.

She raised it, pressed it firmly to her shoulder, and sighted along the narrow strip of steel that ran the length of the barrel to a bead on its muzzle.

Paul's rifle had had a telescopic sight. With that, she'd hit the cans more often than not.

With this - if she ever actually needed to use it - her target wouldn't be more than twenty feet away. She couldn't possibly miss.

She worked the pump. It made a sliding snick-clack. Her finger curled around the trigger, but she didn't squeeze it.

The thing's not loaded, she told herself. It shouldn't be. But if it is, you'll blast your wall open.

She set the shotgun across her knees and spent the next few minutes studying its instruction booklet. Then she checked the chamber. Empty. She pulled the trigger. Click. Then she opened a box of cartridges and fed four of them into the magazine.

Leaving the weapon unc.o.c.ked, she pressed a switch to activate the safety. She worked the switch back and forth a few times until she felt familiar with it.

All set, she thought.

She had already decided on the best place to keep it. She carried the shotgun into her bedroom, knelt beside her bed, and pushed it beneath the draping side of her coverlet.

Then she lay down on the bed.

Someone's here!

She threw herself off the mattress, s.n.a.t.c.hed out the shotgun, swept its barrel high to clear the bed, and swung it toward the door.

'Pow,' she whispered.

She shook her head. She felt a little silly, like a kid playing soldier, but she returned the shotgun to its place. This time, she took off her shoes and got beneath the covers. She tried the maneuver again. The covers slowed her down, but not by much.

She practiced three more times, then stripped off the sheets and pillow cases and piled them on the floor.

Sunday. Laundry day.

You're home now, you're not running away, you might as well do your regular ch.o.r.es as if nothing has changed.

Bodie drove past Harrison 's house. The Mercedes was no longer in the driveway.

'It worked,' Melanie said.

'Sure it worked. But what's he going to think when he gets to the hospital and finds out you lied?'

'It'll sure make him wonder, won't it?' Melanie didn't sound bothered.