by Nina Croft
“Put it on,” he said.
She didn’t want to. Her clothes were like her armor. Without them, what was left of her tough attitude might melt away, leaving her a jabbering heap. The guard drew his pistol and gave her a cold smile. “Put it on.”
She looked around for somewhere to change, but there was no cover. She could feel the hot gaze of the second guard on her, and she zoned him out. This was happening whether she liked it or not. The sense of powerlessness made her want to weep, and she never cried.
She certainly wouldn’t start now. Fuckers.
She pulled her black T-shirt over her head—she didn’t wear a bra so that was all there was—and wrapped the cotton robe around herself. She kicked off her boots and wriggled out of the black leather pants.
“The rest,” the guard said.
Taking a deep breath, she stripped off her panties, tossed them on the pile of her clothes. The room was cool and she shivered, doing her best to ignore the gaze of the second guard and keeping firmly out of his head. No way did she want to know what was going through his cesspit of a mind.
“Sit.”
She crossed to the chair and perched on the edge, dreading the moment they would restrain her
The door opened and a man entered. Tall with a long pale face and a dark suit, he carried a suitcase in his hand, which he placed on the table next to her chair without even looking at her. This was the one who would do the interrogation. His mind was like a dark, empty place, no feelings, no emotions.
Kaitlin had told her that most interrogators were like that, they were psychologically profiled for the job—no normal person could do it and stay sane. Kaitlin had been present at a lot of interrogations. That was one of the reasons she had gone back to work with the government. Because she’d wanted to show there was no need for torture, there were other ways. She’d died for that belief.
“Can we get started?” he asked in a toneless voice.
“We’re to wait for Mr. Weiland. He wished to be present,” the doctor replied.
That was bad news. She hated the thought of him seeing her like this. And for the first time, she seriously considered fighting. Making a run for it and to hell with dying.
“Well, at least get the restraints on.”
Should she? Try for it?
But she’d left it too late. She was pushed back in the seat, her hands placed on the arms. In seconds, leather straps had been fastened to keep them in place. Then her ankles were yanked apart and strapped to opposite legs.
Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, trying to clear her mind, but she couldn’t, and she had no control over her thoughts. They kept dipping into the minds of the men around her, and she didn’t want to be there.
The interrogator was considering which drug to try first. He wanted this over fast; he had a game to go to. One of the guards’ minds was filled with lust—he thought she was beautiful. The other agreed, he thought it was a pity to hurt a pretty woman, but a job was a job, and no doubt she deserved it.
The doctor was all eager anticipation. If she ever got the chance, she would kill him.
Her panic was rising, and she tried to push it down.
Soon it would be over.
She would tell them the story she’d worked out. She didn’t have to hold out for long, they wouldn’t expect it.
Finally, the door opened again and Ethan stood there. And in that moment, she loathed him with every cell in her body.
Fucking bastard.
She hated him seeing her so vulnerable. But at least that gave her the strength to stiffen her spine, stare him in the eye.
Shock flashed across his face and his mind.
Then helpless fury, because this was his fault, and this was the way he lived. Followed by a self-hatred that almost matched what she felt for him at that moment.
“I told you to wait.”
“We haven’t started.”
He was controlling his temper by force of will. “Get out, all of you. You, too, Fergus.”
She hadn’t even noticed his assistant.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, she’s hardly a fucking threat like this, is she? What the fuck do you expect her to do? Look at me funny?”
He was super angry, but his rage was aimed at himself. Quite rightly.
She was coming out of her funk. She’d almost let the fear consume her and that was so not good. Within thirty seconds, they’d all left the room, and the door clicked shut behind them. She was alone with Ethan. He paced the room, trying to come to terms with how he’d felt when he opened the door and saw what they’d done to her. And they hadn’t even started yet.
He’d been present at interrogations before. Hell, he’d been tortured himself—that was something for her to investigate later, but when? Why? Now she felt too drained to concentrate. She was just picking up top-level stuff, though, there was plenty going on there. Including the fact that he now knew about the Tribe. Though no details and not who or what she was. She pulled out everything he’d found.
It was a pity she was strapped to a chair, about to be tortured, because if she could get this stuff to Jake, they could tear down the Conclave forever.
Finally, he came to stand in front of her, hands in his pockets. “Who was the woman you were with at Forrester’s that night?”
She pursed her lips. “Don’t you want to torture me first? Is that what you get off on?” She was quite aware it wasn’t, but she had the urge to wind him up. He should feel bad. “Fucking pervert,” she added for good measure.
His gaze wandered over her, lingering at various places. She glanced down, it was clear she was entirely naked beneath the thin gown, her dark nipples poking at the cotton, the material pooling between her parted thighs. She looked up and straight into his golden eyes.
