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“Jesus! You’re out of your freaking skull!”
“Maybe, but is that relevant?” She hurried on before he could respond to that highly rhetorical question. “In any case, the only interesting thing I found was that box. It had seven vials of blood in it. And urine samples, and those big cotton swabs, like monster Q-tips in plastic bags.”
“Blood and urine?” He jerked up onto his elbows, frowning.
“Everything was labeled and numbered. I took a picture with my phone. Want to see?”
He nodded, and let go of her, sitting up on the bed. She was obscurely gratified that he was interested enough in her adventure to forget about his sexual power games. She fished through her purse for the phone, pulled up the pictures, and handed the phone to him. “The first six digits looked like birthdates,” she said. “That would make most of them little kids.”
He stared silently at the photo on the phone. “Yeah,” he said faintly.
The silence got longer, heavier. It started to make her nervous. “Um, Nick? What are you thinking? What could this mean?”
He was gripped by a violent shudder, like a dog shaking off water. “Was there paperwork?”
“I didn’t find anything like that in the room. But in the seat of her car, there was a package for a digital voice recorder,” Becca said. “Probably she dictated notes into it, and then stuck it in her pocket or her purse.”
He nodded, pulled out his cell phone, and forwarded the photo to himself and two other numbers. Then he pulled up a number, waiting while it connected.
“I have another name,” he said, when someone answered. “The mistress. Diana Evans. Some kind of health professional. Doctor, nurse, lab tech, something like that.” He looked at Becca. “Got a plate number for her?”
“It was a black SUV if that’s relevant,” she told him. She recited the plate number to him. He relayed it and hung up again.
Becca had to gather her nerve to ask the question, with the creeping dread she felt on her neck. “Nick? Do you have any idea why…or what? About these blood and urine samples?”
“No,” he said flatly.
“Nothing good, though, right?” she whispered.
Nick shook his head. “Nothing good. You can count on that.”
The unspoken possibilities hung between them in the dark. Becca’s skin prickled and crawled. She wondered, wistfully, if she could ask him for another hug. Maybe her luck would be better if she just jumped on him, and took her hug from him by force.
If she did, she’d probably find herself flat on her back with him about three miles inside her body before she knew what hit her.
Fine. She was up for that.
He got up, moved towards her, eyes gleaming. Abruptly, the energy shifted. Out of nowhere, she was on the defensive again.
“So,” he said. “We’re done with the debriefing? Anything to add?”
She shook her head. “That’s it.”
“Excellent. So we can move on to the next item on the agenda.”
Her toes tightened, then her chest, then her thighs. “Which is?”
“Which is the burning-in-hell agony you put me through this evening. And exactly what you’ll have to do to make it up to me.”
“Fuck you,” she said sharply. “Do you have to put things in those terms? Do you really need the upper hand so badly?”
“Yes, I do.” His voice was matter-of-fact.
Her face got hot, and her breath got short. The manipulative bastard. “You can’t have it,” she snapped. “You’ve already pissed me off. Anyway, what exactly is it that you want from me?”
Nick seized the chair, and placed it facing the one spot of blank wall in the room. Then he took her wrist and placed her before him, back to the wall. He slowly sank into the chair, slouching luxuriously.
“You’ll see,” he said lazily. “First…strip.”
