“Stick a needle in my eye.”

Katy looked right, then left, then finally spoke with the certitude of a courier who had carried a message through miles of bloody trenches. “Daddy did it.”

Caitlin’s heart thumped against her sternum. “Did what? What did Daddy do, Katy?”

The heavy-lidded eyes fluttered. “Like Jesus,” she whispered.

Like Jesus? Caitlin shivered again, though she didn’t know why. “Did your father kill Pooky, Katy?”

The woman nodded once more. “And Dr. Leland. He killed Mr. Henry,” she said softly. “And that colored nurse, too.”

At this, Caitlin’s voice deserted her again.

Katy was listing to the other side now; she looked as though she might fall out of the chair at any moment.

“Katy?” Caitlin said, coming to her feet.

Mrs. Regan opened her mouth, but no sound passed her lips. Then she went as limp as a rag doll and slid to the floor. Her head hit the carpet with a wooden thump.

Caitlin stared, momentarily paralyzed. Then she jumped down and felt for a carotid pulse. It was there, but very weak.

“Katy!” Caitlin shouted. “Katy Regan! Can you hear me?”

The woman gave no sign of having heard.

“How long have you been drinking? Did you take something?”

Katy groaned but formed no coherent words.

Crawling to her purse for her Treo, Caitlin heard a bang from the side of the house. Then heavy footsteps clunked up the hallway. She looked at her watch, and a bolt of fear shot through her. Randall Regan?

She got to her feet, instinctively looking for a place to hide. As she glanced toward the hall door, she saw a large brown pill bottle sitting on the fireplace hearth. She hadn’t noticed it before, but now it seemed the largest object in the room. The bottle had no lid, and it was empty.

“Who are you?” shouted a male voice. “What the hell’s happening here?”

Caitlin turned to see a tall, dark-haired man in his fifties kneeling beside Katy. In one glance Caitlin knew this was the man who had raped and murdered two former employees of Royal Insurance. God only knew what he’d done to Katy behind the locked doors of this house—or what he would do to Caitlin if he caught her.

“I think she took some pills,” Caitlin said, casting about for a lie that would buy the time she needed to escape. “See there?” She pointed to the empty bottle by the fireplace. “I was about to call 911.”

Regan’s eyes didn’t leave her for a second. “Who are you?”

He stood and took a step toward her.

Caitlin grabbed her purse off the floor, spilling out half its contents. Regan was still closing the space between them when she got her pistol out and held it in front of her.