Adrian pressed down harder. “Hmm…you're a feisty one.”
My chest felt like it was going to implode. I wouldn't be able to hold my breath much longer. He knew it. I knew it. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to summon the strength for a final desperate attack — and he punched me in the stomach. I inhaled sharply, and got a lungful of the noxious fumes. Right before I lost consciousness, I heard him laugh. Felt him lean in and whisper, “I'll be looking forward to breaking you.”
I opened my eyes.
I was tied to a swiveling computer chair with my hands bound behind my back. In the middle of what appeared to be a large conference room. In front of me was a large desk. A man was seated at the desk, his fingers steepled at his mouth: olive skin, black hair in tight curls, a face like a toad. I started, wondering how long he'd been watching me —and why.
“How kind of you to join us.”
I looked pointedly around the otherwise empty room. “Us?”
“Mr. Callaghan will be accompanying us. I believe you've met.”
I struggled to look over my shoulder. He was leaning against the wall, arms cushioning his head. His smile grew when our eyes met. I looked away. “What do you want?”
“Only your cooperation, Miss Parker.”
“That's all?”
“You'd be surprised. But Mr. Callaghan over there can be quite persuasive.”
Don't you dare look over there. “I don't know my parents' whereabouts.”
“I believe you. But I never said anything about wanting information on your parents.” He doesn't? Wait, what? “I'm actually more curious as to why you're still alive.”
“I was taken hostage.”
“Ah, but Mr. Boutilier was ordered to kill you when your parents escaped.” I hated to think how my expression must have looked. “You didn't know?”
I once read that surprise is the most difficult emotion to fake. I hoped to God that was true, and that I looked like I was playing the part. “No.”
“Do you have any idea why he might have gone against this direct order, Miss Parker?”
“No.”
“I see.” He leaned back. “Mr. Callaghan? Any thoughts?”
I heard him step away from the wall. “She knows more than she's letting on.”
“Really,” the boss said calmly.
Adrian pulled the collar of my blouse aside — oh my god he's right behind me — and said, “Look at her neck, sir. She didn't do that to herself.”
The boss leaned forward, causing the dimples at his wrists to deepen. “He's right, Miss Parker. Care to explain yourself?”
“I don't understand.” The healing knife scars? Any hostage might walk away with marks like that. They proved nothing.
“Minor hematoma,” Adrian clarified. “Hickey, in the vernacular.”
My whole body went rigid. Oh, God.
“Thank you, Mr. Callaghan. I'll repeat the question: Do you have any idea why Mr. Boutilier might have kept you alive? Do not lie to me this time, Miss Parker.”
I started to cry. I'd thought I was escaping at last; I'd traded one circle of hell for another.
“Crocodile tears will not help your situation.”
“Fine! He tried to rape me, you bastards. Happy now? Oh, and for your information — these are real tears!”
The two men exchanged a look.
“She isn't the type he usually goes for. And Michael has been known to defy my commands in the past simply because he can. There is a possibility, however remote, that she is telling the truth.”
“She's already lied once.” Adrian glanced at me. “Give me an hour with her. I'll make sure she'll tell you anything you want to know.”
“No!”
“That's enough.” The boss rubbed his temples. “Take here to one of the holding cells. I'll deal with her later — do not harm her.”
Holding cell apparently meant “white padded room.” A security camera in the corner recorded our progress as Adrian dragged me inside. There was no furniture, not even a bed. Off to the side, hidden from the view of the camera and door, was an alcove with a toilet and sink.
Adrian drew a knife from his pocket. I took a step back. “Your boss said not to harm me.”
“Don't you want to be untied?”
“I'd rather take my chances with the rope.”
He laughed and pushed me up against one of the soft walls as he started sawing through the fibers. I stared at the wall and tried not to think about what else that knife had cut. “Is this how you treat all your guests?”
“You could say you're being given preferential treatment.”
