Текст книги "Thr3e"

Автор книги: Тед Деккер

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

26

Monday

7:25 P.M.

WHETHER THE BOY WAS IMAGINARY OR REAL, he knew Sam and he wants her to come,” Dr. Francis said as Jennifer closed her phone. “He’s luring her in. You see that, don’t you? The riddles are only to continue the game.”

Jennifer sighed. “And if Sam finds them? He’ll kill them all and I’ll have done nothing.”

“What can you do?”

“Something. Anything! If I can’t save him, then I should report this.”

“Then report it. But what can any of your colleagues do?”

He was right, of course, but the idea of sitting here in his living room discussing the natures of man was . . . impossible! Roy had been killed in similar circumstances by the Riddle Killer. True, Slater probably wasn’t the same man who’d killed Roy, but he represented the same kind of man. Unless Kevin was Slater.

Did Slater live in her? Do you hate, Jennifer? Milton?

“Perhaps the most you can do is try to understand, so that if an opportunity does come, you’re better equipped,” the professor said. “I know how frustrating it must be, but now it’s up to Sam. She sounds like someone who can handle herself. If I’m right, Kevin will need her.”

“How so?”

“If Kevin is Slater, he’ll be powerless to overcome Slater on his own.”

Jennifer looked at him and wondered what movies he watched.

“Okay, Professor. We still don’t know if Kevin is Slater or not. Theories are fine, but let’s try the logistics on for size.” She pulled out her notebook and crossed her legs. “Question: From a purely logistical and evidentiary perspective, could one person have done what we know to have happened?”

She opened the book to the list she’d made two hours earlier, after Sam’s call suggesting for the second time that Kevin was Slater. She ticked the first item with her pencil. “Kevin gets a call in his car.”

“Although you said there’s no evidence of that first call, correct? The cell phone was burned. The entire call could have been in Kevin’s mind, two voices talking. Same with any unrecorded conversation he had with Slater.”

She nodded. “Number two. The car blows up three minutes after the call, after Kevin has escaped.”

“The personality that is Slater carries a sophisticated cell phone in his pocket—Kevin’s pocket. This device is a secure telephone and a transmitting device. After the imaginary conversation giving him three minutes, the Slater personality triggers a bomb he’s planted in the trunk. It explodes, as planned. He detonates all of the bombs in similar fashion.”

“The second phone Sam found.”

“Follows,” Dr. Francis said.

“Where does the Slater personality make all these explosives? We found nothing.” Jennifer had her own thoughts but she wanted to hear the professor.

He smiled. “Maybe when I’m done playing scholar, I’ll apply for a job with the FBI.”

“I’m sure we would welcome you. Understanding of religion is a hot recruitment criterion these days.”

“Slater obviously has his hiding place. Likely the place he’s hidden Balinda. Kevin takes frequent trips to this location as Slater, totally unaware. The middle of the night, on the way home from class. He remembers nothing of them because it is the Slater personality, not Kevin, who is actually going.”

“And his knowledge of electronics. Slater learns, but not Kevin.”

“So it would seem.”

She looked at her list. “But the warehouse is different because he calls the room phone and talks to Samantha. It’s the first time we have him on tape.”

“You said the phone rang while he was in the room, but Slater didn’t speak until Kevin was out. He reaches into his pocket and presses send on a number he’s already entered. As soon as he’s in the hall, he begins to speak.”

“Sounds far-fetched, don’t you think? Somehow I don’t see Slater as a James Bond.”

“No, he’s probably made his mistakes. You just haven’t had the time to find them. For all you know, the recording will bear that out. We’re just reconstructing a possible scenario based on what we do know.”

“Then we can assume he planted the bomb in the library the night before last somehow, while he was supposedly in Palos Verdes with Samantha. Maybe he slipped out at night or something. The library’s not exactly a high-security facility. He, meaning Slater, did everything either while our eyes were off him or remotely using the cell phone.”

“If Kevin is Slater,” the professor said.

She frowned. The scenario was plausible. Too plausible for her own comfort. If it bore out, the scientific journals would be writing about Kevin for years.

“And the Riddle Killer?” she asked.

“As you said earlier. Someone Slater imitated to throw the authorities off. What do you call it—copy cat? It’s only been four days. Even the wheels of the FBI can turn only so fast. Perpetuating the double life beyond a week might be impossible. Four days is all he evidently needed.”

