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“Thatisterrible,” Raquel comments coolly.
“I made a deal with Interpol,” I continue even though I know I shouldn’t. I can’t seem to stop the words coming out of my mouth. It’s just so easy to talk, talk, talk… “I put all the evidence together for them, turned Favreaux in. He wasnothappy.”
“And in return, Interpol set you up with a new life and identity?”
I nod. My head is as heavy as a fucking bowling ball. “You got it.”
Raquel stands and makes her way over to me, crawling onto my lap like she always does. She straddles me and presses her hands to my chest. I hum, content with our new position.
“I like how soft you are,” I murmur. “An’ you smell so nice.”
“What else do you like?” she asks with a giggle.
“I like your eyes. So fuckin’ pretty.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Gabriel.”
“Wanna kiss you,” I blurt. Raquel smiles, but there’s something really sad about it. “What’s wrong, lil’ bird? I don’t like it when you’re sad. God, I’m so fuckin’ tired.”
“Gabriel?”
“Oui, mon amour?”
“If Favreaux’s such a bad guy, why are you working with him?”
I shake my head. When I open my mouth to protest, the words slip right out of my brain. I can’t think. Hell, I can barely keep my eyes open. I don’t understand what’s happening to me until—I glance at my glass of wine.
“Did you… put somethin’ in my drink?” I slur. Holy shit, I’m two seconds away from passing out.
Raquel grasps my face with one hand, staring me straight in the eye. She doesn’t look like the woman I’ve come to know and love. No, this is a stranger seated on my lap. This woman is cold and hard and… heartbroken.
“Don’t fight it, Gabriel,” she says, her tone cold and her words clipped. “Go to sleep.”
“Raquel, wait—”
“I can’t believe I trusted you.”
“No… this isn’t… what it looks li…” I shake my heavy head.
“You were right when you said I’m not strong enough to fight you, but you keep forgetting that I like to play dirty.”
“Mon amour, je peux expliquer. I can explain—”
My heavy eyelids seal closed. I can’t get them to open. There’s no way to fight it.
Exhaustion drags me under.
* * *
When I finally come to, the hotel room is cold and dark. It takes me several long minutes before I realize I’m strapped to a chair, my wrists bound together behind my back while my torso is taped with several layers of duct tape.
I don’t know how much time has passed. A couple of minutes, a couple of hours, maybe even a couple of days. My joints are sore from having been seated for so long. There’s no sign of Raquel. Her things are gone, along with all the evidence of our plans.
I’m torn between being upset at her and being upset with myself. How did she find out the truth?Whendid she find out the truth?
My head aches. There’s a terrible pressure behind my eyes. When I crane my neck, I can see an empty box of sleep aids poking out of the trash can near the door. It certainly explains how she managed to knock me out so quickly.
I blink and I blink again, hoping my vision clears enough to see the time on the bedside alarm clock. It’s a quarter to eight, but is it the same day or the next?
