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Redmond knocked at the door. I stared at him in surprise, but he shrugged.
“It’s the suburbs. People are trusting out here.”
A middle-aged man came to the door a few seconds later, looking tired and haggard. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Roger Crane?”
He frowned. “That’s me. And you are?”
Redmond shoved forward, lowering his shoulder and ramming it into the man’s chest. He grunted in pain and surprise, and crashed back against the wall behind him. Palmira went in next, her gun drawn and pressed against the lawyer’s chest.
Nobody moved. The entryway was simple and comfortable. Stairs led upwards, and a door to the right stood ajar.
“Where’s your office? We can talk in there,” Redmond said.
Crane looked around, not bothering to hide his fear. “What the hell do you people want?”
“Office,” Redmond repeated. “Or Palm puts a bullet in you and we end this farce now.”
Crane nodded at the open door. Redmond strode inside.
Palmira grinned at Crane. “Go ahead, Mr. Lawyer.”
Crane hesitated, but he followed Redmond. Palmira went next, gun trained on him the whole time, and I went last. I closed the front door quietly.
Crane’s office was a medium-sized room with a fireplace, lots of wood paneling, a big desk, a few comfortable chairs, and a stereo system. It was quiet except for the crackle and pop of burning wood. Redmond stood behind the desk, looking over the books stacked neatly on shelves.
Palmira steered Crane to a chair and he sat down heavily. She stood beside him, gun aimed at his skull. I lingered near the door, watching, my heart racing in my throat.
Redmond turned to Crane. “You work for Cosima.” It wasn’t a question.
Crane grunted and nodded his head. “Whatever you want to know, I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Redmond sat down in a large, black chair, and pushed a laptop aside. “There’s a pretty big difference between the two.”
“Can’t. Cosima keeps her business to herself and as far from me as possible.”
“That’s interesting, because I don’t much care about her business.”
Crane flinched and glanced at Palmira. “What do you want then?”
“I want her.”
He opened his mouth then closed it again. “You’re them. The people she warned me about.”
“Probably, although I suspect she has a lot of enemies right now.”
“I can’t tell you where she is. Even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Would you trade her life for your own then?”
His fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “That’s not a fair question.”
“I’ll try again. Tell me where Cosima’s staying, and I won’t leave a corpse for your wife and children to find.”
Crane went white as a sheet. “Please leave my family out of this.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I can’t.”
Redmond stood and gestured at Palmira. “You know what to do.” He walked around the desk and took my arm. He led me out of the room and Palmira raised the gun up and slammed it down against Crane’s shoulder. He grunted in pain and toppled out of the chair as Palm kicked him savagely in the ribs.
Redmond shut the door and the sound of the beating inside was muffled.
“You don’t need to watch that,” he said with a shrug.
“It wouldn’t be my first interrogation.”
“I prefer to pretend like it is.”
I laughed and wandered to a photo of Crane with his family. They were nice-looking people. His wife was pretty in a standard, bland brunette sort of way, and their two little boys sported bowl cuts and stupid grins. Crane didn’t seem like such a bad guy, and the pained scream that pealed from the office made my throat tighten.
Maybe Redmond was right, and it was better if I wasn’t in there.
“I’ve done things, you know,” I said, not looking at him. “Aside from selling my sister. I’m not a stranger to violence.”
“I know that.”
“Then why pretend like I am?”
“Just because you’ve hurt people before doesn’t mean you want to keep doing it. Would you rather be the one kicking that man’s teeth out of his skull?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think I’d enjoy that.”
“You’re not as hard as you pretend you are.” He came closer and touched my lower back.
I pulled away. “Stop it. You don’t know me.”
“I think I do.” He came again, this time pushing me up against the wall. A picture of Crane and his wife on their wedding day rattled and fell to the floor, the glass splintering and cracking.
Redmond took my wrists and pinned them up above my head. I sucked in a rapid, gasping breath. Another pained scream ripped from the office.
“What are you doing?” I asked, staring into his eyes.
He kissed my neck. “Stop pretending like you’re a killer, Erin.” He kissed my ear then bit my lower lip. “Stop pretending like you’re a monster. If there’s a demon in this room, it’s me.”
“Let me go.”
“Admit you don’t want blood on your hands.”
