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“The kid always makes it. I told you that.”

Margaret McDill had not seen the man in her life until yesterday, but he had dominated every second of her existence since their meeting. He had told her to call him Joe, and he claimed it was his real name, but she assumed it was an alias. He was a dark-haired, pale-skinned man of about fifty, with deep-set eyes and a coarse five-o’clock shadow. Margaret could not look into his eyes for long. They were dark, furious pools that sucked the life out of her, drained her will. And now they carried knowledge about her that she could not bear.

“I don’t believe you,” she said quietly.

Something rippled deep in the dark eyes, like the flick of a fish tail. “Have I lied to you about anything else?”

“No. But you… you let me see your face all night. You won’t let me go after that.”

“I told you, the kid always makes it.”

“You’re going to kill me and let my son go.”

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