“Peekaboo,” he said. “I see you.” He had fallen out of love with the twenty-two-year-oldcollege student tied up in the trunk. He was also angry at her. She had disobeyed the rules.

She'd ruined the fantasy du jour.

“You look like absolute hell,” he said. “Relatively speaking, of course.”The young woman was gagged with wet cloths and couldn't answer back, but she glared at him.

Her dark-brown eyes showed fear and pain, but he could still see the stubbornness and spunkthere.

He took out his black carrying bag first, then he roughly lifted her one hundred twelve poundsout of the car. He made no effort to be gentle at this point.

“You're welcome,” he said as he put her down. “Forgotten our manners, have we?” Her legs wereshaky and she almost fell, but Casanova held her up easily with one hand.

She had on dark green Wake Forest University running shorts, a white tank top, and brand-newNike cross-training shoes. She was a typical spoiled college brat, he knew, but achinglybeautiful. Her slender ankles were bound with a leather thong that stretched about two and ahalf feet. Her hands were tied behind her back, also with a leather thong.

“You can just walk ahead of me. Go straight unless I tell you otherwise. Now walk,” heordered. “Move those long, lovely gams. Hut, hut, hut.”They started through the dense woods that got even thicker as they moved slowly along. Thickerand darker. Creepier and creepier. He swung his black bag as if he were a child carrying alunch box. He loved the dark woods. Always had.

Casanova was tall and athletic, well built, and good-looking. He knew that he could have manywomen, but not the way he wanted them. Not like this.

“I asked you to listen, didn't I? You wouldn't listen.” He spoke in a soft, detached voice. “Itold you the house rules. But you wanted to be a wiseass. So be a wiseass. Reap the rewards.”