He squatted and waited. He braced her shoulders against his with his arm as he pointed the barrel of the gun at the open doorway. He kept his head down behind hers, but he peeked around her toward the door. He jabbed her again, just for fun, but she didn’t cry out this time. He put the tip of the bloody knife against the side of her neck.

"Trying to be brave, Laurant? When I want you to scream, by God, you will."

He heard her whimper and smiled. "Don’t you fret. I won’t shoot the mule right away. I want him to watch me kill you. Tit for tat," he sang. "What’s taking Nicholas so long? What’s that boy up to? Maybe he’s trying to sneak in through the kitchen door. Oops, there isn’t one. He can’t do that, can he?"

Had he not been talking, he would have heard the faint creak above him. Nick had come in through the bedroom window. The tree branch had given way just as he grabbed hold of the window ledge, but the crashing noise he heard from inside covered the sounds he made.

The bedroom door was open, and Nick crept forward. He could see Laurant and Stark below the balcony, halfway across the room, facing the front door. Nick had his gun in his hand, and the Glock tucked into the back of his waistband.

He couldn’t get a clear shot at the bastard. If the bullet went through his body it would hit Laurant. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t go down the stairs either. Stark would see him. What the hell was he going to do?

Laurant looked up and saw the shadow on the ceiling. It moved ever so slightly, and she knew that Nicholas was upstairs. It was only a matter of time before the man behind her saw the shadow too.

"Why are you doing this, Justin?"

"Shut up. I have to listen for the car. I have to hear the mule coming."

"You were too quick for him. He must not have seen your van, and he turned north instead of south. He’s on the other side of the lake."

Stark strained to hear footsteps on the gravel outside, but he was smiling. "Yes, I was quick, wasn’t I? A mule can’t outsmart me."

"Are the mules the FBI?"

"Yes," he answered. "You’re a very clever girl, aren’t you?"

She had to keep him talking. Keep him focused on what she was saying so he wouldn’t look up. "Not as clever as you. Why did you choose me? Why do you hate me?"

He drew his thumb down the side of her face. The rubber glove was cold. "Hush that talk. I don’t hate you. I love you," he crooned. "But I’m a heartbreaker. I break hearts."

"But why me?" she persisted. Her head was down, but her eyes were looking up, watching the shadow slowly creep forward.

"It wasn’t you at all," he said. "The mule killed my wife, and then he bragged about it in the newspapers. Oh yes, that’s what he did. All that time and energy training her was wasted. She was almost worthy. I sought perfection, and she was getting there. Yes, she was almost perfect. Then Nicholas killed her. They called him a hero. He ruined my life, and they called him a hero. They said he was oh so smart. I couldn’t have that, now could I? I had to prove to the world that I was the master."

She cringed at the hate in his voice. She didn’t have to ask him another question. He seemed to want to explain himself to her. The words were coming faster now. He wanted to tell her everything, to brag about how he had fooled the mules.

"When I read the newspaper article and knew who had killed my wife, I had to retaliate. Don’t you see? I was forced into it. Your brother was mentioned in that article, and I wanted to know more about good old Father Tom. I read that he and Nicholas had been best friends since they were little boys. At first, I thought I’d kill Tom and then go after the mule’s family, but then I thought, why give Nicholas the home advantage? Holy Oaks was the perfect town for what I had in mind. It’s so nicely isolated. I did my research, found out everything I could about Tommy boy, and imagine my joy when I found out about you.

"It was Nicholas I was after all along," he said, snickering. "Until I met you. Then I wanted you too. When I met my wife, there was something about her that reminded me of my mother. You remind me of her too. There’s a bit of perfection in you, Laurant. Had the circumstances been different, I would have trained you.

"Mother’s gone now. There wasn’t any reason to keep her alive. She had reached perfection, and I knew I had to act quickly."

The second he stopped, she blurted, "Who was Millicent? Did she exist?"

"Ah, so you listened to the confession tape, did you?"

Laurant felt him nod against her. She could smell the sweetness of the Calvin Klein cologne mixed with the sourness of his breath.

"Did Millicent exist?" he repeated. "Maybe."

"How many did you kill?"

"None," he answered. "Mother doesn’t count. You can’t kill perfection, and whores don’t count either. No, of course not. So you see? You’ll be the first."

He saw the shadow. He swung Laurant around and shouted, "I’ll kill her. I’ll kill her. Drop the gun, Nicholas. Do it now, now, now, now."

Nick had reached the center of the balcony. He put his hands up, but he didn’t drop the gun. The dining room table was directly below him. If he could just get over the railing…

Stark was still crouched behind Laurant, trying to turn her with him so he could face the steps and be fully protected by the wall behind him.

"Drop the gun," he shouted again. "And come on down and join the party."

"You aren’t going to be able to sneak away this time," Nick said. He could see the terror and pain in Laurant’s eyes. If he could just get Stark to move away from her, just a fraction, he could get a shot before he got hit.

"Of course, I’m going to get away. I’m going to kill Laurant and you, and I’m going to get away. The stupid mules will be looking for the hick farmer, Justin Brady. I’ll cut her throat if you don’t drop the gun."

Nick let go of the weapon. It barely made a sound as it dropped onto the carpet at his feet.

"Kick it out of reach," Stark screamed, waving his gun as he gave the order.

Nick did as he was told but slowly lowered his hands until they were level with his shoulders. Every second would count. He wanted his hands close to the railing so he could spring when the time came.

"I’ve got you now, don’t I, mule?" Stark shouted. "Who’s the master? Who’s the hero? They’ll never find me, no sirree," he gloated. "They don’t even know who I am."

"Sure they do," Nick called out. "We’ve always known. You’re Donald Stark, and we know all about you. You’re a sleazy filmmaker. You use prostitutes to simulate amateur death scenes. S and M crap," he added. "And not at all believable. Homemade stuff. You barely make a living selling the junk on the Internet, and you’ve got a lot of dissatisfied customers."

"Dissatisfied?" he roared.

Nick deliberately shrugged. "You aren’t any good, Stark. You ought to get in another line of work. Maybe you can learn a new trade in prison."

Stark’s full attention was riveted on the balcony. He wasn’t aware that he’d lessened his grip on Laurant or that the butcher knife was now pointed at the doorway and not her throat.

"No, no, you’re lying. No one knows who I am. You heard me talking to Laurant, and that’s how you knew-"

"No, we’ve always known who you are, Stark. The article we planted in the papers was just a way to draw you out. Everyone was in on it, even Tommy. We planned it down to the last detail."

Nick could tell that his lies were working. The bastard’s face was red and blotchy, and his eyes bulged out of his head. He hoped that Stark’s anger would push him into making a mistake. Nick only needed a second.

Come on. Come and get me. Forget about her. Come after me.

Laurant saw the barrel of the gun coming up, felt the madman tense against her. He was trying to lift her up with him as he shot Nicholas. Then she heard the screech of tires on the gravel outside the door. Was it Tommy? Oh, God, no. Whoever came through the doorway was going to get killed.