“I’m not talking about the other night, Sam.” And now her voice has softened. “I’m talking about three years ago. At the university.”

“The university?”

“I was in your linear algebra class,” she says. “I came to every single one of your office hours.”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t remember her. I’m not even looking at his face, but I can hear it in his voice.

“My hair was blond then,” she says. “I dyed it when I saw that picture of Abby you’ve got in your office. But I was there every week. You said you thought I was really promising.”

“I… I’m sure I meant it, but…”

“And we had coffee that time after class,” she adds, her voice rising in volume. “At Starbucks. You bought me a cappuccino.”

He coughs loudly. “You and I… had coffee together? Alone?”

“Well…” She hesitates. “It wasn’t alone exactly. I was with two other students and… you treated all of us. But you couldn’t take your eyes off me the whole time.”

“I… I’m not sure if…”

“And then one day,” she goes on, not waiting for a response, “when we were alone during your office hours, I tried to kiss you, and you just…” Her voice is wrenched with emotion. “You jumped out of the way. Like you were dodging me.”

Sam is quiet.

When she speaks again, Monica sounds furious. “You really don’t remember any of that?”

“Well… um… stuff like that… it kind of happens… a lot.”

“And you’re never even tempted?”

He snorts. “Of course not. I’m married.”

My husband deserves a medal. I want to jump up and hug him, except for the fact that I’m completely immobilized.

But then I feel the tape ripping under the sharp edge of the radiator. And a second later, my wrists are free! I can move my arms again! My legs are still bound, but I’m halfway there. As long as Monica keeps her eyes on Sam and not me. And also, as long as I don’t fall asleep, which is becoming a distinct possibility right now.

“Sam.” Her voice softens. “It isn’t too late for us. Look at me—I’m having your baby. And I can tell you’re attracted to me.”

“Monica, come on…”

I grit my teeth. Would it kill him to pretend to be interested in her for a few minutes, just until we can get the gun away from her? People do that in movies all the time, and it seems to work at least occasionally. I just need another minute. One more minute to get my ankles free.

“You wouldn’t have to even do anything,” she says. “Abby’s already taken a bottle full of sleeping pills, so she’s probably already unconscious.”