The ropes fell away. I rubbed my wrists, repressing the urge to scratch the sores. “I'd hate to see how many pieces your regulars are in then.”
Adrian tucked the knife back into whatever secret pocket he'd produced it from. “In a few more minutes, they'd be on their knees, telling me anything I wanted to know.” The implicit meaning in his words was not lost on me.
“You're trying to scare me.”
“I don't have to try. I know you're already scared. That was a good show you put on, by the way. I thought the tears were a particularly nice touch.”
“Leave me alone.”
He took a step closer instead. “He makes you feel so weak, doesn't he?”
“Who? I don't know who you're talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do. Why do you provoke him, Christina Parker, knowing the result will never change? Unless you changed…” He swung out his arm in a lazy grab. I stumbled trying to get away from him. “I can see why he would want you. You're just his type — female and alive.”
“You're a bastard,” I hissed.
His cold laughter stayed with me long after he'd left.
Chapter Ten
Pressure
Michael:
Driving relaxed me. It was mindless, automatic, and required just enough concentration to keep my mind from wandering. It usually worked. Not today. The mountain silence bothered me. I didn't need peace. I needed a violent way to release this pent-up energy in my veins.
I switched on the radio. Loud music pulsed through the car, keeping time with the throbbing in my head. I tore the top off a bottle of aspirin and chewed two of the bitter pills.
Bad enough that my boss was showing me an astonishing lack of respect; somehow the deprecation had trickled down to my hostage. I didn't see how she could keep it up under circumstances where men much tougher than her had crumbled.
I'd only intended to intimidate her a little. That was why I'd used the knife — that, and I felt I had, inexplicably, been too easy on her. She sobbed every night in her room but still didn't look upon me with real fear — and hadn't, not since the night when I forced myself on her. I didn't intend to make that mistake again. Not when I found myself enjoying that more than I should have. There were bridges I did not want to cross; taking sexual satisfaction from a woman's pain was not something I wanted to indulge in. I'd tried brutish violence. But when she walked out of the bathroom in that white towel, solemn and wide-eyed and innocent as a goddamn child, something inside me just snapped.
I wanted her — and knowing I couldn't have her made her fucking irresistible. Being aware of the cognitive processes behind the attraction made it no easier to bear. She wasn't worth the trouble. This was going to get me killed. My goddamn body just wouldn't get the fucking message.
I'd received another call from the IMA. Not from an office grunt this time, but my actual boss. He wanted an update, which I had given to him, glossing over the unnecessary details. “And the virus, Mr. Boutilier?”
“She knows nothing. The only thing she could tell me was a story behind its origin.” Because I felt like irritating him, I told him the story.
“How delightfully amusing, while simultaneously being a complete waste of my time.” He paused and said heavily. “You may as well know, her parents jumped again.”
Off a cliff? No. I wasn't that lucky. “Where?”
“We're not sure. I have agents on it. We suspect the Dominican Republic.”
If they were in South America, they'd be taken to Target Island upon capture. Rubens Parker would be subject to all kinds of unpleasant means of persuasion until he disclosed the nature of the virus and what he had done with the information he had stolen.
“Really wearing out their travel passes, aren't they?” I said dryly.
“Do not joke, Mr. Boutilier. This whole ordeal is severely trying my patience. I do not want to waste any more resources on this mission. I have already spent a fortune on air fare and paying off the local authorities — all to no avail. The girl has revealed nothing of use, and her parents appear not to care about their child at all. In any case, they are not leaping to the bait as I had hoped they would,” he concluded.
“What are you proposing, sir?”
“I want you to neutralize the girl.”
I pulled up at a gas station. The tank was running empty, and the nearest IMA building was still a good twenty miles away. I filled up the tank, reparked the car, and then went into the store, mindful of the security cameras over the doorway. My sweatshirt hood was up, hiding my hair and casting my face in shadow.
The inside was pretty empty. The female cashier was flirting with a local. Two guys in leather motorcycle jackets were perusing the dirty magazines with a cop giving them the eye while he munched on a bagel. Nobody appeared to notice me.
