But she had to keep Trask talking while she was concentrating. She wildly searched for a subject. Of course: the element that dominated his life. “I don't imagine many people have had the courage to humiliate you. But you were only a child when you set the Krazky home on fire. I'd think you'd choose a simpler way to punish him.”

“There's nothing simpler than fire.” He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing cleaner. Nothing more beautiful.”

A little girl pounding on the window, trying to get out.

Block out his memory. Move behind the ugliness. Try to find the right path. If there is one . . .

“Why do you think that most people name a fireplace as one of the most desirable features in the home?” Trask asked. “Everyone is fascinated by the flames and by the idea that they can control them. Foolish. The flames only lie in wait for a careless moment and then they get their own back.” He looked down at the remote in his hand. “I'm the only one who can control it.”

That path went nowhere. Try another. Keep him talking. “Firestorm. But do you control Firestorm or does it control you?”

“It's my creation.” He frowned. “Of course I control it.”

“I don't think so.”

She'd found a new path! Deeper, more convoluted. Move fast. Jesus, let this be the one.

“Think what you like.” His frown faded. “And I can see why you'd think Firestorm was all-powerful. That's how I intended it to be. From that first moment when I decided that to control fire was to be close to Godlike. It's not often a man has a chance to be God.”

She'd gone deeper in his mind than ever before. This might be the right one. Move faster. Pray that she didn't run into a barrier. “How?”

“Power. Doesn't the Bible say the world is going to be destroyed by fire?” He snapped his fingers. “I can do that.”

She was there! Now settle in. Then start to push. What had Trask said? “Firestorm isn't that powerful.”

“Not yet. Give me another five years and I'll have it ready. The ultimate power. You'd be impressed. Too bad you're not going to be around to see it.”

She braced herself. Could she do it? Only one way to find out.

Push!

He didn't seem to notice. “I can't tell you how I regret not letting you—”

Suggest, not demand, Silver had said.

Push. Smoke. Dizzy.

Trask shook his head as if to clear it. “That smoke coming in the window must be pretty thick.”

Thank you, God. “I didn't notice.”

Smoke. Lungs tight. Eyes stinging. “Usually I don't notice either. I . . . like it.”

Lungs hot, hurting. Push. Push. Push.

“I'll get a glass of water. That will probably make me feel better.” He rose to his feet and went to the sideboard and poured water from a pitcher into a glass. “Drinking is the only good use for water, you know. I detest it in principle.”

Throat tightening. Choking.

He started hacking. “Christ. I can't even . . . swallow. I guess I'll have to close it. Too bad.” He moved toward the window across the room.

Throat tighter. Lungs burning.

“Christ, I can't . . . breathe.” He shoved the remote into his pocket as he fumbled at the window.

Keep it going. Searing pain in the lungs.

Was he framed against the window? What if he got the window down and moved away? Christ, what if Silver didn't have enough time?

Push.

“Shit.” Trask jerked his hands away from the window. “It's hot, dammit.”

“What do you expect when you spend your life setting fires? You're bound to get burned sometime.” Keep his hands busy and away from that remote. “Try again.”

“Are you crazy?” He moved away from the window. “I can't touch that sill without something to protect me. Maybe we should go outside. The smoke's probably less in front.”

And it would be harder for Silver to get his shot with a moving target, dammit.

“Come on.” He moved toward the front door. “Get going.”

I almost had him.” George started to curse as Trask disappeared from view. “Two seconds more and I would have had him in my sights.”

“Keep a bead on the window,” Silver said. “He'll be back.”

“It's your call. But I wish I was that sure,” George said. “Sometimes you only get one chance.”

He wasn't sure, Silver thought. If Kerry had lost control, then she might not be able to get it back. Every instinct told him to rush into that house and forget this damn waiting game.

Give her more time. Trust her.

God, he hoped he wasn't making a mistake.

What are you waiting for?” Trask looked over his shoulder at Kerry as he reached the front door. “I told you we're getting out of here.”

“I'm coming.” She slowly rose to her feet. She had to keep him inside. If he went out on the front porch she couldn't be sure what he'd do. Hell, maybe he'd decide to activate Firestorm from his van. Keep control. Stop panicking. She could do this.

“Going outside is probably a good idea.” She moved toward him. “I can't breathe either. Do you think the smoke will be less there?”

“It can't be—” He broke off, coughing. Push. Lungs throbbing as he reached the front door. Eyes stinging, tearing.

He stopped. “Maybe not. It seems heavier here by the door.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

Push. The window. The window.

“What I should have done before. Close that damn window.” He jerked a doily from the chair and strode toward the open window. “I'll just use this to protect my hands.”

“Yes, you do need protection.”

“What?” He looked over his shoulder but he reached out for the window, framed again in the lighted opening. “Why are you smiling?”

“Am I smiling?” If she was smiling, then it was with savage satisfaction. “I wonder why? Maybe it's because you're not going to be God after all.”

“Why do you—”

The impact of the bullet drowned out his words.

“No!” He jerked as the bullet struck him in the chest. “Shit.” He was falling, but even as his knees buckled he was reaching for the remote in his pocket. “I won't let you—”

She was across the room in a heartbeat. She knocked his hand away and grabbed the remote. “No way, you bastard.”

“Bitch,” he whispered. “You won't win. Won't let you—”

“I've already won. You're a dead man, Trask.”

The hatred in his mind was overwhelming. Even in this final moment there was no fear of death. Only fire and darkness and a thirst for revenge.

Swirling.

Poison.

Fire.

“Get out.” It was Silver's voice, Silver standing beside her. “What the hell are you still doing in his mind? Get out!”

She couldn't get out. She was chained, held by the sheer power of evil in the center of Trask's being.

“Let him go!” Silver said.

Trask's eyes were glazing over, but she sensed somewhere, somehow, he suddenly knew. He smiled. “You're . . . caught. . . . Told you I'd win. Coming . . . with me.”

“The hell she is.” Silver was there between them. “Hold on, Kerry.”

She screamed in agony as she was torn free and spiraled wildly into darkness.

It's okay, Kerry. Wake up, dammit.”

She opened her eyes to see Silver's face over her. “I'm . . . awake.” She sat up, her gaze on Trask. His eyes were still open, but his face was twisted in the final death rictus. “Gone?”

“Dead as a doornail.” He stood up and helped her to her feet. “May he burn in hell.”

Her knees felt weak, and she held on to him for a moment before she could stand alone. “No fire and . . . brimstone. He'd . . . like that too much.”

“Sit down.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You're still not good.”

“Better than if you hadn't pulled me out of that bastard.” She sank down in the easy chair. “Where's George?”

“After he took his shot at Trask, he bolted and went after Ki Yong.” He hesitated. “I should go see if I can help him.”