I paced around the apartment for a good half-hour, trying to formulate some kind of plan. I had long ago gotten used to this kind of treatment from Morelli. Not that it had worked. Morelli was one man. Ranger had backup. I was probably lucky I hadn't been carted off to his safe house in Maine. Part of me knew he was only acting out of concern for my well being, but that part was easily overshadowed by the part which was suffering from a bruised ego.

I walked to the dining room table and sorted through the files on the missing girls. Elizabeth Kelly, reported missing three days ago. The photo was the same one we'd pulled off the wall.

I punched in Morelli's number and waited for him to answer.

"He's fine," Morelli said after I inquired about Bob. "He won't be chasing the pizza man anytime soon, but he's coming around."

An awkward pause fell between us, like we were feeling each other out. Morelli broke first.

"We found the body in a dumpster near the Fuzzy Hole."

"So I hear. Ranger went to check it out. You have an ID?"

Morelli sighed. "Not yet."

"Maybe I can help you with that."

I gave him the info on Elizabeth Kelly and Morelli went quiet.

"How do you know all this?"

"I don't." It wasn't a complete lie. "It's a hunch."

"One helluva hunch."

"It was more of an educated guess."

"Shit," he said. "You want to elaborate on that?"

I considered my options. I could lie. I could tell the truth. Or I could do neither. I chose door number three. "Not really."

I disconnected before he could object, clipped my cell phone to my hip, and went back to the pacing. I was growing increasingly frustrated. I cut a slice of cake and washed it down with a bottle of beer from Ranger's fridge while I contemplated my options. We were seven floors up. That meant the windows were out, unless I happened to get bitten by a radioactive spider in the next fifteen minutes.

I scraped the last of the stray icing off the plate and set the dirty dishes in the sink. I took a deep breath and sighed. There was only one way out, and that was through the front door. Now all I needed was a good excuse and a clueless bodyguard.

I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Mary Lou. She answered on the second ring.

"I need your help," I said.

I was standing in the foyer by the sideboard, going over the checklist in my head. This was a bad idea. It was an even worse plan. But it was the only one I had. I stepped up to the door and chewed my lip for a second, remembering my gun. I hesitated, then pulled it out of my bag and checked the clip. Empty. I dug around the bottom of the bag and came up with one stray bullet. I brushed off the lint and slid the bullet into the mag. There. Loaded. I twisted the lock back and opened the door a couple of inches. A large, tan-skinned man was standing in front of the elevator, arms folded. He took one look at me and cocked an eyebrow.

"Let's have a chat," I said. His eyes narrowed, and I stifled a gulp. "What's your name?"

He watched me for a full minute before answering. "Sanchez."

I flashed him a smile and stepped into the hallway. He met my smile by lowering his hand to his sidepiece. So much for playing nice.

"Let's cut to the chase," I said. "I need to go out for a while."

Sanchez shook his head. "No."

"It's important."

"Not my problem."

"I'm making it your problem," I said. "Because like it or not, I'm leaving."

Sanchez shook his head slightly. "Then I'll have to stop you."

I chewed the inside of my bottom lip and stared Sanchez in the eyes. "You don't want to shoot me," I said with mock certainty. There was no doubt in my mind he was thinking long and hard about it.

"Not really."

"And I don't want to be shot."

"Smart girl."

"So what do you say we compromise?"

He considered this for a moment. Then he sucked in some air and let it out slowly. "Let's hear it."

I edged forward, shutting the apartment door behind me. "It's like this. My friend Mary Lou just found out she's pregnant. And she's not taking it real well. So I thought since I have to stay inside, maybe I could do it at her place. Bring over some pizza, watch a couple of Lifetime made-for-TV movies. You know, do the girl thing."

Sanchez tipped his head back and eyed me warily. "That's sweet," he said. "But I don't believe you. I let you walk out of this building, I gotta deal with my boss. And that's not something I look forward to, if you know what I mean."

I nodded. I knew, alright. I didn't like dealing with his boss too much at the moment, either.

"I'm not asking you to let me walk out of here," I shook my head. "I'm giving you the option to tag along."

"That's very considerate of you, but I'll pass."

I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my chest. "I know you have a job to do and I respect that. But I'm bored. I'm going crazy in there. There's nothing to read, nothing to eat, and nothing to do. So if you're going to shoot me, go ahead. Just try not to hit anything major."

I nudged past him and headed for the stairwell along the far wall. I had my hand on the door when he caught me by the back of my shirt collar.

"Hey! Get off me!"

I swatted at his hands and he gripped my arm, spinning me around to face him.

"Let me go," I said. I was really starting to get pissed off again. I didn't like being man-handled. And I didn't like that Ranger had given the okay to use necessary force to keep me on the premises.

