Thankfully, Corbett was still asleep; Jill hadn't wanted the child to wake up and see the bloodstains on her hands. She stooped to place the plush frog on the pillow by the girl's head and then retreated, closing and locking the door as quietly as she could. She took a moment to compose herself and then turned into Hoffman's inscrutable gaze.

"About what happened –" he began, but she cut across his words. "Nothing happened," she said, "because John isn't going to find out about it unless you want to be the one to walk in there and confess. Do you?"

"No," he admitted, after what seemed to be a brief moment of internal conflict. Jill studied him carefully for a second more, then turned and walked away. The tunnels were bone-achingly cold for the time of year, and it was not lost on her that she was still wearing nothing but her badly torn clothing. She heard Hoffman trailing after her like a dog, but paid him no attention and returned to the workshop in search of something warmer.

Amanda had left in the meantime, presumably to fetch Lynn Denlon from the hospital. Her absence solved several pressing issues, and Jill looked at the foot of the bed to see if there was anything in Amanda's trunk that she could wear. She pulled out a white sweater, studied it critically, and only then realised that Hoffman was still watching her. She turned on him.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" she demanded.

"We still need to talk," he said, meeting her gaze with what appeared to be the greatest of difficulty. Jill's hand tightened reflexively around the sweater, then she set it aside and faced him down.

"Okay, you want to talk, let's talk," she said, coldly. "Let's discuss the fact that you raped me, shall we?" She watched him flinch; the sight should have given her a sense of triumph, but instead it merely twisted something sharp in her guts. "Oh, I'm so sorry, don't you like that word?" she went on, scathing. "It's not pretty, I know, but it is accurate. I thought you wanted to talk, so what do you have to say for yourself? Huh?"

Something at the back of Jill's mind clamoured for her attention, trying to restrain her tongue, pointing out that after everything she'd been through it could not possibly be a wise move to antagonise him further. She shoved back, subduing this quiet inner voice, finding that she was left incapable of caring about the consequences of her words. As she looked closer, however, she could swear that she saw a subtle flicker of shame in his eyes as they crossed her face. Disobeying her better judgement for the time being, she addressed it.

"Why did you do it, Mark?" she asked, quietly. "I'd really like to know."

"What does it matter," he said, holding her gaze for one more second before turning aside. "I can't take it back, can I?"

One second was all it took, and when it was done with Jill almost recoiled. In that poor slice of time she'd seen something pass across his features that stunned her. For the merest scrap of eternity he'd looked lost and bewildered, as if in freshly ruined innocence, as if some window in his battle-scarred psyche had opened and she'd been offered a glimpse of the unsullied child he must once have been – and then this expression flicked its tail and darted back into the depths as the predator returned, teeth bared.

"Is there anyone in there worth saving?" said Jill, mostly to herself, but far too late in any case. Hoffman stood back and looked her up and down, lip curling.

"I tried to apologise," he said, his voice gentle but laden with ice. "It wasn't good enough for you."

"I see," she replied. "And you thought I'd respond better for being raped?"

"If that's what you want to call it," he said, dismissively.

Jill's eyes flashed. "Well," she said, "we could always ask Amanda what she'd call it, because she'd know, after all. Did you really think that nobody would find out what you did to her?" Jill paused as something on the night stand caught her attention, and she reached down and picked up Amanda's knife. "Come any closer and you're going to lose an eye," she said, calmly, hefting the weapon. "Now go away. I need to get changed."

Despite every instinct that screamed at her not to turn her back on him, Jill did so, dropping the knife back into the box and picking up the sweater once more. She heard a harsh sigh, then footsteps, and then the distant squeal of the sick room door.

She was painfully aware that time was growing short, so she finished changing and headed for the final room. The ice block steamed gently in the low light as she entered and she approached it, laying her naked palm on the shining wet surface, dabbling her fingertips in the melt water. After a few seconds the cold made her wince and she withdrew her hand, shaking the painful tingle from her skin.

She turned then, and jumped a little; Amanda had drifted into the room on quiet feet and was standing behind her shoulder, eyes fixed upon the machinery before her, a strange smile haunting her lips. Only after a moment of epiphany and a miserable twist in her soul did Jill realise that that odd little expression betrayed a festering boil of resentment.

"It's not real," said Amanda, her voice raw. "He's finally tested and it's all a lie. That just fucking figures."

"That's not what this is," said Jill helplessly, wondering at the same time who she was defending, and why.

"Then what is it?"

Amanda didn't seem to require a response; Jill, feeling that she had none to offer in any case, was grateful for this. She watched the young woman circle the mechanism, studying the ice blocks, the chains and pulleys, and finally the heavy chair on the counterweight. Her eyes, all but black in the low light, gleamed dully.

"You need to trust that John knows what he's doing," said Jill.

Amanda laughed, the sound small and empty. "See, that'd be fine," she said, "but trust is supposed to go both ways. Well, it's not doing that, is it, and I don't think I have the strength any more. In a lot of ways I had it easier out on the streets, where I –" She stopped abruptly, her eyes slitted. Jill turned to see what had attracted her attention. Hoffman was lounging in the doorway in his shirtsleeves, arms folded, watching them.

