[Cathryn Crawford]

"Yes, it's me", said Brent, as he came into the room with the easy charm that she had once admired and now loathed. He walked to her and as she watched him the hand that lay on the desk clinched unknowingly, leaving skin-colored grooves in the once unmarred oak. After an interminable period of time, she forced herself to relax and the shaking in her hands stopped. She stood, the hand holding the gun tucked carefully behind her, and slowly turned to meet Brent.

[gcruse]

"Cath, I...I've done something terrible," Brent managed to choke
out between his now unruly lips.  "My brother Lester has been
gambling money from the bathtub gin business and now he owes
his bookie fifty thousand dollars."

"What does that have to do with me, Brent?"  But the slowly spreading
ball of cold fury in the pit of her stomach was triggering adrenaline and
a trembling trigger finger that portended something worse than rash.

"I told him that I'd get him the money by selling you into white slavery.
You'd do that for me, old gal, wouldn't you?  Remember all the good
times we had?  Be a pal."