What a game player he was turning out to be. He was now desperately trying to convince himself he didn't care what happened

to her. She made him laugh. She made him want things he thought he could never have.

Hell, she humanized him.

John Paul fought the good fight, but when all was said and done, he lost the battle. He bowed his head in submission as the truth sliced through him. Son of a bitch.

Face it, Renard. You aren't going anywhere without her.

He turned the motor off and reached for the door.

The voice stopped him. "Will you get going? Move it, Renard. I'm suffocating back here, and your sleeping bag smells like dead leaves."

He swung around. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"Don't start with me, John Paul. Put the damn car into drive and get us out of here. Don't make me tell you again."

His smile was slow and easy. The tension eased out of his shoulders, and his stomach stopped aching. The world was suddenly right again. Avery was snarling at him like a mountain cat, definitely giving him attitude.

He started the engine and changed gears, but he didn't accelerate. "If you go with me, sugar, I'm calling the shots, and you're going to do what I tell you to do. Can you deal with that?"

She didn't hesitate in answering. "When I jumped off the fire escape ladder, I landed on the roof of your car and dented it. You deal with that."

He grinned as he drove down the alley. How could he not be crazy about her?

Jilly was anxiously waiting to hear the body count. She paced around her hotel bungalow while the television, tuned

in to a local Colorado station, droned on and on, but each time that wonderful film clip showing the explosion of the house came

on, she hurriedly sat down on the edge of the bed. Enthusiastically and greedily, she devoured every second of the magnificent footage.

How fortuitous that a hiker just happened to be filming the landscape at the exact second the house disintegrated. His lens had captured every bit of the back of the house. Had Jilly not been able to watch it on television, she would have been irate. Admittedly, she was still a little irritated because she had been looking forward to pushing the button, but this clip that the station kept showing over and over again was almost as good.

The phone rang just as the clip ended. She hit the mute button before she answered.

"Hello, darling."

A second's pause followed. "Did you see it on television?"

He sounded so eager to please, yet nervous at the same time. "Yes, of course I saw it. Wasn't it marvelous?"

"Yes… yes," he replied. "Two bodies so far."

"One to go," she said. "You sound nervous, darling. What's wrong?"

"I was worried that, after the fact, you might feel bad. I'm glad to know you're okay."

"Feel bad about Carrie? She ruined my life and stole my daughter from me. I'm overjoyed," she said.

"I miss you," he said. "I want-"

Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "I know what you want. Are you in the car now?"

"Yes," he whispered back.

"You'd better pull over," she said. And then in the most erotic detail she told him what she would do to him when they were together. His breathing amused her. The rapid panting of a dog in heat, she thought. The power she had over men excited her.

"Will you like that?" she asked breathlessly so he would think she was as out of control as he was.

And then she gave him more until he was whimpering with his need. A sudden silence followed a low groan. She knew what

was happening and smiled with satisfaction. She could have had a wonderful career doing phone sex, she thought, but she certainly wouldn't make the kind of money she wanted. Still, it was nice to know she had options.

"Are you feeling less lonely now, darling?"

"Yes," he answered with a sigh. "I'll be with you soon. I love you, Jilly."

"I know you do, darling. I love you too."

She hung up the phone and began to pace again. Would the police be able to tell who was who from what little was left of the bodies? She knew that skulls and teeth were one way of identifying victims, but what if those had also been blown to smithereens?

Umm. What would they do then?

The film came on the television again. Jilly rushed to the bed and sat down to watch. Oh, it was lovely, so lovely.

When the news bulletin ended, she went to her overnight bag and took out her precious videotape. She carried it with her wherever she went. She popped it into the VCR and knelt in front of the TV to watch. How many times had she seen it? A hundred? A thousand? And yet, she never grew tired of it… or the feelings it provoked.

"Now do you see why you have to die?" she whispered to the screen.

She happened to notice one of her nails was chipped and rushed into the bathroom to repair it. Checking the time, she realized

that Monk would be arriving soon. She needed to get ready to greet him properly. And reward him, of course. Like a dog who'd performed a difficult trick, Monk would be anxious for his treat.

Virginal white, she decided as she pulled the negligee from her overnight bag. He'd like that. But then he liked everything she

did to him, didn't he?

She mustn't forget to put on red lipstick. Oh, how men loved pouting red lips.

They loved her perfect body. They loved her angelic face.

They all loved her.

THE PARAMEDICS TOLD Carrie she was in shock. She didn't agree, but she understood how they had reached their diagnosis. Granted, there was something a little peculiar about her behavior. When they'd lifted her out of the ravine, she had been sobbing uncontrollably and incoherently. She knew the words she wanted to say, yet she couldn't seem to get them out in the right order

or at the right time. Still, their conclusion was a bunch of nonsense. They weren't doctors. What the hell did they know? Her

mind was working just fine, thank you very much.

Camera lights glared in her face as she was carried on the stretcher and placed across from Sara in the waiting ambulance.

Carrie struggled to sit up until she realized one of the paramedics had rudely strapped her down. She was able to move one of

her arms, though. Reaching across the narrow aisle, she took hold of Sara's hand.

Her friend was in terrible pain. Both paramedics were working on her leg. "Is she going to be all right? Is she going to be all right?" The question became a chant she couldn't stop. Even though both men tried to assure her that yes, yes, she was going

to be fine, Carrie felt compelled to keep asking.

One of them gave Sara an injection, and she closed her eyes seconds later. Her hand went limp in Carrie's.

After they finished immobilizing her leg, one of them checked her blood pressure again while the other worked on Carrie.

"He's going to kill Avery. Make them stop him. Do you hear me? He's going to… going to…"

Carrie passed out. The terror of what she had been through, added to sleep deprivation, had finally caught up with her. Her

body simply rebelled and shut down.

When she next opened her eyes, she was in a hospital bed. And, oh, how she ached. It seemed every muscle in her body throbbed. Had someone taken a stick to her?

She desperately tried to clear the fog in her mind. Avery. Oh, God, she had to find Avery before it was too late. She saw the call button pinned to the sheet on her left and tried to reach for it. Pain shot up through her elbow and she cried out. Looking down, she saw the cast on her arm and let out a low curse.

How had that happened?

The ravine, of course. She'd fallen headfirst into that deep pit, and she remembered putting her arm out to try to brace against the fall. She knew she'd injured her wrist, but she thought she'd just sprained it. It hadn't hurt all that much at the time, had it? She couldn't remember. Maybe it had gone numb, as numb as the rest of her at that point. She did remember landing on top of Sara, though. Her friend had been writhing in agony, and Carrie distinctly recalled putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her cries, terrified that Monk was lurking in the dark waiting to catch them.