by Jenna Black
“I don’t care if it was bubonic plague,” Mosely said while Nadia was still trying to regain her composure. “Time is of the essence, and you don’t seem to be treating your mission with the proper sense of urgency.”
Nadia looked up to meet his gaze again, and although what she saw there made her shiver inside, she was pretty sure that this time she kept her fear from showing on her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mosely,” she said in her most practiced Executive voice. “I know how urgent it is, and I’ll work harder at getting Nate to talk to me.” The promise made her feel vaguely nauseous, and she wasn’t sure how she would force herself to do what she was being asked, but she’d worry about that later. For now, she had to make sure Mosely left this meeting satisfied.
“You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I’ll do what I can. But you have to remember, Mr. Mosely, you’re working with an amateur here. I don’t have any way of making Nate talk to me if he doesn’t want to.” Which was true enough. And it was possible he wouldn’t want to talk to her about whatever he was doing to try to find Bishop. It wasn’t as if he would think she could help him.
“Still not good enough,” Mosely said. “I have evidence that Nathaniel visited the Basement last night.”
Nadia’s jaw dropped open. “What?” She knew Nate had been to the Basement before with his friends—it was a rare Executive teenage boy who hadn’t—and she suspected he and Bishop had gone there as a couple, but she couldn’t imagine even someone as reckless as Nate going to the Basement alone.
Mosely chuckled at her shock. “I take that to mean he didn’t tell you he was planning to go poking around.”
“Certainly not!” Going to the Basement with a group of his friends and a legion of bodyguards was one thing, but she’d never have guessed he’d go there alone. He had to have been in disguise. Nadia couldn’t even imagine what would happen to an Executive of his stature if the Basement predators got their hands on him.
Of course, the Basement was the only place Bishop could possibly be hiding. He’d been born there, and no doubt still had contacts there. Not to mention that the average Basement-dweller wasn’t overly eager to cooperate with authorities and turn fugitives in.
“Scrip that is registered to him has shown up there,” Mosely continued. “I don’t like the idea of our Chairman Heir traipsing around the Basement unobserved and alone. Paxco has already had to swallow an enormous expense in creating this Replica; the last thing the state needs is to be forced to do it again.”
“If you think I can talk Nate out of going to the Basement, you don’t—”
“No, of course not,” Mosely interrupted. “You’ve already proven how little influence you have on him.”
Nadia’s face went hot, and she hated that she couldn’t contradict him.
“Besides,” Mosely continued, “while it might be … uncomfortable to think of our Chairman Heir putting himself in harm’s way, I suspect it is our best chance of finding Mr. Bishop. I have, of course, interviewed many of my contacts in the Basement in hopes of locating him, but I haven’t yet learned anything of great import.” He gave her a dry, cold smile. “Basement-dwellers are, as I’m sure you know, rarely forthcoming with authority figures.”
Nadia hugged herself, remembering the ease with which Mosely had threatened her with Riker’s Island. If he could wield such threats against an Executive, who knew how gruesome a threat he could wield against a powerless Basement-dweller? Had those he’d “interviewed” survived the encounter?
Mosely laughed, his eyes sparkling with genuine amusement, and Nadia realized she was once again wearing her emotions on her face, something she couldn’t seem to keep from doing in Mosely’s presence.
“I think I’ve given you a rather exaggerated impression of my depravity,” he said, still smiling. “I won’t hesitate to do whatever is necessary to find the man who killed our Chairman Heir, but torturing random Basement-dwellers would be counterproductive. Someone who knows nothing about Mr. Bishop’s whereabouts would happily, desperately make something up under torture just to make it stop. I have no moral objection to torture, but to be a practical and efficient use of my time and energy, it must be used judiciously. Which means I need to have some idea who might have information. And that’s where Nathaniel comes in. Friends of Mr. Bishop’s might talk to him more candidly than they would to me or my men.”
