She, too, wanted to cry but knew it wouldn’t help. She, too, felt the need to scream and rail at the heavens, but again, that would do more harm than good. Zoe didn’t want the bastard to know what she was thinking or even that she was aware. She could not let him know she was plotting her escape. Let him believe her to be compliant and either still groggy from whatever drug he’d injected her with or so scared out of her mind that she couldn’t fight back. Let him think that she would be easy to deal with, that she would do exactly what he wanted without a fight.

As if!

Now, if she could just break free . . .

Somehow save herself and her twin. Jesus, could her sister please stop with the pathetic little sobs?

In the darkness, she stretched, trying to lengthen the cords holding her fast. She froze. The off-key singing was getting closer.

Her stomach crumpled in on itself and she almost gagged to think that the nut job had stopped whatever he was doing at the workbench and was drawing near. His footsteps padded on the ground, soft and frightening, but at least she had some idea of where he was in the gloom.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him reach for something on the wall above her—some new tool. Dear God, were there weapons just beyond her reach? Again, her heart leaped with hope as he turned back to the bench.

Come on. Come on.

Sweat drizzled down her back as once again she began to loosen the knotted cord.

“Hey!” His gravelly voice cut through the darkness. Sharp. Angry. The stupid song momentarily forgotten.

She froze. Oh, dear God, if he figured out that she was trying to escape—

“Quit that!” he yelled.

She was doomed! Drenched in her own sweat, she didn’t so much as draw a single breath.

“All that cryin’ and sobbin’. Stop it. Won’t do no good anyhow. Besides,” he said, the edge in his voice giving way to a jovial tone. “It’s almost your birthday, so you should be happy. Right?” he cajoled Chloe, the evil in his voice dripping over his words.

Zoe’s skin crawled at his personal tone.

He glanced at the clock again and grunted. “Damn, the time.”

What the hell was his fascination with the time? Did he have to be somewhere? Was it important? Why was a clock mounted in this austere cave of a room?