Jennifer closed the notebook. There were a dozen more, but she saw with a glance that they weren’t so unique. What they really needed was the analysis of the two recordings from Kevin’s cell phone. It was the second call that interested her. If this theory held water, the same person had made and received the call that had sent them running for the library. It couldn’t have been imagined by Kevin because it was recorded.

She sighed. “This is way too complicated. There’s something missing here that would make all of this much clearer.”

The professor ran his fingers over his bearded chin. “Maybe so. Do you rely on your intuition very often, Jennifer?”

“All day. Intuition leads to evidence, which leads to answers. It’s what makes us ask the right questions.”

“Hmm. And what does your intuition tell you about Kevin?”

She thought about it for a moment. “That he’s innocent, either way. That he’s an exceptional man. That he’s nothing like Slater.”

His right eyebrow went up. “This after four days? It took me a month to conclude the same.”

“Four days of hell will tell you a lot about a man, Professor.”

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’”

“If he is Slater, do you think Kevin’s afraid?” she asked.

“I think he is petrified.”

Baker Street was black and still, shrouded in the long line of elms standing like sentinels. The drive had sliced twenty-one minutes off the clock, thanks to an accident on Willow. 7:46. She passed Kevin’s old house—light glowed behind the drapes where Eugene and Bob might very well still be crying. Jennifer had kept the media at bay for the day, but it wouldn’t last. By tomorrow there would probably be at least a couple vans parked out front, waiting for a snapshot of the crazies inside.

What loves what it sees?She slowed the car to a crawl and approached her old house. A porch light glared angrily. The hedges were ragged, not trimmed like her father had kept them years earlier. She’d already decided that she wouldn’t bother the residents for the simple reason that she couldn’t think of a decent explanation for why she would want to snoop around the bedroom window without causing alarm. She hoped they didn’t have a dog.

Sam parked the car across the street and walked past the house, then cut into the neighbor’s yard. She rounded the house and headed for the same old fence she and Kevin had wriggled through on a hundred occasions. Unlikely the boards were still loose.

She crouched by the fence and ran along it toward the east side of the yard, where her old bedroom faced. A dog barked several houses down. Settle down, Spot, I’m just going to take a peek.Just like Slater used to take peeps. Life had come full circle.

She poked her head over the fence. The window was opaque, slightly obscured by the same bushes she’d crawled over as a child. Vacant? No dog that she could see. The boards she’d once been able to slip through wouldn’t budge. Up and over—the only way.

Sam grabbed the fence with both hands and vaulted it easily. She had a body built for gymnastics, a coach had told her in law school. But you don’t start taking gymnastics at age twenty and expect to make the Olympics. She had opted for dance classes.

The lawn was wet from a recent watering. She ran for the window and knelt by the hedge. What was she looking for? Another clue. A riddle maybe, scratched in the ground. A note taped to the brick.

She slid in behind the bushes and felt the wall. The musty smell of dirt filled her nose. How long had it been since anyone had climbed through this window? She eased her head up and saw that the window not only was dark, but had been painted black on the inside.

Her pulse spiked. Did Slater live here? Had he taken residence in her old house? I can’t have you, so I’ll take your house. For a moment she just stared at the window, caught off guard. Someone laughed inside. A man. Then a woman, laughing.

No, they’d probably just turned the room into a darkroom or something. Photography buffs. She exhaled and resumed her search. Time was ticking.

She felt along the ledge, but there was nothing she could feel or see. The ground was dark at her feet, so she knelt and groped around in the dirt. Her fingers ran over a few rocks—he could have written a message on a rock. She held them up to what little light reached her from the warehouses across the street. Nothing. She dropped the rocks and stood again.

Had she been wrong about the window? There was a message here; there had to be! The dial on her watch glowed green, 7:58. She felt the first tendrils of panic tickle her spine. If she was wrong about the window, she’d have to start over—the game would be lost.

Maybe she shouldn’t be looking for a written message.

She groaned and stepped back into the lawn. The panic was growing. Take a breath, Sam. You’re smarter than he is. You have to be. For Kevin’s sake. Play his game; beat him at his own game.

She paced the lawn, uncaring of her exposure now. She wore black slacks and a red blouse, dark colors that wouldn’t easily be seen from the street. Time was running out.

Sam walked to the fence and faced the window. Okay, is there something in the bushes? An arrow? That was stupid movie stuff. She followed the roofline. Did it point anywhere? There were two second-story windows above the one down here, forming a triangle of sorts. An arrow.

Enough with the arrows, Sam! This is something that you couldn’t mistake. Not something cute out of a Nancy Drew mystery. What’s changed here? What is altered to make a statement? What’s altered thatcould make a statement?

