“Die,” Black supplied as he picked up Benkman as if he were a child. “That’s all you have to do.” He was carrying him over to the house. “How do you feel about cremation?”

“No!” He started to struggle as panic overcame pain. “Don’t leave me here. It’s going to-”

“Blow?” Black dropped him on the floor of the great room. “In about forty seconds.” He looked down at him. “Why don’t you see if you can make it through the French doors and out onto the terrace? You might survive then.” He turned and strolled out of the house.

Bastard.

Benkman rolled over and started to crawl toward the French doors.

Pain.

The blood was pouring out of the wound as he moved.

Weak.

The blood was slippery…

He was dying.

No, he’d be okay. He was always okay. He just had to get out of this damn house.

So slow. He was moving so slow.

He reached the French doors. Now crawl out onto the veranda. He was almost there…

And then he saw Black standing by the garden wall and watching him. He was smiling.

He tapped his watch.

Too late, Benkman realized frantically. He was too late. Time had run out.

“Don’t leave me!” he howled. “Get me out of-”

The house exploded and became an inferno.

“HERE’S THE REPORT, SIR.Shall I call Atlanta and give it to her?”

Venable scowled as he looked down at the report that Agent David Harley had put in front of him. This inquiry was shaping up to be a king-size headache. Why had he become involved in this mess?

He knew the answer. He liked Joe Quinn and Eve Duncan, and they had helped the CIA on many occasions. When Catherine Ling had asked him to pull strings and get this report concerning the death of Eve’s daughter, he’d thought it might be a way to pay back.

He wasn’t sure that would be true any longer. Eve Duncan was very fragile where anything connected to her murdered daughter, Bonnie, was concerned.