Sanchez loosened his grip, but still held firmly to my arm.

"Look," he said with the shake of his head, "Don't take this personally. I didn't want this job. On a scale of one to ten, guarding you is a zero. But you don't say no to a man like Ranger. He tells you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. I heard stories about you on the floor. The guys all have this bet on whether or not I'm going to make it through the night. Right now, I'm thinking my odds aren't so good. The way I see it, I got two options: I can either lock you inside and wait for you to try something else, something even more stupid than the whatever-it-is you're trying to pull now, or I can go along with you and hope you don't get yourself killed."

I waited impatiently for him to make up his mind. "Well?"

"Here's what we're going to do." He reached around and pulled a pair of cuffs off his hip, and clipped one of the bracelets around my left wrist before securing the other one to his right one. "I'm going to take you to your friend's house, and we're going to watch a movie. Then we're coming back, and you're going to stay inside the rest of the night. You got me?"

I hadn't expected to have to deal with cuffs. That was going to be an issue. Still, it was better than being stun-gunned. I nodded my head and offered my free hand in a shake. "Deal."

Sanchez shook his head and pushed me into the elevator. The doors opened at garage level and we stepped out. A tall, thin man with slicked back black hair was standing by one of the black Explorers on the far wall. He made eye contact with Sanchez and shook his head. Then he slid behind the wheel while Sanchez and I climbed into the backseat.

We had just pulled into the lot outside Pino's when my cell phone rang.

"Babe," said Ranger. Then he disconnected.

The SUV idled in front of the Stankovic house and Sanchez and I angled out. The front door opened and we came face-to-face with a puffy-eyed Mary Lou. Her youngest, Mikey, was on her hip, screaming his head off, while the other two fought over a toilet brush in the background. I felt Sanchez shift uncomfortably on his feet while I passed the pizza and a bag of doughnuts to Mary Lou. We moved into the kitchen and Mary Lou opened the doughnut bag. She gave one to each of the kids before sliding the last Boston Cream in my direction. A small blonde head appeared at my side. It was Ashley, Mary Lou's middle kid. She was tugging on Sanchez's black shirt with her sticky, icing-covered fingers. He made a face and looked down at her.

"My mom has a hairy private," she said. My eyes locked onto Mary Lou's, whose face wasn't even tinted pink. Probably this kind of stuff happened to her all the time. Kind of like me and car bombs. I heard a click and felt the handcuff slip off my wrist.

"I'll be in the car if you need anything," said Sanchez. He nodded in Mary Lou's direction and left through the front door.

Mary Lou shook her head. "I've gotta get a lock on that bathroom door." Or maybe invest in a muzzle. "Okay, spill. You didn't say anything on the phone."

I ate the last of my doughnut and swallowed. Then I told her about the deal I'd made with Ranger, and how I'd gotten placed on lockdown.

"I was afraid the line was tapped and I had to get out of there. You got a flashlight?"

Mary Lou nodded and opened the pizza box. "Under the sink," she said, tearing off a slice for herself, and then one for me. "You sure you want to do this?"

I took a bite of pizza and chewed for a while. "I'm sure."

I took the rear door to the alley and looked around. There was a privacy fence on the left-hand side and foliage to the right. Good cover in case Sanchez got suspicious. I took the flashlight I'd gotten from Mary Lou and dropped it in my bag. Then I cut through the alley and ran the two blocks to my parents' house.

"You're not wearing a coat again," said Grandma when I barged in the back door. "What is it with you and no coat?"

"I left it at work. Didn't have time to go back." Grandma nodded. "I need to borrow the Buick."

"What happened to your truck?"

"Left that at work, too."

"I know what this is about," said Grandma. "You're on the lam again."

"Something like that."

She took the keys off the hook by the door and dropped them in my palm. "Too bad I got an early morning or we'd tear the town apart."

"Yeah, too bad," I said. I let myself out the back door and checked for black vehicles. Once I was sure it was clear, I dropped my purse onto the passenger seat and cranked the engine. Big Blue roared to life with an eight-cylinder yawp and I backed out onto the street.

I backtracked to the house in Point Pleasant and parked in the drive. It was past nine, cold out, and starting to snow. I dug around in my purse and switched on the flashlight. Nothing. I shook it a few times and a small beam of light shot out.

I got out of the car and made my way over to the front porch. I tried the door and it swung open, leading into the foyer. I moved through the foyer into the darkened living room, taking the time to go over things I might've missed earlier in the day. There were pictures on the mantel and old logs in the fireplace. I scoured the room from floor to ceiling, and then moved on to the rest of the house.

