Fine with me. The longer we could stall Riddick, the better. Surely sooner or later Michael would start worrying that I hadn’t shown up at the cast party. Or Dad would wonder what was taking Mother so long. Or one of the deputies would swing by the parking lot, spot our cars, and come to check things out. I wasn’t sure why Riddick was so intent on binding us—if I were a cold-blooded killer, I’d have just shot my prisoners and have done with it. Maybe he was a little squeamish about actually shooting us. Or maybe he didn’t want to risk the noise. For whatever reason, he obviously preferred to tie us up and let the fire do his dirty work. Well, that was good for us. We needed time. Time, and a distraction.

“Did Vess actually figure out what you were up to?” I asked aloud. “Or were you just afraid he might if he kept poking?”

“Vess was a meddling busybody,” Riddick said. “Don’t try to pretend you’re sad about his death.”

“Any man’s death diminishes me,” Mother quoted. “Oh, look! I found the roll of tape.”

She sounded so pleased that I couldn’t help shooting her an exasperated look. Did she really not get what was going to happen once Riddick had the tape?

“But I don’t think it’s going to be very useful,” Mother went on. She held up the roll and pulled at the end of the tape. About four inches of tape came away, followed by the brown paper strip that marked the end of the roll.

“That can’t be my roll.” Riddick sounded cross. “Keep looking.”

He followed his own advice, dropping the flashlight beam to scan the floor, starting at his own feet and gradually moving outward.

And I realized that if he was pointing the flashlight at the floor, he couldn’t see what we were doing. I reached out, very slowly, and grabbed the ugly china lamp. I wasn’t close enough to him to whack him, and it was such an odd shape that I didn’t like my odds of throwing it at him accurately but maybe—

I tossed the lamp as far to my right as I could. It landed with a crash near the furnace.

“Who’s there?”