CHAPTER EIGHT
Although Sandi Hubbard was only eighteen years old, she was, in Ray Cooper's opinion, some piece of ass. She was built like the proverbial brick s**t-house. She was one of his best scores in years.
Sandi slid her key into the lock and opened the door, stepping into the darkened room. She smiled suggestively at him, her innocent, dimpled face beaming in the shadows. "Come in," she said.
He hesitated. "Is it safe?"
Sandi's laughter reminded him of music. "I told you it was all right. Mom and Dad are at the nightclub. We've got plenty of time."
Ray stepped tentatively into the room, recognizing immediately the familiar pattern of the standard
Shangri-la room: the red shag rug, the king-sized bed, the table and chairs, the long dresser, the color television. The only varia
