Slinking through the double doors at the edge of the long hall as he slips the key back into the pocket of his overalls, the delivery man pulls the large padded cart through the sleeping bride's thresh-hold swiftly, committed to staying on schedule. Everything is timed to the second: getting into Mar del Sadico supposedly to bring gourmet snake-treats for Madam Rose, approaching the captured prize's suite just after the cameras have been diverted, and caging the bird before the eagle lands his chopper on the roof on his speedy return to his dearest possession.

But time is moving quickly and he has to think fast, faster than he is used to thinking so late in the night, with the beers he'd had in the truck while he waited for the signal starting to sink in. With a grunt he sniffs the air of the dark moonlit boudoir and smells her before he sees her, reacting like a bloodhound. Tripping over the ottoman in his hurry to approach the huge bed at the center of the room, he tumb...

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