Her movements slow and turn sloppy, driven by instinct instead of control.
Forty-five.
Bubbles surge harder. Her body convulses.
At fifty-five I yank her head back up.
She comes up choking, water pouring from her mouth and nose. She coughs so hard it sounds like something might tear.
“You made it almost a minute,” I chuckle. “Not bad.”
Her hair sticks to her face in wet clumps. Her eyes are red and wild. Water runs off her chin and drips back into the tub.
“Where is Grant?” I ask again. “And where is John?”
“I told you,” she coughs. “You’re wasting your time. They move constantly. Nobody knows where they are.”
Seth’s voice cuts in from behind her.
“Lie.”
I hook my boot under the plank supporting her knees and kick it out from under her.
The wood cracks loose and slams to the concrete. Sophie’s legs drop a few inches, dragging the rest of her body down with them. She screams and tries to twist, but the remaining three planks barely hold her.
“You just lost stability,” I murmur “Try again.”
“Fuck you!” she gasps. “Grant’s got the police on his side. John moves around like a ghost. You’ll never find them before they get to you.”
“Then why haven’t they killed me yet?” I ask. “You have so much confidence in them, but are they here to save you. No.”
I raise my voice slightly.
“Seth, pour the lye.”
He stands, grabs the thick plastic bag Beau pulled earlier, and rips it open across the top. The white granules pour into the tub in a heavy stream. Thereaction comes fast. The water hisses and turns cloudy, bubbling up in thick, milky waves. Heat rolls off it strong enough that my face prickles.
Sophie smells it before she registers it. Her nose wrinkles. Her eyes widen.
“What is that?” she screams.
“Motivation. Now. Where is Grant and John?”
She stares into the tub like it might jump up and grab her. Her fingers curl uselessly against the air, searching for something to hold.
“They were arguing,” she says quickly. “Seattle came up a lot. They move constantly. I never get full details.”
“Seth?”
“Partial truth,” he replies. “Seattle is in their messages. So is Denver. So is a gala with Victor Voss. She is picking pieces.”
I knock the plank under her hips away.
It shoots sideways and slams to the floor. Sophie’s body dips again. Now only two planks hold her, one under her abdomen and one under her shoulders. Her ribs press hard into the wood as her midsection sags between them. Her face now hovers inches above the lye-clouded water. Steam hits her skin directly. Her eyes squeeze shut for a second.
“Stop,” she sobs. “Please stop. You already have enough.”
“We barely started,” I say. “Where is Grant?”
