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Gus prayed his flickering heart would finally stop. If his captor could just shock him on the neck, on the vagus nerve, maybe it would finally—
“Why,” he mumbled. “Why are you doing this…”
“You are a fine meal,” came the remote response. “A strong will broken is the best sustenance forwhat I am, so let us enjoy our time together some more. Tell me how to get into that—”
A brisk knocking dimmed the crackling sound of the Taser, and his captor pivoted around.
“Enter.”
The creaking was of the metal-on-metal variety, as if a vault door were being pushed wide. And then another voice, also male, spoke urgently, a conversation back-and-forthing. The language was not one Gus recognized. Then again, he didn’t have the energy to care about linguistics.
Shuffling now, as if objects were being gathered up quickly. Then rattling, like they were being dumped into a bag.
“I must go, Dr. St. Claire. I shall trust nature to finish this job—not a preferable conclusion as I never leave things hanging, but for reasons of my own, I must depart with alacrity. Worry not, the party who is imminently arriving is not interested in you. It is I whom he seeks, but now is not the time or place for that.” There was a pause. “This has been… exquisite for me. You are a rare find, and I wish we had met under different circumstances. And now, I will leave you with this.”
His captor leaned into the light, but Gus’s vision was blurry so all he got was the impression of dark hair that was precisely styled in a side part and pale skin. The eyes were just a pair of pupils, pits of black. The smell, though, was unforgettable.
Dark… spices. Like expensive cologne, although no brand that was immediately identifiable.
“You have been a revelation. Thank you.”
A chaste kiss was pressed to Gus’s forehead, as if they had had dirty sex that had been satisfying on a spiritual level.
As his captor straightened, Gus felt two cool points on the side of his throat, right over his jugular vein.
The Taser,he thought.Finally—
“Goodbye, Dr. St. Claire.”
The electrical volts rocked through Gus’s body, throwing him into a seizure that stiffened his limbs and threw his head back and locked his molars.
No more vision.
No more hearing.
No more copper smell.
Nothing. And unlike the other times, not even… any last thoughts.
“Come back in forty-eight hours.”
As Lydia stood over a laconic, recumbent, navy-robed Sheriff Eastwind, she shook her head. Which was better than cursing or throwing something in frustration. “Why.”
“Because I said so.”
To keep herself from losing it, she glanced around, noting the First Nations’ woven textiles onthe walls, the pottery lamp that was glowing next to Eastwind’s recliner, the fireplace that was set with hardwood logs and fresh newspaper. Through an archway, the dim contours of a kitchen were visible, and there was no table or set of chairs in there. No clutter on the countertops or on the top of the old-fashioned stove, either.
“And what’s going to be different,” she demanded.
“It’s going to be forty-eight hours from now.” The man cocked an eyebrow. “That’s two days, FYI.”
“I can count.”
“Clever girl.”
Lydia glanced over at Daniel, who just shrugged. “And then what,” she snapped. “What happens.”
“That’s my offer.” Eastwind reached down the side of his chair, pulled on the lever, and was propelled into a sitting position. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed—”
