(IN THE LAST CHAPTER: Boston private eye Karen Solomon is kidnapped, stripped naked, drugged with an aphrodisiac, and kept by herself on a ship, where she helplessly masturbates. She awakens, still naked, on a tropical island. At first she believes she's alone, then she hears a voice.)
Karen whirled, her right hand reflexively covering her pubic area, her left stretching across her chest to hide her nipples. It took a moment for her sun-blinded eyes to find the source of the voice in the heavy shadows beneath the palms.
A young woman emerged from the trees. Like Karen, she was also completely naked. Her skin was deeply tanned, and she gleamed with sweat, which made her look almost as if she were made of shining wood. Her nipples were darker brown , with leathery aureolas. Her body hair was thick and untended, from the black hair on her lower legs to the thick ebony curls between her thighs. Long dark tufts peeked out from her underarms. The hair on her head was a mare's nest of tangles, with leaves and twigs stuck in places. She looked wild, but she'd spoken English.
"Who are you?" Karen demanded, but her voice sounded shaky and pathetic.
Despite everything, the woman had a serene, peaceful quality. "I'm Sister Agnes," she said, as if they'd met on a city street somewhere. "I know how confused you must be. Let me help you."
"Agnes Cheever?" Karen asked. "Sister Agnes Cheever of St. Mary's in Boston?"
The girl nodded.
Karen began to laugh at the absurdity. "You won't believe this, but your parents hired me to find you."
The girl's serene expression darkened. "You mean they don't believe I'm dead?"
Karen shook her head, still giggling like a madwoman. "No, they don't. I'm Karen Solomon. I'm a private detective they hired to find you. They believed you'd been kidnapped, which was right. They thought it had to be white slavers or something. They never guessed your own Church had done it."
Agnes' lip trembled, and for a moment she seemed about to cry. Then she recovered her composure. "I'm sad for that. It would be better if they believed I was dead." She looked down and, without meeting Karen's eyes, asked, "How long have I been missing?"
"You disappeared two years ago."
She nodded. "Then my little ad hoc calendar is fairly accurate."
Karen licked her dry lips. The sun on her shoulders seemed to have physical weight, and sweat stung her eyes. "Where the hell are we, Agnes?"
Agnes looked up, eyes shiny with tears, but managed a smile. "I have no idea. It's an island, I know that. Somewhere in the tropics, as you can no doubt tell. Let's get you out of this sun, you'll be red as a lobster before long."
She stepped close and gently pulled Karen's left hand away. Until she did so, Karen had not realized she was, in fact, squeezing that breast and enjoying the sensation of her palm flat against her nipple. Agnes threaded her own fingers through Karen's and guided her toward the shadows beneath the trees.
Karen studied the other woman's bare body. Every muscle was starkly visible, not developed as if she'd been working out, but the way someone looked when they lost all their body fat. Her breasts were small but full, and her behind rippled with each step. Smears of dirt and sweat covered her, though, and a small cloud of gnats rose from her tangled hair.
They passed a tree marked with a cross cut crudely into the bark, and ahead Karen saw another one. Judging from the clear dirt beneath their bare feet, the trail was well-traveled, and in a short time they reached their destination: a lean-to made of branches, leaves and vines over the mouth of a small cave. To one side, a deep, dark pool of water bubbled up from a spring. This was all in the shade of a huge rock outcropping that rose higher than the treetops. It was cooler in the shade, but the humidity was still overwhelming.
Agnes stood to one side and gestured into the shelter. Karen crouched and entered. She sat on a floor made of soft moss, and Agnes crawled in behind her. In the close, still air, Karen could smell the other woman's sweaty, unwashed body.
