Not that this was a job, but I hadn’t expected emotions to come into play.
“I'm going to have to explain to her how you got hurt. Can you not make it any worse?”
“Explain it to who?” His voice was level, as if he wasn’t sitting there with both bones of his lower arm snapped in two. “And where the fuck is Tia? If you hurt her...”
He shoved up out of the seat.
Covering his face with my hand, I pushed him back down.
He hit his broken arm and his already pale face turned gray.
“She’s safe,” I said, barely recognizing the growl of my voice. I looked around for something I could use to splint his arm. Even in the dim light, I could see well enough to know there wasn't much. At least nothing that I could see in immediate view. Turning to go into the bedroom, I took two steps but spun back and went into the living room area to grab the hotel phone. Holding his gaze, I yanked the cord from the wall, then tossed it on the couch across the room.
Then I went back to the little kitchenette and ripped that phone from the wall, as well, throwing it so that it fell next to its mate. With a cool smile, I grabbed his cell phone and shoved it into a zippered pocket on my hip, sealing it securely inside.
“Can’t have you ruining our little party, now can I?”
“Not when you’re just getting started on me, I guess.” He stared at me with dead eyes, cradling his broken right arm but as I passed by him. He reached out with his left hand, his fingers digging into the sensitive nerves along my wrist with surprising strength and precision.
“Safe isn't good enough, pal. Where is she?”
As tempted as I was to wrench his hand away and break his arm at the wrist for grabbing me, I felt a weird kinship with him. I’d never loved anybody before, had never worried over anybody. Not until these past two weeks.
Reaching down, I caught his wrist, applying the same pressure and twisting at the same time. Standing over him, I had leverage, where he had none and soon, his grip relaxed.
“I told you, Detective Bailey. She’s safe. By now, she’s probably halfway back to Tennessee.”
Disbelief was etched on his features but I ignored it. “You’ll be able to talk to her soon and I will be walking out that door.”
While he continued to stare at me with suspicion, I left him alone in the kitchen and went into his bedroom. I collected the light bulbs I’d removed from the lamps first. After a few seconds of searching, I found what I needed in the closet—a simple, well-made white dress shirt that I pegged as being custom-made. It would work. I grabbed the other thing I needed from where it lay draped over his neatly organized suitcase, propped half-open on the luggage rack.
I left the supplies I’d collected on the breakfast bar in the kitchenette, then replaced the light bulbs so I’d have light to work with.
In the kitchen, while he watched, I looked over the cabinets and drawers—three of the five were fake, nothing but silvery knobs on gleaming, cherry-stained wood. The next one was too shallow. The fifth, however, would work fine.
Dumping the basic kitchen utensils in the sink, I gave the drawer a hard pull to wrench it free from the moorings designed to hold it in place. Glancing over at him, I said, “You never know who might feel inclined to steal a drawer.”
He didn’t look amused.
Two hard blows knocked the sides of the drawer off, providing me with solid pieces to serve as splints.
I put them down and scooped up the knife Bailey had pulled on me. “May I use this?”
“Why the fuck not?” He eyed the pieces of wood and the shirt, something akin to disbelief in his eyes. “Either this is a new form of torture or you’re planning on splinting my arm.”
“I’ve had my arm broken before—both of them, in fact. In a manner just like that.”
The first time had been when I was seven and I’d been caught stealing. My father had been the one to order me to do it, while he was in the store. He had the money, of course, but it was part of my training. Every fucking thing he did had been part of my training, according to him.
Shaking off the memories that had become harder to ignore, I used the knife to cut loose the seams of the shirt sleeves, then ripped them the rest of the way off. “You’ll be more...inclined to talk after your arm isn’t hurting like hell, so we’ll do that, then have our discussion.”
When my arm had been broken, he’d left me to suffer with the pain all night, then set it himself, smiling cruelly.
“I’m not sure I want you setting my arm, Dr. Psycho,” he said in a flat voice as I laid out the materials.
“I am setting the arm,” I said. “Either you let me set it, or I’ll pick you up, throw you on the ground, and after you pass out from the pain, I’ll do it while you’re unconscious. Then we will talk. Frankly, it makes no difference to me.”
“Because you have to explain this...” He gave his arm an irritated look before shifting his gaze to me. “To somebody. And who is that?”
There was a glint in his eyes that made me suspect he already knew.
He was proving to be a pain in my ass, so instead of answering, I met his gaze levelly and smiled. “Your sister, Detective Bailey. Tia is the reason I’m here after all.”
The lines around his mouth went tight and his lids flickered.
“This is going to hurt.”
He curled his lip. “No shit.”
“It will be problematic if you scream.”
“Just out of curiosity, are you part robot? A cybernetic organism from the future?” He gave me a disbelieving look. “Hate to tell you, but this is already sort of painful and it’s about to get much worse.”
“I’m aware.” I wondered what he’d say if I told him I had bitten through my lower lip to keep from screaming. Even at seven, I’d known better. Screaming made the next punishment even worse. But nobody needed that in their head. Of course, nobody needed the torture of going through this unaided either. Hesitancy and doubt almost paralyzed me. Doubt. I was ill equipped to deal with it. My phone buzzed, but I didn’t check it right away. I’d have a minute before she sent another.
