She imagined how upset Amarok must be and couldn’t help wincing. He didn’t deserve the problems she’d brought into his life. He’d asked her, many times, to change her profession and do something safer, like going into private practice or teaching. But he, of all people, had to understand that in order to keep society safe, dangerous jobs had to be done. Being a firefighter was dangerous. Flying a rescue helicopter was dangerous. Being a soldier was dangerous. Heck, being a cop was dangerous, too, but she’d never asked him to quit his job. Fighting psychopathy was her life’s calling. How could she walk away from it? There were people who did despicable things, with absolutely no remorse, and it was vitally important someone figure out how to treat them. She couldn’t give up, not unless she reached some sort of breakthrough. Until then, the innocent would never be safe.

However, if she had quit as Amarok asked, maybe she wouldn’t be in this situation. And her child would be safe, too.

Closing her eyes, she pretended that Amarok was lying beside her, imagined him pulling her into the cradle of his big, warm body and felt tears well up. She’d finally let herself love again, trust again—which was the harder of the two, given her past—only to be ripped away from the security he provided.

Gathering her fortitude, she got off the bed. She couldn’t fall into despair. She had to think of some way to save herself. Besides what she was doing to create a shiv, knowledge was the only other weapon she possessed. So what information had she gleaned about her captor?

He was an ex-con, but she no longer believed he was or ever had been one of her patients. She didn’t know him, doubted she’d ever met him before. She could also say he wasn’t some middle-aged, frumpy or overweight opponent. He was strong and physically fit. She couldn’t expect to overcome him physically, not without an equalizer. No matter how badly her fingers hurt, now that she’d removed that wire from her cot she needed to sharpen it.

Fortunately, the concrete floor made the sharpening part fairly easy. That would’ve been impossible if she were being held in a room with carpet or linoleum, especially because the walls weren’t made of cinder block, like those in so many prisons. But a wire could puncture even without sharpening, so maybe that wasn’t a great deal to be grateful for.

What else could she put in her favor? If she were consulting on a case and evaluating the man who’d grabbed her, only by what he’d revealed about himself so far, what would she make of it?

A couple of his comments led her to believe he wasn’t in this alone. Even if he hadn’t said what he’d said about his “watch” and while he was here, she would’ve guessed someone else was involved. If that weren’t true, they wouldn’t be in this holding pattern. He would’ve done something to her by now. Raped her. Beaten her. Demanded a ransom. Were he like so many of the men she’d studied, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. She was completely defenseless; there would never be a better opportunity.