Hammett was studying my face. "She's telling the truth. Where in the bar, Chandler?"

  "Kaufmann..." I could see him in my peripheral vision. He slumped between the wall and the chair, his face turned away from me. "Kaufmann..."

  "Where in the bar is the phone?" Hammett leaned close to my face and spoke slow and clear, as if talking to a small child or an idiot.

  Victor gave Kaufmann a shove. His head lolled against the back of the chair, eyes staring into mine. But Kaufmann wasn't there anymore.

  "He's... not... breathing," I heard myself say.

  Victor brought his fingers to Kaufmann's throat, feeling for a pulse. "Must have had a heart condition." He made a face of fake concern. "Oops."

  No. No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no...

  The towel again. The faucet. I kept repeating the 96th floor, over and over, but after all that had just happened, I was willing to die before I gave them any more than that.

  "We're not getting anything else out of her now," Hammett said, stepping away and wiping the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her silk blouse. "How long will it take to get your team together?"

  "An hour. Perhaps less."

  "You all have credentials?"

  "Of course."

  "We'll call in a bomb threat. Clear the room, give us time to find the transceiver."

  "What about her?" Victor said, pointing his chin at me.

  "We may still need her. She's not going anywhere. Besides," Hammett smiled and turned away from me. "I'll bet she wants some alone time with her dear friend."

  Victor chuckled. "He was like a father to her, I hear." He gave Kaufmann a shove, and his body slumped off the chair and fell to the floor, his dead eyes accusing me.

  "Emotions are a liability. Despair is a slippery slope. Keep your emotions in check, and remember your training. You can function at a higher level than other people. Use your logic, your reason, your senses. Bury your emotion. If you're crying, you're not in control. If you're not in control, you're dead."

  Hammett left the kitchen, Victor following. I heard them stirring elsewhere in the apartment for a minute or less, then the door opened and closed, and I was alone.

  "Kaufmann?" His name rasped from my throat half whisper, half plea.

  He didn't make a sound, but then I knew he wouldn't.

  "I'm so sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry." A sob shook my chest. I tried my best to choke it back.

  I am ice.

  I am ice.

  I am ice, goddamnit.

  Another sob came, then another. They took control of my body, like dry heaves, ripping my guts out, tearing me in half. I wanted to curl up, to forget.

  More than anything in the world, I wanted to die.

  For a while, I let the flood of emotion carry me. I didn't cry, not in the normal sense of tears rushing down my face. But I didn't think, either. I didn't try to control the flood of pain. Wave after wave shook me, and I did nothing to stop them.

  Even after the worst subsided, I couldn't regain control. Emotionally I was a mess, and my focus wasn't helped by whatever shit Victor had injected me with. My heart was beating so damn fast I could feel it in my throat. My whole body quaked, and even though my hair and blouse were wet and I was freezing cold, sweat slicked my skin. I guessed he'd given me norepinephrine or noradrenalin, fight-or-flight hormones administered to make the waterboarding even more intense.

  As if that needed any enhancement at all.

  When the sound reached me, coming from the living room, I almost jumped out of my skin.

  There it was again, the doorknob rattling.

  It was too soon for Hammett and Victor to be back. And a cop called to investigate the earlier screaming would identify himself.

  The door opened and shut again. A soft shuffle of footsteps moved across the living room floor, slow, tentative. Two sets, one heavy, one light.

  A scent reached me, almost too faint to discern. But even though it was light as a whisper, I could tell it wasn't Claiborne for Men. It wasn't cologne at all.

  It was a scent I had known far longer, a mix of cigarettes, leather and sweat.

  The scent of a very bad man.

  "At some point you might believe that death is inevitable. Once that thought enters your head, you cease fighting. Once you cease fighting, death will be inevitable. The only way to stay alive is to never give up."

  "Looking good, babe," the familiar voice said.

  I probably should have felt something, but after all that had happened in the last hour, I had nothing left to feel. "Hello, Cory."

