“He told us that you were the one behind the plot. That you shot the colonel.”
A weird, high laugh escapes me. He’s trying to scare me, and the strange part is, it’s working. Not because I believe him. I don’t. My faith in Elijah has never been more sure, but it’s terrifying to realize how easily the U.S. government can lie. “I don’t believe you. You won’t give me the details, you won’t show me where he is. You won’t take me to him.”
He barely manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes.
For a heartbeat he looks like a bug, staring at me so he won’t slump down in his seat and groan at how tedious this all is. It would be a relief, in a way, for this situation to be boring and commonplace and not an enormous victory for them.
Well, they already got Elijah. They got me, and I couldn’t stop them. I’m not going to give them anything else.
I don’t let myself think about the ways they might take it from me. My teeth ache from clenching them together. I want to repeat myself. Damn those old, people-pleasing instincts. I don’t do it.
“Fine.” He stands up and looms over me. Worry whispers over the place where my spine meets my skull. “If you won’t tell me about Elijah, maybe your sister will be more forthcoming. They’ve met, haven’t they?”
Fear runs cold over my skin. “You don’t know anything about my sister.”
He gives a slight grimace. “And I’d love to leave her out of it, but how can I do that when you won’t cooperate with me? I need answers, Holly, one way or another.”
“I thought Elijah was already talking. You said that. That he was betraying me. So why do you need answers from me, too?”
Annoyance flashes through his eyes. He doesn’t like that I’ve caught him in his own web, but he recovers quickly enough. “He’s busy spinning a story in the room next door. He wants us to believe that it’s all your fault, that you’re some kind of international spy, but I don’t believe that, Holly. I don’t. I think you’re just a girl who got caught up in a bad situation.”
You could say that. I lived an ordinary life before this, but if I had never gotten on that plane to France, if I had never been kidnapped by Adam Bisset, I never would have found Elijah again. I’m not sure I would undo the past even if I could. “So if I’m just an ordinary girl in a bad situation, why am I sitting in chains right now?”
More annoyance. “I need answers. Understand?”
“You haven’t asked a question.”
“Who is Elijah North working for? Who gave him orders to kill the colonel?”
I swallow hard, knowing there’s no way out of this. Elijah was right about that. He understood what was coming better than I did. They think there’s some plot to take down the government, and it doesn’t matter that they’re wrong. We can never prove our innocence. It’s an impossible task. Maybe I deserve to be free for shooting a person as despicable and violent as the colonel. Or maybe I deserve to be locked up for the rest of my life. I’m far more afraid that there’s a different fate waiting for me, though. That’s what Elijah was worried about. The low flickering lights make it feel like we’re deep in a bunker somewhere. We drove far out of the city before getting here. No one knows where we are. Even if London had the resources to look for me, she wouldn’t know where to start.
The easiest thing to do is simply make us disappear.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Elijah
This beating is for amateurs.
If I was in charge of this and not Blue Shirt, I’d have built in some time for anticipation. These guys went right for the physical violence. That’s a fine strategy, except for the fact that they didn’t play any foundational mind games first. It’s nothing but Holly, Holly, Holly and fists to the face. The electric shocks were an interesting twist but it turned out they got squeamish earlier than I would have.
The whole thing is taking too long.
My hands are behind my back again, and they’ve tipped the chair forward to kick my stomach from new angles. I’ve decided to start making more noise just so they think some progress is happening.
I would have taught them to do better.
I would have had the information inside an hour. It’s about increasing the pain in slow increments, not battering a person until it’s all the same to them whether they live or die.
Another knee connects below my ribs. This time the bloom of pain is different. Uh-oh.
Facts are facts: if someone hits you hard enough, for long enough, some internal bleeding is the result. There’s a maximum limit that any one person can take. Another blow, this time directly on ribs, cracks one of them and interrupts my thought process. Oh, right—I don’t have much time left.
At this rate, Blue Shirt is going to underestimate the damage and accidentally kill me.
Even so.
I bide my time until they let the chair fall backward. This is the second time my head has broken the fall and I feel it in my teeth. Let them think that a bruised skull is what finally makes me suck in a breath. “Okay. Okay, okay.”
Blue Shirt looks like a demon with a halo. Disappointment flickers across his face. He’s got his boot poised over my already-cracked rib. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Over the course of our interrogation I’ve learned that the man is not actually Army but a Paramilitary Operations Officer with the CIA. His name is Joseph LeGrange, and his youngest wants a kitten for Christmas. He’s given me more information than I’ve given him.
He brings the boot down anyway and this time I taste copper. “I said okay, motherfucker.”
“Pick him up.”
The three of them maneuver me into an upright position. Zero points for creativity. Tipping over a fucking chair is effective, but it’s not awe-inspiring. The only thing I’ve ever been awed by is Holly.
The prisoner’s dilemma has one fatal flaw. Thinking of Holly reminds me of that. The prisoner’s dilemma assumes both prisoners want the best deal for themselves. I don’t want that. I’ve known from the minute they dragged me in here that I wasn’t walking back out again. So a good deal for me is the least of my worries.
Holly’s freedom is the only thing that matters.
The only thing.
I ignore the grasping, aching urge to touch her again and spend a few more moments pretending to compose myself. The one thing they haven’t tried is offering to let me see her again. It strikes me as a huge oversight, but then again, Blue Shirt is an idiot.
“I shot the colonel.” I keep my eyes on Blue Shirt’s while I say it. He’s the kind of fool who will take the eye contact at face value, even after all the fun time we’ve spent together. “I brought the gun to the apartment, planning to take that bastard out.”
“That’s not all you did.” Blue Shirt rubs a hand over his knuckles and I swallow a sigh. I’m already confessing. Jesus Christ.
“Hell no. I kidnapped Holly.” I let a big, crazy smile spread over my face, showing them bloody teeth. It’s a half-genuine smile. Being with Holly at all, for any amount of time, is what makes this bearable. “I kidnapped her and I held her hostage.”
A sneer curls the corner of his mouth. “You sick bastard.”