Swan Lake, she thought. Swan song. Was Mike clever enough for that? She didn't think so. The box was probably just something from his childhood, the significance of which she would never know…

Matt, where are you?

"I think we've talked enough," Mike said, turning to smile at her. He was holding the butcher knife.

Abby swallowed. "The music box, Mike. It's slowing down again."

He looked over his shoulder, then turned back to pick up the box. "Mustn't let that happen," he murmured. "Mustn't let the music stop."

Cassie frowned. "Can't let the music stop. He can't let the music stop. He wants her to hear the music, to listen to it, because… because then she… he… won't let me in. That's it. He's playing the music to shut me out. But I can feel him now. I can feel his heart beating…"

Ben said, "Cassie? Can you see what he sees? Can you see where he is?"

She tilted her head a bit, as though listening, then said, "He's still in the church. The old boiler room in the sub-basement. It's soundproof, and he knows nobody will ever think to search for them there, especially since he's shut me out…"

"The church is five minutes away." Matt was out of his chair and bolting for the door even as Cassie's voice trailed off, with Bishop right behind him. It was the agent who snapped softly, "Start bringing her out, now."

Ben nodded but kept his eyes on Cassie's pale face. "Cassie? I want you to come back to me, love."

"I don't want to… Abby is so alone…"

"Cassie, you can't help her now. Come back."

"But… he's getting ready. He didn't have time to get the cot ready when he brought it here early this morning. So now he is. Tying the ropes to the frame for her wrists and ankles. He wants to play with her for a long, longtime."

Ben knew time was running out, for Abby and for Cassie, but he had to ask, "Has he hurt her yet? Has he hurt Abby?"

"He knocked her out so no one would know he grabbed her. But she's awake now. She's trying to talk to him, to reason with him. He doesn't mind, because he thinks he has all the time in the world. But he's… getting more excited. He likes watching her try to save herself. He wonders if – if she'll scream the way the last bitch did. He liked that…" Her voice trailed away, and she caught her breath.

"What is it, Cassie? What do you see?"

"Not see. Feel. His boots are too tight. They're still too tight." Cassie looked puzzled. "Why doesn't he take them off?" She fell silent, brows drawn together.

"Cassie? That's enough, Cassie. You have to get out of his mind now. You have to come back to me."

For a moment it seemed Cassie would continue to resist his command, but then she let herself relax taut muscles. A moment later she opened her eyes slowly, and even more slowly turned her head to look at him. "Matt better hurry," she whispered.

Ben pulled her into his arms, feeling her shiver against him. "He'll get there in time," he said, wishing he could be as sure of that as he sounded.

The cruiser took the corner on two wheels. Bishop hung on until all four wheels were on the street again, and then returned to checking out his weapon.

"How many doors?" he asked.

"Just one."

The sheriff's voice was level with the sort of calm more dangerous than nitroglycerin in a paper cup, and Bishop shot him a quick, accessing look. "Windows?"

"No. It's a sub-basement. The only way in is through one heavy wooden door at the base of a flight of wooden steps we access from the primary basement."

"Can the door be locked?"

"Not from the inside. With the old furnace in that room, it's a safety issue. Unless the bastard has added his own hardware, of course."

"I hate to assume he hasn't," Bishop said.

"Then we won't. We assume he's got the door locked or barred from the inside. Which means we have one shot – and only one – to surprise him. If we don't get through the first time, he knows we're out there and he has time to hold a knife to Abby's throat."

If he hasn't already. But Bishop didn't say that, of course.

He used the butcher knife to cut lengths of rope from a heavy coil, then left the knife on the table beside the music box. It had taken him several minutes, but he had the cot ready now, with the lengths of rope tied to the iron frame to bind her wrists and ankles. He had wound the music box several more times while working, not once losing patience with the interruptions.

That single-mindedness terrified Abby more than anything else.

Matt, where are you?

She had tried her best to loosen the belt wrapped around her wrists, but once again had done nothing except hurt herself. The pipe behind her was solidly in the wall and in the cement floor, and God knew how deep in the earth beneath it. There was no way she could free herself.

Mike went to wind the music box again. He picked up the butcher knife for a moment and stared at it, then put it down beside the box and came toward her. "Don't – "

Ignoring her strangled plea, he hunkered beside her and reached around to her wrists. For an instant the belt tightened almost unbearably, then loosened abruptly. Abby knew at once that she was still helpless; as the blood rushed into her numbed fingers, they tingled and throbbed and were virtually useless. And when Mike grabbed her arms and hauled her up with dreadful strength, her knees buckled and she sagged against him.

"Mike, please don't hurt me." Her voice shook with terror, and the sound of her own paralyzing fear brought back vivid memories of her cowering beneath Gary's punishing fists, pleading with him to stop, not to hurt her anymore.

Nobody had come to save her then.

Nobody would come to save her now.

As Mike began to drag her toward the cot, Abby found the strength to dig in her heels, to struggle against him. "No! God damn you, it's not going to be that easy!"

She caught him off guard and got one wild swing at his jaw that actually connected and rocked his head back. For a second his grip loosened, and Abby wrenched herself away.

She got two stumbling steps away before she felt his hands close around her throat from behind, felt herself jerked back against the solid wall of muscle that was his chest.

"Bitch," he snarled, fingers tightening. "Fucking bitch! I'll teach you. I'll teach you – "

Her fingers plucked desperately at his in a vain attempt to loosen them. Blackness swam across her vision, and she sagged once more against him as the newly found strength drained out of her legs in a rush.

"/ saw him kill you, Abby. I couldn't see his face, and I don't know who he is, but he was enraged, cursing, and his hands were on your throat."

Oh, God. Alexandra had been right after all. Fate couldn't be changed…

It was very quiet when they reached the heavy oak door, and the light from the basement above barely illuminated the wooden steps behind them. Matt was acutely conscious of every soft creak beneath the feet of the deputy a few steps behind him and Bishop. His fears fixed on what lay beyond, Matt curled his fingers over the knob and turned it slowly. But when he leaned against the unlocked door, it refused to budge. Still moving slowly despite every instinct screaming inside him, he eased back.

Bishop bent down and used a tiny penlight to study the door. "Looks like a new bolt might have been installed on the inside," he whispered.

Matt looked at the shotgun the agent carried, and tried to swallow the dryness of terror. "Then we'll have to blast our way in."

"If we're quick enough, the surprise should give us a few seconds before he can act."

A few seconds.

Dear God.

Matt looked at the pistol in his hand. He thumbed off the safety and held it ready. "You blast the door, I go in first."

They shifted position, and Bishop aimed his shotgun. "Ready?"