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“Russian…” Mason seems to think it over for a few seconds before he continues. “The mission that went wrong, causing Jonathan to get killed, was in Russia.”
“That can’t be a coincidence.”
“I agree. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” I take a breath, preparing myself for what I’m about to tell him. “We did find a body in another cell.”
“Someone we know?” Mason questions.
“Yes… it was your mom. I’m sorry, Mason.”
There is a long pause. Long enough for me to wonder if he has hung up the phone. “Are you still there?”
“I’ll see you when you get back.”
And with that, the line goes dead.
22
NATALIE
My eyes flutter open, and right away I wish they hadn’t. It was easier to be unconscious. To float away, oblivious. Sure, my sleep was full of ugly dreams and horrifying images. My mother’s dead body, for one. That awful hole between her eyes.
But there were also pleasant dreams. Me, Jonathan, and Mason climbing the tree out in the backyard. The two of them telling me I couldn’t climb as high as they could just because I was a girl. I could hear Mom, could see her looking so young and pretty, calling to us from the back door and begging us to be careful. If I could only go back to those days.
There’s no sense of thinking that way while I’m tied to a bed, my hands above my head. Several other beds are in this room, but mine is the only one currently occupied. It’s creaky, old, and every move I make causes the metal to shriek. Sort of like an alarm, something that could alert anybody else in the building to my being awake. They didn’t use duct tape this time—nylon rope bites into my skin, chafing it painfully when I test the tightness of the knot.
I suck a pained breath in through clenched teeth, and my heart takes off at a gallop. What are they going to do? Obviously, they found Mom no longer helpful and got rid of her. I can’t afford the stabbing pain that lances my chest when I think about it. There will be time later for that. Right now, I have to find a way to get out of here.
Heavy footsteps chill my blood, and I fight harder than ever against the rope, but it’s no use. I’m only flushed, breathless, and sweaty when a tall, dark figure fills the doorway to the makeshift dorm.
“You are awake.” The midday light streaming through the window over my head reveals his grim smile. His weathered face is hard and cold as he looks me up and down with narrowed, steely eyes. His Russian accent tickles the back of my mind, approximately in the same place where there’s still a painful throb marking my every heartbeat. Then both of you are useless to us.
“You murdered my mother,” I whisper.
He lifts a thick shoulder. “She was no use to us anymore. And if you would like to escape the same fate,” he continues, approaching the bed slowly, seeming to enjoy my growing dread, “you will tell me what I wish to know.”
My mouth is bone dry, and my heart is about to pound out of my chest. This is a killer, cold-blooded and heartless. He will not hesitate to end me here and now if I don’t give him what he wants.
But he’ll end me if I do, too. Either way, this doesn’t end with me walking out of here.
A dismayed sob tries to force its way out of my throat, but I swallow it back. “I have nothing to tell you.” I’ll be damned if I go out like a coward.
“You say that now,” he counters with a nasty little smile. “But you should know with your background that there are ways of jogging a person’s memory.”
“You’ll be wasting your time.”
“Yet something else I would expect you to say. Truly,” he continues, gesturing toward a man standing out in the hall. “This does not have to be painful or take much time. You must know by now we will find a way to get to your brother, and we will kill him. It is inevitable.”
“Then why do you need me?” It’s difficult to get the words out when I see what the second man hands the Russian: a black case, big enough to hold just about anything.
“We’re hoping to save time. To cut to the chase, as they say,” he explains in a calm, almost friendly tone. While I watch, he opens the case on the bed next to mine. He’s standing in the way, so I can’t see what’s inside. I’m sure this is all designed to freak me out, to get me talking.
I’m not going to talk, but I am most definitely freaked out. A little more with every passing second, in fact.
“Tell me,” he grunts. “The hotel’s safe houses. Where are they?”