  He must have followed me from the John Hancock building. I'd been more focused on Kaufmann's health than avoiding tails. Careless of me, but at this point it didn't really matter.

  The second set of footsteps apparently belonged to the girl. Cory's replacement for me.

  "Don't tell me the two who just left did this to you," Cory said in an amused tone. His face loomed into my field of vision. The girl lingered like a shadow behind him.

  Even in the midst of my despair, I couldn't help noticing the irony of the moment. If I'd been free, I would have had little to fear from Cory. He was insane, certainly, but of the two-bit variety, not the highly-trained, I'm-going-to-dominate-the-world type, like Hammett. He'd controlled me as a vulnerable girl, but that had been a long time ago.

  Yet, here I was, once again at his mercy.

  Cory's thin lips widened in a grin. "Why didn't you tell me you had a twin?"

  I didn't particularly feel like talking about my sister, so I kept my mouth shut.

  "I see your precious Kaufmann didn't come to your rescue." A fleshy thud reached me, the unmistakable sound of Cory's boot striking Kaufmann's body.

  I closed my eyes.

  "It's too bad. It really is. I was looking forward to cutting off the rest of his body parts while you watched."

  My throat felt thick. I couldn't summon the energy or the will to answer.

  "Don't tell me your sister did this to him. You must have pissed her off."

  "Cory?" The girl's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. She hovered near the kitchen entrance, her big brown eyes darting around like those of a hunted animal expecting an ambush."What if her sister comes back?"

  Cory grinned and winked at me. "Then I'll fuck her, too. I've never done twins before."

  "Cory, I'm serious." A touch of whine worked around the edges of her voice, reminding me what Kaufmann had told me, that even with the make-up and short skirt, she was only fourteen.

  Twenty years had passed since I'd been in her place, but I still remembered the feelings that drove me to Cory and convinced me to stay. Still, I could muster no pity for this girl, no understanding. If anything, I wanted to shake her, slap her, punish her for staying with Cory, for folding to his will, for being afraid of him.

  Like I had been.

  "Why don't you go outside for a bit, Di? Have a smoke or something. Let me get reacquainted with my old friend, here."

  "Come on, Cory. You said—"

  "Shut the hell up and let the grownups talk."

  The girl flinched, as if Cory had physically hit her. She pressed her lips together and focused a look of pure hatred on me. "Cory, you said you were going to kill her."

  "I am."

  "Why don't you then, so we can leave?"

  He gave me a look full of swagger. "After I'm done having some fun."

  "But, Cory…"

  "Go watch the door. I won't be long."

  Normally I would have gone for the obvious insult, but I was too busy watching the girl. When I was in Di's place, I'd never questioned Cory. At first I'd been too afraid of his disapproval. Later I'd been too afraid of him.

  "What am I supposed to do if someone comes in?"

  Cory rolled his eyes. He glanced around the room and then focused a glare on me. "Where's my gun?"

  "How the hell do I know?" I answered.

  "You took it. Where is it?"

  I'd never realized how dim Cory actually was. "If I had a gun, do you think I'd be in this position right now?"

  He turned away from me and stepped to the kitchen table. When he returned, he was holding the stun gun Victor had used to…

  I swallowed into a dry throat.

  "Use this." He handed it to the girl. "Now get out of here."

  She grasped the stun gun and took a few steps before pausing in the kitchen doorway and glancing back. Jealousy was written all over her face, an emotion common to teen girls, especially when they'd convinced themselves a manipulative psycho was the man of their dreams.

  Cory didn't wait until she was out of the door before he grabbed my blouse and yanked. Buttons popped. He gave me a grin, as if waiting for me to gasp or plead or give him some kind of satisfying show of fear.

  He'd wait forever.

  Whatever he did to me, I didn't care anymore. He might as well be raping a mannequin. I looked in the direction of the hall, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl. I couldn't help but wonder how often she'd talked back to him like that. Cory chose young girls for a reason. They were pliable, easy to control. If she kept showing signs of having a will of her own, I doubted an inadequate, narcissistic shithead like Cory would keep her around much longer. And he wasn't the type to break up peacefully.

