The sound of two people making love came faintly from the bedroom. The camera moved slowly, smoothly across the living room to the bedroom door. The moonlight was as Teddy O’Bannion had described it, bright as day. The figure of a woman was clearly visible, and she was moving rhythmically in sync with the noises heard a moment before. She was sitting on a man, who was also clearly visible, though neither of their faces could be made out.

“This is sensational!” Eggers said wonderingly. “Hang on a second.” He picked up a remote control and froze the frame, then he walked to the wall of equipment and turned on another piece of gear. There was a whirring noise, and, a few moments later, a color photograph slid out of the machine. Eggers looked at it approvingly, then handed it to Stone. “Very artful, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re right,” Stone said. “It’s a beautiful shot, but the faces are shadowed.”

“He did turn on the goddamned light, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but later; hang on.”

Eggers started the tape again. The lovemaking was growing in intensity, and the couple’s voices rose with it. Then, at the moment when both seemed to be reaching a climax, the floodlight came on. Instinctively, both the man and the woman threw up a hand to shield themselves from the light. Eggers froze the frame again and made another print.

“This is where the water pistol comes in,” Stone said.

Eggers stopped what he was doing. “Water pistol?” he asked incredulously.

“That’s how my man gets shots of their faces,” Stone replied. “Watch.”

Eggers started the tape again and pressed the slow motion button. A jet of water could be seen to enter the frame and strike the man in the chest. His hand started down. Another jet struck the woman just below the armpit, and her arm followed, too.

“There! That’s it!” Eggers shouted, freezing the frame. “That’s our shot!” He ran to the printer and pressed the button again.

Stone froze to his chair, unable to move, unable to speak. The man’s face had surprised him, but the woman’s rendered him nearly catatonic. The man was Barron Harkness; the woman was Cary Hilliard.

“Perfect, perfect!” Eggers yelled in triumph, shoving the print in front of Stone. “You can have that for your scrapbook.” He pressed the button for another print. “The cat’s out of the bag now, though. I’m sorry for my little subterfuge, but I guess you recognize the guy. His wife is my client.”

Stone was unable to speak. His eyes ran up and down the two forms frozen on the screen. Harkness was clearly furious, Cary terrified. Her breasts shone with sweat in the bright light, the nipples erect; her lips were swollen and her eyes round with fright.

“Let’s see the rest!” Eggers cried. “Here we go!” He started the tape again.