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Twisting her wrists, she got nowhere, and her ankles were so immobile, it was like they were going to have to be surgically removed from the spindles of the—
“You’re awake.”
Rio’s eyes flared. Mozart?
The voice was coming from directly behind her; except when she went to look over her shoulder, she saw nothing but more of the decorations. Glancing in the other direction, the same was true—and she had the sense he was stepping out of her view, keeping himself hidden.
Like he always did.
A hand snaked around in front of her face and removed the gag. “I’m sorry if your Uber lift was a little rough.”
Rio took a huge breath. And then another.
“It wasn’t the ride,” she said hoarsely. “And if you’d wanted to meet me, I could have just come over.”
“But then you’d know where I live.”
They were going to kill her. Even seeing this one room of Mozart’s house was too much for his hyper-privacy routine.
“Ever hear of a blindfold?” Her words were slurring, and she deliberately let them run together. “Or if you don’t want to out your address, we could have met somewhere neutral.”
“I prefer to have people come to me.”
“No you don’t. You refuse to meet with anyone in person.”
“Well, let’s just say your unique charms seduced me.”
Staying out of her sight, he moved around, hard-soled shoes sounding sharp over the hard stone floor. As the man paced, she searched for anything with a reflective surface. The fountain wasn’t any help, but there was an ornate fireplace set with unburned birch logs—and on its mantel, there was a fancy golden clock that was operational. By tilting her head, she could almost catch a reflection in the circular glass that covered the face.
She didn’t get very far with an ID, though.
“So you’ve created a problem for me,” Mozart murmured.
“And you’ve given me two concussions. Are we even?”
“No, I’m afraid we’re not. Mickie wasn’t worth much as a human being, but he was very useful to me.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“I never thought you were a liar.”
“That’s because I’m not lying.”
It was a relief not to have to pretend about anything concerning Mickie. She wasn’t sure she was up to keeping newly created falsehoods straight. The old ones, about who she really was and what she was doing on the streets, were like the route home to her apartment. So well-trod, they were rote even when she wasn’t thinking too clearly.
“I went to see him at his place, got there and he was dead.”
“I don’t believe you.”
As she tried to find some plausible deniability even though she was speaking the truth, she pictured Mickie on that soiled sofa of his, looking like Al Bundy had tripped and fallen into a Jordan Peele movie.
More with Mozart’s pacing. “You’re an ambitious woman.”
“Can you let me go now?”
“I looked into your background. I didn’t find anything.”
Just her constructed identity that was nothing special. “Some people don’t lead interesting lives.”
“You’ve done good work for me.”
“I know. And unless you kill me for something I didn’t do, I’m going to continue working for you.”
“If you’d wanted his job, you could have asked.”
“I’ve been doing his job anyway. Killing him would have just been more work.”
While she kept the conversation going, she listened for sounds beyond the room. Smells. Anything that was happening outside. The clock over on the mantel said it was seven so it had to be morning. It seemed impossible that she had been out cold long enough for it to be after dark.
“How did they get me out of my apartment?” she asked, even though she could guess that her abductors had followed through on the sliding glass door/terrace drop evac plan.
“You Tasered the hell out of a friend of mine.”
“Did you expect me to shake his hand after he came at me from behind? Dragged me across my carpet by the ankles?”
There was a chuckle. “Rio, Rio, what am I going to do with you.”
“You’re going to put a bag over my head, let me loose from this chair, and take me back to my apartment. I will formally take over everything Mickie was doing, although I’m not going to work out of his headquarters, they’re disgusting.”
“You think I’m going to let you go.”
“Yes, I do. Because otherwise you’re down two people high up on your food chain. And who are you going to replace us with?”
“That’s my problem, not yours.”
“I am your solution.”
There was a long pause, and Rio straightened as much as she could in the chair. “Hello?”
A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped. As Mozart tightened his hold on her, pain shot down her arm.
“What am I going to do with you,” he said grimly.
Rio closed her eyes and remembered the frantic phone call that had come in just before she’d met that supplier.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I don’t give a shit. I killed Mickie and I’m not sorry about it.”