The window. The window is painted black, because it’s now a darkroom or something. So really it’s not a window any longer. It’s a dark sheet of glass. No light.

It’s dark down here, Kevin.

Sam let out a small cry and immediately swallowed it. That was it! Nowindow. What used to have light but does no more? What has no window?

Sam ran for the fence and slung herself over it, spilling to the ground on her landing. Was it possible? How could Slater have pulled it off?

She felt for her gun. Okay, think. One hour.If she was right, she didn’t need five minutes, much less sixty, to find Kevin.

“And how is a man or a woman set free from this hideous nature?”

Jennifer asked.

“You kill it. But to kill it you must see it. Thus the light.”

“So just like”—Jennifer snapped her fingers—“that, huh?”

“As it turns out, no. It needs a daily dose of death. Really, the single greatest ally of evil is darkness. That is my point. I don’t care what faith you have or what you say you believe, whether you go to church every Sunday or pray to God five times a day. If you keep the evil nature hidden, like most do, it thrives.”

“And Kevin?”

“Kevin? I don’t know about Kevin. If he is Slater, I suppose you would need to kill Slater the way you kill the old self. But he can’t do it alone. He wouldn’t even know to kill him. Man cannot deal with evil alone.”

Kevin had never shown her the inside of the old shed because he said it was dark inside. Only he hadn’t just said inside, he said downthere. She remembered that now. Nobody used the useless old shack in the corner of the lawn. The old bomb shelter turned toolshed on the edge of the ash heap.

The window that wasn’t really a window had to be Kevin’s window. In Slater’s mind he might have used another riddle: What thinks it’s a window but really isn’t?Opposites. As a boy, Kevin thought he’d escaped his tortuous world through his window, but he hadn’t.

The old toolshed in the corner of Kevin’s lawn was the only place Sam knew of that had a basement of sorts. It was dark down there and it had no windows, and she knew that she knew that she knew that Slater was down in that bomb shelter with Balinda.

Sam held the nine millimeter at her side and ran for the shack, bent over, eyes fixed on its wood siding. The door had always been latched and locked with a big rusted padlock. What if it still was?

She should call Jennifer, but therein lay a dilemma. What could Jennifer do? Swoop in and surround the house? Slater would do the worst. On the other hand, what could Samdo? Waltz in and confiscate all illegally obtained firearms, slap on the handcuffs, and deliver the nasty man to the county jail?

She had to at least verify.

Sam dropped to her knee by the door, breathing heavily, both hands wrapped around her gun. The lock was disengaged.

Just remember, you were born for this, Sam.

She stuck the barrel of her gun under the door and pulled, using the gun sight as a hook. The door creaked open. A dim bulb glowed inside. She pushed the door all the way open and shoved her weapon in, careful to stay behind the cover of the doorjamb. Slowly, the opening door revealed the shapes of shelves and a wheelbarrow. A square on the floor. The trapdoor.

How deep did the shelter go? There had to be stairs.

She stepped in, one foot and then the second. The trapdoor was open, she could see now. She edged over to the dark hole and peered down. Faint light, very faint, from the right. She pulled back. Maybe calling Jennifer would be the wisest course of action. Just Jennifer.

8:15. They still had forty-five minutes. But what if she waited for Jennifer and this wasn’tthe place? That would leave them with less than half an hour to find Slater. No, she had to verify. Verify, verify.

Come on, Sam, you were born for this.

Sam shoved the gun into her waistband, knelt down, gripped the edge of the opening, and then swung one leg into the shaft. She stretched her foot, found a step. She mounted the stairs and then swung back up. The shoes might make too much noise. She took them off and then settled back on the stairs.

Come on, Sam, you were born for this.

There were nine steps; she counted them. Never knew when she might have to run back up full tilt. Knowing when to duck to avoid a head-on with the ceiling and when to turn right to exit the shack could come in handy. She was telling herself this stuff to calm her nerves, because anything in the dread silence was better than facing the certainty that she was walking to her death.

Light came from a crack below a door at the end of a concrete tunnel. The tunnel led to a basement below Kevin’s house! She’d known that some of these old bomb shelters were connected to houses, but she’d never imagined such an elaborate setup beneath Kevin’s house. She’d never even known there wasa basement in his house. Wasn’t there a way to the top floor from the basement? Jennifer had been in the house, but she hadn’t said anything about a basement.

Sam withdrew her gun and tiptoed down the shaft.

