He narrows his eyes at my tone of contempt. He grinds his jaw for a while. It reminds me of Declan. I miss him with a sharp, sudden ache.
“Declan O’Donnell,” says Mountain Man again. “Tell me about him.”
“Never heard of him. So how long have you been in the FBI? Or is it the CIA? I bet they have really good health benefits. Looks like their dress code has gotten a little lax, but I really only know anything about the federal government from the movies. Have you seen the Jason Bourne franchise? Love that guy. So intense.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Who? Oh, the Declan guy again? I already told you, I have no idea who that is.”
Mountain Man snaps, “We’ve been watching you. We know you’re involved with him. We picked you up on his property.”
“Listen, I’m just on vacation. I took a drive into the ritzy part of town and decided to take a walk on somebody’s beach. Is that against the law here? We do it all the time in California. Then again, it is a very progressive state.”
“We have pictures of you together,” he says hotly, trying not to lose his patience.
I shrug. “Wasn’t me.”
There follows a long, stony silence. I take the opportunity to examine his forearm tattoos more closely.
“What is that, a Druid? Kind of looks like Gandalf from Lord of the Rings.”
The door opens. Another man walks in.
This one is in a dark suit, a striped tie, and cuff links. He’s got a full head of pewter hair and a face like a slab of granite. His Oxfords could blind me with their shine.
“Oh, look, Mountain Man, senior management has arrived. Guess you weren’t doing such a stellar job interrogating your prisoner.”
Closing the door behind him with brisk efficiency, the new guy takes a moment to assess me. Then he presents me with a smile as friendly as a rabid dog baring its teeth.
“Hello, Miss Keller.”
He has no discernable accent, but he does have the strangest way of drawing out the syllables so that it seems like he’s testing a new language. As if he’s a copy of a human, not a real one, an alien trying to fit in.
“Oh wow, I totally just got a flashback from the scene in the Matrix where Agent Smith questions Neo about his involvement with Morpheus. You sound exactly like him. Look like him, too. Except you’re a lot older. And we need to get you a pair of dark sunglasses to cover those beady eyes.”
Mountain Man and the suit share a look. The suit says, “I’ll take over from here, Grayson.”
“Grayson? Wow, that’s a very cool name. I bet you were super popular in high school.”
Grayson does something strange with his mouth. I think he’s trying not to smile, but I could be imagining things.
He exits the room, leaving me alone with the suit.
“Miss Keller, my name is Thomas Aquinas.”
“Bullshit. Like the Italian philosopher?”
“Yes.”
“How random. Please, continue.”
He clasps his hands behind his back and strolls over to the metal desk, which he perches on, swinging a leg back and forth. It’s a very unmanly posture, and does nothing to raise my nonexistent level of fear.
“Miss Keller, we’re aware of your involvement with the Russian Bratva. We’re also aware of your involvement with the Irish Mob. These are indisputable facts, and well-documented, so please do me the kindness of dispensing with your ploy of innocence.”
I admire his vocabulary. That rabid-dog smile, however, I could do without.
He continues like he’s a pompous university professor giving a lecture that all his students are sleeping through. “According to the Patriot Act, I have the authority to keep you here indefinitely. As a terrorist operative and enemy combatant, you have no rights. Your entire future rests solely in my hands. Please consider all that carefully before you respond to my questions.”
He pauses to give me some time to decide if I’d like to start crying and begging.
I yawn instead.
“How did you become involved with Declan O’Donnell?”
“I have no idea who that is.”
His expression sours. It’s a feat, considering he’s got a face like a toilet bowl. He snaps his fingers, and two enormous men enter the room.
They’re both dressed in military fatigues and combat boots. They’re both the size of mountains. One of them carries a manila folder in his meaty hand, which he gives to the suit. Then they flank the mirrored glass, spread their legs, clasp their hands over their crotches, and look at me.
The one on the right licks his lips.
I bet he’s the one who does the waterboarding.
From the manila folder, the suit removes an eight-by-ten photograph. He holds it up for me to see. It’s a black-and-white shot of me and Declan getting into his giant helicopter.
“This is you.”
“Are you kidding? I’d never wear those jeans. Totally last season.”
He holds out another picture, this one of Declan and me in the kitchen the night of the ill-conceived poker party. Declan is holding my face in his hands. It looks like he’s shouting, which he was.
How creepy that they’ve been watching us. Photographing us together. It gives me chills.
Oh god. Did we have the drapes open when we had sex?
“This is you.”
“No. But whoever that poor girl is, I feel sorry for her. That guy is screaming right into her face. Looks like a lunatic, if you ask me.”
“Oh, he’s undoubtedly a lunatic,” agrees the suit, nodding. “To the best of our knowledge, he’s killed more than thirty-five men. And those are the ones we know about.”
He looks at me expectantly.
I say, “Sounds like he’s got a lot of unresolved issues. I suggest anger management classes.”
He sets the folder and photographs aside. He folds his hands in his lap. He says calmly, “Your father is a patriot. Exceptional man. Exceptional military career. It would be such a pity if he were stripped of all his honors and thrown into prison for aiding and abetting a terrorist.”
My dislike for this guy takes an elevator down to pure hatred, where it disembarks and settles in. I stare at him, all traces of humor vanished.
“Threatening my family isn’t going to work.”
“No? So you’d like your little sister, Riley, to spend some quality time with my associate here, Lance Corporal McAllister?” He gestures to the lip licker, who produces a lascivious grin.
Lance. Of course he had to be a lance corporal, the fucking asshole.
When I don’t respond, the suit says, “Or how about your older brother, Drew? Perhaps his law practice needs a review from the state bar. I understand his ethics are what you’d call lacking. Something about sex with clients? Embezzling money? Bribing jurors?”
“Nice try. My brother’s ethics are pristine.”
He smiles his rabid-dog smile. “I’m sure we can manufacture something convincing.”
“I’m sure you could. Government workers are always manufacturing some kind of bullshit to cover up their incompetence.”
His smile grows wider. He knows I’m angry now. He smells blood in the air.
“And what about your friend, Natalie?” he says softly, eyes glittering. “How do you think she’d enjoy celebrating the rest of her birthdays inside a prison cell, thanks to you?”