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I looked at the stacks I’d reserved in the back. They were double prints of two rolls I’d shot on the trip. Two color rolls. There were no black-and-white pictures anywhere in the entire order. I flipped through them for the thirty-ninth time, but it was clear that the illicit sets were not here. At the end of one series, there were four photos of Heather sitting on the rocks by the Montauk lighthouse, still clad in her bikini. Those were the ones I’d taken right before changing to the black-and-white film. Right before she’d peeled her top off.Had they been mixed in with the cooking shots? No. I’d flipped through them carefully. There was no way I missed forty-eight black-and-whites. They either hadn’t been developed, or... Murph is keeping them! The man looked like a pervert. Would he turn them in, or retain them for himself? How many nude photographs had the man had collected over the years? No one would question him; they’d be stupid to do so. I wondered how long my anxiety would. What I know, I have learned over many hard years. I didn't know it then. Then, I was mostly a slave to my own half understood instincts.-oOo-The open prairie was dotted with grass runners. It was the heart of the night, but the moon was full and the sky clear. Here and there I could see one of the beasts standing guard, alert and watching the edges of the cane fields that bordered the small lake that surrounded the spring.I slid out of my cloak and began to move slowly and as quietly as I could through the scrub brush and grass tufts that lay between the cane and the herd. Bent low, I moved at a slow walk for almost a quarter candle. Along the way I picked up a stone as big as my clenched fist. When I was within a fifty feet of the herd, I stopped and waited a while, giving the guard beasts a chance to settle from any unease my movements might have caused. When I was ready, I raised up slightly and threw the stone, arching it up and over the near corner of the herd and into the.
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