He called Jill’s name. No response. He listened for any other sounds. None. The giant had no need for stealth; he was big enough to create his own weather system. Ted called again. “Jill? It’s Ted. Are you okay?”

This time he thought he heard her voice from the rear of the apartment. He eased around the shattered door into the foyer. “Jill? I’m coming in.”

Behind him the elevator clicked loudly and he nearly jumped. Then it began to hum. It was on its way back to the lobby. The marshals would be here in a few minutes. The thought gave him a boost of false courage.

The living room furniture had all been overturned, but it looked like it had been done for show—to demonstrate anger and power, to engender fear and compliance. The only thing broken was the hideous glass sculpture in the corner. Shards crunched under his feet as he moved through the room.

“Jill. Are you all right? Is he still here?”

A low moan sounded quite clearly.

Ted turned and looked down the hall. The doors were all closed—the two bedrooms, the guest bathroom, the den, the entertainment room. The giant could have been hiding behind any one of those doors, waiting for some reckless St. George coming to save the maiden.

Ted put his back to the wall and crept down the hallway. His pounding heart was making a racket loud enough to be heard across town. He tried to control his breathing.

He came to the den. Translucent-curtained French doors covered the entry. He peered through. No lurking shadows hovered on the other side. He gripped the brass lever handle and eased the door open. No one was in the room. He continued down the hall feeling stronger and less afraid.

The guest bedroom was next. He could now see that the door was slightly ajar. Ted kicked it and jumped forward, half expecting to be met with a fist—or a bullet. The door rebounded off a dresser and came back at him. He put up both hands to stop it but managed to get a glimpse inside. No sign of the giant and no sign of Jill.

He took a moment to get his breath—and his blood pressure—under control before he moved on to the next door. The bathroom. He reached out to turn the knob, and the door swung open. Ted almost tripped over his own feet as he retreated, anticipating a murderous charge, only to realize a moment later that it was Jill who stood facing him.

She was holding a white hand towel to her face. It was blotched with pale pink and bright red. Blood.

“I think he broke my nose,” she said. She moved the towel away so Ted could see the damage.

“Thank God, you’re all right,” Ted said. “He’s gone?”