  He rummaged through a kitchen drawer and pulled out a knife. A smile snaked over his lips. "Ah, this'll do." He slipped the blade between the cups of my bra and sawed the sharp blade upward. The honed steel sliced elastic and lace. My bra flapped open and cool air rushed over my skin.

  He took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched hard.

  Another wave of sweat bloomed over my skin from the pain, but I stared back at him as if I didn't feel a thing.

  He gave the other breast the same bruising treatment. "Your nips are erect. You enjoying this, babe?"

  "Sure, Cory," I said, laying the sarcasm on thick. "I'm thinking of all the things I want to do to you."

  He gave me a big ass grin, as if he actually believed those things might bring him pleasure… or involve sex of any kind. "Do you know what I'm going to do after I fuck you?"

  "No, but I'm sure you're dying to tell me."

  He scraped the flat of the knife blade against one breast. "I'll cut off your nipples first. Then your whole tits. Then I might just fuck you again before I slit you down the middle." His nostrils flared. His scalp pinked under the short, graying stubble. He unbuckled his belt and lowered his fly.

  "Cory…"

  "I'm busy, Di." Leaving his jeans gaping open, he spun around to the girl. "Watch the door."

  She glanced at me, then down at Cory's pants. A flush crept up her neck and blazed in her cheeks. Her lips tightened into a hard knot.

  I locked eyes with her, then forced myself to look at Cory. "Come on, big boy," I said. "Give it to me."

  He chuckled. "Yeah, I know you want it, bitch."

  Turning his back on Di, he started on my jeans.

  With Cory hulking over me, I heard the snapping hum before I realized the girl had moved.

  Cory lurched forward, his back arching, a loud growl grounding out between clenched teeth. Tendons stood out in his neck.

  Di kept the stun gun's juice going.

  He stumbled forward, hitting the counter. When she finally relented, he collapsed.

  She stared down at the weapon, as if suddenly realizing what she was doing. Jerking her hand back, she let it clatter to the floor. She stared at him for a few seconds, as if she wasn't sure what she was seeing, then tears swamped her eyes, and she covered her face with her hands.

  "It's okay, Di. It's okay." The situation was ridiculous. Here I was strapped down, half undressed and unable to move, and I was trying to soothe this confused, jealous girl who'd just zapped her boyfriend and more than likely wanted me dead.

  She lowered her hands, sniffing, her thick lashes spiked with tears. "Aw, Christ, he's going to be so mad when he wakes up."

  "It's okay."

  "What the hell do you know?"

  "I was in your place, remember? I used to be you."

  She glared at me, as if she remembered far too well and wanted to make me pay for that sin.

  I pushed ahead anyway, taking a chance. "I can help you get away from him. All you have to do is cut these ties."

  "Get away from him?" She shook her head. "You just want me to get away so you can have him yourself."

  "Trust me, that's not it."

  "Like I would believe anything you say. I should just kill you."

  "Cory won't like that, and you know it."

  Her lower lip trembled.

  If she didn't want to escape Cory, there wasn't much I could do. Even if I could convince her to leave, she'd likely find her way back to him. And when she did, he would make her suffer for it. "Listen, if you free my hands, you can say it was my fault. Tell him that I stunned him."

  She shook her head and sniffed. "He knows you didn't have the thing."

  "Stun guns cause something called critical response amnesia. He won't remember anything from the thirty seconds or so before the attack."

  My statement wasn't exactly true. While some people experienced amnesia, it was far from all and generally didn't encompass that much time. But at fourteen, I doubted Di was well versed in such things, at least I hoped not. And since she needed a way out, I hoped desperation would override skepticism.

  "He won't know it was you who pulled the trigger."

  She wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold. But although her body language suggested she was closed off, I could see her mind working.

  I pressed on. "If you help me get out of here, when he wakes up, you can tell him I stunned him and got away. He won't blame you, and I'll be gone. You can have him to yourself. All you have to do is cut the zip ties on my wrists."

