She was three steps from her car when her cell rang again. “Sutherland.”

“It’s Tom Hunter.”

He didn’t know about Eve. Neither did David. Dammit. “Not a good time, Tom.”

“Wait. I tried to call Liza, but she’s not answering her phone. I got worried and called the school, but she never showed up today.”

Olivia rested her pounding forehead against her car. “I’ll send a car to her address.”

“I’m here now. Olivia, she’s gone and her neighbor says her mom died last year. She was living all alone with her sister.” She heard him suck in a panicked breath. “I knocked on every door in her building, showed a picture I took from her apartment. One old lady said she saw her getting into a car with a man. She said Liza looked sick.”

Olivia felt sick. “What kind of car?”

“Black BMW.”

Bile burned and Olivia swallowed it back. “Meet me at my office. Don’t ask questions. Just get in your car and meet me as fast as you can.”

“You know something. What? What do you know?”

“Tom, you need to stay calm. I need you calm. Eve’s gone.”

He sucked in another breath. “Does David know?”

“Not yet. Meet me at my office. Now.”

Thursday, February 25, 1:20 p.m.

Eve shuddered out a breath. It had been harder the second time, waking up. The images had been more intense, Winters’s voice more real. Because I wanted to. Because I could. She’d been helpless, unable to move, unable to scream.

Just like that night five years, eleven months, and eleven days ago, she thought and with sudden clarity realized she’d never screamed. Not once when Winters was killing her.

I never screamed for help. I lay there and let him do that to me. Today, in the parking garage, she’d run, but she hadn’t screamed for help. If I’d screamed…

Awareness was returning slowly, the fog clearing from her mind.

Back then, it wouldn’t have mattered. Back then, Dana’s Chicago apartment had been in such a bad part of town that nobody would have helped her. But today… Dammit. I was in a police parking garage and I never made a sound.

And none of that mattered right now. Her breathing had quieted from harsh pants to slow drags of air. The air was cold and dry. It stung her nose, burned her throat. Her mouth was like cotton. She smelled sweat. Vomit.

I’m cold. She let out a breath, struggling for calm when panic speared. I’m naked. Her wrists were tied behind her head. Her ankles were tied, together and to the bed.

She kept her eyes closed, afraid of what she’d see.

Next to her she heard the sound of metal clashing. Scraping. Swishing. She’d heard that sound before. Panic became a live thing when she realized from where.

He was there. Sharpening a knife.

“I really like your tattoos,” he said companionably. “It’s like a paint-by-numbers set.”

She kept her eyes closed. Why? she wanted to scream, but he’d already told her that. Because he wished it. Because it gave him pleasure. He knew her worst fear and was using it. He knew how. He studied the mind, behavior, phobia.

“You used their worst fears against them,” she said, her voice cracking from the dry air. “Martha and Christy and the others. Why? Did it make it more fun?”

“It did. And knowing yours will be even better.”

She flinched when he came close. She felt his heat, then smelled the metal of his knife beneath her nose. “Open your eyes, Eve, or I’ll open them for you.”

She remembered Christy Lewis’s eyes, glued open. Eve forced her eyes to open, holding her cringe inside. His face was inches from hers, his eyes bright with anticipation. He brandished the knife in front of her eyes, then trailed the tip down her face, over her old scar. She couldn’t feel it, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

“It’s like a road map,” he said, amused. “I just have to stay on the lines. Or maybe I’ll make a few new ones.”

She fought for something to say. Something to throw him off-balance. Anything to buy her time. Noah and Olivia were searching. She just had to give them time.

“I know who you are.”

“I should hope so. I did give you my card.” He smiled at this.

“No, I know who you are in the World. How many times did you beg women to buy them a drink? How many times were you rejected?”

He looked bored. “Avatars, Eve. It’s all in the appearance.”

“Not entirely. There is substance and there is style. You had no style. Dasich.”

His eyes flickered and she could see she’d surprised him, but he recovered quickly. “So I played a little poker. Greer.”

He took a step back and she had to control another cringe. She was naked. So was he. But he never sexually assaulted his victims. Noah had said so. But Pierce was erect. Aroused. Why had he not raped them?

“You never assaulted your victims,” she said levelly and he paused, studying her.

“No, not sexually,” he agreed. “Not those victims.” He smiled again. “But they were special. A project, if you will.”

Eve swallowed, forcing herself not to stare at his groin or his knife. She would not give him power over her fear. Instead she focused on his eyes. “You left those women hanging in their homes. Why did you bring me here? Wherever here is.”

“Like I said. The six were special. The rest were not. Dregs of society nobody cared about. I brought them here and here they died.” He grabbed her hair, forced her head off the bed, forced her to look at the wall. “Look,” he mocked, “and try not to be afraid.”

The strangled sound she heard came from her own throat as she stared.

Shoes. The wall was lined with shelves and the shelves were lined with shoes. Her breath was coming hard again and all she could hear was the pounding of her pulse in her ears. He leaned close and tilted her head higher. “See anything familiar?”

My boots. He had them arranged side by side, the calf folded over at the end of the top row. She sucked in a breath that made her cough. He grabbed a water bottle, held her nose until her mouth opened, and forced her to drink. “Normally I don’t give my guests refreshment. But I think you’ll be here for a while.”

He set the bottle and the knife aside and hoisted himself on the bed, straddling her. He leaned in close and put his hands around her throat. She realized then that he’d taken off her choker and her throat was totally exposed.

“I’ve always wondered,” he crooned. “What was it like to die?”

His hands had not tightened. He’s playing with me. Like he played with Noah and the Hat Squad. Hat Squad. The MSP article had filled Dell Farmer with rage. Pierce’s first victim had gone missing at the same time. It made sense.

“What was it like when the cops got all that attention in MSP?” she asked. Contempt. He needed to hear contempt. “They collect men’s hats.” She lifted one brow. “You collect women’s shoes. Tough guy you are. Where did you get the hat you wore today? EBay? Because you didn’t earn it.”

She grunted when he hit her with his fist. She tasted blood and felt satisfaction.

Astride her, his chest rose and fell with his angry breaths, but he calmed himself quickly. A quick glance showed much of his sexual prowess had also calmed.

“You think you’re smart,” he said, sliding his hands around her throat again.

“I’m just a grad student. You’re the professional. You’re the shrink.” She made herself smile, with pity. “And you just did.”

Her head swung hard to one side as he hit her again, then his hands took her throat and tightened. She couldn’t breathe. White lights danced in front of her eyes. Can’t breathe.

His face loomed close, his eyes dark with fury. “You are nothing. I say if you live or die. I hold the power here. You are nothing.”

She held still until the panic overruled and she bucked, trying to throw him off. The pressure on her windpipe increased and the fringes of her vision went dark. It all went dark, and then abruptly he let go.