“Actually,” he said, “I’ve never been particularly into bondage or sadism, but I do find myself amazingly turned on at this moment.”
She had no clue what to say to that. She knew he was turned on, it filled his mind. He wanted her, and he was growing hot and hard at the thought of her sitting all but naked before him. She lowered her gaze. He’d taken off his jacket and was in suit pants and a white shirt, and she could clearly see the bulge at his groin. And it was getting bigger.
“Ugh.” It was all she could think of to say, but she filled the word with all the disgust she didn’t feel.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not afraid of me?”
She curled her upper lip. “What’s there to be afraid of?”
“Yet you were afraid of the others. I could smell it in the room. Fear has a particular scent all of its own.”
“You’d know.”
“Actually, I would. I have the unique privilege of having been on both sides of this situation.”
She saw the flash of an image in his mind: he was hanging from the ceiling in a dark cell, slowly spinning, unable to touch the ground as they slashed at him with a whip, tearing his flesh until the air was filled with the stench of blood and fear. She came out quickly, blinking to disperse the image.
“The woman? Who was she?”
“Just a colleague.”
“Have you known her for long?”
“Not long.” She took a deep breath. It was time for a little acting. “Look, I know you’re furious about the blackmail—”
“I’m not furious. I just want to know who was behind it.”
She licked her lips. “You’re right. It was Ruby, and I’ll kill her for getting me into this. She gave me your name and a number to reach you at, then told me what to say.”
“Why?”
He believed her. She fought to keep her relief from showing. “How the hell should I know? I thought she wanted half the money, but she said I could keep it. Then…” She hesitated. She didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Then?” he urged.
She clamped her teeth on her lower lip, gazed up at him with what she hoped was anxiety. “Last night, when you took me, she
was there. I saw her just before your friend shoved me into the van. She was on the back of a black motorcycle.”
“Why was she there?”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I’d tell you if I did. You were right. Those men, I’ve never been so scared in my life. That one with the case, he was so cold and he was going to hurt me and I couldn’t stop him and…” By sheer force of will, she squeezed out a tear. “Then you showed up, and I knew you would save me.”
Had she gone too far?
But he liked the idea. He was her knight on a white horse, here to rescue her from the bad guys. It was a role he’d never seen himself in before, but surely, he was allowed the delusion for a little while.
She’d won. He believed her, and she held herself stiff, fought to keep her relief from showing.
She sniffed. “Please let me go. I hate being tied. I…”
But he was already kneeling at her feet.
Chapter Eight
Ethan went down on one knee. Relief flooded his system. He couldn’t believe how bad he’d felt when he’d opened the door and seen her there, tied and vulnerable. He’d wanted to rip the heads off those responsible.
He’d had to wait a moment to get control of his fury. This was his doing. This was what he did. No time to start getting squeamish or pretending otherwise. He had been at interrogations before, but never a woman’s, and while he’d never admit that he was sexist, there was something so inherently wrong about it.
But he believed her. He’d always suspected that she was a mere pawn. The other woman had clearly been a member of this Tribe and she’d used Suzi to get close to him. Maybe an assassination attempt that had been abandoned when they’d realized how many men he had with him. Whatever. He’d get to the bottom of it.
He unfastened the buckles holding the leg restraints in place, then couldn’t resist stroking his fingers up the silky skin of her ankle. A shiver ran through her, and he raised his gaze to look into her eyes.
His hand slid higher, under the cotton robe to curl around her calf and squeeze gently. Heat flushed the pale skin of her cheeks.
He lowered his gaze and went instantly still. For a moment, his brain couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, and he stared at her long slender feet…and her eight toes.
“Oh shit,” she murmured.
The softly spoken words brought him out of his trance. He released his hold on her leg, pushed himself upright, turned, and left the room.
What the hell?
He leaned back against the door, pressing a finger to the spot between his eyes. His mind refused to function. But he was going to have to think this through, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answers he came up with.
“Boss?” Fergus was standing in front of him, brows drawn together. “Are you okay?”
Hell, no. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “I’m fine.”
“Do we go ahead with the interrogation?”
“No.” The word came out without conscious thought. “Not right now,” he added. “Take her back to her cell.”
He didn’t wait for Fergus to say anything else. There was an office on the first floor, and he made his way up there. He needed to be alone and think through the implications. The room held a desk and chair and a black leather sofa along one wall, as well as the thing he needed most right now—a liquor cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and took it, together with the bottle, to the sofa, sat down and sipped the drink. When he’d finished, he poured another and repeated the process. Then put the glass down.
Eight toes.
What the hell did it mean? He pulled out his phone and looked up the article he’d found on the Tribe. It didn’t mention telepathy. They were mute. Or were they just communicating another way?
He was putting off facing up to the main issue here.
Was she telepathic?
Could she read minds?
