Val begged for her body to move but the drug had to run its course. Molly seemed to think there was plenty of time, because she wasn’t in any rush. Val knew she had to let Molly keep believing this. It was the only way out. Val knew how pancuronium worked: she read up on it after she learned that this drug was used on Samantha Ritcher, and this knowledge was going to get her out of this hellish nightmare.

“So many people with this identity theft thing are such small potatoes it’s laughable. I don’t want your credit card to go shopping for trinkets, or even use your name to get a mortgage. If I want to become you, and if you’re still alive, what use is that to me? If you’re dead, you can be worth your weight in gold to the right miner.”

Val’s chest continued to quiver. After a few minutes, the vibration slowed and she was finally able to swallow. Her lungs started to suck in a little more air, and when they did, she inhaled as deeply as she could.

“If you’re under the age of fifty, getting a life insurance policy is a pretty uncomplicated thing. Fill out a form, have a visiting nurse come to your house, pee in a cup and bingo, and they’ll give you as much as you’re willing to pay for. After I became Julia DeHaviland, I bought a three-million-dollar policy. Hell, the insurance company wanted me to buy more. They expect someone with a medical degree to get a large amount of coverage. So, what do I do next? I name Molly Dolan as beneficiary on the policy, and after an appropriate amount of time, Julia’s death is staged to look like it just happened. Once she’s found dead, I get a big fat check. It was such a brilliant plan, so simple. The only problem is that my partner decided to double-cross me and screw everything up. That partner was Francine Donohue.”

Val lay still. The drug was already starting to wear off and the effects would only continue to weaken. Molly couldn’t see this happening. She had to think Val was more incapacitated than she actually was.

Lie still.

Don’t move.

Don’t blink.