An Honest Lie(74)

When he seemed satisfied, he stood up and she was looking at the dark blue knees of his jeans. He backed away rather than turning around and she understood why: he held a phone at chest level and was taking photos of Rainy where she sat handcuffed to the steel leg of the table.

She was angry, she wanted him to stop taking photos, but she couldn’t find the words to say so. She tried to hold up her hand, to block her face from his camera where a line of drool hung lazily from her lower lip, but it was chained to the leg of the table.

“What are you doing?” She slumped forward and the handcuffs bit into her wrists. He was tall—six feet, maybe—and narrow in the chest. When he was finished taking his photos, he set his phone down on one of the metal tables. He leaned back, crossing his legs at the ankles, smiling at her pleasantly like she was a visitor. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and his arms, which were crossed over his chest, were lean and muscular.

“I’m surprised you came.” He said this casually, as if they were having lunch. “And I’m not exactly sure why you came, to be honest, especially after this one—” he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder “—has been trying to steal your man.”

Her eyes followed his gesture. There were two stainless-steel prep tables bolted to the floor in a T shape. Rainy’s hands were handcuffed around the leg at the top left of the T while another slumped figure—Braithe!—was handcuffed to the bottom of the T, her back to Rainy.

“It’s a restaurant. One of many. It’s being renovated, and no one is here. So no one will hear you, I’ve made sure of that.”

He stared at her, a little impatiently, Rainy noticed, waiting for her to give an explanation as to why she had come for Braithe. She wasn’t going to. Braithe was clearly more heavily drugged than she was, but she was alive.

“Not in the mood to talk, I see.” He started walking toward her with a bottle of water. Rainy watched him unscrew the cap. Paul held the lip to her mouth and she sucked up as much as she could before he pulled it away. His hands were ringless, his clothes mundane; there was nothing that would draw your attention if you passed him on a street.

“What did you give me?” Her voice was hoarse.

“What does it matter?”

Water dripped down her chin, and without the adrenaline pumping wildly at her decisions, she was afraid.

“Oh, I wanted to play,” he continued. “As soon as you started texting our little Braithe here with your accusations, I wanted to play with you. I realized you were the reason she was even here. She’s a little boring, if I’m telling the truth. I can see why our beloved Grant chose you.”

Rainy blinked at him, wondering if Braithe was awake and had heard him say that.

“Well, now I’m here to play, so let her go.”

“Oh, come on now. You didn’t really think I’d do that? You’re not a stupid girl, Rainy. Funny, though, I looked for you on the wonderful wide web and found next to nothing. No personal life, no particular place you grew up...no addresses. That couldn’t be because you’re lying about your real name, could it?”

Braithe looked up, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Maybe,” Rainy said. “But what difference does it make to you?”

“I like to bond with my victims.”

“Yeah? I knew a man who liked to bond that way, too.”

He smiled and she saw the expensive dental work, porcelain veneers; her grandmother had had them. It was the first time a smile had lit up his eyes, and it was creepy. She recognized her mistake: he was trying to throw her off-balance, make her so emotional she couldn’t think clearly.

Rainy tried to keep her face neutral. He was smart, and she needed to be smarter.

“Where is he now, little liar Rainy, and what is your real name?”

“Fuck you. You obviously know what my real name is. You texted it to me.” Rainy spat at his feet and he smiled without malice. “But you’re not using your real name, either. You obviously have a connection to the compound.” But he didn’t answer her, just continued to smile beatifically. Obviously, he wasn’t going to explain anything to her. At least, not until he was ready. He looked past her to Braithe and made kissy noises at her.

“This one has been such an angel. I’m not used to all this spice. You’re like a little hot pocket, aren’t you?”

“Did your daddy talk to you like that? No...that’s not right,” Rainy said slowly. “It was your mama, wasn’t it? That’s why you hate women.”

Paul’s smile froze. He took three jerky strides to Rainy and she felt the sting of his hand as he slapped her clean across the face. He caught her lip and she felt it split open like ripe fruit. Braithe moaned from somewhere behind her and Rainy heard the rattling of handcuffs on the table leg.

Paul stood over her, his clear blue eyes clouded. Rainy watched him clench and unclench his fists like he was trying to pump his anger out of them. She felt strangely calm, or perhaps it was the drugs—either way, she stared on impassively as Braithe began to cry softly from her end of the table.

He was thin, thinner than most men of his height, but what struck Rainy most were the veneers. An eating disorder would cause the signs of malnutrition on Paul’s face, and she’d bet his teeth were rotting from years of bulimia before he shelled out the money for his Ronald Reagan teeth.