Nadia frowned. “But he would have been in disguise when he went, right? Even Nate isn’t reckless enough to waltz into the Basement at night by himself if he thought anyone would recognize him.”
“True.”
“So why would anyone talk to a complete stranger about Bishop?”
Mosely shrugged. “They might if the price was right. And even if no one does, it would be informative to know whom he chooses to contact, since I believe he knows more about Mr. Bishop’s previous life than he has revealed to anyone.”
Nadia looked away, hoping to hide the chill of revulsion Mosely’s statement inspired. He might have stopped short of torturing random Basement-dwellers for information, but anyone Nate contacted would be in serious danger if Mosely found out about it.
“I bet you’re wondering where you fit into this picture,” Mosely said, and Nadia reluctantly forced herself to face him once more.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slim envelope. “Naturally, you will do your best to persuade Nathaniel to tell you as many details of his trip to the Basement as you can manage. Especially names of people he’s spoken to.” He opened the envelope and slid a tiny disc out of it, smaller than the nail on Nadia’s pinkie. “This is a tracking device. It will give us real-time information on Nathaniel’s location at all times. You will find a way to plant it on him—I’d suggest in his wallet, or something else he habitually carries with him—and the next time he goes to the Basement, we will know. And we will follow.”
He held the device out to Nadia, but she didn’t reach for it, could only stare as her stomach shriveled. Recounting things to Mosely that Nate told her in confidence was a terrible enough betrayal, but planting a tracking device on him … She couldn’t. Especially when she considered what would happen to all the people Nate talked to when Mosely got hold of them.
Mosely’s free hand darted out and grabbed Nadia’s wrist. She reflexively tried to pull away, but he squeezed so hard she couldn’t help crying out.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said as he forced the tracker into her palm and then squeezed her fingers closed around it. “We both know you have no choice.”
Nadia shook her head. “I can’t,” she breathed, hardly able to force any sound out of her mouth.
“You will.” Mosely let go of her wrist and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Do we have an understanding?”
Dread coiled in Nadia’s gut, cold and tight and hard. Mosely’s eyes were dilated, his nostrils flared. If ever Nadia had doubted that he enjoyed his work, the look in his eyes now proved it. Any sensible person would back down while she had the chance, and Nadia had always been a sensible person.
Which was why she was almost as surprised as Mosely when her fingers opened and the tracker rolled off her palm and onto the floor. Her chest was too tight and her mouth too dry for her to voice her refusal, but he got the message just the same.
“You are an ignorant, foolish child,” he told her, then drove his fist into her stomach and let go of her chin.
Nadia would have screamed at the sudden, shocking pain, if she’d had any air left in her lungs. Instead, she made a strangled sound and fell to her knees, both arms wrapped around her middle as she bent in half and tried without success to breathe.
“I don’t need to take you to Riker’s Island to hurt you,” Mosely said. “And I can hurt you in ways that won’t leave any marks. You’ll never be able to prove I laid hands on you. And who would believe a spoiled teenager over Paxco’s chief of security?�
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If Nadia could breathe, she would have screamed for help. No matter how scared everyone was of Mosely, they certainly wouldn’t stand idly by and let him hit her in her own home.
Mosely squatted in front of her. “But maybe you’re one of those martyr types. Maybe now that you’re no longer ill and feverish, you figure you should stand by your quaint little principles, no matter what the consequences to yourself.”
A little air found its way into Nadia’s lungs, and she managed a whimper of sound. Barely enough for Mosely to hear, never mind the household staff.
“But what about your loved ones, Miss Lake? Are you willing to risk them as well?”
Nadia gasped in a little more air. Tears of pain blurred her vision, but not enough to hide Mosely’s smile.
“Maybe I should have your sister Geraldine’s home searched for contraband,” he mused. “We both know there will be plenty to find. I can arrest her and her husband for dealing with the black market.”