I had neglected to notify the IMA that I had changed my base of operations. Surprise, surprise. No cops. That cinched it for me. Kent had dug up some disturbing information on some of my colleagues that suggested a mutiny was in the works, and the IMA had screwed us over before. Contract killers were not exactly known for their outstanding sense of loyalty but I never imagined that when the time came to select a scapegoat, I would be the top choice.
I picked up a six-pack of energy drinks and brought it up to the counter. The cashier turned away from her man to ring up the purchase. “Is that all?” Her tone suggested it had damn well better be.
“No,” I said. “I would also like” — I eyed the selection of doughnuts behind the sneeze-guard and remembered I hadn't fed the girl yet. The cashier shuffled impatiently as I dallied — “some of those,” I finished. “One old-fashioned, one jelly-filled.”
“I need to see some ID. For the energy drinks.”
I handed her the one for Edward Collins. She studied it longer than necessary while her boyfriend chuckled and made snide comments. Nobody would think I was under eighteen. Even the suspicious cop in the back would laugh at such an accusation. I glanced at him just in case, but the cashier hadn't attracted his attention; he was keeping his eyes on the bike gang, who were starting to get rowdy as they picked out their desired brands of cigarettes.
The cashier glanced in that direction, too, handing me back my ID without another glance. Probably deciding I was just another scruffy lowlife. “Your total is twelve-fifty. Here's your change.” Her body was twisting itself around to maneuver around the checkout counter, so she could go and assist the cop in dealing with the trouble brewing.
I didn't pull down the hood of the sweatshirt until I reached my car. I pulled out of the lot with the doughnuts and energy drinks in the front seat. Neutralize her. Kill her. Buying the doughnuts seemed foolish now. She would undoubtedly see it as a last meal.
Fuck. I beat the steering wheel. Another driver honked back angrily. I gave them the finger. Kent had been right; the IMA would be far better off if I was leading them. I knew what my first order of business would be: have Callaghan executed for treason, and make the use of hostages an absolute last priority. They were too much fucking trouble.
My phone chose that moment to ring. Caller ID was blocked. Shit. I toyed with the idea of letting it go directly to voice mail, then pulled off to the side of the road like the pussy I was. “Michael.”
“Hello, Mr. Boutilier.”
“Hello, sir,” I said, with forced civility. “What do you need?”
“I need you to report to the nearest IMA base immediately,” he said, just as pleasantly. “I don't know where you are, Mr. Boutilier — all I know is that you are not at your assigned location, which means you are AWOL. If you do not touch base within two hours, we will consider your intentions hostile and hunt you down.”
“Unfortunately, sir, my assigned location was infiltrated by the local police. I have moved to a new location, which I will report as soon as I have made progress with the subject. Sir.”
“…You mean base one-two-eight?”
Lucky guess. I let myself betray no reaction. “I repeat, sir — ”
“Drop the act, Mr. Boutilier. I already know that you have been using base one-two-eight without permission. That would be trespassing. But no matter, I already sent Mr. Callaghan to pick up Miss Parker. As of this instant, she is no longer in your charge.”
She's with Callaghan? “Why would you do that, sir?”
“Mr. Callaghan was assigned as your backup, Mr. Boutilier, in the event that something like this transpired.”
The bastard must have been thrilled — one more thing he could lord over me.
“She arrived in remarkable condition,” Richardson was saying. “Not a scratch. I find that very strange considering that I distinctly recall ordering you to kill her.”
He was pretending he knew more than he did. Standard intimidation techniques. It was used to make subjects feel as if they had no choice but to confess. I found it annoying and offensive that he was attempting to use such basic methods on me.
“I felt it would be an irreparable mistake.” I only just remembered to add “sir” at the end. “The decision seemed rash. I waited — in case you changed your mind. Killing a hostage is easy. Unkilling them is difficult enough that nobody's mastered it yet.”
