______________________________________________________________________

The bed was hard and the way that she was tied to it stretched her taught. What was more, she had been gagged now with the same gag for what seemed like hours. The socks in her mouth were soaked with saliva and as a result, they cloyed at the back of her throat. As a result she was finding it difficult to breathe, especially when she tried to exert herself in any way.

And exert herself she did. As soon as the man and woman were out of sight, she pulled desperately at the ropes tying her, but nothing - absolutely nothing - came loose.

She lay there motionless, fighting for breath. If anything the ropes had tightened; not slackened. She was unable to see her hands, but she looked down the length of her body at the rope, which tied her ankles to the foot of the bed. Her breasts, barely contained in the lacy bra cups, heaved with the effort. She groaned into her gag, and, as she began to retch, concentrated on fighting for breath. Then, she lay still.

______________________________________________________________________

'You'd better get on into town, Morgan,' Amanda heard the woman say. 'Joe will be here soon and you know what Mr. Baxter said about keeping an eye on the F.B.I. woman.'

'Um,' Amanda said to herself, surprised at finding herself discussed that way. She waited until both had moved out of sight before investigating the doorway.

Amanda was careful to slip off her shoes before climbing the long flight of carpeted stairs. At the top was a small corridor on the left and a second flight of stairs to the right. Checking each of the rooms there and finding nothing, Amanda went back to the landing and began to climb the second flight of stairs. This one was uncarpeted.

At a top of this flight, a second landing gave way to two doors. One was locked and bolted. Amanda opened that first.

The sight that greeted her took her aback for a second. The young woman that she had met at the quayside was stretched out on the bed, her hands and feet tied to the appropriate bed end. There was very little give in any of the ropes. She wore only a pair of white panties and a white bra and there was nothing much of either of those to cover her. Worst of all, her mouth bulged horribly around whatever had been stuffed into it, and a tightly-tied rag dug at the sides of her mouth.

Amanda rushed over and began to untie the gag. Then, she gently prised a pair of sodden socks from the woman's mouth.

'T-t-thank, y-y-you,' the woman said weakly.

'I'll have you free in a jiffy,' Amanda offered in an encouraging voice. The knots were too tight to untie, but the F.B.I. agent had a small clasp knife in her pocket and she used it to cut the ropes from the woman's hands and feet.

Amanda helped her sit up.

'I'm Rebecca Carpenter,' she squeaked after a minute. 'Everyone seems to think I'm Mia Lamp...'

'I know,' Amanda interrupted. 'I did as well. Try not to talk for a bit.' She smiled. 'Can you walk?'

It took a few more minutes before Becky felt comfortable on her feet.

Amanda surveyed Becky's underwear-clad form.

'Where are your clothes?'

'They took them away. Said that they were going to dispose of them.'

'Well, you'd better have this.'

Amanda slipped off her jacket and handed it to Becky. It didn't cover much below the waist, but it did cover her top and some of her hips. Amanda now wore just her high-necked woollen sweater and slacks. She was chilly without her jacket. The younger woman must have been quite cold in just her undies.

'Better?'

Now Becky smiled. 'Yes.'

'Good. Now let's get out of here.'

______________________________________________________________________

______________________________________________________________________

'Of course, I hated doing it. But I did. The evening that Mia arrived, I copied the programme, wiped it and then e-mailed it to you.'

'E-mailed.... but anyone....'

Romelia grinned. 'Hardly. I'm a computer scientist remember. No one could intercept it. No-one can trace it. And it definitely arrived. I got a confirmation.'

Paul Lesalle thought for a moment. Then something dawned. 'Shit,' he yelled, 'shit, shit, shit.'

______________________________________________________________________

The tall, leather-clad woman looked them over quizzically; but kept the gun pointed at them.

'Who the hell are you two?' she snapped after a few minutes.

Debbie was at a loss for what to say. But she needn't have worried about trying to find words.

'I'm Melinda Lesalle. My husband owns this place and this bimbo here is his latest fuck,' the woman next to her screamed.

'I'm not ...' Debbie started.

'Shut up,' the tall woman interjected. She thought for a moment, then added, 'well, the two of you are a nice little unexpected bonus. Something I'm gonna make good use of. But first, I have a large and very heavy package in the trunk of my car. I want you two bimbos to go and get it for me.

