Among the Missing

A LEISURE BOOK

October 2000

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

276 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

Copyright (c) 1999 by Richard Laymon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN 0-8439-4788-8

The name "Leisure Books" and the stylized "L" with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

This book is dedicated to

The Deadline Boys

Peter Enfantino, Robert Morrish, John Scoleri

Thanks for the books and the fun.

May there be plenty more of both.

Chapter One

The Rendezvous

When he heard the car, the man stood up. He brushed pine needles off the seat of his jeans, then hurried out of the forest and trotted down to the roadside. As he neared the moonlit pavement, headlights swept around a corner to the south. They were very low and close together.

Could be a Jaguar.

Has to be, he thought.

He glanced at his wristwatch. 2:32.

It's gotta be her. An hour late.

With a grin, he showed his thumb.

The car sped closer, its engine tearing the silence, its headlights growing.

A Jag, all right. So how come she's not slowing down?

He took his eyes away as the car blasted by. Then he looked again. The Jaguar's taillights vanished around a wooded curve.

"Bitch," he muttered.

But the engine noise didn't fade with distance. Instead, it decelerated from a roar to a choppy grumble. A few seconds later, the taillights reappeared. This time, they were accompanied by a pair of white backup lights. With jerking bursts of speed, the Jaguar made its way toward him.

It stopped in front of him.

"How about a lift, stranger?" a familiar voice called through the open window.

"I could go for that."

When he opened the door, a map-light came on above the glove compartment. He bent low to climb into the car and looked at the woman behind the wheel. "Nice outfit," he said.

"It's the latest thing in tryst-wear."

It was a see-through white nightgown that hung by cords from her shoulders, clung to her breasts, and covered very little of her lap.

"The door?"

"Almost forgot, the view's so nice." He shut it and the light died.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're very welcome."

"And where would you like to go?"

"Well . . . Anywhere's fine."

"Somewhere not too far away?" she asked, and started to drive. "I shouldn't be out too long under the circumstances."

"How long have you got?"

"Well, I really should be home before dawn. I wouldn't exactly like to be seen in this outfit. Not by just anyone." Turning her head, she smiled at him. "Only by someone extra special, like you."

"You're pretty special yourself."

"Are you surprised I actually showed up?" she asked.

"I was starting to wonder."

"Well, I made it, didn't I?"

"A little late."

"A smidgen."

"I guess they can call you 'the late Mrs. Parkington.' "

"That's not terribly funny."

"Sorry."

"That's the sort of quip I might expect from Grant, the pretentious asshole. Always with the quips. Nasty quips. I can't imagine why I stay married to him."

"It's not his good looks?"

She laughed. "Now, that's funny! Very good." Reaching over, she patted his thigh. "Anyway, where shall we go?"

"Well, how about Harrah's at South Tahoe?"

"I'm not dressed for that sort of gambling, buster."

"I hear they've got great guest rooms."

"Well, isn't Tahoe a trifle far?"

"Less than an hour."

"That's too far for me. I don't want to spend the whole night driving. Can't you think of a nice, romantic place that's perhaps five minutes from here?"

"Well . . ."

"Help me out here, fellow. I haven't a clue. For all I know, we could be in the Black Fucking Forest of Bavaria."

"Guess you could say every forest is a fucking forest, if you're in the mood."

"Oh, please. I may lose the mood."

"How about the Woody Pines Motor Lodge?"

"Where's that?"

"I don't know. I made it up."

She reached over, slapped his thigh, and said, "Stop that."

"I know a place," he said.

"A real place?"

"A beautiful, romantic place with a view of the river."

"That sounds promising."

"We'll have the stars overhead, treetops whispering in the breeze, and moonlight rippling on the water."

"Fabulous! Where is it?"

"The Bend."

"The Bend?"

"You don't know the Bend?"

"We've only been here two months, dear. I can hardly be expected to know every detail of your backwoods, albeit quaint geography. So if you'd like to fill me in . . . ?"

"It's a bend, or turn, in the Silver River."

She nodded. "Runs into Silver Lake, I presume."

"That's right. The river widens and slows down at the Bend, and there's a nice, sandy beach."

"I'm not so sure about sand. . . ."

"You'll have to make up your mind pretty soon. The turn-off's coming up."

"Well, I do have a blanket. I suppose the sand shouldn't present too much of a problem."

"You'd better slow down."

Taking her foot off the gas pedal, she said, "It does get everywhere."

"What?"

"Sand. The nasty little grains like to go where they've got no business."

"The turn-off's right after this curve."

"Ah." She pressed down gently on the brake pedal. "I suppose we might as well give it a try."

"Sure. Get ready to turn."

"Right?"

"Left." He closely watched the roadside. "There!"

She jammed on the brake and swung the Jaguar in a hard left that took it onto a road both unmarked and unpaved. Trees crowded in close, blocking out the moon. "This is a bit spooky," she announced.

"I'll protect you."

"You're such a gentleman."

"So was Count Dracula," he said.

Her head turned. "Now, stop that."

"Vampires are real gentlemen, right up to the moment they sink their fangs into your neck."

She slapped his thigh again. "Cut that out! You're frightening me."

"Sorry."

"How far does this road go, anyway?"

"Not much farther," he told her.

