"Hold up," Harley says. "Do you have anything I can play music on?"
"You want to listen to music right now?" I ask her, confused why she’d ask something so odd at a time like this.
"No, dumbass. You’re playing with interrogation methods, but not executing them properly."
Bingo.
"How so?" I ask her.
"Music ... headphones and a phone? Do you have those items?"
"I’ll be right back," I tell her. I don’t know what she’s doing or what her plan is, but I have this platform prepared for her to prove her skills, and I’ll give her whatever tools she apparently needs.
"Thanks," she says.
I return to the room, finding her in the same spot, studying our unconscious subject. "Here," I tell her, handing over a spare phone and a set of noise-canceling headphones.
Harley takes the items from my hand. "Does this have internet?" She asks.
"Yeah, why?"
"There’s a clip on YouTube …" She seems lost in her own thought, and I’m curious as to what she’s talking about.
"YouTube?" I ask her.
"Yeah, I just need some music," she says.
"For … torture?" It’s the only thought I can come up with.
"Not exactly, but close," she says. She takes a minute to set up whatever she’s doing on the iPod and places the headphones over Norm’s head. "We should leave him until tomorrow now. After a few hours of listening to this, you’ll get him to give you the information you’re looking for."
"That wasn’t my plan," I tell her.
"Okay, well whatever your plan is, I’m sure this will help," she says without arguing.
"Fine. Go for it." I’m intrigued by whatever she’s playing through the headphones and her prediction of what a few hours will do. "What’s the music you’re playing?"
"Just something I heard of once," she says. "It’s just a random video that had a lot of hype and buzz a couple years back."
I have no clue what she’s talking about. "I’ll follow your lead," I tell her.
"That’s surprising," she mutters.
Agent Roberts sent me these shitheads to use as test subjects for when I find suspects that could be Isabelle, but each convict he sent me is worse than the last. Granted, most of them come from death row, but they all have this no-fucks-given attitude because they're already out of hope and it just makes this job harder, which I suppose is the point to all of this, but I'm getting nowhere fast with Harley here.
I open the door and wave her out into the hall. "Where to?" she asks.
Most people wouldn't be okay with the shit she's seen today, yet Harley appears to be just fine. "I'll show you to your room," I tell her.
We walk silently through the warehouse and up the steps that lead to the hotel’s lobby. "I'll be staying here?" she asks as we head toward the elevators.
"Is there a problem with that?" I ask.
"No," she says, sounding hesitant.
"What is running through your mind at this very moment?" I ask her, keeping my voice low as we reach the sectioned-off area where several elevators are lined up.
"What’s going through my mind?" she snickers. "Hmm … that I'm going to wake up to a shitload of trouble tomorrow morning, thanks to you and your commitment to torture."
I hit the button for the elevator and clasp my hands behind my back as we wait. "You’re wrong," I tell her.
"Good to know," she says as the elevator doors part. Harley walks in first and turns to lean against the railing in the back right corner. The second the doors close us inside, she takes a step closer to me. "Yes or no. Are you going to kill me?" Her words come out in nothing more than a breath. They shouldn't shock me, but I wasn't expecting her to ask me this so directly.
Am I going to kill her? No, that's not the plan, even if she is Isabelle Hammel. I'm not the one who needs something from Isabelle. I'm just the hamster running on a spinning wheel. "No, I'm not going to do anything of the sort," I tell her.
"Is Everett going to kill me?" she continues.
"No," I reply, scornfully. Everett of all people would be the last one to hurt anyone. I don’t think he’d ever have the balls, which is why I’ll be continuing to execute the interrogations with Harley.
"Then, who is?" I twist my head and look down at her, noticing the foot difference between our heights. Isabelle was always in the class before I was and never left when the time was up. We never stood side-by-side, and I have no clue how tall she is. At the time, I didn't think I would ever need to search for any unique features on her face or body. I only noticed her matted freckles, bright eyes, and hair I thought about combing my fingers through more times in a period of an hour than I did listening to anything being taught. I didn't know her at all, but her beauty was entrancing.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I tell her. I want to just spit it out and fucking ask her if she's Isabelle, but I know exactly what will happen if I do that. She'll run. Evidently, that's what Isabelle does.
"Just testing you," she says.
Her words offer me relief, but I don't think my response offers her the same. She doesn't trust me, and I don't know who the hell she really is, so we aren't off to a great start.
The doors open and I lead her down a long hall before we reach the room I have reserved for her.
I reach into my back pocket and pull the keycard out, flashing it in front of the small door scanner. The bolts release and I open the door. "Here you are," I say, holding my hand against the door as I reach the card over with my other hand. She takes the key and walks in past me.
"What, no turndown service?" she says with a soft chuckle
"Good night, Harley," I reply, ignoring her joke.
"Harley Salem," she announces. "That’s my full name. You know, in case you need it for your hitman."
I lean in through the doorway before leaving. "I already told you I wasn't going to kill you, but rest assured, if I was, I wouldn't need a hitman to do so." I step back out into the hall and release her door. "Oh, and plan to meet at eight tomorrow morning," is the last thing I say to her before the closed door separates us.