Nadia shook her head. “Can’t!” she gasped. If Paxco prosecuted every Executive who dabbled in the black market, the state would go bankrupt from the enormous expense of it—and there wouldn’t be a single Executive left to run the government.
“Of course I can, Miss Lake. Why do you think Paxco turns such a blind eye toward the black market in the first place? True, enforcing the law in its entirety might be impractical, but there’s also considerable leverage to be gained by making sure all of Paxco’s most powerful Executives engage in activities for which we may someday choose to prosecute them.”
Nadia could breathe now, mostly, but she couldn’t form any words, could only stare at Mosely in horror.
“Your niece and nephew will be in the custody of child protective services while your sister and brother-in-law stand trial. Once their mommy and daddy are hauled off to prison, I’m sure the little darlings will be put in their grandparents’ care, but who knows what would happen to them while they’re in state custody? And who knows how long bureaucratic mix-ups and red tape can keep them there?”
Nadia shook her head again, thinking she had to be suffering from some kind of waking nightmare. The manic gleam faded from Mosely’s eyes, and his expression gentled. It was an expression unlike any other she’d seen on his face—and she didn’t believe it for a second.
“You must think I’m a terribly cruel, heartless person,” he said, and he sounded mild and regretful. “I assure you, I’m not. I don’t go out of my way to hurt innocents, and I certainly don’t enjoy making such ugly threats against small children. But I have a job to do. I have to secure the welfare of my state, and the needs of my state will always come first. Someday, when you’re the Chairman Spouse, you’ll understand, and you’ll come to appreciate the work I do.”
“If I ever become Chairman Spouse,” she said in a voice that sounded ravaged by tears, though her eyes were dry, “I’ll see you in prison for the rest of your life.”
Mosely blinked. That was twice in one day she’d managed to surprise both of them.
“Perhaps not the wisest thing to say under the circumstances,” Mosely said, but he sounded more amused than angry. “You don’t want me for an enemy.”
Nadia snorted and snatched up the tracker from where it had fallen on the floor. Mosely had been her enemy from the moment he’d stepped into that interview room, and they both knew it. “You need me, remember? You wouldn’t be bothering with me if you didn’t.”
Mosely conceded the point with a shrug. “So you’ll plant the tracker as I requested?”
She shoved the little disc into her pocket, hating Mosely more than she’d ever thought it was possible to hate another human being.
“I’ll do it,” she said bitterly, sparing a little hatred for herself. “As you’ve made abundantly clear, I have no choice.”
* * *
After Mosely left, Nadia sat alone in the schoolroom, trying to pull the pieces of herself back together. Her stomach was still throbbing where he had hit her, and his threat to Corinne and Rory was still ringing in her ears. She had no doubt that he was willing to hurt small children if he thought that’s what he had to do to get his way. She’d been hoping to complete her assignment for him in the most half-assed way possible, allowing herself to believe that somehow he wouldn’t see through her. What a fool she’d been.
She rubbed her fingers over her pocket, feeling the contours of the little device she’d been ordered to plant on Nate, wishing she could think of a way out. But any attempt she made at escaping her “duties” would risk Corinne and Rory, and she just couldn’t do that. She didn’t think that Mosely was bluffing, nor did she think he was above acting out of spiteful retaliation if she went to Nate and told all. Nate wouldn’t be able to control his temper, wouldn’t be able to keep her confession a secret, too secure in his own power as the Chairman Heir to see the danger. He would confront Mosely, and Mosely would make Nadia pay.
Nadia tried to persuade herself to get to her feet and leave the schoolroom, but the silent, empty room was a balm she wasn’t willing to give up. If she left the room, she’d have to face other people, have to put on her public face and pretend nothing was wrong. Here, she could let down her guard and allow herself to wallow in her misery, at least until Dante came back to clear the tea service. She wasn’t usually one to wallow, but this afternoon seemed like a fine time to make an exception. So, of course, Dante returned no more than a minute or two after Mosely left.