“Shut up.” Slater’s voice sounded muffled behind the door. Sam stopped. Verified. She could never mistake that voice. Slater was behind that door. And Kevin?

The door was well insulated; they would never hear her. Sam walked to the door, nine millimeter up by her ear. She reached for the doorknob and slowly applied pressure. She didn’t plan on bursting in, or entering at all, for that matter, but she needed to know a few things. Whether the door was locked, for starters. The knob refused to turn.

She backed up a foot and considered her options. What did Slater expect her to do, knock? She would if she had to, wouldn’t she? There was only one way to save this man, and it was on the other side of that door.

Sam eased down to her belly and pressed her left eye to the crack beneath the door. On the right, white tennis shoes walked slowly toward her. She stilled her breathing.

“Time is most definitely winding down,” Slater said. The feet were his, white tennis shoes she didn’t recognize. “I don’t hear your lover breaking down the door.”

“Sam’s smarter than you,” Kevin said.

The tennis shoes stopped.

Sam jerked her eye to the left, where the voice had come from. She saw his feet, Kevin’s shoes, the tan Reeboks she’d seen by his bed a few hours ago. Two voices, two men.

Sam pulled back. Kevin and Slater weren’t the same person. She’d been wrong!

Sam flattened herself again and peered, breathing too loudly but not caring now. There they were, two sets of feet. One to her right, white, and one to her left, tan. Kevin tapped one foot nervously. Slater was walking away.

She had to tell Jennifer! In case something happened to her, she had to let Jennifer know who stood behind that door.

Sam slid back and stood. She hurried to the end of the hall. Going up the stairs might be prudent, but at this distance, there was no way Slater could hear. She lifted her phone and hit redial.

“Jennifer?”

“Sam! What’s going on?”

“Shh, shh, shh. I can’t talk,” Sam whispered. “I found them.”

A barely audible ring pierced the silence, as if a gunshot had discharged too close to her ear within the last half-hour.

Jennifer seemed incredulous. “You . . . you found Kevin? You actually located them? Where?”

“Listen to me, Jennifer. Kevin’s not Slater. Do you hear me? I was wrong. It has to be a frame!”

“Where are you?” Jennifer demanded.

“I’m here, outside.”

“You’re absolutely positive that Kevin isn’t Slater? How—”

“Listen to me!” Sam whispered harshly. She glanced back at the door. “I just saw them both; that’s how I know.”

“You have to tell me where you are!”

“No. Not yet. I have to think this through. He said no cops. I’ll call you.” She hung up before she lost her nerve and dropped the phone into her pocket.

Why didn’t she just call Jennifer in? What could she possibly do that Jennifer couldn’t? Only Slater knew the answer to that. The boy she’d never seen. Until today. Kevin, dear Kevin, I’m so sorry.

A shaft of light suddenly cut through the tunnel. She whirled around. The door was open. Slater stood in the doorframe, bare-chested, grinning, gun in hand.

“Hello, Samantha. I was getting worried. So nice of you to find us.”

27

Monday

8:21 P.M.

SAM’S FIRST INSTINCT WAS TO RUN. Up the stairs, duck, to the left, into the open. Come back with a flamethrower and burn him out. Her second instinct was to rush him. The rage that flooded her mind seeing him backlit by the light surprised her. She could feel her gun at her waist and she grabbed for it.

“Don’t be so predictable, Sam. Kevin thinks you’re smarter than me. Did you hear him say that? Prove it, darling.” He brought the gun up and aimed it inside to his right. “Come on in here and prove it to me, or I’ll cap the kid where he stands.”

Sam hesitated. Slater stood with a cocky grin. She walked down the hall. You were born for this, Sam. You were born for this.

Slater backed up, keeping his gun aimed to his right. She stepped past the steel door. A single bulb cast dim light over the basement. Shades of black and gray. Stark. Kevin stood in front of a wall of pictures, face ashen. Pictures of her. He took a step toward her.

“Not so fast,” Slater snapped. “I know how badly you want to be the hero again, boy, but not this time. Take the gun out slowly, Samantha. Slide it toward me.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt on Slater’s face. He had them precisely where he’d intended.

Sam slid the gun across the concrete, and Slater scooped it up. He walked to the door, closed it, and faced them both. It struck Sam, staring at the man’s smirk, that she’d committed a kind of suicide. She’d stepped into the lair willfully, and she’d just given the dragon her gun.

You were born for this, Sam. Born for what? Born to die.

She turned from him purposefully. No, I was born for Kevin. She looked at him, ignoring Slater, who stood behind her now.

“You okay?”