“I pay you to follow orders. Not to feel.”
“Her parents are already skittish. Killing her would send them running to the other side of the globe with their tails between their legs.”
“Their daughter was withholding information.”
“She knew nothing, sir. I was very thorough with her.”
“Yes…I'm sure you were, Mr. Boutilier.” Richardson let that hang. “You also disobeyed a direct order.”
“With all due respect, that direct order was horse shit.”
“You have always had a penchant for insubordination, Mr. Boutilier. A quirk which I have tolerated until now because of your ability to get the job done. This time, your reckless disregard for the rules has compromised not just yourself, but me, and the entire agency.
“We are going to have the girl interrogated. Provided her answers match yours, you have nothing to fear. You have two hours — one hour, fifty minutes now — to report to the nearest IMA base. If you do not, we will consider your intentions hostile and I will send a team of men to take you down. We will not tolerate subversiveness, Mr. Boutilier. Not even from you.”
The phone went dead.
Christina:
The boss came in while I was eating lunch, picking charcoal from a brownie the soggy, TV-dinner-style tray. He was accompanied by a nasty-looking guard displaying an equally nasty-looking weapon. I gritted my teeth and concentrated on the meal, trying not to look at either of them. It was difficult — particularly since they made no effort not to look at me.
“I apologize if I offended you earlier, Miss Parker.” I glanced at him. The obsequious chagrin on his face was almost as horrible as Adrian's cruel smile.
At least I knew what Adrian's intentions were. I had no idea at all what the boss's investment in the matter was. I thought I had, but he said he wasn't interested in my parents anymore. Instead he'd asked me all kinds of questions about Michael.
“I have spoken to Mr. Boutilier. He has informed me that he is on his way.”
I was about to ask who Mr. Boutilier was. Then remembered that Adrian had addressed my captor as Michael Boutilier. Michael was coming? Here? It all comes back to Michael. M
ichael, Michael, Michael.
“I suggest you speak freely while that opportunity is still available to you, Miss Parker.”
“I already told you everything I know.”
He regarded me with dark eyes. “And you have no questions?”
“Okay,” I said, looking up. “Where are my parents?”
The look in his eyes said I'd failed some kind of test. “Fleeing the country, if Mr. Boutilier's testimony is any indication.”
There he was, dragging Michael's name into this again. “Good.”
He sighed. “Not good for you, I'm afraid, Miss Parker.”
“My name is Christina.” The guard touched the butt of his gun as I swayed to my feet. “What do you want from me? Why are you asking me these questions? Why are you hurting us?”
“You feel strongly about this.”
“You're messing with my life and the lives of the people I care about. Why wouldn't I?”
“Mr. Callaghan seems to be under the impression you're keeping secrets from us.”
I'd been in the process of raising the brownie to my mouth. “I already told you everything I know.”
“He believes Mr. Boutilier may have revealed inside information to you.”
“Why?” I asked. “He had no motive.”
It seemed like all of the questions he had asked were leading up to this moment, that he had been building up to some horrifying conclusion. I was right. “Perhaps you gave him a motive.”
“He kidnapped me, threatened my family, threatened me. You can't possibly be implying that I would — ” Images rushed through my head. Horrible images, rousing the darkest fears in my subconscious. I shook myself, trying to dissolve them. “No. No. I wouldn't. Never.”
But the boss was nodding, as if he'd expecting this. “That's how it starts, I'm afraid.”
“How what starts?”
“Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome, Miss Parker?”
“You can't be serious.” I took a step forward and the guard reached for his gun.
“Careful, Miss Parker,” the boss cautioned.
“Are you crazy?” I demanded. “How many levels of sick do you have to be to think that I would ever feel anything for that bastard other than hate?” I found myself closing the distance before I was aware of what my right arm was doing. I felt possessed by some demonic spirit, the weight of my anger was so great. “Do you know what he tried to do to me? Do you?”
Cloak and Dagger (The IMA) Page 12
