"I trust you'll be more reasonable," he said, twisting Kimberly's arm behind her back and positioning her as a human shield.

Rainie nodded. Slowly, she lowered her gun to the carpet, her gaze falling on the black canvas bag. Why such a big bag? What would he bring with him?

"Now, kick the firearm toward me."

Rainie complied, jabbing at her Glock.40 with her toe but not putting much effort into it. The heavy pistol stopped three feet away, under the glass coffee table. She made a show of shrugging helplessly, and waited to see if Andrews would push the issue. He frowned at her, but with his hands already full with one female, seemed content to let it go.

Rainie took a deep breath. Remain calm, she instructed herself, though her hands had begun to shake and her heart hammered in her chest. She'd kept him on the phone for a decent interval. Now if she and Kim-berly could stall him just a minute or two more. The open windows. The unwatched fire escape with easy access to their room. Come on, cavalry…

What was in that bag?

Kimberly was weeping. Trapped against Andrews, her shoulders had slumped, her spine was bowed. She didn't seem to have much fight left.

"Perfect," Andrews said. "Now that everyone is feeling more agreeable, we have a lot of work to do, ladies. Bombs to build, detonating devices to wire to telephones. Your father is going to call at precisely one-fifteen, Kimberly. I don't want to miss the opportunity for him to blow his own daughter and his lady love into tiny little bits."

Oh shit, that was what was in that bag. Rainie closed her eyes. Andrews had brought all the ingredients for a homemade bomb. God knows it wouldn't take much to blow up a room this size and who cares if Andrews took out a fair portion of the hotel and other unsuspecting guests with him? It would be the ultimate triumph for him. Restraining Kimberly and Rainie. Then rigging a bomb to the telephone, so that the first ring triggered the blast. Quincy would not only lose the only family he had left, but when the first forensics report came in, he'd get to learn that he'd basically pulled the trigger. He'd killed his own daughter. He'd murdered Rainie. Oh, Quincy. Oh, poor, poor Quincy.

Rainie's eyes came open. She felt the breeze from the open window on her face, but she no longer knew if they had enough time to wait. She and Kimberly could not let Andrews build that bomb. Under no circumstances could they let Andrews take out half a hotel simply to spite Quincy.

Rainie looked at Kimberly, trying to catch the girl's gaze. They needed some kind of plan. Maybe Kimberly could get the professor talking, keep him focused on exchanging banalities with his former student so Rainie might ease her way toward her Glock. Three feet. That wasn't much. Right?

Kimberly, however, had her head down. Her slender figure appeared despondent. She was so young, after all. And under such terrible stress.

"I blamed my father," Kimberly whispered, maybe to herself, maybe to Andrews. "AH along, I blamed my father, but in reality, I'm the one who betrayed my family." Another thought seemed to strike her. Her head jolted up, her eyes suddenly growing wide. "Oh my God, the Sanchez case. I've been going over it and over it, thinking there was more of a connection. Of course. Dr. Andrews's research work at San Quentin." She twisted toward Andrews, straining to see his face. "You knew Sanchez! You're the connection! How could I be so blind? Dammit!"

"You failed to ask the right question in the very beginning," Andrews said matter-of-factly, yanking Kim-berly's arm more savagely to quell her movements. Rainie saw her chance. She eased forward an inch.

"If this was revenge, why now?" Andrews postulated for his former student. "You could theorize that it was a felon who finally got out of prison, but I trust you already explored that option and found it to be a dead end. Then you could look at family of felons but again, why, after all this time? Interestingly enough, I think Quincy was finally getting on the right track, that it wasn't a past FBI case at all. So if it was from his pre-FBI days, then truly, why now?"

"Because you found me!" Kimberly spat at her captor.

"Because you fell into my fucking lap!" Andrews roared. "Nearly twenty years after that man took my own daughters from me, and here you are! Beautiful, smart, poised to become everything a father could want for his girl. Why should he be so lucky? Why should he have everything that I deserved? Goddamn interfering shrink!"

His gaze suddenly shot back to Rainie. She froze, having made it two steps closer to her gun, and wanting that to be progress, while knowing it wasn't enough. Andrews was frowning at her. Had he figured out that she'd cut the distance to her discarded handgun? He studied her hard.

"You were one of Quincy 's patients," Rainie said quickly, seeking to distract him again, and holding perfectly still now that his attention was back upon her.

"I was not!" Andrews replied indignantly. "My stupid ex-wife was. She went to him for help. She had all sorts of outlandish stories that I was an unfit father and that my children were terrified of me."

"You abused your kids?" Your turn, Kimberly, she thought frantically. I'll keep him talking, you think of something brilliant.

"I did not, I did not, I did not. They were my girls! I loved them, I wanted what was best for them. It was their mother who could not appreciate their potential. She wanted to coddle them, give them time to play, give them time to grow. For God's sake, you do not get anywhere in life by playing!"

" Quincy testified against you in the custody hearing, didn't he?" Rainie persisted. "His opinion helped sway the judge." Come on, Kimberly. We have to do something here. Fast.

"He told the judge that I suffered from severe personality disorder! He told people that in his professional opinion I was manipulative, egocentric, and totally lacking in genuine ability to empathize. In short, I exhibited psychopathic tendencies, I used my children as pawns to get what I wanted, and should they ever try to exert their own personalities, he couldn't vouch for their safety. And I never saw my children again. Do you realize what that does to someone? One day, I'm a highly respected family man. The next, I'm a name on a restraining order! If I so much as said boo, they would've taken my license from me. I would've been totally ruined!"

"You haven't done too badly since then." Rainie shrugged dismissively, working on prolonging Andrews's diatribe.

"After I moved from California to New York and started all over again," Andrews countered. "All alone. With no one. Having nothing. You know, I might have had a second chance with Mary Olsen. She was pregnant with my child, maybe we could've been happy. But Pierce fucked even that up for me. Forced me to kill her before I ever knew." Andrews's voice changed. "Son of a bitch. Everything I ever wanted, he's taken from me. No more! I'm the one calling the shots, I'm the one in control. He wants an expert opinion? I'll give him an expert opinion. An expert in explosives. Goddammit, it's time!"

He suddenly yanked on Kimberly's right arm. The girl had just raised her foot to stomp down on his instep. Now her foot fell to the floor harmlessly as he jerked her off balance. She grimaced and sagged despondently against him. Rainie grimaced along with her, her gaze going longingly to her Glock, so visible beneath the glass tabletop, and yet still so far out of reach.

They had to do something. No more time. Think, think. Come on, come on…

"Oh thank God! Luke!"

Rainie jerked her eyes to the space behind Andrews. It was a desperate act, a stupid gamble. Andrews twisted around, feeling the breeze for the first time and thinking he'd left himself vulnerable to a flank attack. No time for digging around under the coffee table for a gun. Rainie darted left and grabbed the best weapon she could find. One of the metal kitchen chairs.