None of us could have dreamed of what we were getting into that early January day, when we boarded the plane in New York. We were all going off to the south Pacific, ten teenage girls from snooty Rushdale Academy, going down to see how the natives lived in Malaysia and the Philippines.

For most of us it was nothing more than an excuse to get away from New York's cruddy winter and get a nice tan. There were a few do-gooders along of course, but weren't there always?

Feeling sexy, she put on a pair of tiny pink, silk bikini panties and a matching French bra. Then, as if to counterbalance that, she put on a red checked flannel shirt and loose white pants, then got into a pair of cowboy boots and went back downstairs.

"Well, hi there." She gasped in shock and spun around to find a large, strange man sprawled out on the couch, a glass of beer in his hand.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"Name's Jones. What's your name, honey?"

She glared at him and strode forward. "It's not honey, for one thing. Now get your feet off the coffee table and your ass out of this house before I call the police."

"You haven't even asked me why I'm here," he smiled.

"I don't care why you're here. You had no right coming into this house uninvited." She saw now that she'd left the patio door unlocked.

"Oh come on, honey. Don't be unfriendly like that."

"Fine," she said, glaring. She went over to the phone and lifted it up. There was no dial tone. She looked at it in surprise, then at him. He grinned and she suddenly felt a twinge of fear.

"Did you do something to this phone?" she asked, her voice not as firm as it was before.

"Maybe, maybe not. Come and sit down and we'll talk." Instead she backed away, realizing for the first time, just how big he was. Sprawled on the couch it didn't show as well from back by the stairs.

"I said, come here," he said and suddenly he had a gun in his hand. She froze, her eyes widening and her heart beginning to pound with fear-