I stare at the door for a long second, understanding the trouble that’s about to ensue because Harley or Isabelle is going to cause me a world of problems I’m not sure I’m prepared for.
I have spent days, nights, and weeks learning interrogation tactics. It was part of the police investigation and psychology program I took while I was in rehab. I found it interesting and needed something to pass the days, so I took every course offered to me. The police part was a joke seeing as I’d never be hired by a police department with the incriminating records I have, but I was pissed off to be stuck where I was, and the only people to blame for that were a police officer and a psychiatrist. I couldn't figure out how I ended up in rehab without a fair trial and I didn't know my rights or what metrics a doctor would employ to deem someone mentally unstable, but I was determined to understand it all.
I understand everything perfectly now. The judicial system isn't based on fairness. It's all about who you know and how the right person can be benefited. That's why I'm here now.
11
Harley
When I open my eyes, I'll know whether yesterday was a long freakish dream or an even longer nightmare. The sheets I'm lying on smell fresh, and the satin finish is a sensation I hardly remember. Even the plushness beneath me is almost too soft compared to what I'm used to, but I might be happy never moving again. The heaviness of my eyelids forces me to sink further into the mess of pillows as I stretch my arms and legs wildly to the sides, trying my best to take up this impossibly large bed.
With moments of comfort drowning in the memories of what I witnessed and participated in yesterday, I pull myself up against the headboard, still refusing to open my tired eyes. I don't understand any of this—anything that happened—or anything that could be waiting for me today. With the millions of thoughts running through my head, regret is somethi
ng I'm not feeling. I want to think this is a lucky break, but watching people suffer is horrible, so this can’t be considered luck.
I press open my eyelids, squinting against the brightness of the sun spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks Boston Harbor. The space surrounding me is even whiter during the day than I noticed last night. It’s kind of like I'm living on a cloud right now, but the cloud is hovering over a warehouse containing God knows how many confined people.
Maybe I need something normal right now. Or a distraction. That could help. I reach for the remote on the mahogany nightstand and power on the TV.
I flick through the channels for a minute, finding only a select few that have a clear picture. For such a nice hotel, they have a shitty cable selection. I haven’t watched TV in more than eight months now, and I’m not sure I was missing much.
As I flip back and forth between the few channels, I stumble upon a Breaking News banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen. After the blur within my eyes clear up, I read the words. Then I re-read them a few more times because I need to convince myself I’m seeing it all correctly.
Norm Santiago confesses to bombing the US Embassy in Mexico City. Santiago is currently in custody.
I whip my head around, looking for the time. It's only 7:45 a.m., and they already have him in custody? Does that mean the music worked? I didn’t think it would work since it wasn’t a legit ensemble of the psychotherapy music. How did that all happen so fast? What the hell?
The news shows the back of a man walking between two FBI agents, hands cuffed, and a black shirt over his head. The U.S. Embassy? This is exactly what I need to avoid, which is why I shouldn’t have turned on the damn TV. I power the thing off before falling back into the pillows and lean over to the nightstand for the room service menu. Don't mind if I do.
There isn't much to choose from, but everything looks incredible, even after my huge meal last night. I may need to eat like that for the next few months just to catch up after starving for so long.
A loud thud against the door startles me into tossing the menu toward the end of the bed. Fuck! Not that I wasn't expecting Axel to show up at the ass crack of dawn, but he doesn't need to scare the shit out of me. "Jesus! I'm coming."
"Jesus is coming?" A voice yells in. It's not Axel's voice. I think it's Everett, which I wasn't expecting either. I clamber out of bed, noticing I'm only in a t-shirt and panties. Yeah, opening the door like this would probably be the worst idea ever. I search around the room for my jeans and find them draped over the desk chair. I was in such a fog last night that I hardly remember getting ready for bed, never mind recalling where I put my belongings.
I open the door, knowing I look like I just crawled out of bed … because, well ... "I wasn't expecting to see you here," I tell Everett, who’s leaning against the wall across my room with two coffees in his hands.
"I can drink both if you'd like," he says, toeing off the wall with his brown, leather boot. He wasn’t dressed as well as Axel yesterday, but he was presentable; whereas today, he has on a white t-shirt and torn jeans. I know it's not Sunday, so I guess I'm a bit confused.
"No, I'd kill for a coffee … "
"Wouldn't put that past you," he says, walking into my room.
"Funny," I mutter, snagging one of the Starbucks cups. "Where's Axel?"
Everett scratches under his nose and makes his way over to the window. "He's a little tied up today. He told me to tell you to do what you wanted for the day and meet back here for dinner at six."
"He couldn't tell me himself? Does he have people to do everything for him?" I press.
"I'm not his person," he corrects me. "We're partners."
"Like, ‘partners, partners,’" I say, using air quotes, "or like he tells you what to do kind of partners … though I do suppose those questions can have the same answer."
Everett turns around with a sneer and furrowed brows. "I meant, we started working together, doing all of this at the same time."
