He and Desiree were tied to their chairs on either end of the room, each a good twenty-five yards from the other. Angie was off in the west wing of the first floor, gathering supplies.

Desiree said, “I’ll need a doctor for my nose.”

“We’re a little short on plastic surgeons at the moment.”

“Was it a bluff?” she said.

“Which?”

“About Danny Griffin.”

“Yeah. Total bluff.”

She blew at a strand of hair that had fallen in her face and nodded to herself.

Angie came back into the room and together we cleared all the furniture to the sides, left a wide-open swath of parquet between Desiree and her father.

“You measure the room?” I asked Angie.

“Absolutely. It’s exactly twenty-eight yards long.”

“I’m not sure I could throw a football twenty-eight yards. How far is Desiree’s chair from the wall?”

“Six feet.”

“Trevor’s?”

“The same.”

I looked at her hands. “Nice gloves.”

She held them up. “You like ’em? They’re Desiree’s.”

I held up my good hand, also gloved. “Trevor’s. Calfskin, I think. Very soft and supple.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out two pistols. One was an Austrian Glock 17 nine-millimeter. The other was a German Sig Sauer P226 nine-millimeter. The Glock was light and black. The Sig Sauer was silver aluminum alloy and slightly heavier.

“There were so many to choose from in the gun cabinet,” Angie said, “but these seemed the best for our purposes.”

“Clips?”

“The Sig holds fifteen. The Glock holds seventeen.”

“And one each in the chamber, of course.”

“Of course. But the chambers are empty.”

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Trevor said.

We ignored him.

“Who’s stronger, you think?” I said.

She looked at them both. “It’s a toss-up. Desiree’s young, but Trevor’s got a lot of strength in those hands.”

“You take the Glock.”

“Pleasure.” She handed me the Sig Sauer.

“Ready?” I said as I pressed the butt of the Sig Sauer in between my bad arm and my chest, worked the slide with my good hand, and jacked a round into the chamber.

She pointed the Glock at the floor and did the same. “Ready.”

“Wait!” Trevor screamed as I crossed the floor, the gun extended and pointing directly at his head.

Outside, the surf roared, and the stars burned.

“No!” Desiree screamed as Angie crossed the floor toward her, gun extended.

Trevor bucked against the ropes that bound him to the chair. He jerked his head left, then right, then left.

And I kept coming.