For most of the night, Sami slipped in and out of consciousness until her cell phone awakened her. She looked at her watch. At six thirty in the morning, she guessed it was either police business or the wrong number. She wanted it to be Al, begging for her forgiveness, crawling on his belly like the snake he was, but as much as this fantasy tugged at her feelings right now, she didn’t think it was him.

“Sami Rizzo.”

“Sorry to call so early,” Captain Davidson apologized. “Late last night a missing person’s report came in on a McKenzie O’Neill, and I’m afraid she might have been abducted by the serial killer.”

The captain’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Sami felt like a zombie. “What’s the connection?”

“No one has seen her for a couple of days. Her parents said when they couldn’t reach her, they started calling her friends. One gal—her closest friend—said that the last time she saw McKenzie was at a yoga class. She said McKenzie seemed smitten by a man her friend had never seen before. Her description of him pretty much matches our guy.”

“I just need to take a quick shower, Captain. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Did Al come back from Rio last night as planned?”

She could hear herself saying, “Yes, the lyin’, cheatin’ sack of shit did come home last night.” “Made it home safe and sound.”

“Chief Larson and I have been talking, and with your nod, we’d like Al to partner with you on the investigation.”

She was speechless.

“There are lots of implications here, and I’m sure that the rumor mill will kick into high gear. But we don’t have time to pussyfoot around. You and Al are the best we’ve got, so if somebody’s nose gets bent out of shape because of your personal relationship with Al, too fucking bad. I’ve never been a big fan of political correctness. Besides, we got the okay from Mayor Sullivan. Let the naysayers deal with her.”

Trapped like a rat. Under the circumstances, the thought of working side by side with Al, morning, noon, and night, was as unsavory as anything she could imagine at this particular point in time. Her wounds were still raw. But what could she do? As much as it pained her, she had no choice but to do what was best for the department. Whatever became of their romantic relationship, they had to find a way to separate business from personal.

“No problem, Captain. I’m sure Al and I can set our relationship aside and stay on task.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Do you want me to call him or would you like to break the news?”

“Oh, I think it should come from you, Captain.”

“See you in an hour.”

She set down the phone and headed for the bathroom. On the way, she saw her mother standing in her robe, just outside Sami’s bedroom.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“Where’s Alberto?”

Sami didn’t have time to explain, so she lied. “He had an early-morning appointment.”

“Why didn’t he sleep here last night?”

How could she possibly know this? “Can we talk later? I really have to get moving.”

Josephine gave Sami a look she had seen many times, and Sami was certain that their next conversation would not be pleasant.

McKenzie had no idea how long she’d been lying on the bed in that dark room. Although her head was far from being clear, the effects of whatever drug John had given her had lost its grip. She had no concept of time. At this particular moment, the only thing she knew for sure was that she had to use the bathroom.

“Is anybody there? Can you hear me? I have to go to the bathroom.”

Nothing.

Wetting herself was the least of her worries. Obviously, John had other plans for her. She tried not to think about the possibilities. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but believe that she had been duped by the serial killer she’d read about in the newspaper and seen on TV. Who hadn’t heard the grisly details of what that maniac did to his victims?

McKenzie was fearful of what he might do to her, of course. But for some reason, she wasn’t out-of-her-mind terrified. Shouldn’t she be? Had the drugs diluted her senses?

Before she could muster another thought, she heard something in the distance, a door opening with squeaky hinges that needed lubrication. Then she heard the door click shut.

Footsteps. A man’s heel-pounding footsteps. The cadence of someone walking slowly toward her. She strained her eyes to make out his image, but the room was too dark. Then, bright lights flooded the room and she squeezed her eyes shut until they adjusted.

“Hello, McKenzie.”

The voice was familiar. She opened her eyes slightly to confirm what she already feared. “What’s your real name?”

“Julian.”

“You’re the one, aren’t you?”

“The one?”

“The Resuscitator.”

“That’s such an impersonal name, don’t you think?”

“Would you please cut me loose and let me go to the bathroom?” She hoped that the thought of her soiling herself might motivate him to let her use the toilet.

Next to the bed, McKenzie now noticed a small cart holding odd-looking tools and instruments. She couldn’t make out what they were. Julian reached for what looked like a scalpel and cut the two nylon straps binding her ankles. He held the scalpel inches from her face. “You’re not going to try anything silly if I cut you loose, right?”

His face looked much different than the face of the charming man she had met at her yoga class, the man who had broken through her self-preservation mechanism, the man who would surely be her executioner. She saw an intensity in his eyes that sent chills through her body.

He cut the straps binding her wrists and led her to the bathroom, following only half a step behind. “You’ve got five minutes.”

She went into the bathroom, her mind aswarm with terrifying thoughts of her fate. She now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her captor was the man the San Diego Chronicle referred to as the Resuscitator, the serial killer who performed barbaric experiments on his victims. Now, wide-awake and free of the side effects of the drugs, McKenzie O’Neill was indeed out-of-her-mind terrified.

As she sat in the bathroom, shivering uncontrollably, she realized that the only possible way for her to survive this ordeal was if somehow she overpowered Julian before he bound her to the bed again. But how could a hundred-twenty-five-pound woman ever expect to get the best of a two-hundred-pound man? Frantic, she gently opened the vanity drawer, looking for a makeshift weapon.

“Three more minutes, McKenzie,” his voice echoed from the other side of the bathroom door.

