He stared at the vial. “I know this is going to hurt. I know you do not deserve it. But in a sense it is all your fault. You came after me alone because you wanted to prove something to yourself. You won’t understand this, but I killed those five women for the same reason.” His eyes met her eyes and he sighed. “But it’s all useless in the end, don’t you think? Pain cannot heal pain. No one will remember what happened here today. And Julie will never be mine again.”

She shook her head vigorously. No.

Yes. He held the vial above her heart and began to pour.

The acid did not touch her chest. Her body reacted instinctively. With a strength bordering on the supernatural, she jerked back and the entire bed moved a foot. Rather than burn into her breastbone, the acid splashed onto her abdomen. It was like being licked by a blowtorch. As the material of her blouse peeled to ash and steam rose from the ruin of her belly button, she convulsed sideways and threw several fat drops flying in his direction. He also reacted by instinct and took a step back. He seemed surprised by her strength.

A drop of acid hit the length of rope that ran from her feet to the right bedpost, near her head. The rope was thin—it took two seconds for it to sufficiently weaken under the pressure of her writhing. Then it snapped. In an instant her right hand—although still encircled at the wrist—was relatively free.

She was in agony, she was going into shock. She had given up hope and she was definitely no hero. But she saw the opportunity and she seized it before he could respond. As if reaching for a phone that had startled her in the middle of the night, she stretched out her hand and picked up her gun and pointed it at his face. If she had not had duct tape on her mouth, she might have ordered him to drop the vial of acid and put up his hands.

As it was she said nothing.

He stared at her. “Oh my,” he whispered.

Banks turned and ran for the door. She followed his movements—the back of his head in particular—and pulled the trigger. A nine millimeter was not a heavy round. The recoil of the Glock did not make her lose control, even given her desperate situation. She could have shot him twice, three times if necessary. But red blossomed at the base of his neck and he went down. She assumed he was dead.