"All of this? Does this have a name?" I ask. "Just curious since, as you know, I'm somewhat employed by a 'company' with no apparent name, or so it seems."
"Our work doesn't need a name," he says. "I ordered you breakfast, by the way. It should be up here in about five minutes. I didn't know what you'd want, so I ordered everything. That way, you can choose, and I'll just eat whatever you don't want."
I sit down at the edge of my bed and take a sip from the steaming coffee cup, inhaling the incredible roasted aroma. I have missed this smell. "You're having breakfast with me, in my hotel room?"
"You answered the door without a bra on and your white t-shirt isn't as thick as you think it is, so I think we're past the awkwardness, huh?"
Peering down at myself, I'm quick to grab a pillow from behind me and clutch it against my chest. Heat rushes through my cheeks, but the fact that he's laughing at me causes my embarrassment to turn to anger. "I still had fifteen minutes you know …"
"Always expect the unexpected," he says, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Is everything okay with Axel?" I ask.
"Why, you worried about him?"
"Didn't know if I should be concerned with what he's doing? I don't even know him well enough to be concerned with him as a person."
"Sure," he says, patronizing me.
"So, did you come here to just annoy me? Because I can order my own breakfast, just in case you weren’t sure."
"I came up to get to know our newest man," he says, smirking against the rim of his cup.
I'm not falling into his trap of clarifying the difference between a man and a woman, but I’m aware he's trying to get under my skin just as Axel was doing yesterday. Both are incredibly immature.
Room service knocks on the door between his rude comment and my lack of response, so I hold my pillow where it is as I jog to the door.
A man rolls in with two carts loaded with food, and I’m already so hungry again that I might eat every morsel of it without concern for saving any of it for Everett. The room-service guy places the cart in front of the bed and leaves without a word. Following the slamming sound of the closing door, Everett pulls up a chair to the opposite side of the cart. "I'm starving," he says.
"I thought you said you were going to eat whatever I don't want?"
"Yeah?" he questions.
"Well, I might want all of it," I tell him.
"I'd get full just by watching you try to eat all of this," he says with a laugh.
Still holding my pillow, I eyeball the food then Everett. "Did Axel tell you to babysit me today?"
"That's not something you should be worried about," he says, his voice lowering an octave.
Whatever. "I need a minute. Don’t touch the food." I get up and close myself inside of the bathroom, finding my bra on the floor. Then I spot a complimentary toothbrush with toothpaste. Perfect. If only I had a complimentary reflection right now this morning wouldn't be so bad. I tie my hair up, brush my teeth and slip the bra on before returning to my hot meal.
Of course, when I come out, I find Everett eating off one of the plates. "Come on!"
"Oh, you found your bra?" he teases.
I chuck the pillow at him, forcing him to drop his fork.
With a firm hand on the rolling tray, I pull it over to the edge of the bed where I make myself comfortable. "Mmm," I moan during my first bite.
"To answer your question, no, Axel did not ask me to babysit you. He told me to tell you he had some things to handle and to meet him back here at six tonight."
"So, why are you still here?" I ask him.
He looks at me for a long moment, as if he's trying to figure out the answer, but instead of answering, he continues eating from the plate he’s already ravaged. "Will you need anything today?" he asks.
Between large bites, I answer with a mouthful. "Lunch," I tell him.
Everett leans to the side and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, rummaging through it for a minute befo
re tossing a black credit card at me. "That should cover it."
"Seriously?" I ask, my mouth still full, and my eyes wide with shock.
"I trust you'll only be buying lunch with it and not a new Mercedes or something stupid. If you did, I'd be forced to stop my ever-so-busy schedule to find you and teach you how to dispose of a vehicle, which would be sad if it was a nice car." He's smiling, yet his words are a little frightening.
"Lunch is all I need," I tell him. "Maybe cab fare too."
"There’s this thing called Uber now, you know?" He pulls out a fifty and tosses that to me, as well. "In any case, are you going anywhere fun?"
"Thanks for the tip. I heard the Uber drivers are nuts, though, so I just stick with the crazy cab drivers in this city. Besides that, who knows where the day will bring me."
"Hey hey, easy on the Uber drivers—just saying. Anyway … look, can I trust you or what? You don't seem like the type I'd have to hover over," he asks in a leveling manner.
I think about his question for a long minute, mentally scrolling through some of my memories. I don't think I've ever been untrustworthy—possibly unethical, but those are two completely different things in my head. "I have nothing to gain by breaking whatever kind of trust this is. I'm hungry and you people are offering food and a place to sleep."
"Well, we also give you hot guys to look at too. Plus, the endless credit cards and a ton of questionable excitement!"
"Right," I agree with an annoyed nod. I'm a little disappointed in myself, not being able to take on another plate, but my stomach feels like it may explode if I eat any more.
"You gonna eat that?" he asks, pointing the tip of his fork at another plate.
I stand up from the bed and glance at the mirror hanging over the writing desk. "Axel said I'd be taken care of, and I have no other clothes. Will something be brought to me or should I— "
Darkest Perception_A Dark and Mind-Blowing Steamy Romance Page 6