Maybe

“Bullshit!”

“I’m serious.”

“Dr. P.? But how did you-”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s try another name Sam might be using.”

“Go ahead.”

“Donovan Creed.”

“What? Why would he use your name?”

“Just give it a try. See if I’m registered.”

“You want me to talk to him?”

“No. Just see if he used my name. It would be just like him.”

“Okay.”

She puts me on hold again. Moments later she says, “Bingo.”

Callie says, “I can kill him now, once and for all.”

I don’t respond.

She says, “Donovan?”

“Sorry. I’m still pondering the idea Sam has stolen my identity.”

“Your identity?”

“In order to check in, he’d need a credit card with my name on it.”

“Wow!”

“Wow, indeed.”

Darwin told me Sam hasn’t left the bunker. Doesn’t mean he’s lying. Sam’s a genius. He could probably find a way to confuse Darwin for a few minutes when he needs to come and go. It would have been especially easy during the past thirty hours, since Darwin’s with me in Virginia, away from all his equipment.

Darwin also said he’s positive Kimberly isn’t having sex with Sam. He said she’s got some sort of sexual issue she’s been discussing with a psychiatrist.

My gut tells me Sam’s in a hotel room with my daughter, and sexual issues or not, I expect he’s found a way to manipulate her into a physical relationship.

The burning question is do I let Callie kill him?

That’s the smart play, and she’d love to do it. But there are two problems with that scenario. First, I’d be denying myself the opportunity to torture Sam to death. And second, my daughter’s in the room. Kimberly’s not in Callie’s league, but she’s had some training. If she puts up a fight, Callie will have to hurt her. If she pulls a gun or knife, Callie will have to kill her.

“What do you want me to do?” Callie says.

“Are you available to stay there until Kimberly leaves?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. When she leaves, subdue him and keep him there.”

“You’re on your way?”

“I’m on my way.”

26

Maybe Taylor.

SAM’S PHONE IS buzzing.

“I need to get that,” he says.

“Tough shit.”

“Maybe, seriously. I need to answer my phone. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

It has been fun, but there’s more fun to be had. She looks at the man who’s been such a powerful influence on her life the past twelve months. He’s on the floor on his side, naked, curled in a fetal position, arms tied behind his back, wrists cuffed. Knees tied, ankles cuffed. A twelve-inch tail of red tubing protrudes from his backside, courtesy of the butt plug she’s placed in his rectum. She was in the process of forcing a red plastic ball in Sam’s mouth when his cell phone started buzzing.

She opens it, puts it to his ear.

Sam says, “Hello?”

She hears an altered voice coming through the ear piece. With his ear blocking most of the sound, the words aren’t clear to her.

But Sam seems alarmed.

He says things like, “No!” and “You’re kidding!” and “What’re you talking about?” and “You can’t quit!” and “What’s going to happen to me?”

Maybe’s heard enough. While she enjoys humiliating her boyfriend, no one else is going to upset him on her watch. She pulls the phone from Sam’s ear and says, “Who is this?”

Sam screams, “No!”

The person on the other end immediately stops talking, but it’s too late. She heard the last few words, and recognized him.

“It’s you!” she says.

The voice says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Maybe says, “I’d know your voice anywhere. Just because it’s altered doesn’t mean it’s different. You called me every day for the past year. Every day until…”

She looks at Sam, sees fear in his eyes. He struggles to break free from the cuffs.

But the cuffs are real.

From some dark place in the pit of Maybe’s stomach the anger starts like a smoldering chunk of coal. Within seconds it flares up as if coaxed by a bellows. The flame rises through her body, flushing her neck, ears, and face. Her eyes narrow.

Sam stops trying to break free long enough to say, “Please!”

But the word didn’t come from a man’s voice. It was more like the sound a whimpering, sniveling little boy might make.

When Maybe speaks into the phone her words are measured, but firm.

She says, “What’s going on here?”

The voice on the other end pauses, then says, “I knew nothing about this business with Sam until I heard the tape.”

“What tape?”

“Sam had a friend, Doc Howard, who recently passed away. I was going through Doc’s things today and came across a tape of a phone conversation he had with Sam a few days ago. I’m going to play you the tape.”

And he does.

She stares straight ahead. Blinks twice. Then presses the record button on Sam’s phone and says, “Please. Play it once more.”

He does.

Then he hangs up.

Then Maybe hangs up.

She looks at Sam, trussed like a turkey.

He whimpers, “I love you!”

She shakes her head, hoping to force her brain to comprehend what she just heard.

“Kimberly!” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“You love me, don’t you Sam?”

He strains to break the handcuffs on his wrists and ankles, but again, these aren’t lovers’ toys, they’re