Gone. She blinked again, despair rising up in her, stealing her breath. The past, her former life. John. All gone.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, she turned and walked away.

Julianna awakened with a start. She opened her eyes, instantly alert, though she couldn't say why. She darted her gaze around the dark room, looking for the shape that didn't belong, the one that moved slightly, listening for a breath, a stirring.

For the monster.

John. That had been him on the street. He had found her. He was with her now. Fear took her breath; it became a living thing inside her.

Inside her. She brought her hands to her swollen belly, half expecting to find it split wide, intestines and fetus and gore spilling out of her and onto the white sheets. Instead, she found herself intact, her belly round and hard and full.

Thank God…thank God… She closed her eyes and struggled to slow her ragged breathing. If John had been here, he would have killed her. He would have cut her open, punishment for her disobedience. Her defiance.

The way he had cut those other people open, the ones from Clark Russell's photographs.

"Don't cross me again, Julianna," John had warned. "You won't like the consequences."

She brought her fists to her eyes. He hadn't found her; how could he have? She had done almost everything Clark had advised her to do-she had run far from D.C., never stopping too long in one place; she hadn't used her credit cards for fear of leaving a paper trail, hadn't called or written home. She'd even had her car repainted in Louisville.

But not everything. He had advised her to change her name, take on a new identity. But that had been impossible. She'd tried, but hotels wanted identification; she needed a driver's license in case she was pulled over; Buster had demanded a social security number as a prerequisite for employment.

Julianna shook her head. It didn't matter that she hadn't changed her name-John was not going to find her, not all the way down here. That man on the street had been a trick of her imagination, just like the woman in the bathroom at Buster's.

Shuddering, Julianna fought to free herself from the sheets, tangled around her legs, encumbered by her ungainly size. She rested her head against the headboard. A part of her still couldn't believe John was a killer. Not John, who had showered her with affection, with gifts and attention and love. John who had held and stroked her, who had told her she was different, special, not silly, weak and stupid like so many other people.

A part of her couldn't believe it even after the nightmare of their last meeting.

She closed her eyes and remembered how it had been with them, not that last night, when John's face had been pinched and white with rage, his touch rough, his cruelty incomprehensible to her. No, she remembered how it had always been with them before, how gentle he had been as he held and petted her, how patient with her, how he had promised her the world.

For nothing more than being his good little girl.

His good little girl. Docile and sweet. The child who looked up to him as one would a parent, trusting, never questioning. The child who accepted his bidding as law.

Tears flooded her eyes. John had been her everything for as long as she could remember. Her tears spilled over and slipped down her cheeks. She needed him. To love her. To take care of her. The way he always had.

This was all a mistake; the events of the last months just a terrible nightmare. She could get rid of the baby, she thought, breath catching on a sob. As he had demanded she do. Go home and beg his forgiveness. For disobeying him. For taking his things. For going to her mother and believing her and Clark over him. She could promise to be his good girl again. He would forgive her, he would. He-

No, she thought. He wouldn't. He was angry with her. Furious. Julianna rubbed at her wet cheeks, shuddering, remembering that last night, the night he had discovered her pregnancy. He had been away on business for several weeks. She had meant to tell him that night, had planned every moment of the evening, wanting their reunion to be special, wanting to set the perfect stage for her announcement.

She had been so excited, so certain John would be thrilled with her news. Instead, he had become a man she hadn't recognized, coldly furious and cruel.

As was their custom, she had arrived at his apartment early so she could be waiting in bed for him, curled up under the covers like a sleepy child. Julianna leaned her head back, resting it against the cool plaster wall, remembering. She hadn't chosen a sexy, sheer nightie or provocative underwear to please her lover, but a long, pink floral gown with a high neck and white ruffle at the throat, wrists and hem.

The kind of gown a little girl would wear.

John's little girl…

She wiggled down under the covers more, and her soft flannel gown rubbed against her legs, fuzzy and reassuring. She acknowledged excitement. Anticipation. Nerves.

She worked to quell the latter, though without much luck. Her heart beat almost out of control, her mind raced with what she would say to John and how he would respond, with thoughts about the future, their future.

Pregnant. Twelve weeks and one day. Though she had deliberately stopped taking her birth control pills in the hopes this would happen, she could hardly believe it was true.

She was a woman now, finally.

Julianna squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, willing her runaway heart to slow. That's why she had stopped taking her pills without telling him. She was tired of being his little girl. She wanted to be a woman, was ready and anxious to have what other women had. She was certain she had done the right thing.

John would give her what she wanted. He always had.

She pressed a hand to her nearly flat stomach, imagining the future. She wanted her and John to be a real couple, like the ones she saw on TV. Real lovers, the way men and women were lovers in books and in movies. Passionate and committed. And…and adult.

Julianna didn't know how to put her finger on what she wanted, what was missing from her relationship with John. It wasn't simply that she and John lived apart. It wasn't the difference in their ages or that he was the only man she had ever been with. It wasn't that she didn't love him-she did, with all her heart.

She rolled onto her left side and again the soft fabric of her gown tickled her legs. Sudden tears stung her eyes. She had prowled through the lingerie sections of the department stores, longing to wear the sexy, sheer clothes most women wore for their lovers; she had gazed with hunger at other men and women, other lovers, and the way they looked at and touched each other.

John treated her differently than that. Gently. With love, respect and tenderness. Which was good. But still… She wanted more. She wanted passion. Lust. Even the occasional argument.

She heard John at the front door. Quickly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, rhythmically, feigning sleep.

This was part of their game. One they had been acting out ever since the first time, so many years ago.

Only then, it hadn't been a game. It hadn't been an act.

Her bedroom door opened; light fell across the bed. A moment later the mattress dipped as he sat on its edge.

For long seconds he said nothing, and she knew he simply gazed at her. As always, she fought the urge to open her eyes and look at him, fought the urge to attempt to read what he was thinking in his eyes.

"Julianna," he said softly, "it's me, my sweet. It's John."

"John?" she whispered, letting her lashes flutter up, feigning sleepy confusion. "You're back?"