I was on my way back downstairs from the top level when the flashlight went dead. Shit! I held steady to the banister and eased myself down the stairs, my heart beating a couple hundred times a minute. As a child, I hadn't really been afraid of the dark. It was the monsters that come out in the dark that scared me. The Boogeyman. Dracula. Bloody Mary. Extraterrestrials. Even after I had grown up and moved out, I still got the occasional creepy-crawlies at night. But that was nothing compared to this.

I only debated for a half-second about going back down to the basement before I bolted for the front door. Being alone in the dark in a creepy old house had sent a shiver of fear down my spine. I opened the door and stepped out. The moon cast an eerie blue-white glow over the landscape. I looked down and a lump formed in my throat. A large set of footprints tracked through the snow into the house. I chanced a look at Big Blue and my heart took a dive. The tires were slashed.

I backed into the house and reached instinctively for my cell phone. It was gone.

Okay, I told myself. There's no need to panic. Probably you dropped it in the car.

I tried to take in a few calming breaths, but that didn't work. Instead I tried my hand at hyperventilating and found I could do that quite well. I swallowed another gulp and rushed out the front door toward the Buick. I hadn't so much as gotten off the porch before Warner stepped out of the shadows. I was stuck to the spot, my eyes glued to his under the shaft of moonlight. He rushed at me full-force, knocking me backwards onto the cement stairs which led onto the porch. I reached into my bag, grasping for anything I could find. My gun. A nail file. A really sharp pencil. Anything I could use as a weapon. Warner slapped me hard across the face, knocking my head to the side. Then he put his hands on my throat and squeezed.

It was like all the blood had drained from my hands, leaving them limp. I couldn't get any air and my face felt like it was going to explode. My lips tingled and my eyelids grew heavy. I willed myself to fight, but it was no use. In no time, my vision got dotty and everything went black.

I woke up cold, sore, and confused. I opened my eyes and looked around. It was pitch black, not a speck of light anywhere. I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure they were really open and forced myself to concentrate. My arms were secured high over my head by a pair of handcuffs which had been draped over an old pipe near an outside wall. My mouth was taped shut. And if the draft of wind I felt at my backside was any indication, I was missing a few choice articles of clothing. I took a deep breath to settle myself and stifled a gag. That smell. I remembered that smell. I was in the basement.

My heartbeat resounded in my ears as I fought against the restraints. My fingers felt swollen and achy, and my wrists burned from the friction, but I didn't care. I tugged and pulled with all my might, not giving up until I heard shuffling on the other side of the room. The hairs on my neck stood up and my heart skipped a beat. Even in the dark, I could tell I wasn't alone.

Warner knelt against the mattress and lit a cigarette, the soft light from the flame highlighting his face. He took a draw and exhaled the smoke out his nostrils. He leaned forward and I sunk back against the wall.

"I was afraid you were never going to wake up." He lit the cigarette lighter again and held it between us for light. "Sometimes that happens. Shame, too. The screaming is the best part."

He let the flame die and took another tug off the cigarette.

"I'm not sure which I'm going to enjoy more," he reached forward and smoothed a lock of hair away from my face, his touch making my stomach turn, "the prelude or the performance."

Warner flicked the ashes off his cigarette onto my thigh and leaned forward. "You should have taken the poison," he said, inching the cigarette closer to my skin. "It would've been easier that way. But I'm not complaining. I enjoy my work. I like to take my time."

He moved the cigarette up my thigh to my navel and held it there, half an inch from the skin. I sucked in my stomach and backed against the wall even further. I was shaking in cold fear and dread, watching anxiously as the smoke coiled around my half-naked body.

"Relax," he said, putting the cigarette to his mouth again. "I'm not going to burn you yet. Not until I decide where I want to start." He exhaled a slow steady stream of smoke into my face. Then he held the cigarette along the underside of my arm, tracing it down until it was flush with the side of my face, the heat and smoke biting at my eyes. "I could start at the top. Work my way down." He lowered the cigarette to my chin, tracing it down my throat to my collarbone. "Or I could just go right for the good stuff."

Warner ran his fingers along the underside of my panties and I jerked away from him, kicking instinctively. My heel caught him in the groin, and he groaned.

"You bitch," he said. He grabbed hold of my ankle and pulled me down the mattress. He took one last draw off the cigarette and plunged it down onto the tender skin on the inside of my left thigh. Pain radiated through my body. I tried to scream and couldn't. A sour taste rushed up my throat and rested in my mouth as tears stung at my eyes. Warner let out a soft chuckle and tossed the cigarette butt into the far corner.

I felt the bed ease up and tried to track Warner' movements as he shuffled around the room. My heart was palpitating so hard it felt like my body was jerking with every beat. There was the soft glow as he lit up another cigarette. He was sitting on the stool near the workbench, toying with something in his left hand.