Kevin’s eyes darted over her shoulder and then settled on hers. Trails of sweat glistened on his face. The poor man was terrified.

“Not really.”

“It’s okay, Kevin.” She smiled. “I promise you, it’ll be okay.”

“Actually, it won’t be okay, Kevin,” Slater said, walking briskly to her right. He wasn’t the monster she’d imagined. No horns, no yellow teeth, no scarred face. He looked like a jock with short blond hair, tight tan slacks, a torso cut like a gymnast’s. A large, red tattoo of a heart branded over his breast. She could have met this man a dozen times over the years and not taken notice. Only his eyes gave him away. They were far away, light gray eyes, like a wolf’s. If Kevin’s eyes swallowed her, Slater’s were the kind she might bounce off of. He even smiled like a wolf.

“I’m not sure you’re aware of what we have here, but the way I see it, you’re both in a bit of a pickle,” Slater said. “And Kevin is fit to be tied. He’s made three phone calls to his FBI girlfriend, and I just sat back and let him do it. Why? Because I know how hopeless his situation is, even if he doesn’t. No one can help him. Or you, dear Samantha.”

“If you wanted to kill Kevin, you could have done it a dozen times,” Sam said. “So what isyour game? What do you hope to accomplish with all of this nonsense?”

“I could have killed you too, my dear. A hundred times. But this way it’s just so much more fun. We’re all together like a happy little family. Mommy’s in the closet, Kevin’s finally come back home, and now his little girlfriend has come to save him from the terrible boy down the street. It’s almost like old times. We’re even going to let Kevin kill again.”

Slater’s lips fell flat. “Only this time he’s not going after me. This time he’s going to put a bullet in your head.”

Sam took this in and faced Kevin. He looked so frail in the yellow light. Afraid. Slater was going to force his hand to kill. Her. It all made perfect sense now, although exactly what Slater had in mind, she didn’t know.

Surprisingly, Sam felt no fear. In fact, she felt somewhat buoyed, even confident. Maybe this is how you feel just before you die.

“So. He’s the boy, after all,” Sam said to Kevin. Both men were watching her. “How does a big, strong, handsome man like this become so jealous of you, Kevin? Think about it. How could such a powerful, intelligent man be driven to such insane fits over one man? Answer: Because underneath that big, bold, red tattoo and all that bulging muscle, he’s only a pathetic little weasel who’s never managed to make a friend, much less win a girl.”

Slater stared at her. “I’ll keep your predicament in mind and forgive the rest of your desperate insults, but I don’t think jealousis the right word, Samantha. I am not jealous of this piece of meat.”

She faced him slowly, wildly bold and unsure why. “Then forgive me for such poor word choice. You’re not insanely jealous; you’re delighted with the sweet bond of love that Kevin and I have always shared. The fact that I would have shoved a toilet plunger into your face if I’d ever caught you peeping and licking at my window doesn’t bother you, does it?”

His mouth was a thin, straight line. He blinked. Again.

“The fact is, I chose Kevin,”Sam said. “And Kevin chose me, and neither of us wants anything to do with you. You can’t accept that. It drives you crazy. It makes you see red.”

Slater’s face twisted. “And Kevin doesn’t see red?”

Silence settled. Balinda was in the closet. A clock on the wall read 8:35. She should have told Jennifer where they were. Her cell phone was still in her pocket, and she didn’t think Slater knew. Could she call Jennifer? If she could slip her hand into her pocket and press the send button twice, it would automatically dial the last number. Jennifer would hear them. A tingle ran through her fingertips.

“You really think Kevin is any different than me?” Slater waved the guns around absently. “You really think this little puke here doesn’t want exactly what I want? He’ll kill and he’ll lie and he’ll spend the rest of his life pretending he won’t, just like the rest. That’s better than me? At least I’m honest about who I am!”

“And who are you, Slater? You’re the devil. You’re the sickness of this world. You’re vile and you’re vomit. Go on, tell us. Be honest—”

“Shut up!” Slater screamed. “Shut your disgusting pie hole! This little piece of trash sits in the pew every Sunday, swearing to God that he won’t keep doing his secret little sins when he knows as well as I that he will. We know he will because he’s made this promise a thousand times and breaks it every time. He’s the liar.” Spittle flew from his lips. “ That’sthe truth!”

“He’s nothing like you,” Sam said. “See him? He’s a terrorized victim whom you’ve tried desperately to pound to a pulp. See you? You’re a revolting monster pounding whoever threatens you into a pulp. See me? I’m neither terrorized nor frightened, because I see you and I see him and I see nothing in common. Please, don’t be such a snail.”