"Ladies," he said, casually. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The words were smooth and the tone superficially civil, but something cruel lurked beneath them, something vile swimming in his voice like an eel in the gritty shallows. Jill flexed her fingers by her side, cultivating a hot, vivid mental image of closing them around his throat instead. She stood as still as she could and watched him cross the floor to the chair, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as he did so. Amanda backed away as he approached, edging behind Jill, who felt yet another of her frayed heartstrings give way at this. They both watched the detective settle himself in the chair and fix them with an expectant look.

Jill started forward, but all at once she felt slim, cool fingers close around her arm, and then Amanda was moving out of her shadow and walking over to the chair.

"I'll do it," she said, quietly. Jill was desperate to object, to take charge, and found herself trying to watch both Amanda's hands and Hoffman's cold, calculating stare at the same time. Her tongue, however, seemed rooted in her mouth and would not respond to her wishes.

Amanda bent and fastened the restraints around Hoffman's ankles, then straightened up and moved towards the first of the straps on the arms of the chair. Jill watched her cautiously. The young woman kept her head down and seemed calm to the point of catatonia, but someone who knew what they were looking for would have seen the faintest of unhappy quivers about her lower lip as she reached out to buckle the strap around his wrist. She moved slowly and methodically, testing the tension with a short tug, making sure it was loose enough without being obviously so, then moved to the other and repeated the process. The detective studied her blandly as she worked on him, head on one side, and when she tightened the second strap with a particularly rough jerk, he grinned.

"Are you getting off on this?" he asked, conversationally.

Jill burned with outrage, feeling it flare in her chest like magnesium. She saw Amanda's back stiffen and stepped forward at once, meaning to intervene, but she'd not taken more than one step when Amanda turned and walked away, heading back to the desk near the door. Jill released a small, hot breath and relaxed imperceptibly.

Too soon. Amanda turned on her heel, hair flying, and charged at Hoffman with a throaty snarl that scaled the octaves to a shriek. She had seized a vicious iron hook from the desk and was now swinging it back at shoulder height. Jill had a quarter of a second in which to think of a hundred and one reasons to let events unfold and simply watch as his face was slashed to bloody ribbons, and then she cursed herself and lunged, grabbing the other woman's wrist. The hook, which had already begun its descent, jerked to a halt and shivered violently a few inches from Hoffman's left eye.

Out of the side of her vision, Jill could see the horrified look on his face and felt a momentary stab of pleasure, but as much as she wanted to she had no time to luxuriate in the sight. She reached out and gripped Amanda's shoulder and half-led, half-dragged her to the far side of the room.

"No," she said quietly, once they were out of earshot. "I promise you'll have justice because I'll see to it myself if I have to, but not here, not now and not like this. Okay?" So saying, she extended a hand and plucked the hook from Amanda's suddenly slack grasp. "Now, I want you to calm down and go fetch Detective Matthews. We need to finish setting up here."

No response. Jill shook her shoulder gently. "Amanda, the clock's ticking. Go!" Finally, Amanda seemed to return to some semblance of sanity and her wandering eyes focused once more. She nodded grimly but thankfully at Jill, set her jaw and left the room.

Jill silently counted to five before turning around, but when she did so she directed a baleful stare at Hoffman and lifted the hook, making sure he saw the movement as clearly as possible, then approached him in chilly silence. He was smirking. Even after everything he'd said and done, that cool and hateful half smile was still plastered across his face. She watched it for a while, tilting her head first to one side then the other, then glanced down at the weapon she still held. She shrugged briefly, tossed it away with a clatter and then drew back her fist and hit him as hard as she could.

"Are you getting off on this?" she mocked him sweetly. He shook the surprise out of his eyes, only to replace it with a grimace as the pain struck and blood flowed. Jill, all business, reached over his shoulder before he could recover his wits and wrapped the last strap around his neck, sliding the end through the buckle and pulling on it, raising an alarmed gurgle from the detective, which she ignored. She waited until she had his full attention and then leaned in even closer.

"That's twice I've had your life in my hands," she said, placidly. "If it happens again I'll make sure that you die as slowly as possible. Do you understand me?"

She waited for a response. When none was forthcoming, she realised that she was probably pulling on the strap a little too hard, and released it a quarter inch. Hoffman sucked in a strangled, gargling breath and nodded.

"Touch me again and I'll kill you. Touch Amanda again and I'll kill you. Do you think you can remember all of that, or should I write it down for you?"

Another furious nod, accompanied by a fresh rivulet of blood from his nostril. Jill acknowledged this, and then picked up the strip of cloth, weighing it thoughtfully. She caught his eye again; his gaze was drenched in sullen hostility but she detected no real fight.

"Any last words?" she asked, running the cloth between her fingers and then drawing it taut with a whip-like snap. Hoffman watched her movements with unblinking, reptilian patience.

"I'll let you know," he growled, and with this odd prophecy dispensed, he merely licked the blood from his lips and then averted his gaze as Jill gagged him and then walked away without looking back.

The door slammed, and silence held court for long seconds, broken only by the steady, sonorous drip of water from the melting ice. Hoffman closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

After a while, he laughed to himself.

(Final A/N: ...and that, as they say, is where we came in. Thank you. Thank you all so much for providing the finest encouragement and praise for which an author could ever hope. I was as nervous as hell about switching genres from comic fantasy to erotic thriller, but I swear, every single review I received for this story brought me immense pride. I am honoured to have entertained and intrigued you and I promise I'll be back after the holidays with another tale. Until then, let it be known that you all rule...hard.)