  She looked at my hands, then at Cory.

  "Hurry. He'll be waking soon. Then it will be too late."

  She took a step closer. The fact that she didn't pick up the stun gun or the knife Cory dropped and use them on me seemed encouraging, but the hate in her eyes hadn't faded. "He'll keep looking for you," she said.

  "Let me worry about that."

  She shook her head. "He always talks about you."

  "That's only because he's been in prison so long, and I helped put him there. The more he gets to know you, the more opportunities he has to see how perfect you are for each other…he'll forget me."

  "You think so?"

  "I know so."

  She nodded, as if trying to talk herself into swallowing the bullshit I was feeding her.

  "It'll work out, Di. I'll make sure he doesn't find me again. I'll disappear and you two can be together."

  She held out her hands, palms up. "I don't have anything to cut the ties."

  "Check the drawers."

  She opened drawers and raked through their contents. Finally she held up a pair of utility scissors.

  "That should do it," I encouraged.

  Below me, Cory groaned.

  The girl froze.

  "Hurry," I whispered.

  The sound of my voice seemed to snap her out of her paralysis. She slipped the scissors’ blade under the tie binding my left wrist and cut.

  Needles of pain raced through my fingers. I pulled my arm free of the board and moved my hand, willing the blood to return. Then I took the scissors from her. My grip was weak and it took me several seconds to cut my other hand free.

  "What the hell is going on?" Cory's words were sluggish, but the anger behind them rang loud and clear.

  Blood tingled through my right hand. I clawed at the Velcro straps pinning my head and shoulders to the backboard.

  "Di?" he bellowed again.

  She stared at me with wide eyes.

  I ripped the straps free and struggled to sit. My neck was still immobilized in the cervical brace. I hit my head on the overhead cabinet before I could scramble upright.

  "Di? I'll fucking kill—"

  I swung off the counter and landed on him, straddling his body.

  He tried to bring his hands up, to grip the collar, to fight me off, but he was still recovering from the stun and his moves were clumsy and pathetic.

  I gripped his skull in my hands. I'd practiced the move many times, and I barely had to think. I gave a hard twist and felt his neck pop.

  He slumped back against the cabinets. His hands spasmed slightly before falling limp by his sides.

  "Cory!" Di screamed. "What did you do to him?"

  I climbed off his body and took off the cervical collar encasing my neck. I tossed it to the floor and started out of the kitchen.

  Di blocked my path. She held the scissors up in front of her, brandishing the blade like a knife.

  "Put the scissors down, Di."

  "You killed him! You killed Cory!"

  "I just did you the biggest favor or your life. Someday you'll thank me."

  "No!" She flew at me, the scissors leading the way.

  I dodged the blades and answered with a solid right cross to the jaw.

  Di hit the table and crumpled to the floor beside Kaufmann. I hesitated for only a second, and then walked from the kitchen without looking back.

  "Drugs are tools," The Instructor said. "Like any tool, they can be beneficial, or deadly. To know the effects these tools will have on your body, your training will require you to sample a wide variety of them. So get ready to get high with your Uncle Sam."

  My thoughts were scrambled eggs, my fragile emotional state further degraded by pain, exhaustion, and an insurmountable list of things I had to do. Add in the norepinephrine I'd been injected with, and I was a nervous breakdown waiting to happen.

  Or perhaps it already had.

  Not that it mattered. I couldn't let grief and helplessness overwhelm me again. When I'd lost Kaufmann, I wanted to die. Cory's girl had made me realize I couldn't allow myself that luxury. Things needed to be set right, and I was the only one who could do it.

  It didn't take long to find one of Hammett's bras tucked in the back of Victor's drawer. I pulled it on, along with a long-sleeved tee, and added the jacket I'd worn to meet The Instructor. The yellow bag of cash was still tucked in the back of the closet. I shouldered it and wiped down everything in the apartment that I or Hammett might have touched, then called 911 to report a multiple murder and left.