He’s going to kill me; I see intent in his eyes. It’s just a matter of time. The realization sends a shudder of terror through me. Holding his gaze, I ease my right hand down, feel the mini-magnum through the fabric of my skirt. I wonder if I can take aim and pull the trigger without having to draw the weapon out from under my skirt.

“You still have a chance to get away if you run now,” I tell him.

“You know this isn’t going to end nicely for you, don’t you?”

“If you kill a cop, they won’t ever stop looking for you. Ever.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.” One side of his mouth curves. “They don’t have my name.”

“We have you on disk. It’s only a matter of time before they tie you to it.”

He smirks nastily. “I guess that’s why you’re here, dressed like that. Because of all that fuckin’ evidence you’ve got.”

“We’ve got the other disks, too. The ones we found at Long’s place.”

“Just when I was starting to think you’re smart, you blow it by saying something stupid.” He shakes his head, feigning pity. “There’s nothing incriminating on any of those disks. Just that little bitch getting what she wanted. Who do you think planted them, for fuck sake?”

Now it’s my turn to smile. “You screwed up. We’ve got you dead to rights on one of the disks.” I need to buy some time, keep him talking, thinking.

Next to Barbereaux, Warner coughs up a spray of blood. “For God’s sake . . . get me to the hospital. Fuckin’ dying . . .”

Barbereaux steps quickly away from the other man, casts me an irritated look. “Bullshit, I went through every disk.”

“You willing to stake your life on that?” I shrug, let the statement hang. When he says nothing, I add, “Technology is an amazing thing. You’d be surprised by the information those techies can pull off a disk these days. That scar on your hand?”

He glances quickly down, then back at me. The look he gives me is so utterly devoid of emotion that it’s like looking into the eyes of a corpse. I sense he’s going to raise the shotgun and kill me. The urge to appeal to his compassion is overwhelming, but I know it would be futile. He’s a sociopath, incapable of feeling remorse. My heart pounds so loudly, I can no longer hear the storm. Keep him talking . . .

“How could you do that to those two girls?” I ask.