Lauren reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry. These are not nice people.”
She waited for the onslaught of someone else’s life crashing into her mind, but there was nothing. No emotion. No horrific images. It was as if her gift was blocked, like with Vince.
She’d never wanted to read him. Now, she would take anything. A whisper, a trace of warmth, anything that meant he was still with her.
Bitterness cut through her numbness. Why couldn’t this have happened a month earlier? Before the Wilsons, before all the blood. Then maybe Vince would still be alive.
The thought twisted painfully.
If that had happened, she wouldn’t have met him.
God. How messed up was that? To have him, although briefly, Debra Wilson had to die.
She covered her face with her arm, shutting out everything but her grief.
Lauren eventually gave up trying to console her and returned to the other side of the room. The tray of food remained untouched.
Hours passed in silence before the door opened again. Heavy footsteps sounded like two men this time.
One said something in Russian. The other spoke from her bedside. “What’s wrong with you?”
She didn’t move or answer.
“She’s been like that for hours,” Lauren said. “She won’t eat and has barely spoken.”
He shook her once.
She braced, but still nothing. The numbness held.
“Bring her,” the other said in heavily accented English. “Mr. Kedrov wants to see her.”
Rough hands hauled her to her feet. When she refused to stand, he cursed and threw her over his shoulder.
Erica didn’t resist. She didn’t care where they were taking her.
She hung limp as he carried her up a flight of stairs. The hallway at the top was painfully bright compared to the dim cell.
The next thing she knew, she was flipped upright and practically dropped into a chair. It happened so quickly that the room tilted, and her head spun. She pushed her hair out of her face, hoping seeing her surroundings would help.
Then she wished she hadn’t. Alexander Kedrov stood before an enormous desk. Just like in her visions, he had the same slicked-back hair, the same diamond ring, wearing another expensive-looking white suit.
He smiled faintly. “I’m told you do not eat. Is my hospitality not to your liking?”
She barely looked at him. “What do you want?”
“Getting right down to business. I admire that.” He studied her for a moment. “I want to know more about your special talents.”
“You’re mistaken. I have no talents.”
“I do not make mistakes.” He leaned forward a little. “Do not take me for a fool, Miss Stevens,” he said, his warning as cold as his voice. “I intend to use your gift. You will work for me.”
When she still said nothing, his patience thinned.
“Perhaps you need motivation.” He nodded toward the door. “Bring in the girl.”
Lauren was shoved forward by the same big brute who had carried her. She stumbled. Before she could recover, the man struck her across the face.
The crack echoed loudly in the room, swallowing Lauren’s whimper of pain.