There was a wet bar on the far wall and I went over to study the contents. Alcohol wouldn't help much but maybe the placebo effect would offer some comfort. Something would be better than nothing, I had to assume. The only bottle that had been touched was Johnnie Walker Blue so I opened it and filled two tumblers, each well over half full.
“You're full of surprises, aren't you?” Bailey said behind me, his voice strained and filled with an odd note I couldn’t quite place. “You’re a psychotic, murdering kidnapper with a knack for explosives and medical knowledge of some kind. But you’ve got fantastic taste in whiskey. Go figure.”
After putting his glass in front of him, I pulled the phone out and texted Theo, letting her know there were no problems at present.
Mac had already tossed back half the liquor in the glass and I took a sip, staring at him over the rim.
“Do you need more?”
“No.” His eyes gleamed as he downed the rest of the Johnnie Walker, then set the glass down with enough force, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it shattered. “I want a clear head because I still plan on killing you if I don't like what you have to say about Tia.”
“You sound like such a law-abiding cop, Detective Bailey,” I found myself smiling as I settled into the chair in front of him. Yes, I most definitely could find myself liking this man. I already respected him and that was an odd thing. He had nothing but a fierce need to protect his sister and what was clearly a deep love for her.
These emotions would have baffled me just a few weeks ago. But now, I appreciated them. Tia should have that kind of people in her life. More of them. Many more.
I wanted to be one of them.
Make this work...
I folded the belt in two and held it out to him. I wasn’t surprised when he blew out a resigned sigh and accepted, putting the leather between his teeth and bracing his head a
gainst the wall at his back.
As he closed his eyes, I grasped his wrist with one hand, the upper part of his forearm with my other.
Other than a strangled groan low in his throat, he made no sound.
“It’s a clean break, detective,” I said as I splinted it. “If you don’t injure it further before you can get it casted, it should heal without a problem.”
Sweat drenched his face and he was still sickly pale. Yanking the belt from his mouth, he threw it, then grabbed my whiskey, mostly untouched, and tossed it back, leaving only a finger or so.
I sat waiting, listening as harsh breaths escaped him.
They slowed and Bailey opened his eyes. That bright, glazed look of pain was gone, replaced by a look of resolve.
“We can have that discussion now.” Something hard nudged my knee.
I looked down and despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the small handgun he held. “I must really be distracted,” I murmured. “I didn’t check you for other weapons and you had two—a blade and a Baby Glock. Your clinch piece, I assume.”
He bared his teeth in a parody of a smile, leveling the gut at my gut.
“Answer the question.”
“Did you ask one?” I reached for the rest of the whiskey and drained it, staring at him with a smirk. “Unless you’re talking about Tia, in which case, I did answer that one. She’s safe and already on a plane, due to land in less than ninety minutes in Knoxville.” I named the flight and airline number. “She checked in and boarded. She was worried her dog wouldn’t meet the qualifications for an emotional support animal, but Valkyrie passed with flying colors, or so I’m told.” Leo had taken care of the paperwork, including forging the needed documents, but such a task was child’s play for him, even if he had been out of the game for some time.”
“You sound rather certain on the details.”
“Do I? Perhaps it’s because I am.” I eyed the empty glass and pushed back.
“Sit down.” Bailey’s voice was hard as steel.
“I just want more whiskey.” I held up the glass. “You drank mine.”
“It’s my fucking whiskey and I told you to sit down.”
This was getting tedious. Holding his gaze, I rose. The gun followed me, his eyes narrowing. I could only imagine the wheels spinning inside his head. It was a calculated risk to turn my back and walk over to the wet bar, but I took it. There, I refilled my glass and took a sip, holding his gaze challengingly in the mirror.
“You’d think a born-and-bred killer like yourself would know better than to turn his back on a man holding a gun on him, especially one who would have no problem shooting him.”
“Ah, but you see, Bailey, you would have a problem.” I toasted him in the reflection. “You’re not the sort to shoot a man in the back.”
“If that man kidnapped my sister? Don’t bet on it.”
“I could point out that I did it to save her life,” I said.
His mouth twisted in a sneer.
Turning, I strolled across the floor, gesturing with the hand that held the bottle. “We could discuss what I’m sure you feel are valid arguments—she could have stayed with you and some such bullshit,” I said, coming to a stop in front of the bedroom door, right in front of the window.
“Sit your ass down,” he growled.
“I’m fine standing.” I took a deep drink of Johnnie, draining it this time and pouring another healthy serving. “You could have asked some of your Bureau friends to watch over her, but you and I both know O’Holloran has—or I should say had—a couple of agents on the payroll. His accountant has those names, by the way. And you’re welcome.”
“If you don’t sit the fuck down...” he snarled, advancing on me.
I threw the now-empty bottle and pounced, taking him to the ground and disarming him. He grunted in pain as I shoved my knee into his right elbow, pinning that arm.
“I did tell you that you should avoid further injury,” I said, giving the splint a critical once-over. It still looked secure, but I gave the cloth strips a few good tugs just to be sure.
