Intensity

trigger a third time, and the hammer fell yet again on an empty chamber. Smiling, he tore the revolver out of her hand with such force that she thought her finger broke before it slipped through the trigger guard, and she squealed in pain.
        The killer backed away from her, holding the weapon, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "What a kick that was."
        Chyna huddled against the side of the refrigerator, tramping on kitten faces.
        "I knew it was the same gun," he said, "but what if I'd been wrong? I'd have one big hole in my face right now, wouldn't I, little lady?"
        Weak and dizzy with terror, she looked around desperately for anything that could be used as a weapon, but there was nothing close at hand.
        "One big hole in my face," he repeated, as if he found that prospect amusing.
        One of the cabinets might contain knives, but she had no way of knowing which drawer to check.
        "Intense," he said, smiling at the revolver in his hand.
        A pistol lay on the counter across the kitchen, beside the sink, well out of her reach. Chyna couldn't believe this: He had brought a gun of his own, but he hadn't used it, had set it aside, and had gone for her bare-handed instead.
        "You're an attractive woman."
        She looked away from the pistol, hoping he hadn't noticed that she'd seen it. But she was fooling herself, and she knew it, because he saw everything, everything.
        He pointed the revolver at her. "You were back there in the service station last night."
        She was gasping for breath, but she didn't seem to be drawing any air. She was breathing too fast and too shallowly, in danger of hyperventilating, and she was furious with herself, furious , because he was so calm.
        He said, "I know you were there, somehow, somewhere, and I know you found this Chief's Special after I left, but for the life of me, I can't figure why you're here ."
        Maybe she would be able to get to the pistol before he could stop her. It was a million-to-one chance. Two million, three. Hell, face it, impossible.
        From five feet away, aiming the revolver at the bridge of her nose, his voice bubbly with exhilaration, the killer said, "But even though it was the Asian's piece, I was walking into the mouth of the dragon here. I was lucky just now. Are you?"
        Although reaching the pistol was probably impossible, she didn't have any alternatives. Nothing to lose.
        With a note of impatience, he said, "Honey, listen to me, please, I'm talking to you. Do you feel lucky right now? As lucky as I've been?"
        Trying not to stare at the pistol, reluctant to look into his too-normal eyes, she gazed down the bore of the revolver and managed to say, "No," and she half believed that she heard that single word echoing back to her out of the barrel, No .
        "Let's see if you are."
        "No."
        "Oh, be adventurous, sweetheart. Let's see if you're lucky," he said, and he pulled the trigger.
        Although the weapon had failed to fire three times, she expected it to explode in her face, because that seemed to be the way luck was running for her, and she flinched.
         Click.
        "You are lucky, even more so than I am."
        Chyna didn't know what he was talking about. She couldn't focus her thoughts on anything but the pistol by the sink, this last miraculous chance.
        "When Fuji started to pull this piece on me," the killer said, "didn't you hear what I promised him?"
        All this talking and the bastard's calm demeanor unnerved Chyna even further. She expected him to shoot her, cut her, beat her, and probably rape her, torture answers from her before or after, but she didn't expect to have to chat with him, for God's sake, as if what they had been through was only a pleasant little road trip, a shared vacation that had taken a couple of interesting twists.
        Still pointing the revolver at her, he said, "What I told Fuji was, 'Don't, or I'll shove the bullets up your ass.' I always keep my promises. Don't you?"
        His patter finally captured her undivided attention.
        "In such poor light, and with all that blood everywhere, not wanting to look, squeamish, you probably didn't see that Fuji's pants were pulled down."
        He was right. After a glance showed her that the clerks were both dead, she had averted her eyes and stepped around their bodies.
        He said, "I