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A whisper of droplets pattered briefly across the walkway. Far off to the west, lightning lit clouds in a soundless dance. We’d have rain before the night was over. I intended for us to be long gone by then.
“When we get inside we’re going to pass a man at a desk,” Sonny murmured. “Behind that desk is the door to the server room you’re looking for. I’ll take you down the hall and around a corner, supposedly to have you wait in the holding room until Mr. Farouche or one of his cronies sends for you. No one will question it.”
I nodded. No one ever did anything against Farouche’s orders, which meant no one would suspect that Sonny was stabbing him in the back. This was where Farouche’s controlled loyalty would bite him in the ass.
The house rose above us in stately splendor, a true antebellum gem. Left and right, a pair of broad curving staircases led up to the second story, and lights winked beyond sheer curtains in many of the tall windows.
“Don’t forget to look scared,” Sonny reminded me as we approached.
Good thing he did since I was in full observe-and-assess mode. I quickly schooled my features into “shocked, freaked, and terrified.” Sonny gave a short nod of approval, so apparently I wasn’t overdoing it—which immediately pissed me off. No woman should have to feel that vulnerable and scared, I silently raged, then made myself focus on the calm Sonny projected to keep from appearing as angry as I was.
He escorted me to a ground level door situated between the two staircases. Probably a servant’s entrance at one time, I decided. He kept hold of my arm as he led me inside to a cramped foyer and hallway beyond with plain décor and low ceiling, compared to what I’d glimpsed of the rest of the house through the broad windows.
About ten feet inside, a middle-aged black man with close-cropped hair and keen eyes sat behind a desk. As the entrance door closed, his focus shifted from his computer screen to us. A huge map of the compound, and a dozen flatscreens displaying various surveillance camera views, flanked the door directly behind him. That was my target. Plain and uninteresting to ordinary eyes, the door rippled with wards in my othersight.
The eyes of the man at the desk tracked over me, assessing, noting my appearance, and no doubt my demeanor. Unlike Jerry, though, his gaze was purely to catalog. All business, this one.
“Carter,” Sonny said with a short nod without breaking stride.
“Sonny,” the man replied with a similar gesture as we passed, then he returned his attention to his computer screen.
We continued down the hall and around the corner, my heels clicking on the tiled floor. I could only imagine how the sound must have fel
t for the other women—like seconds of life ticking off. Sonny looked up and down the hall before opening a door.
“Here you go, Amaryllis,” he said in a voice pitched normally for Carter’s benefit. “Just relax in here for a bit, all right? Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Kara,” Paul stated right after the “Amaryllis.”
I quickly slipped my heels off and set them inside the door of the small room. Sonny pulled a pair of flat slippers from his jacket pocket and handed them over, then closed the door with us both still in the hall. He took a deep breath, readying himself. I touched his arm, gave him an encouraging smile.
“You got this,” I whispered as I tugged on the slippers. Too bad I couldn’t give him the same calm he gave to others. And also too bad the adorable lace top was about a size too tight. Another hour of wearing it, and I wouldn’t be able to feel my fingers.
Sonny exhaled, met my eyes and nodded, then headed back toward the entrance. I followed to the corner and waited, listening.
“Any problems?” I heard Carter ask.
“Not with the mark,” Sonny replied.
“With who then?”
“Jerry.” In the name was a wealth of animosity and contempt. “He fucked with my mark when I checked in.”
A low curse from Carter. Either his opinion of Jerry was similar, or he didn’t like the fact that Jerry was messing with Farouche’s “merchandise.” Or both, I reminded myself, remembering Bryce’s words about the people who worked for Farouche. Of those who did the dirty work, all were influenced, but there was evidently a wide spectrum of how much people enjoyed the job.
“You know as well as I do this isn’t the first time he’s done this,” Sonny continued with unmasked vehemence, “but I’ll deal with him later.”
“Did he touch her?”
“Not this time. Scared the shit out of her though,” Sonny told him. I had no problem imagining how terrifying Jerry’s talk would be to a recently kidnapped woman.
Carter muttered a curse. “Fucking moron. Someday he’s going to mess with the wrong chick, and Mr. Farouche will fry him.”
“He sure as hell wasn’t hired for his brains,” Sonny replied. “Anyway, I spotted an issue with the surveillance camera array by the Ops building when I walked her in. Can you come out for a minute so I can show you?”
“Sure. Let me log off here,” Carter replied, obviously never imagining for an instant that Sonny would be up to no good. I heard a few clicks of a mouse, and then the footfalls of both men heading away followed by the opening and closing of the door.
I did a cautious peek around the corner, verified that the foyer was indeed empty, then flew on my slippered feet toward the warded door. A quick assessment revealed decently constructed wards that lacked the quality of demon-laid ones. Perhaps Tsuneo’s work?
