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“Ah, yes,” I said swiftly. “Of course.”
“He’s the key to the algorithm, but I just can’t get it out of him,” Halliwell complained. “He did have some legitimate brain damage some months ago, but I strongly suspect that he’s just pretending at this point. I’m tempted to cut bait.”
I digested that as he slowed to a halt at the big gate, which ground slowly open for him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You’re a bright girl,” he said, his voice impatient. “Extrapolate.”
“I prefer to communicate plainly,” I said.
“I don’t give a shit about your preferences. But I’d like to attempt one more technique before I’m done with our visitor. A classic, old-fashioned game of good cop, bad cop. I’ve been the bad cop for months, so he is primed for the good cop. And I have a feeling that you could be very, very good, Cassandra.”
I was horrified by the implications of his teasing tone. “Wait. Hold on. By ‘cut bait,’ do you mean… kill him?”
“Don’t be tedious,” he snapped. “I need that algorithm. You will be my last-ditch effort to persuade him to be reasonable. Failing that, we move on to harsher modalities. He certainly can’t walk out of here free, after what’s happened to him. Nicole and Vincent made that impossible. Regrettable, but there it is.”
“So I’m his last hurrah before you cut him to pieces?” My voice shook in horror. “Jesus, what am I supposed to do? Tap dance for him, for fuck’s sake?”
“Language,” he chided. “Talk to him, since you find him so intriguing. Chat with him, flirt with him, charm him. I’ll watch, in the monitor.”
He pulled into the enormous garage and parked near the northeast stairwell. The stairs that led down, down, down… to Level Eight.
Dear God, he wanted to do this rightnow?I was not ready. I had no plan.
“What’s the point?” I tried to mask my desperation. “What am I supposed to ask him? What do you want me to fish for? For God’s sake, give me some parameters!”
He unlocked the car with a finger-flick, and walked briskly around, opening my door. “Don’t ask me. Improvise. Pull the thorn from his paw. Gain his trust. He’s bored, lonely, vulnerable, sex-starved. Use your imagination. I know you have one. Tell me it’s useful for something other than sexual fantasies.”
“I don’t want to mind-fuck him any more than I want to boink Andrew Hwang!”
He let out a theatrical sigh. “Fine. Never mind. I’ll just call the interrogation specialists right now. We’ll let them get to work, and by tomorrow, it will all be over. And I, for one, will be happy to put the whole thing behind me. It’s become tedious.”
Interrogation specialists?Oh holy fuck, no. My mind raced. “Wait,” I said.
His lip-curl widened to a self-satisfied smile. “Yes?”
“I’ll, ah… I’ll talk to him. I don’t know what point there is, but I’ll do it. Just give me the time to run up to my apartment and change out of this?—”
“No. Go just as you are. You look very nice.”
“But I… but …”
“You don’t have the luxury of arguing with me.” His voice snapped like a whip. “If I told you to get down on your knees and fellate him, you would do it. You have no rights here. Not if you want Regina’s treatments to continue. Is that absolutely clear?”
I stared at him, appalled. I knew exactly what he was. My mother had told me about him all my life. And even so, this was like a splash of ice-water to the face.
“Oh, stop it,” he cajoled. “Don’t be all shocked. It hasn’t come to that yet. Let’s see what results you get by simple flirting, hmm? We’ll leave fellatio for a last resort.”
Oh God. He thought he wasfunny?I couldn’t even unlock my joints.
He took my arm and frog-marched me down the stairs. My ankles wobbled on those ridiculous heels, but Halliwell kept up a brisk clip, steadying me when I stumbled.
At the door to Level Eight, he inserted his passcard. It buzzed green, and he pushed the door open. “Go on in alone. Seeing me with you would inhibit him.”
“I don’t know what to say to him!”
“Don’t ask me to micro-manage, or we’ll never know what you’re capable of.”
You don’t even want to know what I’m capable of, you scheming prick.
