“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.
Slater removed the second gun from his pants and faced them. He cocked the guns, raised them to his shoulders. Sweat covered his white chest like oil. He grinned, lowered his arms, and twirled each pistol like a gunslinger.
“I’ve thought about this moment for so long,” Slater said. “The really big moments in life are never as inspiring as you imagine them—I’m sure you’ve both figured that out by now. What happens in these next few minutes has run so many laps around my mind that I swear there’s a groove an inch deep in there. I’ve taken way too much pleasure from the thoughts already; nothing can possibly compare. That’s the downside of dreaming. But it’s been worth it. Now I’m going to make it happen, and of course I’ll try to spice it up as much as possible to keep things interesting.”
He spun each gun again, the left, then the right. “I’ve practiced, can you tell?”
Kevin looked at Sam, who stood five feet from Slater, staring at the madman with a quiet fury. What was going through her mind? Slater had shifted his focus to her the moment she’d come in. With Kevin, the man showed no fear, but now facing Sam, Slater was trying to hide his fear with this show of his, wasn’t he? He was actually afraid. Sam just stared at him, undaunted, hands limp by her hips.
Kevin’s heart swelled. She was the true rescuer, always had been. He wasn’t the knight; she was. Dear Sam, I love you so. I’ve always loved you.
This was the end; he knew that. They couldn’t save each other this time. Had he told her how much he really did love her? Not with romantic love—with something much stronger. A desperate need. The need to survive. The way he loved his own life.
Kevin blinked. He had to tell her how precious she was to him!
“The game is simple,” Slater said. “No need confusing the common folk. One out of two people will die”—he glanced at the clock— “seventeen minutes from now. The old woman”—Slater shoved one of the guns to her temple—“who has evidently mistaken life for a Froot Loops commercial. Actually, I like that about her. If you’re going to pretend, you might as well do the whole enchilada, right?”
He smiled and slowly aimed the other gun toward Samantha. “Or the bright young maiden.” Both arms were fully extended at right angles now, one toward Balinda, the other toward Sam. “Our executioner will be Kevin. I want you to begin thinking about which wench you’ll kill, Kevin. Killing neither isn’t an option; that would ruin the fun. You must choose one.”
“I won’t,” Kevin said.
Slater tilted the gun and shot him in the foot.
He gasped. Pain throbbed through to his sole and then spiked up his shin; nausea rolled into his gut. The Reebok on his right foot had a red hole in it and was trembling. His horizon tipped.
“You will.” Slater blew imaginary smoke from the barrel. “I promise you, Kevin. You most definitely will.”
Sam ran for him and caught his sagging body. He let her support him and adjusted his weight to his left foot.
Sam jerked her head toward Slater. “You’re sick . . . You didn’t need to do that!”
“A hole in the foot, a hole in the head; we’ll see who ends up dead.”
“I love you, Sam,” Kevin said softly, ignoring the pain. “No matter what happens, I want you to know how lost I am without you.”
Jennifer paced. “I could strangleher!”
“Call her,” Dr. Francis said.
“And risk exposing her? She could be right outside his door and her cell goes off? Can’t do it.”
He nodded. “Something doesn’t sit right.”
She picked up her phone. “I had myself firmly convinced that Kevin was Slater.”
“And he isn’t.”
“Unless—”
Her cell phone chirped. They both looked at it. Jennifer flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“We have the report from Riggs,” Galager said. But Jennifer already knew that Slater and Kevin weren’t the same person.
“Bit late. We already know. Anything else?”
“No. Just that.”
She sighed. “We have a problem, Bill. What’s the mood over there?”
“Gloomy. Frantic without direction. The director just called for you. He’s getting an earful from the governor. Expect a call any second. They want to know.”
“Know what? We don’t know where he’s stashed Balinda. We’re down to a few minutes and we don’t have the faintest idea where he’s taken her. Tell them that.”