the knife any faster； climbed the back stairs any quicker。
〃I'm so sorry。〃
This beautiful girl； this dear heart； would never find the husband about whom she had fantasized； never have the children who would have been a betterment to the world by the simple virtue of having been her children。 Twenty…three years of getting ready to make a contribution； to make a difference in the lives of others； so full of ideals and hope： But now her gift would never be given； and the world would be immeasurably poorer for it。
〃I love you； Laura。 We all love you。〃
Any words； any sentiment； any expression of grief was horribly inadequate； worse than inadequate…meaningless。 Laura was gone； all that warmth and kindness gone forever； and even the most heartfelt words were only words。
Chyna's stomach cramped with a sense of loss； clenched tight and pulled her relentlessly into a black hole within herself。
At the same time she felt her breast swelling with a sob that； if voiced； would be explosive。 A single tear would loose a flood。 Even one soft sob would bring on an uncontrollable wail。
She couldn't risk grief。 Not while she was in the motor home。 The killer would be returning at any minute； and she couldn't moum Laura until she was safely out of there and until he was gone。 She no longer had any reason to stay； for Laura was indisputably dead and irretrievable。
Nearby a door slammed hard； shaking the thin metal walls around Chyna。
The killer was back。 Something rattled。 Rattled。 With the butcher knife in hand； Chyna swiftly backed away from Laura to the wall next to the open door。 Unexpressed grief was a highoctane fuel for rage； and in an instant she was burning with fury； afire with the need to hurt him； slash him； spill his guts； hear him scream； and bring the haunting awareness of mortality to his eyes as he had brought it to Laura's。
He'll e into the room。 I'll cut him。 He'll e and I'll cut him。 It was a prayer； not a plan。 He'll e。 I'll cut him。 He'll e。 I'll cut him。
The shadowy room darkened。 He was at the door； blocking the meager light from the hall。
Silently； the knife in her hand jittered furiously up and down like the needle on a sewing machine； stitching the pattern of her fear in the air。
He was at the threshold。 Right there。 Right there。 He would e in for one more look at the pretty blond dead girl； for one more feel of her cool skin； and Chyna would get him when he crossed the threshold； cut him。
Instead； he closed the door and went away。 Aghast； she listened to his retreating footsteps； the creaking as the carpeted steel floor torqued under his boots； and she wondered what to do now。
The driver's door slarnmed。 The engine started。 The brakes released with a brief faint shriek。
They were on the move。
Dead girls lie as troubled in the dark as in the light。 As the motor home sped along the runneled driveway； Laura's shackles clinked ceaselessly； only half muffled by the sheet in which she was loosely wrapped。
Blinded； still pressed to the fiberboard wall beside the bedroom door； Chyna Shepherd could almost believe that even in death Laura struggled against the injustice of her murder。 Clink…clink。
Periodic sprays of gravel spurted from beneath the tires and rattled against the undercarriage。 Shortly the motor home would reach the county road； smooth blacktop。
If Chyna tried to bail out now； the killer was sure to hear the back door bang open when the wind tore it out of her grasp； or spot it in his sideview mirror。 In these winter…dormant grape fields； where the nearest houses were inhabited only by the dead； he would certainly risk stopping and giving chase； and she would not get far before he brought her down。
Better to wait。 Give him a few miles on the county road； even until they reached a more major route； until they were likely to be passing through a town or traveling in at least sparse traffic。 He wouldn't be as quick to e after her if people were nearby to respond to her cries for help。
She felt along the wall for a switch。 The door was tightly shut； no light would spill into the hallway。 She found the toggle； flicked it up； but nothing happened。 The overhead bulb must have burned out。
She remembered seeing a pharmacy…style reading lamp bolted to the side of the built…in nightstand。 By the time she felt her way across the small room； the motor home began to slow。
She hesitated with the lamp switch between thumb and forefinger； heart suddenly racing again because she was afraid that he was going to brake to a full stop； get out from behind the wheel； and e back to the little bedroom。 Now that a confrontation could no longer save Laura； now that Chyna's molten rage had cooled to anger； she hoped only to avoid him； escape； and give the authorities the information that they would need to find him。
The vehicle didn't e to a full stop； after all； but hung a wide left turn onto a paved surface and picked up speed once more。 The county road。
As far as Chyna could recall； the next intersection would be State Highway 29； which she and Laura had driven the previous afternoon。 Between here and there； the only turnoffs were to other vineyards； small farms； and houses。 He wasn't likely to pay a visit to any of those places or slaughter any more innocently sleeping families。 The night was waning。
She clicked the lamp switch； and a circle of muddy light fell on the bed。
She tried not to look at the body； even though it was mostly concealed by the enwrapping linens。 If she thought too much about Laura right now； she'd be sucked into a slough of black despondency。 She needed to remain energized and clearheaded if she hoped to survive。
Although she wasn't likely to find any weapon better than the butcher knife； she had nothing to lose by searching for one。 Since the killer was armed with a silencer…equipped pistol； he might keep other guns in the motor home。
The single nightstand had two drawers。 The upper contained a package of gauze pads； a few green and yellow sponges of the size used to wash dishes； a small plastic squeeze bottle of some clear fluid； a roll of cloth tape； a b； a hairbrush with a tortoiseshell handle； a halfempty tube of K…Y jelly； a full bottle of skin lotion with aloe vera； a pair of needle…nose pliers with yellow rubber…clad handles； and a pair of scissors。
She could imagine the uses to which he had put some of those items； and she didn't want to think about the others。 Sometimes； no doubt； the women he brought into this room were alive when he put them on the bed。
She considered the scissors。 But the butcher knife would be more effective if she needed to use it。
In the lower； deeper drawer was a hard…plastic container rather like a fishing…tackle box。 When she opened it； she found a plete sewing kit； with numerous spools of thread in a variety of colors； a pincushion； packets of needles； a needle threader； an extensive selection of buttons； and other paraphernalia。 None of that was helpful to her； and she put it away。
As she got up from her knees； she noticed that the window over the bed had been covered with a sheet of plywood that had been bolted to the wall。 A couple of folded swatches of blue fabric were trapped between the plywood and the window frame： the edge of an underlying drapery panel。
From outside； the window would appear to be merely curtained。 Anyone inside； even if clever and fortunate enough to struggle free of her bonds； would never be able to open the window and signal to passing motorists for help。
As there was no other furniture in the cramped bedroom； the closet was the only remaining place where Chyna could hope to find a gun or anything that might be used as a weapon。 She circled the bed to the accordion…style vinyl door； which hung from an overhead track。
When she pulled the folding door aside； it pressed into pleats that stacked to the left； and in the closet was a dead man。
Shock threw Chyna back against the bed。 The mattress caught her behind the knees。 She almost fell backward atop Laura； kept her balance； but dropped the knife。
The rear of the closet appeared to have been retrofitted with welded steel plates fixed to the vehicle frame for added strength。 Two ringbolts； widely sepa