He spoke slowly and patiently, the way he would to an errant child. "Because of your youth, I might allow you this one mistake. I might," he repeated. "Just this one."

She caught her breath. He was offering her a chance. A way out of a bullet. She swallowed her fear, her grief. She focused on what he was saying, on what he was offering her. "What…how can I make my mistakes up to you? How, John?" She covered his hands with her own. "Tell me what to do, please."

He smiled and trailed his thumbs softly, tenderly across her cheekbones. "I want my little girl back. My special one. I miss her, Julianna." He brought his face closer and brushed his mouth against hers. "I want what we had before."

At his words, their meaning, vomit rushed to her throat, threatening to strangle her. She choked it back by sheer force of will. Dear God, how could she give him what he wanted? How could she go back to the girl who had innocently loved John Powers with all her heart when now she saw that he was a monster? Dear God, how?

For a moment, she thought of telling him the truth, of telling him that she hated him, that he repulsed her. That she would rather die than be with him again.

She couldn't. Because that, too, would be a lie.

She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. And this was her only chance.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. "I've missed you so much." The falsehood tripped easily off her tongue, sounding not only natural but rich with emotion. She lifted her face to his and smiled tremulously. "I've missed being your little girl. I've missed being special."

Beneath her hands, his trembled. That small display of his excitement sickened her. She fought to keep her true feelings from showing as he helped her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. To the bed.

There, he undressed her, his movements faltering. He laid her on the bed, then stripped and lay beside her. She lay unmoving as he fondled and petted her, knowing what he expected, what aroused him most. Knowing that if she fell out of character, even for a moment, she would be lost.

She squeezed her eyes shut as he slid his hands over her body, stroking and petting, unable to quell the shudders of distaste that rippled over her, unable to stop the tears that trickled from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Cause for Alarm She was a lost soul.

John caught a tear with the tip of his finger and brought it to his mouth. "Are you frightened, Julianna?"

"Yes," she whispered, voice trembling.

"You needn't be, my sweet." He thought her answer, her trembling and tears a part of the game, she knew. She knew also that they pleased him. "I'll be gentle, you know I will. So gentle."

He brought her hand to his erection. As he had hundreds of times before, he instructed her on how to hold and stroke him. As she followed his instructions, guttural sounds slipped past his lips, ones more animal than human. Hearing them made her physically ill. She wondered if a bullet wouldn't have been a better choice.

He rolled her onto her back and entered her. She cried out. In despair. And humiliation. Instead of a deterrent, her cries served as an intoxicant. He arched his back and with a shout of triumph, climaxed.

He collapsed against her, perspiring, his breath coming in short, quick gasps. "My angel," he murmured after a moment, his lips against her neck. "My sweet, sweet, angel. I knew you'd come back to me. I knew it."

She didn't trust herself to speak without revealing her true feelings, so she said nothing.

At her silence, he raised himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, tears in his eyes. "Happy?"

She forced what he wanted to hear past her stiff lips and frozen smile. "So happy. I love you, John."

He studied her expression, as if deciding whether she was telling the truth. If he decided she was not, he would kill her. Julianna knew this to be a fact.

One moment became several, still he gazed assessingly at her. Her heart began to race, her breath to come in shallow gasps. Her cheeks felt hot, her pulse quick.

After several seconds, he nodded. "I forgive you. But understand, you must be punished for your disobedience. You must pay for that disloyalty. Now there are loose ends to be tied up. Now it's messy."

Her mother had been a loose end. So had Clark and Richard. Who was left? She searched his gaze, dread settling in the pit of her gut. "I don't understand."

"The baby, of course." He trailed a finger down her cheek, following the path of her tears. "She has to die."

Julianna's heart stopped. Emma? No!

"Yes," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. He shook his head regretfully. "You should have gotten rid of it when I told you to. Now it's more difficult. Now Kate's involved."

Fear rose up in her, grabbing her by the throat. Not fear of her own death, but of another's. She pictured Emma, the way she gurgled and kicked her legs, the way her smile lit up her whole face and made you feel glad to be alive. And she pictured her in a pool of blood, her head blown off or throat slit.

She had to find a way to stop him.

"But why?" she whispered. "She belongs to Kate now. She's not a part of our lives. She-"

He placed a hand over her mouth, hushing her. "Loose ends," he said. "They can come back to haunt you, they must be tied up."

He dropped his hand, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He reached for his gun, checked the clip, then lay it on the bed beside him. "I'd like to spare Kate, but that might not be possible. It probably won't be."

Julianna stared at his back, sickened. He spoke of killing Kate and Emma with no more emotion than he would talking about lunch. Or the weather. How had she not seen him for the monster he was? How could she have believed herself in love with him?

She wouldn't let him kill Emma. She couldn't.

She darted her gaze over the room, considering her options, scrambling for a way out of this, for a way to stop him. For something she could use to stop him. She needed to get his gun. But how? He never let it out of his reach. Her gaze landed on the hideously ugly ceramic lamp on the bedside table. It would have to do.

Julianna crawled out of bed, snatched up a T-shirt and pair of shorts from the floor beside the bed and pulled them on. "You're right, of course. But I…I should help."

He stood and looked over his shoulder at her in question. "It's my mess," she said. "I should help…clean it up."

He thought about it a moment, then inclined his head. "What do you propose?"

He bent to retrieve his pants from the floor, stepped into them, then reached for his gun.

Julianna saw her opportunity. Her last opportunity. She grabbed the lamp and swung. It connected with the back of his head with a sickening thud. The gun slipped from his fingers.

He straightened and looked at her, his expression registering surprise, then understanding. She swung again, as hard as she could, grunting with the effort. The lamp base exploded against his head. Pottery shards and blood flew in every direction.

As if in slow motion, John fell to his knees, then toppled face first to the floor, square on top of the gun.

Julianna stood above him, shaking, what was left of the lamp dangling from her hand. She couldn't tell if he was breathing; no way was she going any closer.

She let the lamp slip from her fingers. "That's what I propose, you sick bastard."