Bailey closed his eyes, sweat popping out on his forehead once more. In a low, pained voice, he said, “I should have just shot you in the knee.”
“I would have been dead a minute later, so it wouldn’t have accomplished much.”
Shoving off him, I held out a hand. He eyed me with disgust, but reached up and let me pull him to his feet.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
I pointed to the windows that ran the length of western wall, save for the narrow partition separating the kitchenette from the bedroom. “See the building across the way? Wave and smile. A contact of mine is watching. If any authorities show up, I get a nice, neat hole in the head.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
I gave Theo a signal.
A second later, a red laser panned on the couch before slowing tracking over to me.
Bailey threw himself backward.
“What the fuck?”
I sent another signal. I didn’t bother to look. Theo was already pissed I’d made her agree to this, had even threatened to kill me just out of pure spite, but she’d never do it.
Judging by the look on Bailey’s face, he was still trying to figure out what was going on. Leaning against the armchair, staying in full sight of the window, I met his eyes.
“If you’re that ready to die, why do you keep disarming me?” he asked. “I’d be happy to help you end it.”
“But your sister wouldn’t be happy. And...no, I don’t think you’d shoot to kill, not unless you had no choice. It’s not in your make-up. You...value life.” I lifted a shoulder. “Personally, I’m in no rush to end up in a grave but...well, I had a feeling that talking to you would be a risky proposition and, as I’ve said, I’m not going to end up behind bars.”
“You don’t think you deserve it?” He shoved his back against the kitchen counter, shooting a look out of the corner of his eye at the window.
“That bullet isn’t meant for you.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’m having a hard time buying that.”
“I could have killed you at any time since you walked through that door.” Holding his gaze, I drew the Sig Sauer and leveled it on him. “I could kill you now, if that’s what I wanted.”
His lids flicked to the weapon.
“Do you think that’s what I’m here for? Really?”
Bailey’s eyes narrowed. Taut moments stretched out. “You said Tia wouldn’t be happy if I killed you. What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“Well, now. That’s what I want to discuss with you. Are you ready to talk now?”
He shot a look over at the wet bar, then at the empty glass lying by his foot. “Get me a fucking drink, then yeah, I’ll listen. I’m out of weapons for you to take away anyway.”
Chapter 28
Tia
“We need to talk.”
I’d heard those words from Mac so many times over the past three weeks, I almost thought he’d forgotten how to say anything else. I stared at him over the easel, gripping my paintbrush like a blade and telling myself that if I threw it, the inky black clinging to the bristles would splatter all over the place and I didn’t want the headache of cleaning up such a mess. Again.
I’d thrown any number of paintbrushes and canvases and palettes over the last month. The misery wasn’t getting any easier and I doubted my temper would level out any time soon.
Bianca had suggested I talk to a counselor.
I’d suggested she kiss my cute brown butt.
The hurt in her eyes had made me regret it and I’d apologized immediately, but after our lunch was over, I hadn’t talked to her and ended up canceling the next lunch date.
She didn’t get it.
And Mac definitely didn’t.
“Did you hear me?”
I stared at him, unblinking. The turbulent look in his eyes tugged at something in me, but I was already f
ighting more emotion than I knew how to handle. Looking back at the portrait, I struggled to control the sudden onslaught of tears.
“I’m not ready to talk yet, Mac,” I said quietly.
“That’s too bad.” Steel edged his words.
The tone caught me off-guard and I looked up at him, surprised. He’d been handling me with kid gloves ever since he’d picked me up from the local FBI office in Knoxville. After landing, with Leo’s watchful eye on me the entire time, I’d been whisked there from the airport without so much as a what’s up?
I was glad Leo hadn’t disembarked with me. He’d told me he wouldn’t, that the Knoxville stop had just been a layover for him and I trusted the clever old bastard knew how to cover his tracks, so I hadn’t worried about him.
Fortunately, the FBI didn’t even seem to realize he was in the picture. Maybe his history with them made him fly under the radar.
Or maybe they’d been too curious about my abductor.
My head still hurt if I thought about those endless hours of questioning. Mac’s intrusion had been a relief but I still wasn’t ready to talk about the time in Colorado.
Not that they knew I’d been in Colorado. I hadn’t even realized it until I’d spotted signs for cities like Fort Collins and Denver. At the time, I’d been too numb to wonder why Leo hadn’t blindfolded or drugged me, but as we drew nearer to the sprawling Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, the old man had filled me in.
“Spectre says he trusts you not to tell anybody where you’ve been. I’m figuring he’s right. Nobody can trace him to that house, except me...and now you. A world of hell would await that boy if anybody did track him down.”
As far as warnings went, it hadn’t been particularly subtle, but I didn’t do subtle well. Even without the warning, I wouldn’t have said anything.
Nobody would understand—
“Did you fall for this guy?”
At Mac’s question, I dropped the paintbrush. Sennelier’s Mars Black oil paint splattered across my feet and the material of my new green leggings that had the words HULK, SMASH in a textbook version of a comic font all over.
The question echoed in my head.
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