'What, dressed like this?' Debbie stammered. 'We'll both freeze.'

Actually, Debbie didn't mind if Melinda Lesalle froze, after all not only had she caused all the problem but she was still covered up. In contrast, Debbie wore only a minute, thong bikini bottom. Thanks to Mrs. Lesalle, her bikini top was floating across the swimming pool.

'Actually, in your cases, yes,' the woman retorted. 'I rather like you like that. In fact, I'm rather keen to see more. Put your hands on your head.'

Debbie reddened. 'No,' she snapped. 'You've got to be joking. I'm not parading myself for you.'

'Oh, yea,' the woman said, grinning from ear to ear.

The silenced gun made a popping sound. The bullet exploded a small decorative vase on a plinth at the side of the pool.

'Hey, I made that,' Melinda Lesalle blurted out.

Debbie looked to her side. For a split second she forget what was being asked of her. Then, she lifted her hands to her head, feeling her bare, and now exposed breasts rise as she did so. Her nipples immediately puckered with the cold.

The woman looked her up and down, as if appraising merchandise.

'Not bad,' she said after a minute or two. She waved the gun menacingly. 'Now, Thong Woman,' she said to Debbie. 'Let's go outside. The sooner we get the package in, the sooner I can get you nicely trussed up.'

______________________________________________________________________

There was currently nothing Isla Lewis preferred. She was finding the old fool's company irksome. 'Of course,' she said as pleasantly as she could. 'Please take your time.'

She picked up her coffee and moved over to the painting on the wall.

'Ah, yes, my dear,' Baxter said as he left. I picked that up at an auction house recently. Quite a find, don't you think?'

Isla watched the old fool close the door and then turned to the painting. It took only a minute for her to pick out the defects. It was a very good copy. That was for sure. But it was clearly a fake.

______________________________________________________________________

He turned and made his way across the lavishly-piled maroon carpet and opened his study door. His daughter sat sprawled on the long leather sofa reading a magazine. She had changed her clothes and was now showing rather too much thigh for her father's liking.

'Any luck?' she asked.

'No. Lesalle had to leave suddenly. I've got his bimbo next door. I'd ask you to keep an eye on her, but I've got other plans for you.

Alyssa grinned. 'You want me to question our reluctant scientist?'

'Not yet. Check on her, if you want, but leave her be for a while. There's plenty of time for you to interrogate her later. How is she by the way?'

'Tied to one of the attic beds in her bra and panties. You ought to have a look in. She's got a really cute taste in underwear.'

Baxter smiled at the image. 'Maybe later,' he said. 'As for now, I think we need to start tying up loose ends. We know that there's nothing on the disk and, as we have Dr. Lampton here, we know that no one else can get his or her hands on her. I'm also sure that Paul Lesalle knows more than he's letting on.'

'Why don't we just grab that bimbo of his next door, and use her as leverage?' Alyssa asked. 'I'd enjoy that. I know exactly the kind of Polaroid snap, I'd send him.'

'No,' Baxter interjected. 'She came here as my guest. I cannot abuse my role as a host.' He smiled. 'Besides, that would flush our interest out. That's why I kept today's luncheon arrangement in place. I'm sure that Paul Lesalle thinks that the only other interested party is Maxwell Patton. I want to keep it that way. For now, anyway.'

'So, what do you want me to do?'

'Dr. Romelia Parsons.'

'Who?'

Alyssa Baxter grinned. 'When do I leave?'

'As soon as you've checked on our prisoner.'

______________________________________________________________________

It was worst as they approached the place where Amanda had entered, as the ground was somewhat exposed there. As soon as they had clambered over the wall, they found some shelter.

'My car's just down there,' Amanda said in an attempt to comfort her shivering companion.

They made their way over the slight hill to the roadside. It would have been quicker to travel as the crow flies. But they followed the line of the wall. Keeping just behind it meant not only more shelter, but also kept them out of sight of the house. It took perhaps ten minutes to reach the road. Amanda looked over to where she had left her vehicle. It was gone. She looked around to see a woman in an open coat over a thigh-high mini skirt. Her blond hair was cut in pixie style. It was the woman she had seen earlier. This time, however, she was holding a small but deadly revolver.