"You know, the last girl I did choked on her own vomit before we even got to the power tools. I'm hoping I'll have better luck this time. Then again," he added, "I have half a mind to blow your fucking head all over that wall."

Warner leapt up and crashed down on the mattress again, pressing something cold and hard against my forehead. No doubt in my mind it was a gun. Probably it was mine.

"You fucking bitch," he spat.

I closed my eyes and waited, praying that if it was my time to go, it would be swift. I thought about my mom and dad, and Grandma and Valerie. Sure, we had our issues, but that didn't mean I didn't care about them. They were family. I was genetically predisposed to love them unconditionally. Then there was Morelli. Morelli and I might've had our share of off-agains, but there was still love there. Maybe not the kind of love that ended in a gold band and a house full of kids, but still love.

And then there was Ranger. God only knows what was going on there. I sure as hell didn't. He was my mentor and my best friend. And something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. I knew a relationship with Ranger was probably a bad move of epic proportions. His lifestyle didn't lend itself to emotional attachment, and to a point, neither did mine. Yet at the same time, I was curious to see how far it would go, and I was angry that Warner was trying to take that away from me.

There was a soft click as he lowered the gun and I inhaled sharply, finally aware that I'd been holding my breath.

"No," he said, dragging the gun down the side of my face. "We're going to take this nice and slow. I'm going to enjoy making you scream. You be thinking about that."

I felt him move off the bed and shuffle through the room. The door opened and closed with a click. I listened as he climbed the stairs and moved around on the main level. Then I pulled myself up against the wall and onto my knees.

My hands were numb and cold, and my arms ached from being elevated so long. I had seen on television once where a woman had managed to slide through a pair of cuffs by breaking her thumbs. At the time, the thought had made me queasy. Now it didn't seem like such a bad idea. I pulled and tugged against the cuffs, bearing down with all my weight. I could feel the metal ripping at the skin on my wrists and hands, but fought to push the pain aside. I took in a deep breath and steadied myself, and tried again. I pulled hard on the cuffs and was surprised when the pipe broke loose, dousing me in cold, stagnate water. I collapsed head-first onto the mattress, pried the tape off my mouth, and heaved. My body was shaking and weak when I was done. I forced myself alert, trying to listen for any signs that Warner was returning.

I crawled off the mattress and felt around the cold cement floor until I found the edge of the workbench. I pulled myself upright and steadied myself against the edge until I was sure my legs would hold me. Then I felt around the table until I came up with Warner's cigarette lighter. I flicked it a couple of times and it caught, casting the room in a faint orange glow. I scanned the room and found my Sig resting on the workbench near the door. I grabbed it and stuck it in the waistband of my panties. I lit the lighter again and looked around. My bag was in the far corner, along with the rest of my clothing. I bent down and emptied it on the floor, sorting through the mess until my hands locked onto something small and round. My key fob. I pressed the panic button at the top a few times, hoping it still worked.

I had only managed to get one of the cuffs open when I heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the basement. I dropped the lighter and reached for the Sig, not at all confident that I'd be able to use it in the dark. A hint of light appeared under the door and Warner burst in, a flashlight in hand. I squeezed the trigger and he went down, cursing and screaming in the darkness. The flashlight rolled under the table and I dove for the door. Warner caught me by the ankle and I crashed onto the floor. The jolt knocked the wind out of me. Then before I knew it Warner had dragged me beneath him.

He hit me hard across my face with the back of his hand.

"You're going to pay for that."

He wrapped his hands around my neck and started to press down. I tried to push him off, but it was no use. My vision was becoming blurry again and my arms were weak. Over the years, I had learned a few things about fighting, but I'd never really gotten good at it. The only things I knew how to do real well were bite and scratch. I reached up and dragged my nails hard down the side of Warner's face. I caught him in the eye and he let off, howling in pain. I gasped for breath and felt around for the gun, but came up empty. My hand locked around a long wooden handle and I swung it at Warner. It made contact with a sickening thwap and he fell to the side.

I rolled over on all fours and reached for the flashlight under the workbench, turning it in Warner's direction. He was out cold. I pulled myself to my feet, collected my Sig off the floor, and made my way shakily up the stairs. I made it to the front door and stepped out into the cold. Within seconds, the street was lined with an army of black trucks and SUVs. My heart leapt into my throat as relief coursed through my body. I shielded my eyes against the high beams and watched as Ranger angled out of the truck.

He stripped off his jacket and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders. His eyes were dark and the line of his jaw was clinched tightly. He looked almost pale.

"Warner is in the b-basement," I said, my teeth chattering. "I s-shot him."

The tips of Ranger's mouth tilted slightly upward. "Babe."