For a moment, she allowed herself to hope, but then concluded this must be part of his plan to torture her before she died. No way could she survive a chest shot. She looked away, dismissing him, having no wish to stare into the eyes of her killer as she drew her final breath.

“Look.” He crouched down next to her and pulled her shirt up. Horrified at the mutilated flesh she was sure to see, she squirmed away.

“Stop wiggling.” He yanked her shirt higher. “See?”

Claire couldn’t resist looking.

Gideon swept his hand over her belly and ribs, wiping the blood away. Something clattered to the floor with a ping. She stared at her torso. To her astonishment, no gaping hole stared back.

“See, it already sealed itself.” Picking up whatever fell to the floor, he displayed a small, crushed piece of metal between his thumb and forefinger. “Now if this had been silver, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be dead.”

“My God.” Her eyes focused on the bloody bullet, and her eyes finally accepted what her mind could not.

Gideon unlocked her handcuffs. Claire’s hands roamed over her chest and stomach. She felt nothing beyond the slipperiness of blood.

“I’m not shot.” She looked back at the bullet, undisputable evidence.

His lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Oh, you were shot. You’re just not dead.”

Tearing her gaze from that tiny chunk of metal, she searched his face, her eyes scanning every line, every nuance, missing nothing. She suddenly saw him for what he was. Not… wrong. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

He nodded slowly. “Get cleaned up first.”

On unsteady legs, she moved to her suitcase. Her hands shook as she rummaged for clean clothes. With her mind reeling, the simple act took far longer than it should have. Once alone in the bathroom, she took a moment to lean against the door and let herself shake at will. She deliberately avoided looking in the mirror as she stripped, unwilling to look at her eyes now that she understood the reality behind them.

Standing under the showerhead, she tilted her head back and let the water pelt her face, thinking over everything Gideon had told her, everything she had once refused to believe yet now knew to be true.

Lenny was truly dead. She couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore. Yet she couldn’t blame Gideon for killing him. If he hadn’t, she would be dead. Still, she gave in to the grief, to the tears, letting them disappear in a rush of water down the drain. She told herself that once she stepped out of the shower she wouldn’t waste another moment to tears. Lenny was gone, but she was still here, and she needed to figure a way out of this nightmare.