“This part you will watch,” he promised. “Even if I need to cut your fucking eyelids off.” He held up a shiny scalpel for her to see.

Her weak, muffled scream made it past the raw pain in her throat.

“Scream all you want.” He laughed. “No one can hear you. And quite frankly, I like it.”

Oh dear God. The terror rushed through her veins and exploded in her head. She pulled and shoved against the restraints. Then suddenly she noticed him backing away, his head cocked to the side, as though he was listening to something outside the shack.

Tess strained to hear over the pounding in her head and chest. She lay still, watching him, and then she heard it. Unless she had gone mad, it sounded like voices.

CHAPTER 71

Maggie wondered if they were too late. Had Stucky and Harding escaped into the woods? She looked out the window and watched as Agent Alvando and his men combed the area, disappearing into the woods. Soon they wouldn’t be able to see anything without flashlights and strobes, things they hated to use, because the lights made them easy targets for snipers. As much as she wanted to be out there looking with them, she knew Alvando was right. She and Tully weren’t equipped or trained to participate in a SWAT team sweep of the woods.

The rain had started softly with a pitter-patter on the metal gutters. The sound was almost comforting, except that the approaching roar of thunder promised a storm. Maggie was grateful the house depended on a generator and not electricity that could easily be knocked out.

“Could we have been wrong about this place?” Agent Tully asked from the other side of the room. He had pulled out some of the cartons from under the computer desks, and with latex gloves on he sifted through what looked like ledgers, mail orders and other business documents.

“All of this could simply be preparation for him losing his sight entirely. I’m not sure what to think.” Perhaps it was the impending storm and the electrical current thick in the air. Whatever it was, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread and restlessness. “Maybe we should go check and see if they got that room opened in the basement.”

“Alvando told us to stay put.” Tully shot her a warning look.

“It could be a torture chamber, not some bunker.”

“I’m only guessing it’s a bunker. We won’t know for sure until Alvando’s men can get it opened.”

She glanced around the room. It looked like a typical home office except for the talking computers. What a disappointment. What a letdown. She had psyched herself up for a showdown with Albert Stucky, and he was nowhere to be found.

“O’Dell?” Tully was hunched over another of the cartons he had unearthed. “Take a look at this.”

She looked over his shoulder expecting to see more X-rated computer software and videos. Instead, she found herself staring at newspaper clippings about her father’s death.

“Where the hell do you suppose he got this?” Tully asked.

She was wondering the same thing until she saw her appointment book and childhood photo album. It was her missing carton from the move. She had completely forgotten about it. So Greg had been telling the truth. The carton hadn’t been left at the condo. Somehow Stucky had been watching and had managed to take it from the movers. A shiver slid down her back as she thought about him handling her personal possessions.

“Maggie?” Tully stared up at her, concern in his eyes. “Do you think he broke into your house without you knowing?”

“No, I’ve been missing it since the day I moved in. He must have stolen the box before it made it into the house.”

The rage began in the pit of her stomach. She left Tully to dig through the other cartons while she paced the room from window to window.

“That means Stucky has been here,” Tully said without looking up.

She kept her eyes on the windows as she walked back and forth. The lightning struck closer, igniting the sky and making the trees look like skeleton soldiers standing at attention. Suddenly she saw a reflection of someone in the hallway walking past the door. She spun around, her revolver gripped firmly, outstretched in front of her. Tully jumped to his feet and had his gun out in seconds.

“What is it, O’Dell?” He kept his eyes ahead watching the doorway. She moved slowly across the room, gun aimed, hammer cocked.

“I saw someone walk by,” she finally explained.

“Are any of the SWAT team still in the house?”

“They were finished up here,” she whispered. Her heart slammed against her chest. Her breathing was already coming too quickly. “They wouldn’t come back up and not announce themselves, right?”

“Do you smell something?” Tully was sniffing the air.

She smelled it, too, and the terror that had begun to crawl up from her stomach started to explode.

“It smells like gasoline,” Tully said.

All Maggie could think was that it smelled like gasoline and smoke. It smelled like fire. The thought grabbed hold of her, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t walk the rest of the distance to the door—her knees had locked. Her throat plugged up, threatening to strangle her.

Tully ran to the door and carefully peeked out, his gun ready.

“Holy crap,” he yelled, looking out into the hallway in both directions without stepping out. “We’ve got flames on both sides. There’s no way we’re getting out the way we came in.”

He returned his gun to his holster and hurried to the windows, trying to open one while Maggie stood paralyzed in the middle of the room. Her hands shook so badly she could barely grip her revolver. She stared at her hands as though they belonged to someone else. Her breathing was out of control, and she worried she might start to hyperventilate.

The smell alone sparked images from her childhood nightmares: flames engulfing her father and scorching her fingers every time she reached for him. She could never save him, because her fear immobilized her.

“Damn it!” She heard Tully struggling behind her.

She turned toward him, but her feet wouldn’t move. He seemed so far away, and she knew she was losing visual perception. The room began to tilt. She could feel the motion, though she knew it couldn’t possibly be real. Then she saw him again, a reflection in the window. She twisted around, but it felt as if she was moving in slow motion. Albert Stucky stood tall and dark in the doorway, dressed in a black leather jacket and pointing a gun directly at her.

She tried to raise her own gun, but it was too heavy. Her hand wouldn’t obey the command. The room had tilted to the other side, and she felt herself slipping. He was smiling at her and seemed to be oblivious to the flames shooting up behind him. Was he real? Had her panic, her terror, brought on hallucinations?

“This damn thing is stuck,” she heard Tully yell somewhere far off in the distance.

She opened her mouth to warn Tully, but nothing came out. She expected the bullet to hit her squarely in the heart. That’s where he was aiming. Everything in slow motion. Was it a dream? A nightmare? He was pulling back the hammer. She could hear wood creaking, giving way in crashes outside the room. She pulled at her arm one more time as she saw Stucky begin to squeeze the trigger.

“Tully,” she managed to yell, and just then Stucky slid his aim to the right of her and pulled the trigger. The explosion jolted her like an electrical shock. But she wasn’t hit. He hadn’t shot her. She looked down. She wasn’t bleeding anywhere. It was an effort to move her arm, but she raised it, ready to fire at the now-empty doorway. Stucky was gone. Had it all been her imagination? There was a groan behind her, and before she turned to look, she remembered Tully.