“We should have left the gun with them,” Jayne gasped, leaning against the back of the snowmobile.

“Grace went down to get her father’s gun and Moira is watching Walker on the surveillance camera. They will be fine provided we do our part. Push, Jayne; we are almost at the top.”

Jayne bent over to push again, but she knew Paul was just trying to make her feel better. They’d tried to look in Marc’s unit to make sure he was all right, but the rooms had all been deserted. And the blackout drapes at his bedroom windows were so effective, they hadn’t been able to see if he was in bed or not. Paul had risked running up one flight to ring his doorbell. They had to alert him and send him down to safety with the others, but no one had answered.

“Do you think Marc’s all right?”

“I do not know, honey.” Paul stopped to catch his breath. “There is no time to worry now. Are you ready to push once more?”

“I’m ready.” Jayne shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. Then she bent down again, trying to muster more muscle.

Paul smiled at her and Jayne did her best to smile back. Sneaking down the stairs had been harrowing, searching every shadow to make sure they weren’t being followed.

“This is enough.” Paul laid his hand on her arm. “Get on, honey.”

Jayne climbed on the snowmobile and held her breath as the engine roared into life. Thank God! She didn’t begin to breathe again until they were over the next ridge. Then she huddled close to Paul’s back and prayed they’d reach the police in time.

Grace held her breath as she unlocked the door, listening for the buzzing of the intercom. All was silent and she breathed a sigh of relief. They’d worked out a signal, Moira and Ellen would buzz her on the intercom if Walker moved.

Even though she’d always hated the sport in the past, Grace was finding herself grateful for her father’s hobby. He’d been quite a sportsman, going on safari in Africa, moose hunting in Canada, and fox hunting on a private estate in England. When she packed up his taxidermy shop, she’d sold most of the guns, but several were on the wall. Moira had insisted they lent a touch of authenticity to the room.

As she approached the door to the storage room, Grace couldn’t stifle an involuntary shudder. Moira had wanted to come down with her, but her leg was still sore and she might need her strength later. Grace held her breath as she pushed open the door. Moira had warned her not to turn on any lights that might cast a reflection on the snow outside the window. She clicked on her flashlight and forced herself to step inside, training the beam of light on the huge Kodiak bear. She knew she was being foolish, but she still wanted to make sure it didn’t move as she walked past it.

There was a gun on the wall next to the bear, but Grace knew it was an antique muzzle-loader. Her father had shown her a picture of a man measuring out black powder from a horn to load it.

Grace stopped and shined the beam around the room. The eyes of the black panther glittered and she stepped back a pace, nearly impaling herself on the horns of a gazelle. She had to stop being so childish and find a gun they could use.

A rifle hanging on the wall caught her eye, a hefty weapon dating back to the Civil War called a Springfield Trapdoor. Grace grabbed it, then hurried to the cabinet where her father had kept his supplies. It was a mammoth piece of furniture, made of solid mahogany, and Moira had insisted she keep it. Since her father had been an organized man, the hundreds of drawers were labeled neatly in his Spencerian script. Grace started at the top row and worked her way down. Screws. Nuts. Bolts. Wads. Grace pulled out that drawer. She thought she remembered her father saying something about wad-cutters once.

The moment she pulled out the drawer, she knew these wads weren’t for a gun. She wasn’t sure what her father had used them for, but they looked disgusting. Her father’s handwriting was difficult to read and Grace decided it would be quicker to pull the drawers out one by one. She found a lot of interesting things that way, but none of them looked helpful. There was even a drawer of glass eyes that she promptly slammed shut again, but she finally found some shells in a drawer labeled “snap caps.” As she stuffed them into her tote bag, she noticed a long, narrow drawer under the others. There was something that looked like a giant ice pick inside with a funny piece of metal sticking out where the handle should be. She picked it up, wrapped it in a piece of fur so it wouldn’t stick her, and put it into her bag. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it certainly looked nasty.

Grace flicked off the flashlight and headed for the door. Done! She was about to turn the knob when she heard footsteps outside.

The Caretaker had decided to start with Grace and Moira and work his way up to the top floor while everyone was sleeping. If someone got wise, he’d be able to trap them on the stairwell. Naturally, he’d fixed the elevator. It had been a simple matter to replace the cable he’d loosened and there was no way he wanted to tire himself out by climbing up and down all those stairs.

When morning came, he’d blow up the building. That part would be simple. The plate glass windows on the north and east sides of the building were double-sealed, designed to make the huge furnace in the garage run more efficiently and to reduce drafts. The only windows that could be opened were the bedroom and bathroom windows on the west side and the patio doors on the south, and it wouldn’t take long to secure them. Then he’d turn up the gas and wait. Once the highly combustible mixture had built up to a concentrated level, he’d fire a shot from the outside to create a spark. Even though the Old Man had been grief-stricken about his daughter’s death, he’d pulled himself together enough to agree that it was a solid plan.

He walked silently through Grace and Moira’s living room and opened their bedroom door. Grace was smaller and it would be easier to snuff out her life without waking Moira. Then he’d finish off Moira.

The bed had been slept in, but it was empty now. He should have gone up to Betty’s first and used the camera to track everyone. He was making mistakes already, and he hadn’t even started. He’d check out the rest of the rooms, and if he couldn’t find them, he’d run up to Betty’s and let the closed-circuit system do his hunting for him.

Grace flicked off her flashlight. Why hadn’t they called on the intercom? Had he found them and killed them all? She was paralyzed with fear as she realized her worst nightmare was coming true. She was trapped in her father’s stuffed menagerie with no escape!

Suddenly Grace remembered the pile of animal skins behind the Kodiak bear and forced herself to move. The room was pitch-black and she had to orient herself by touch. Grace shuddered as her fingertips grazed the black panther’s smooth fangs. It seemed to take hours, but at last her hand touched the bear’s huge claws and she felt her way around the back. She’d just pulled a large water buffalo skin over herself, its musty animal scent still strong, when the door opened.

There was a small opening where the skin was slightly torn and Grace could see his feet as he flicked on the bright overhead lights. He was wearing green and white designer tennis shoes she’d seen before. If Moira were here, she’d quip that it was probably what well-dressed killers wore when they stalked terrified middle-aged women in rooms full of stuffed animals.

Grace bit her lip to silence the terrified scream that threatened to tear from her throat as he stopped right next to her. She held her breath and shut her eyes. Moira had shown him around the menagerie when he’d first come to work for Ellen, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice there was anything out of place. Then the lights went out and the door shut her in with the darkness and the Kodiak bear that suddenly seemed like a very dear friend. She stayed there, hardly daring to breathe, until she heard the front door close. Then she hoisted herself up on trembling knees and grabbed the rifle and her tote bag.