"I hope not."

Moments later, the trees moved back from the sides of the road, letting moonlight in. The road continued into a broad clearing -- a parking area, deserted except for a garbage barrel and a single, dark car.

"Oh, dear," she said. "Company."

"Don't worry about it."

She parked beside the garbage barrel. "So where is this Bend of yours?"

"We'll have to walk down to it."

"Oh, charming. Far?"

"Not very."

She twisted the ignition key and silence replaced the engine's roar. She killed the headlights. Darkness clamped down on the clearing ahead of them.

"All set?" she asked.

"All set," he said, and tried to open his door.

"Push down."

He pushed the lever down and the door unlatched. "Complicated contraption," he said, climbing out.

"It only responds if you handle it properly. Like a woman." Standing by the driver's door, she said, "Just a sec while I grab the blanket." She lifted a lever. The back of the front seat tipped forward.

"You sure came prepared."

"Why not? One can't always count on a bed. And as much as I adore the great out of doors, I do like to have a little something between me and the ground. Most especially between me and the beach." Bending down, she reached behind the front seat.

The man shut his door. He stepped to the other side of the car and saw her still bent over. Her slim legs were pale in the moonlight. Her nightgown, no longer than a shirt, left her buttocks bare.

She ducked out of the low car and stood up straight, holding a knitted blanket.

"Voila!" she said.

"I'll carry it."

"See? I knew you were a gentleman. But I believe I'll keep it, thank you. A trifle nippy out here." She spread the blanket open and wrapped it around her body. "You're the native, so tell me. It's the middle of August. It rarely fails to be as hot as blazes during the daytime, but after dark we seem on the verge of the next Ice Age. Why is that?"

"Just how it is," he said. "It's the mountains. We're about a mile high, for one thing."

"Are you freezing?"

"I'm fine," he said, and held out his hand.

Holding the blanket shut with one hand, she reached out through the front with her other and took hold of his hand. She gave it a squeeze.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"A trifle."

"Me too."

"You're not nervous. You're only saying that."

"Think so?" Lifting her hand, he placed it against the front of his shirt. "Feel that?"

"Oh, my Lord! Is that your heart?"

"Sure is."

"You are nervous." She patted his chest. "Or are you just excited?"

"I'll never tell."

"I bet I could find out."

"Wouldn't you rather wait until we get down to the river?"

"Not necessarily. At least there's no sand up here."

"But there's no wonderful view of the moonlit river, either."

"Ah. True."

He led her forward, away from the parking area and over a narrow, grassy rise. From there, he could see the start of a trail that curved down the wooded slope. Far below, visible through breaks in the trees, was a pale stretch of beach, a curving lane of dark water, and woods on the other side.

"It does look lovely down there," she said.

"Nice and private."

"I hope so. Who do you suppose might belong to the car?" She glanced over her shoulder at it.

"Campers, maybe. Backpackers leave their cars here, sometimes, when they're going off on a long trek. They could be miles away."

"If anyone is around," she said, "we'll have to go someplace else. I'm not a great believer in public displays."

"Nobody'll be around. It's nearly three o'clock."

She squeezed his hand. "Have you ever been here with her?"

"Hey. Never mind about her, the bitch."

"Just asking."

"Don't."

"So sorry."

At the bottom of the slope, the trail vanished as it led into pale, moonlit sand.

"Wait just a second." Letting go of his hand, she put her hand inside the blanket and bent down.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking off my slippers. I don't want to get them all full of sand." Moments later, she said, "Oooo, cold! A very good thing I brought the blanket, or we'd freeze our tushes the minute we lie down. Brrr." She stood up straight, keeping both hands inside the blanket. "All set," she said.

Side by side, they walked on toward the river.

"Now how can it be that the sand feels so much colder than the air?" she asked. "Does that make any sense?"

"Mountain sense."

"Oh, my God, I've fallen in league with Daniel Boone."

He laughed.

"I do love this, though. Just smell the air!" Hurrying ahead of him, she whirled around and pranced backward. "This is so delicious. So invigorating!" Suddenly, one of her hands darted out from inside the blanket and tossed both her slippers at him. "Catch!"

He caught one, but fumbled the other. As he crouched to pick it up, she whipped the blanket from around her shoulders and flung it toward him. "Catch!"

It fluttered to the ground in front of him.

Laughing, she lifted the nightgown over her head. She threw it. The wind spread it open and lifted it, carrying it high. The wispy white gown twirled and swooped like an exuberant ghost.

"Don't let it get away!" she called. Then she ran through the moonlight and shadows, her arms waving in the air.

At the water's edge, she stopped. She looked back. "Coming?" she called.

"Might take me a minute," he said, standing up with her slippers and blanket. "I've got to chase down your nightgown."

"Oh, leave it."

"No, I'll get it." Moments before, a low pine limb had snagged the cavorting nightie.

"I'm going in the water!"

"I'll be along in a minute." He hurried over to the gown, carefully freed it from the pine snare, then turned around and headed for the beach with it in his hands, blanket and slippers clutched to his chest.

Standing naked at the river's edge, she looked over her shoulder at him.

"Don't take all night!" she called.

"I'm coming."

"I do hope that's not intended to be some sort of lame, Grant-like orgasm pun."