“If that happens,” she added, “if I go into labor, I’ll need a hospital if the baby’s to have any chance of surviving. So I hope there’s one close by.”

“You’d better not deliver while I’m here. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

She’d been hoping he’d reveal something about their location. She’d gotten nothing along those lines, but while I’m here seemed to suggest he was leaving soon. Where was he going—and when? “You do realize I can’t stop labor. Can’t do anything to change when the baby will arrive.”

“Just keep your legs crossed, because you’ll be in a world of hurt if you don’t.”

His hands were massive, leading her to believe he was a large man. And she’d noticed calluses that suggested he wasn’t someone who worked in an office. Did he do construction? Some other kind of physical labor?

Possibly …

She doubted he was married. He didn’t know anything about childbirth—just that he didn’t want any part of it. She didn’t see a wedding ring, either. “How will I call you if I do go into labor? Surely you won’t leave me in here to have this baby alone.”

“I told you. It’s not going to happen on my watch.”

“Your ‘watch’? Is someone else coming? Jasper Moore doesn’t have anything to do with this, does he?” She couldn’t imagine how. Not too long ago, Jasper had killed his wealthy parents, who’d helped him escape after he slit her throat and left her for dead way back when. She was fairly certain they’d helped him financially through the years, too. But now that they were gone, who else would come to his aid?

No one. Unless …

Was the man outside the cooler a brother or a friend to one of the women in Jasper’s life? One of his ex-wives, or someone who’d started writing to him since he’d been caught? Jasper looked a lot better than most serial killers, and, like Ted Bundy and even Charles Manson, he received more than his share of love letters, money and gifts from women. Since all prison mail was monitored, she’d read a few of the letters. The Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome, or hybristophilia, was a very real phenomenon where some women were sexually attracted to high-profile, dangerous criminals. Evelyn had seen the same thing over and over again through the years with other notorious killers.

He didn’t answer. He disappeared and then returned. “Stick your hands out here again.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Just do it!”

Someone like Jasper would take great pleasure in cutting off her fingers. She was afraid to take the risk. But this man could come in and do whatever he wanted, so refusing wouldn’t save her for long. It would probably only make him angry.

She swallowed hard as she put her hands through the slot.

He poured a bottle of water over them and then dried them, roughly, with a paper towel. “Who knows what kinds of germs are in this place? If I were you, I wouldn’t risk so much as a paper cut.”