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Anton laughs.
“My father was a rabid animal, that’s all. His cruelty was driven by his sickness. Mine is a bit more sophisticated. So, no — I’m not going to torture or beat you. I’ll do something you’ll find far more unpleasant.”
“What’s that?”
He smirks, opening a briefcase and showing me the contents: a little black dress.
“We’re going out on a date. In public. And you’re going to pretend to like it.”
—
I change in the car on the way to Ennio’s. He’s taking me to the same restaurant where Ingram and I ate the night before I was forced to “confess” to being an alcoholic. The dress is the same one I wore then.
More than one person stares at us as the hostess shows us to our table. Anton sits with his back to the wall, allowing him to view the whole the restaurant — while forcing me to look only at him.
For the sake of my sanity, I remind myself that Kate Atwood isn’t going on a date with Anton Ford. The alternative TV personality Kate Atwood is. I am an undercover reporter playing a role to someday expose the greatest criminal conspiracy in history.
“You know what I find tempting?” Anton asks, looking over the menu.
“What?”
“The fried calamari.”
“Oh.”
“I’m kidding,” he snorts. “I’m tempted to say the word that will kill you instantly. You would keel over as if you fainted. I’d shout out your name, rush to your side and try to resuscitate you. I’d really make it look convincing. The fear on my face… the paramedics would have to pull me off you. There’d be nothing they could do. The nation would mourn you, and sympathize with me. It would be excellent publicity.”
“At least I’d die quickly,” I mutter.
“Oh, you think so? Well, I guess we’ll see. Apricot.”
I flinch, hand instinctively clapping my neck. I almost leap across the table, determined to try and take Anton with me. But after a moment, nothing happens. I remember Sidney Traves, and how his neck ruptured almost immediately.
“Was that the wrong word?” Anton asks. “I had to memorize so many. Perhaps it was… echidna?”
This time I don’t move. He’s fucking with me. He’s either going to kill me or he’s not.
“Nope, not that one either. Though it’s possible I just killed Merwin Locke.”
“Oh well,” I say.
He chuckles.
“Or it could have been Colette. She’s implanted too, you know. To keep Jamison in line. I’d rather not kill her, but I’ll do it if I have to.”
Unlike the Masters, I don’t want to see her harmed. I may not approve of how she accepted living as a captive, but she did save me from Edward Lonergan. She’s an innocent person — she doesn’t deserve to have this hanging over her.
“You look mad,” he says. “What are you thinking about?”
I’m about to answer when a waiter brings a carafe of ice water to fill our glasses, then takes our orders. Anton gets the calamari after all, as well as a cut of prime rib. For me, he orders a chicken saltimbocca.
Once the waiter leaves, Anton says, “Well?”
He’s not going to slap me in public if I lie, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me in some other way — if not now, later.
“I was thinking how much I’d like to punch you in the throat,” I say. “That way you couldn’t say those words, and I could cut out your tongue with a steak knife.”
“Lovely,” he replies, beaming as he shakes his head. “That’s the spirit, Kate. It’s smart, because if I don’t die, it won’t trigger the automatic kill command. However, I have other ways of detonating your implants. You should know by now I always have contingencies.”