A hint of anger fired her blood, giving her strength. Had Mosely sent his pet spy back to the schoolroom to report on how Nadia was faring in the aftermath of his threats? If so, she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset.
Dante’s footsteps slowed when he caught sight of her, and he came to a stop a respectful distance away. He tried to stuff his hands in his pants pockets, then looked awkward and embarrassed when he remembered his livery pants didn’t have pockets. If Nadia didn’t hate him for being Mosely’s spy, she might have thought it was rather cute. Instead, she fixed him with her coldest look.
“I do not wish to be disturbed,” she told him. She sounded almost as haughty and superior as Jewel, but she couldn’t summon the energy to care. She was more than prepared to be a complete and utter bitch, if that was what it took to get her solitude back.
But Dante wasn’t really a servant, and he wasn’t terribly good at acting like one, either. He walked over to the refreshments table and, without a word, filled a cup with hot water and dumped in a tea bag, turning his back to her as he dunked it up and down. Nadia supposed if she really wanted to be alone, she would be forced to leave the room, but though she urged herself to get up, she found herself still sitting there, watching Dante’s back as he fussed with the tea.
Nadia forced herself to look away as he turned to face her again. Still without speaking, he brought her the cup of tea, setting it on the table beside her.
“I have to clear the tea service,” he said softly, “but I thought you might like a cup before I did.”
Steam wafted in her direction, bringing with it the enticing scent of tea. Something hot, sweet, and soothing would hit the spot, she realized, but she was still reluctant to reach for it.
“Did you ever consider asking me if I wanted a cup of tea first?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I crossed paths with Mr. Mosely on my way here. I figured a visit with him warranted a cup of tea. Unless you want something stronger?”
Nadia glanced up sharply at the tone in Dante’s voice, but he’d turned his back to her again and headed to the refreshments table to start gathering the dirty dishes and trash. Maybe she was reading too much into what she’d just heard, but it sounded as if Dante didn’t much like his boss. Maybe there was dissension in the ranks. Or maybe Dante was trying to lull her into speaking too freely with him.
Of course, he had his back to her now and was clearing the tea service, not trying to talk to her. Maybe she should give her paranoia a rest for a while.
Another wisp of steam wafted her way. She’d wanted that cup of tea before Mosely’s visit, and she wanted it even more now. She reached for the cup and took a grateful sip, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat. Dante had put just the right amount of honey and lemon in it. Obviously, he’d paid attention to how she fixed her tea when she made it herself.
“Thank you,” she said, almost reluctantly. It seemed wrong to thank the enemy, but she had to admit he was being rather nice to her.
He looked over his shoulder at her and quirked a smile, making Nadia wonder if he’d heard the reluctance in her voice. “I live to serve, you know,” he said.
Nadia surprised herself by returning his smile. He might have denied being here under false pretenses when she’d commented on it yesterday, but he obviously wasn’t making much effort to fool her.
“Yes,” she agreed drily, “I can see that you’re naturally subservient.”
He laughed briefly, then carried the dishes to a cleverly concealed dumbwaiter at the far end of the room. What had led someone like him to work for someone like Dirk Mosely? Unlike Executives, Employees could choose their own career paths, at least to the extent their talents allowed, and she’d never before met anyone associated with Mosely who could even remotely be described as easygoing. And yet that was how she would describe Dante after their limited acquaintance.
That’s the persona he’s put on for this job, she scolded herself while taking another sip of tea. To think he was showing her his real self while he worked undercover was the worst kind of naïveté.
The thought made the sweet tea taste just a little sour, and she put it aside. Perhaps it was now time for her to stop skulking in the schoolroom and get on with things. The tracker wasn’t going to plant itself, and she doubted Mosely would have much patience with any delays.
Dante returned to the refreshments table to continue clearing, but she must have been wearing her emotions on her face, because he stopped in his tracks and gave her a look full of sympathy and concern.
