“It’s what I do now.”

“No little Janey.”

“Theoretically, little Janey is a bundle of joy. Why should a good thing make the rest of the world harder to bear?”

He scowled at her, clearly not expecting that argument. After a moment, when he couldn’t come up with a retort, he went back to watching it storm. And after another moment, she reached over, picked up his hand, and placed it on her stomach just in time for Baby McCormack to give a little thump.

Sal jerked back his hand, sat up straight. “Holy crap!”

“Pretty strong, huh?” Kimberly said.

“What is she, Mia Hamm?”

“Maybe.” Kimberly shrugged. “Dunno. She can be anything she wants. I think that’s the point. You ever hear of the banality of evil, Sal?”

“Banality of evil?”

“Yeah. A psychologist did an experiment once. Took a group of clean-cut young men, all known for their high moral standards, and had them form a mock prison. Some became inmates, some became prison guards. They tried to make it as lifelike as possible, had the ‘guards’ arrest the ‘prisoners’ during class, that sort of thing. The experiment was supposed to last a few weeks. If memory serves, the professor had to pull the plug after just three days because the pseudo inmates started suffering nervous breakdowns due to the very real abuse they were experiencing at the hands of the pseudo guards, including being stripped, debased, and sexually abused. All this by young men who’d never done so much as shoplift. Basically, even good people do really bad things if they think no one cares. The banality of evil.”

Sal grunted. “You’re talking about the Nazis.”

“I’m talking about human nature. That everyone has inside him-or herself the capacity for evil. Some people will never act on it, others will definitely act on it, and still others will act on it only if the right circumstances present themselves. They’ll make it twenty, thirty, forty years being a fine, upstanding citizen. But then the forty-first year…”

“How is that an encouraging thought?”

She shrugged. “Who said I was being encouraging? It’s a fact of life. And just because I’m about to become a mother, doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to stick my head in the sand. The world is a hard place. People suck. Monsters do live under the bed-or, frankly, in Daddy’s room down the hall. But you know what?”

“If I kill myself now, it won’t hurt as much later?”

“There’s a corollary to the banality of evil, and that’s the banality of heroism.”

Sal groaned. “Please tell me you’re not talking Superman.”

“Actually, I’m talking the opposite of Superman. I’m talking about the Everyday Average Joe that one day, when the right circumstances present themselves, suddenly saves the day. The stranger on the subway platform who jumps down to assist the fallen commuter. The woman shopping in the store who not only notices the sad little girl, but calls the police. For every act of cruelty, there is an equal and opposing act of courage. That’s human nature, too.”

“Your mother and sister are murdered,” Sal said softly, “so you save the rest of the world?”

“I don’t need you to tell me my story, Sal. I know who I am.”

Sal flushed. His gaze returned to the storm, but his hands were fidgeting on his lap.

“I’m not quitting, Mac. It’s not what I do.”

“You just called me Mac.”

“I did not-” But then she caught herself, realized she had, and it was her turn to flush. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. She should return to her room. She should do something.

But she remained where she was, sitting next to Sal, watching his hands fidget, feeling the darkness wash off him in waves.

And it occurred to her for the first time-the banality of evil. Was that what she was doing here? Waiting for the right circumstances to present themselves so she could do what she knew she shouldn’t do? Touch Sal’s face? Turn him toward her? Find his lips with her own because something in him called out to something in her? The hurt, or maybe it was the rage. The need, the deep, endless need because something had gone wrong long ago and there was nothing that could be done about it now but nurse the wound.

She wanted him. Or at least was drawn to him. It startled her. Scared her. She thought of another psychology paper she had analyzed in college. That most people didn’t require the cruelty of strangers to screw up their lives; most people were perfectly capable of doing it themselves.

Sal had turned. He was studying her, his eyes unreadable in the dark. She could feel his hunger, taut, restrained.

And then the lightning cracked, illuminating the small alcove with a flashing wink before casting them back into shadow. She saw his face, stark with physical need. And she heard her husband’s voice, telling her he would be home in the morning. The thunder boomed. Sal leaned forward. She tilted her head up.

“I’m sorry,” Kimberly whispered.

She got up, clenched her hands into fists, and quickly walked away.

Her room was dark when she opened the door. She fumbled for the light switch, flipped it, but nothing happened. She entered, closing the door behind her, starting to tremble now with the aftermath of what she’d nearly done, feeling supremely rattled. She was not that kind of woman. She did not do those kinds of things.

Goddammit, when had she become such a basket case?

She made her way to the bed, reaching for the bedside lamp when she suddenly heard a warning hiss and realized she was no longer alone.

Something significant, black, skittered across her bed. She reached instinctively for her shoulder holster, then remembered that she’d disarmed for dinner. She grabbed the lamp, throwing it at the racing form as she fell back, hitting the wall. She slid along its length until she banged into the desk at the opposite end of the room. Her fingers found the desk light, scrambling for the switch, while across the room, she once again heard the primitive hiss.

She snapped on the lamp in time to register two things at once: The world’s largest, scariest damn spider was reared back on its hind legs on her bedside pillow, waving its fangs. And a teenage boy sat calmly beside it, holding a gun.

“Who the fuck are you?” Kimberly exploded. Belatedly, she glanced at her field kit where she’d stashed her Glock.40. Eight steps away max. But she’d lose another minute unzipping the bag, reaching in, retrieving her semiautomatic…

Her gaze ping-ponged to the door instead. Ten steps away max, but then twisting the knob, yanking it open, getting all the way clear…

She returned her attention to the boy. He sat calmly, gun level, hands steady, still not saying a word.

She tried an experimental step forward. Moment she moved, the oversize tarantula reared back and hissed again. She stopped; it dropped back on all eight legs, waiting.

“Who are you?” she tried again, eyes on the spider, but head angled toward the boy. “What do you want?”

“His name is Diablo,” the boy supplied conversationally. “He’s a Theraphosa blondi-a species of tarantula from South America. Most tarantulas don’t have enough venom to harm humans. Their bites feel like nothing more than a bee sting. Not Diablo. He’s capable of ripping off your fingers, tearing the flesh from your hands. He hasn’t had dinner yet, and as you can tell, he’s a little pissed off about it.”

Kimberly’s hands dropped in front of her rounded belly. Field kit, she thought again. Quick dash, unzip the bag, reach inside for her weapon…No dice. Kid could pull the trigger of his gun in a split second. And the spider…She didn’t want to think about it.

“You’re the caller,” she ventured. “The one who had me listen to Veronica Jones’s tape.”

“I tried,” the boy said flatly. “I gave you a chance. You failed.”

“I’m here now. We can talk.”