A sense of strange irony fills me. I should be quaking with fear, knowing the countdown on my clock is almost up. Grayson doesn’t spare his victims. He’s here to tie up a loose end, a variable he couldn’t have predicted when he killed my sister.
My actions forced him to hunt me quickly, not giving him adequate time to observe me, to develop a punishment tailored to my “sins”. Therefore, he wants me to provide the details for my own torturous death.
A mocking laugh slips out. “I didn’t think you were a liar.”
He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to.
Maybe it would be amusing to retrace my fumbling steps that brought me here. Why not? My last seconds should be given to Blakely, recounting our time together.
“Initially,” I say, “it was all for Mary. I was devoted to my purpose, to restore what you destroyed.”
“My psychologist would say you dissociated. Because deciding to experiment on people in the name of science, that’s right out of a Mary Shelley novel.”
“Oh, and torturing them with medieval devices for your own sick need is completely rational.” I turn my head to see a dark smile slant his mouth.
“We all have sick needs to fulfill,” he says. “Don’t fool yourself.”
An image of Blakely in the stairwell of my cabin flashes to mind. Shirt parted open, exposing the delicate swell of her breasts. Her green eyes large and imploring. Her body trembling beneath my exploratory touch.
Despite my ethical convictions that she was my subject, I craved her so badly it drove me mad.
I decide not to argue his point. “The project evolved. It became about needing to cure her for myself. So she could…” Love me sounds painfully pathetic, even if it’s true. “So she could have the capability to love.”
A curious expression crosses his face. “You’re in love with your subject.”
“I am, and it’s maddening. I needed to know beyond any doubt that the treatment worked. I needed verifiable proof that she’s capable of reciprocating my feelings. This is why I needed to duplicate the results on another subject, to have confirmation.”
Grayson tilts his head. “You might be the most delusional twist I’ve ever encountered, Chambers. Even if your insane experiment worked, that’s the worst possible outcome. There’s no way in hell this woman will feel anything but disdain for you after what you’ve done to her.” He releases a low chuckle. “You had more of a chance when she was a psychopath.”
“You know nothing about her.”
“I know human nature.”
“You’re highly intelligent, Sullivan, but I doubt you worked out all the nuances of the human condition all on your own.”
A heated flare ignites his eyes. A slight tic in his jaw.
A smile curls my lips. “You’re still in contact with your psychologist,” I say, working out the connection. “I’ve read about Dr. Noble. She’s very insightful. And not just that, she gave you information on me. Why?”
Even as I ask the question, the pieces start to come together. At his refusal to answer, I say, “It appears I’m not the only one pining for a woman out of my reach.”
Grayson’s expression closes off. “You may be a skilled scientist, but this is one area you shouldn’t dissect too closely.”
“I’m a dead man anyway, right? You came here to kill me. Indulge my curiosity.”
He pushes his thermal sleeves up, revealing the scars and tattoos that cover his arms. I’m drawn to the artwork, the puzzle pieces, questioning what they represent.
“There are consequences for our actions,” Grayson says, rolling the chair forward. “Every action has a reaction. That’s your science. You set your death into motion. Whether it’s by my hand or another.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can’t kill a man like Ericson Daverns without major fallout.”
A sick feeling gnaws at my stomach. I calculate all the angles, what I might have missed, what I didn’t analyze or configure.
It doesn’t shock me that he’s drawn his own educated conclusions, but he didn’t point the finger directly at Blakely. He’s not entirely sure who killed Ericson.
I have more than one reason for selecting my subjects from her book of revenge, and that’s to protect her. If she ever tries to turn herself in, the connection to the other murders—ones I plan to pin on a more believable subject—will discredit her claim.
I just need the murder weapon.
“Brewster,” I say in response to his statement. Ericson’s dirty client. The man with more seedy ties in this city than the mob.
I lost track of this player and didn’t consider him any type of threat once Ericson’s case was suspected as a mugging. What I failed to consider was how much money Ericson moved for his client—how much money Brewster potentially lost when his financial adviser was suddenly taken out of existence.
This puts Blakely in danger.
Grayson crosses his arms, a knowing look on his face. “For a man of so specific calculations, you’re extremely narrow when considering your variables.”
That might be the biggest insult he’s delivered against me so far.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Maybe I hold a small measure of respect for you. Or maybe I pity you.” He stands to hover over the gurney. “I know how a woman can twist your head.”
There’s a scathing slight on the tip of my tongue about his psychologist, but I swallow it down. If I don’t get free, then Blakely is either at the mercy to this fiend, or Brewster.
Neither of those scenarios will happen.
Grayson glances around my lab. “I noticed you have some sick hard-on for clocks,” he says. “It’s strange that you don’t have any here.”
“I’m trying to break a bad habit,” I say, my tone flat.
He nods slightly, weighing some thought, before he looks down at me. “What would you do with more time, Dr. Chambers?”
I hold his measuring gaze, knowing this is a trick question, but I have to answer regardless.
“I’d protect the woman I love,” I say honestly.
“That’s vague.”
I shake my head against the bedding, becoming increasingly more agitated by the restraints limiting my mobility. “I’d frame Brewster for the murders.”
Since the second he revealed Brewster as a dangerous variable, the plan was already formulating. Brewster has a connection to Ericson. It wouldn’t be difficult to find other connections between this man and Blakely’s other revenge targets—or to create them.
Knowing his reputation, Brewster is likely already being monitored by a government entity, and time is already working against him. The right people just need concrete evidence.
I can offer them that.
Blakely would be safe, and Grayson would then have no reason to eliminate either of us. He’d no longer be connected to any of the murders.
“Two birds, one stone,” I say, a cliché oversimplification of my plan.
He seems to appreciate this as his eyebrow arches in approval. He picks up the scalpel and sets it aside on the metal table. “So we’re very clear, this offer of time isn’t for you. I like games. Makes things more interesting.”