Had she read his mind?
Christ, he wished he had more information. He needed to know what he was dealing with.
He scrolled through the numbers and found Travis’s. His call went to voicemail, and he swore softly. He pressed his father’s number, the one guaranteed to be picked up. “Where’s Travis now?” he asked.
“In transit, I believe, but he’s out of contact for the moment.”
“Let me know the moment he gets in touch.”
“Is there a problem?”
How much did he want to reveal right now? He thought quickly. He did not want to say anything until he knew more. His father had said he didn’t want to risk anyone getting inside his head. If his dad got word of this, there was a good chance he would order Suzi’s execution. And if his father knew she had been inside Ethan’s head, then she would definitely die.
“No. I was just looking for some more information.”
“Has the woman said anything?”
“Not yet. But she will.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when Travis gets in.”
Ethan ended the call and sat for a minute longer. The thing was, he had no clue how to play this. What was he supposed to do? Go in there and ask if she could read his mind?
Was she likely to tell the truth?
Should he even risk it? Maybe he should stay the hell away from her. Though if she could read minds, then presumably she already knew everything about him. How much could she read? Shit, this was doing his head in. Was there any way to test it?
Then he remembered her reaction when he’d seen her feet. She’d known what he was thinking. He’d swear on it.
Fuck.
A goddamn telepath. The ramifications were huge.
Could they read any minds? Get the answer to secrets that might otherwise never be revealed.
There was one thing he’d always wanted to know, one truth that had the potential to change his life. It was the real reason he had come back after they’d rescued him from that Iraqi prison. And that was…what had really happened to his mother? But he’d gotten nowhere. That particular truth had been buried too deep, never spoken of, and he’d eventually put it from his mind. For now. Because there was no way he could get to the truth, and it was tearing him apart.
Was he ready to go there?
Half an hour had passed. Time to go talk to her. Would she answer, and if she didn’t, would he make her? Could he let them interrogate her?
Christ, he’d wanted to believe she was a mere pawn. He hadn’t wanted to interrogate her; he’d wanted to screw her.
Did she know that?
At a guess, yes. She probably didn’t even need to be telepathic to figure that out. He pushed himself to his feet and pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to move past the shock and make his mind function again.
He headed down to the lower level. First, he went to the control room. “Shut off the surveillance in cell three,” he said. He wanted no witnesses to the upcoming conversation. The less people who knew, the better.
The guard let him into the cell. Dressed in her own clothes, the cotton robe tossed over the end of the bed, she was sitting on the cot with her back against the wall, and her legs dangling over the edge. She looked at him, a wary expression in her eyes.
He leaned against the door and studied her. Her blond hair was obviously dyed.
“Contact lenses?” he asked.
She reached up and removed them, placing them on the table beside her. When she gazed back at him, her eyes were a deep, dark blue.
“Are you telepathic?”
She glanced away, then back. “Of course not. Why would you think that?” She blinked those big blue eyes guilelessly up at him, and he gritted his teeth.
How the hell did you interrogate someone who was possibly anticipating your every question? “Why the contact lenses?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I just like the look. Who wants to be a boring blue-eyed blonde?”
Maybe he should wash his hands of this and hand her over to his father. Maybe he was the last person who s
hould be talking to her. His judgment was clouded by the fact that he wanted her. For whatever goddamn reason, she had got through to him like no other woman.
Had something flickered in her eyes at that thought?
Her face went blank.
Jesus. He crossed the room and sank down onto the cot beside her. She inched away. He made no attempt to touch her. Instead, he allowed his mind to fill with everything he’d like to do to her. He wanted her naked beneath him. He wanted to taste her. He pictured his head between her thighs, imagined his mouth on her sex, his tongue pushing inside her. How would she taste?
As his dick came to instant attention, a small sound escaped the woman beside him. He glanced sideways at her and his eyes narrowed. Her hands were balled at her side, and a dull flush colored her cheekbones. A pulse throbbed beneath the pale skin of her throat.
Had she seen his thoughts? “Like that idea, do you?”
She sniffed. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
He was becoming increasingly aware that he actually believed this. Unbelievable though it was, he was coming to the conclusion that she was telepathic. That she was reading his thoughts. That she no doubt knew his every secret.
She probably even knew what he was capable of. That he had killed before and that he would no doubt kill again.
But would he kill her?
He’d always been loyal to the Conclave. Even during his years away, it had never occurred to him to betray them in any way. They were his family. But if she truly were able to read minds, then she had access to information that was an instant death sentence. And allowing her to live was a betrayal of everything he’d been brought up to believe.
He tried to imagine killing her. Putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. But unlike the earlier image, this one would not take form in his head. Neither would the other option of handing her over.
Why did she matter?
He searched her face, found her watching him in return, a small line between her eyes.