Slater stared at her, lips parted, stunned. She had pushed him beyond himself with the simple truth, and he was writhing inside already. She shoved her fingers into her pockets and confidently hooked her thumbs.

“Where do they breed your kind, Slater? Is that a mask you’re wearing? You look so normal, but I have this unshakable suspicion that if I pulled your ear, the whole mask would come off and—”

Gunfire crashed through the room and Samantha jerked. Slater had fired the gun. A muffled wail cried through the door. Balinda. Sam’s pulse quickened. Slater stood without flinching, gun ex-tended to the ground where his bullet had chipped a divot from the concrete. “That hole below your nose is starting to bother me,” he said. “Maybe you should think about closing it.”

“Or maybe you should consider putting a hole in your head,” Sam said.

Slowly a smile formed on his lips. “You have more spunk than I would have guessed. I really should have broken your window that first night.”

“You’re demented.”

“How much I loved to hurt little girls like you.”

“You make me very, very sick.”

“Take your hands out where I can see them.”

He’d noticed. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and returned his glare. Neither backed down.

“Enough!” Kevin yelled.

Sam faced him. Kevin scowled at Slater, whose face was red and quivering. “I’ve always loved her! Why can’t you just accept that? Why have you hidden away all these years? Why can’t you find some other poor sucker and leave us alone?”

“Because none of them interests me like you do, Kevin. I hate you more than I hate myself, and that, puke face, is quite interesting.”

Slater sounds confident, but he’s never felt so much unease in all of his life. He has underestimated the strength of the girl. If his plan depends on bending her will, he will have significant challenges ahead. Fortunately, Kevin is more pliable. He’ll be the one pulling the trigger.

What is it about her? Her nerve. Her unyielding conviction. Her arrogance! She really does love the fool and she flaunts that love. In fact, she is all about love and Slater hates her for it. He’d seen her smiling, combing her hair, bouncing around her bedroom as a child twenty years ago; he’d seen her run around, locking up criminals in New York, like some kind of superhero on steroids. Happy, happy and snappy. It makes him sick. The look of disdain in her eyes now brings small comfort—it’s born out of her love for the worm to his right. So then, all the more reason for Kevin to put a bullet through her pretty white forehead.

He glances at the clock. Nineteen minutes. He should forget the timing and just do it now. A bitter taste pulls at the back of his tongue. The sweet taste of death. He should do it!

But Slater is a patient man, most excellent in all of the disciplines. He will wait, because it is his power to wait.

The game is down to the last test. The last little surprise.

Slater feels a surge of confidence sweep through his bones. He chuckles. But he doesn’t feel like chuckling. He feels like shooting his gun again.

Say what you want now, little girl. We’ll see who Kevin chooses.

Kevin watched Slater, heard him chuckle, knew with awful certainty that things were going to get worse.

He couldn’t believe that Sam had actually come in and given up her gun like that. Didn’t she know that Slater would kill her? That was his whole point. Slater wanted Sam dead, and he wanted him to kill her. Kevin would refuse, of course, and then Slater would just kill her himself and find a way to frame Kevin. Either way, their lives would never be the same.

He looked at Sam and saw that she was watching him. She winked slowly. “Courage, Kevin. Courage, my knight.”

“Shut up!” Slater said. “Nobody talk! My knight? You’re trying to make me gag? My knight?What rubbish!”

They stared at him. He was losing himself in this game.

“Shall we begin with the festivities?” Slater asked. He shoved Samantha’s gun into his waistband, took two long steps to Balinda’s door, unlocked it, and threw it open. Balinda sagged against a wall, bound and wide-eyed. Black smudges covered her white lace nightgown. Stripped of makeup, her face looked quite normal for a woman in her fifties. She whimpered and Kevin felt a pang of sorrow knife through his chest.

Slater bent down and hauled her to her feet. Balinda stumbled out of the room, lips quivering, squeaking in terror.

Slater shoved her against the desk. He pointed to the chair. “Sit!”

She collapsed to her seat. Slater waved his gun at Sam. “Hands up where I can see them.” She lifted her hands from her waist. Keeping his gun pointed in Sam’s general direction, Slater pulled a roll of duct tape from the top drawer, ripped off a six-inch slab with his teeth, and plastered it over Balinda’s mouth.

“Keep quiet,” he mumbled. She didn’t seem to hear. He shoved his face up to her. “Keep quiet!” he yelled. She jumped and he chuckled.