Tom Nelson was blackmailing her for his own gains. Tom, drunken and weak-willed, had his own genius. In ways that totally mystified Nancy, he had ways of finding a particular kind of person… like Fred Hartman… and somehow discovering his secret desires… like watching women humiliate themselves. Tom Nelson had a nasty, perverted knack for getting orgies going. In a comparatively short time, Nancy had come to regard Tom as the ultimate rat. Full of disgusting weaknesses himself, he had a nose for sensing weakness in others… and taking advantage of it.

She drained her glass, holding her breath against the shock she would feel in the pit of her stomach and decided the best thing to do was to have a shower and go to bed. She was bone tired and sore all over. She had a shower at Fred Hartman's… he was nice enough to give her a guest room, but all she had wanted to do then was get away.

The alcohol was beginning to make her yawn and stumble around. She knew she couldn't keep her eyes open much longer. As tormented as she was, she knew she simply had to get some sleep. Without looking at herself in any mirrors, she threw her clothes off, letting them fall to the floor. Later she would straighten the house up, later she would have it ready for Allan coming home. Later! Later she would be rested and she would think of what she was going to do. She knew she had to do something because she was only getting in deeper with each phone call from Tom or Rita. She was only getting herself more deeply involved in a lewd world of utter abandon with each visit to Fred Hartman's estate.

At the thought of Fred Hartman, despite her fatigue and drunken vagueness, Nancy shuddered. She feared him. She loathed Tom, but she was afraid of Fred Hartman, afraid of what he might ultimately do to her.

She showered quickly and wrapped her lovely body in a terry cloth robe and, yawning, eyes almost closed, she curled up on the bed and fell into a deep but troubled sleep.