'Now, who have we here?' she quipped.

______________________________________________________________________

Debbie had only moved her hands an inch or two, but she immediately snapped them back to the top of her head.

Melinda Lesalle, was wearing two-inch heels, a stylish calf-length skirt, which Debbie guessed rightly to be rather expensive, and short jacket over a silk shirt. All were now dripping wet, and Debbie found herself following a trail of water as her fellow prisoner led the way.

Her own plight was somewhat worse. She wore only a bikini bottom and not only did her forced, hands-on-the-head pose both reveal and lift her breasts, but her thong bottom exposed her buttocks to the woman behind her. And the woman, as if to rub it in, had made one or two embarrassing comments about her condition.

That condition was just about to worsen. The cold air bit at her still-damp skin as she and Melinda Lesalle were ushered outside towards a large automobile. Immediately, goose bumps pricked up all over her body and her nipples already stiff with cold, sprouted further. The woman kept them at a distance while she unlocked the trunk and then motioned them towards it with a flick of her gun hand.

'Get it out.'

Debbie looked into the trunk and at the large bag inside. As soon as it moved, she knew it contained a person.

'I said, get it out. Hurry up, I haven't got all day.'

Debbie sometimes went braless. But those occasions never included doing anything athletic; and certainly they never included lifting heavy weights. For anything that strenuous she always wore a sports bra. Now here she was, dressed only in a minute thong, and about to lift half a person without any breast support at all.

She looked back again at the gun and then reached reluctantly into the trunk and took hold of one of the bag handles. Melinda Lesalle did the same and then together they lifted. Debbie's breasts bounced painfully as the two of them lugged the bag out of the car and deposited on the ground.

'Satisfied?'

'In the house.'

There was more breast bouncing as the two of them hefted the bag up into the air and made towards the house. They bumped it against the door frame accidentally as they went in and the bag emitted a low groan. Debbie's breasts bounced again painfully as they lugged the weight through into the sitting room. They lowered it gently on to the carpet.

'Too exposed,' the woman insisted when she saw the large picture window there.

Debbie groaned silently as she and Melinda Lesalle again lifted the bag. Once again her unprotected breasts bounced uncomfortably. This time they heaved the bag into an enclosed workshop area at the back of the house.

'Perfect,' the woman declared. 'Put it over there.'

Debbie and Melinda put the bag down in an empty area in front of a freezer chest.

'You, Thong Woman, unzip it,' the tall woman demanded.

Debbie reached forward, her bare breasts dangling yet again and unzipped the bag. The expanse of nylon-covered thigh that greeted her told her that the prisoner was a woman. She gasped in horror as she saw the way the woman's elbows were crushed in the small of her back.

'Ladies,' the tall woman said, 'I'd like you to meet Dr. Mia Lampton.'

______________________________________________________________________

'Well, now I'm here, you can see that the game's up, Mr Baxter? I'm sure it would be best if you gave yourselves up now.'

'Ah, Ms. Thornton, you know my name. And perhaps you're right. Perhaps I should give up.' He paused, as if thinking about it. 'But, then,' he continued. 'If I'm going to give up, I've nothing to lose if I call your bluff and assume that you're here on your own. After all if the cavalry does arrive to rescue you, I can always give up then.'

He smiled unctuously. Amanda looked around the book-lined study and knew that she had no more cards to play. She could probably handle an untrained man bigger than herself, but here she was out-manned and out-gunned. Not only were there three of them, Baxter, a woman she took to be his daughter, and a very large man, but they had at least four guns to her nought, one each of their own and the one they had taken from her bag. And if that wasn't enough, the large man was clearly more than a match for her unarmed.

'Now,' the man continued, 'My daughter, Alyssa and I have lots of questions to ask you, but I'm afraid, we're both got other business to attend to for now, so for now I'm going to have to tie you up and gag you with Dr. Lampton upstairs.'

Amanda watched as Alyssa Baxter went across to Becky Carpenter and tugged the jacket from her shoulders, leaving the young woman one again in bra and panties.

'Now, Agent Thornton,' Baxter said affably, 'if you will be kind enough to strip.' ______________________________________________________________________

Chapter Seven

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