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38
“Bob? Bob, can you hear me?”
Cassie didn’t want to whisper too loudly, unsure how much her voice would carry throughout the empty, un-insulated house.
“Bob?”
“Yeah?” The man’s voice was raspy and sounded like every letter caused him pain.
“Are you okay?” That was a stupid question. “Is anything broken?”
“Just my nose.” Managing to raise his head, he looked at her. She thought he blinked a few times, but his eyes were so swollen, it was hard to tell. “You’re not Rose.”
“Shh.” Cassie worked her hands back and forth, trying to loosen the knots that bound them. “My name is Cassie Quinn, a friend of Rose’s.”
“Where is she?”
“Far away from here, and safe.” Not that she knew where here was. “But you have to pretend I’m Rose, okay? Zbirak doesn’t know who I really am. And he won’t be happy with either of us if he figures it out.”
Bob nodded his head in understanding. Good enough.
“If I can get out of this and untie you, do you think you can run?”
“My wife,” he said, finding the energy to struggle against his own ropes. “My son. Are they—?”
“They’re safe.” As far as she knew. “And they can’t wait till you come back home.”
Grunting, his body sagged in relief.
“But Bob, I need to know if—”
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Zbirak descended with a glass of water in each hand. Setting one on the ground next to Cassie’s chair, he walked over to Bob with the other, grabbed the man’s hair, and tilted his head back, bringing the glass to Bob’s lips and letting him drink.
Bob didn’t struggle or resist, slurping at the water with greed. It seemed this wasn’t the first time
they had done this dance, and Cassie wondered how well Zbirak was taking care of the other man. Enough to keep him alive and coherent, but a weakness in Bob told Cassie he’d been beaten, starved, and kept in one place for the last twenty-four hours.
The room didn’t smell like urine or feces, so Zbirak was probably taking the man upstairs whenever he needed to relieve himself. That could be the opening she needed to get the upper hand. Pregnant women had to pee a lot, right?
After Bob finished the glass of water, Zbirak moved over to Cassie. “Are you thirsty?” he asked.
She shook her head. She didn’t want him any closer to her than he already was. “Please, can you let him go?” She looked over at Bob. “You have me now. He has a wife and son. Please let him go.”
“Even if I let him go, he wouldn’t make it far. We’re a long way from anywhere populated.” Zbirak looked down at her with a mixture of curiosity and something unreadable. “But I promise not to hurt him as long as you answer my questions honestly.”
“Okay.” Cassie shifted in her seat to cover up an attempt to loosen the ropes around her wrists. “What do you want to know?”
“Your husband, Randall, attempted to betray a mutual friend of ours. That was not wise.”
“Friend is a loose term,” Cassie said, unable to keep the bite out of her voice.
He smiled. “The detective you’ve been working with, Adelaide Harris, met with him the night he died.”
“You mean the night he was murdered.”
“Yes, of course.” Zbirak voice was impassive, uninterested. “On the night Randall was murdered, he met with Detective Harris. I need to know if he gave her any information.”
“What kind of information?”
