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Therefore, Vincent was swooping down to take the situation in hand. Halliwell had explained Vincent’s new role; to control and manage Nicole’s excesses while continuing to make use of her remarkable abilities. In a nutshell, to make that naughty bitch behave, by any means necessary…even if he had to punish her severely. He’d gotten explicit permission from Halliwell to take that punishment as far as he liked.
And oh…he liked. He liked, very much.
When he finally had Ethan Masters in his grasp, he would have not only the key to using that algorithm, but also the mind that had dreamed it up. Vincent would keep that mind for himself. If he controlled it, it was almost like being as brilliant as Masters himself. Ethan Masters, his own personal possession. Like a gerbil in a cage.
And speaking of personal possessions…he turned with leisurely slowness to study his latest toy. Nicole, still standing by the door. She wore black silk pants and a white silk blouse, and her hair was swept into a low bun. Her face was unrepentant.
“I’m surprised you have the nerve to show your face,” he said. “You wasted still more of our money and precious time this morning. You put us out there, in danger of discovery. Three men died. Five more are so injured, they’re now useless. And we have nothing to show for it, other than putting Ethan Masters even more on his guard. I’m team leader now. I have the final say. You’re done costing us money, time, and lives. You’ve outlived your usefulness, Nicole. Congratulations. You’ve been retired.”
Nicole’s face had turned a dull, ashy color. She knew what “retired” meant, in the context of their lives as Owen Halliwell’s unlucky bastard spawn.
“Let me fix this,” she said. “I’m already working on an even better plan. Our plan, Vincent. Not Halliwell’s plan. You can’t execute the Event without me.”
“You think not? I’ve been doing this for years, Nicole. Just like you. You’re not so fucking special.”
“I came up with the Event. I put everything into place. I’m the only one who can troubleshoot for you in real time. I know every moving part of it intimately.”
He considered that for a moment. What she said was literally true, not that he would ever admit it to her. But she still needed to be put in her place.
“What do you know about the blonde woman who fought beside Masters in the parking garage?” he demanded.
Her eyes flashed. “Everything,” she said. “I got her name, address, and social security number from the temp agency who sent her to Clemens’ office. She lives in Rainier Beach. Her name is Katrin Banner. My men have been to her house, and the dump of a martial arts school she runs for neighborhood kids. She’s a wild card that we don’t understand yet, but we will, if you let me do my work. If you retire me, I won’t be able to tell you if her identity is real. No one gets the dirt on people like me, Vin.”
“Don’t call me Vin,” he said. “Call me ‘sir.’”
Her face twisted. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.You?”
“Have them bring in the portal,” he told Maynard and Lopez, two of his men, both of whom had been present at the Fletchley disaster this morning, and had lived to tell the tale. Both of whom had reason to be disgusted with Nicole’s leadership. They had disposed of three of their colleagues’ bodies in the incinerator this morning.
They moved quickly, and soon they and two more men, the guards who had been stationed outside the room, wheeled the big machine inside. It was one of Owen Halliwell’s own security designs, made to protect himself from his many enemies. Its battery of intensely sensitive sensors would sense any electronic device, explosive, or poison present on or inside a human body.
Vincent gave Nicole a thin smile. “Strip,” he commanded.
She hesitated. “But I—why would I need to demonstrate—”
“I don’t trust you, Nicole. You have proven yourself unreliable. I can’t let you near me unless I am sure you are clean, and as you know, the device gets a more reliable reading when the subject is naked. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “But I would never—”
“No, ‘sir,’” he corrected.
Nicole stopped, swallowed. “No, sir,” she forced out. “But…” She glanced around at the four men in the room, who were paying very close attention. Their eyes gleamed with hot anticipation, despite their blank expressions.
“The men are here to protect me from you, Nicole.” Vincent kept his voice soft and mocking. “And you have no one to blame for that but yourself. Now strip. Do not make me tell you a third time. You won’t like what happens then.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice had taken on a robotic tone.
She quickly and mechanically removed her shoes and then clothing, carefully draping each piece over the back of one of the desk chairs.
The portal looked like something straight out of a science fiction tale. A gleaming chrome door, the inner frame winking and blinking with colored lights. A magic door, leading to nowhere and everywhere.
“Take your hair down,” Vincent instructed. “You know that already, Nicole. No hairpins or jewelry or any foreign objects can go through.”
Nicole lifted her arms, unfastened her hair, and shook it down, holding herself very straight, jaw clenched, gaze straight ahead. He enjoyed watching her struggle.
“Turn, slowly,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir.” That robotic voice was beginning to annoy him, but he was distracted from it by the spectacle of her spinning around.
