Shaking her hands free, she wondered—should she try to unbind her ankles? Crap! She had to. It was necessary if she wanted to walk out of here on her own. Adrenaline firing her blood, she bent over a little more, the fetal position a cover as she studied the cord on her ankles with her fingertips, finding the knots.

And still he sang, though he kept checking the clock as if it were important. What did it matter what time . . . oh, God. Suddenly she understood; he was going to do something to them at the exact time of their births. That had to be it. The clock displayed prominently. The song. Both of them here . . .

And there wasn’t much time left.

She’d been born at 1:21 a.m. Chloe had come along seventeen minutes later at 1:38.

Oh, God. Another look at the clock.

1:14.

If she was right, she only had seven more minutes to make a move! Frantically, she tore at the loosening knot. It began to unravel.

Come on, come on!

Viperlike, the braided cord slid from her ankles. Finally! Zoe held fast to one frayed end and pulled, wincing as the rope slid round her neck and fell away. She gripped the rope. Now she had a weapon.

“. . . birthday, dear Zoe,” he sang, striking fear into her heart as he singled her out. Of course. She was the firstborn. “Happy birthday to—”

She sprang!

He started to turn just as she landed on his back.

“Hey!” he yelled, startled. He dropped the scissors, then bellowed, “What the fu—”

He shifted, trying to throw her off, but she held on with a steely desperation and wrapped the rope around his neck. Roaring, grunting, jumping like a bucking bronco in a rodeo, he tried to fling her from his back. But she held on tight, anchoring the cord over her fingers and winding it around his thick neck. To anchor herself in place, she had to clench her legs around his gross, naked waist. The stench of him reached her nostrils as he tried to free himself, whipping his head back and forth.

The rope burned her hands but cut deep into his flesh. Clenching her jaw, she twisted it tighter, imagining a crushing force on his windpipe. He dug frantically at it with his fingers.

Chloe’s mewling turned to terrified screams.