She found nothing in the vanity drawer. Now she checked the medicine cabinet. Aspirins. Antacids. Cotton swabs. Toothpaste.

Panic set in.

Her last hope was the area under the vanity that concealed the bottom of the sink and the plumbing. She opened the doors, squatted down, and pushed a variety of items out of her way.

Mouthwash. Cough syrup. Bandages. Sunblock. Softsoap.

About ready to give up, McKenzie spotted a pair of scissors. They looked like the kind hair stylists used for trimming, the blades pointy and about four inches long. What could she do with these scissors? Could she inflict enough damage to incapacitate Julian just long enough for her to flee out the door? Maybe she’d get lucky and even kill the asshole? Quite to her surprise, McKenzie O’Neill, pacifist, vegetarian, animal activist, found the concept of killing Julian quite appealing. The woman who stepped over ants while walking down the street was embracing the thought of killing another human being. Was she really capable of such a deed?

“If you’re not out of there in one minute,” Julian warned, “I’m coming in.”

Yes, she thought, I could end his life.

Her mind was scrambling, trying to think of how she could distract him long enough to strike a blow. Where on his body would an assault be most effective? Suppose she missed her mark? What would he do to her in retaliation? Harsh reality replaced her conflicting thoughts.

He’s going to kill me anyway, so if I piss him off what difference does it make?

McKenzie carefully slid the scissors, point first, down the back of her capri pants, but realized that if Julian walked behind her and followed her back to the bed, he’d see the outline of the scissors through the form-fitting material. But where else could she hide them, in her bra?

No time to second-guess.

She walked out of the bathroom and stood by the door, facing Julian. If she could get him to lead the way back to the bed, maybe, just maybe she could plunge the scissors deep into the side of his neck and puncture his carotid artery. This, she felt certain, would incapacitate even the Incredible Hulk. Maybe even kill him.

Julian pointed. “That way.”

McKenzie didn’t move.

“What’s the problem? Do you want me to drag you over there?”

She had to engage him in dialogue. Something to divert his attention. “Can I just sit down for a while and talk to you, without my hands and feet bound to that bed?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There isn’t? I think there’s a lot to talk about.”

“I’m not playing this game.” Julian grabbed her arm.

While he escorted her toward the bed, almost dragging her, McKenzie was careful not to give him a rear view of her body. As he tugged on her arm, leading the way, she reached behind her back, slid her hand down her capri pants and grasped the handle of the scissors. Walking slowly, he looked straight ahead, but every so often gave her glances as they moved closer to the bed. She had to wait for the perfect moment. She would get one shot and one shot only.

She tightened her grip on the scissors.

He stopped in his tracks, his grip on her forearm tightening. “What are you hiding behind your back, McKenzie?”

Shit! “Nothing. My back muscles are a little sore. That’s all.”

This was the moment of truth. In an instant, he would spin her around before she had a chance to stab him and her plan would self-destruct.

Just as he tugged on her arm, pulling firmly to turn her around, with one quick motion, McKenzie cocked her arm like a trip hammer, and aimed for the side of his neck, thrusting forward as forcefully as she could. His quick reflexes stunned McKenzie. He moved swiftly, but not quite quickly enough. Just as the tip of the scissors pierced the skin on the side of his neck, he grasped her wrist and stopped her forward motion. Only the tip of the scissors penetrated his neck. What she didn’t realize was that she missed her mark and the scissors struck him several inches away from the carotid artery. Nonetheless, he went down on one knee and released his grip on McKenzie’s wrist, but still held her forearm.

She used a maneuver she’d learned in her self-defense class, and with a rapid circular motion, she twisted her arm counter-clockwise, and freed her forearm from his grip. Now it was a footrace. She bolted toward the front door, her legs and feet scrambling like a cartoon character’s.

She peeked over her shoulder and saw him still on one knee, gripping his neck.

Almost there.

She reached the door, grasped the doorknob, and twisted it with all her might. It didn’t move. Utterly frantic, she realized it was locked, so she clicked the lock a quarter turn and the doorknob now moved freely. But the door still would not open.

She looked over her shoulder to see if he had regained his composure and was moving toward her, but strangely, he was sitting on the floor cross-legged, his hand pressed against the wound, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. In fact, she could see a smirk on his face.

McKenzie tried again to open the door, twisting the doorknob in both directions and tugging on it with all her might. She looked up and saw a deadbolt.

Of course, she thought.

When she reached toward the deadbolt to unlock it, instead of seeing a thumbturn like on her door at home, what she saw was a keyhole. Without a key, she could not open the deadbolt. McKenzie now understood why he had not run after her. Where could she go? She figured that whatever he originally had in store for her, he would now make her pay a higher price for her foolish stunt.

She sat on the floor with her back against the door, trying hard not to be emotional, but unless a miracle happened, her fate was sealed. Choked up and feeling as hopeless as she’d ever felt, she watched him disappear into the bathroom, obviously confident that she had no way out of the loft without the key to the deadbolt. She could run to a window and yell for help, but the loft might be located in a remote area, far from civilization. Soon he’d come out of the bathroom and she would no doubt end up bound to the bed again completely at his mercy. Could she somehow reason with him? Maybe bargain with him?

Foolish girl.

How do you bargain with a madman? Besides, she had only one thing to bargain with—the mere thought of it repulsed her—but he could take it if he wanted. And she suspected he would.