Basilisk (The Korsak Brothers #2)(58)
I didn’t get my wish. Big surprise.
“Ah, don’t be like that. It’ll make for a boring trip. We’ve had the Institute, which can be rebuilt as we have the day care to supply it. But you—you and the others are a problem we haven’t faced before. Therefore, a new place shall be created for you and them—what should we call it? Probation? Detention?—where naughty little assassins are taught their rightful place.” Raynor’s gravelly voice was far too cheerful for me.
“But you look down in the mouth at that news.” He tsked, the sound odd through the trach valve. “I know—let’s bring your friend up. You’ll have company. That’ll put the pink in your cheeks. You might work up the curiosity to ask me precisely what they’ll do to you when I have the probationary program fully staffed. I hate it when I concoct devious plans and no one can be bothered to ask me about them. My ego becomes quite bruised. Since I’m going to stop, are you sure you don’t want some Tylenol for that formerly fractured head of yours?”
“No, thanks,” I said without any emotion he’d be able to detect. “I’m not deficient. I’m not weak.”
“Like me, you mean?” The car had pulled over into what had once been a rest stop. It was now a deserted, crumbling place except for us. “I suppose I should be offended by that, on my behalf and on humanity’s behalf as well, but, Michael. . . .” He put the car in park and smiled at me. It was full of gloat and triumph. “This deficient human has certainly put you in your place, now haven’t I?” He opened the driver door, but paused to gift me with a last few words before exiting. “Your place in the grand scheme of things is slave, chimera. An obedient, servile slave and I’ll make damn sure you never forget that again.”
He slammed the door behind him. I didn’t bother to think about being a slave again, because I’d die before that happened. I did think about what he meant by bringing my friend up. What friend? Saul?
I heard the thump of the trunk, muffled sounds of outrage, and then the other door to the backseat was flung open. I saw pale skin, a flash of long legs under a short purple, blue, and green filmy skirt, lavender sandals that had ties that crisscrossed up the calf to tie in a neat bow just under the knees, and toenails painted pink—cotton candy pink.
The same as the girl’s hair.
“Ariel?”
“Yes, your Easter egg–colored girlfriend from New York.” Raynor tore away the duct tape that served as a gag, taking strands of pink hair stuck in the adhesive. “She was so worried about you that she showed up in Cascade Falls looking for someone who matched your description with the rather boring name of Bernie. Instead, she found one of my men. Mercenaries. You kill one, I simply hire another. I didn’t think you’d go back to the Falls, but you never know. And while I didn’t catch you, I did catch another little fish in my net, or rather one of my men did. She’s quite a loud fish too but a perfect way of keeping you in line, along with the chains.”
Her wary and suspicious blue eyes focused on the finger he wagged in her face. “Now then, scream again, little fish, and I’ll hurt you. And trust me when I say that I’ll enjoy it. Might even make a hobby of it. So let’s use our inside voices, shall we?” He closed the door, the overhead light going dark again. Back behind the wheel, he hit the childproof locks and we were on the road again. “And do keep in mind, Michael, while I can’t do much to hurt you in the more permanent sense without losing a large profit, to her I can do anything I want. My imagination in that area is vast and impressive.”
I didn’t face Ariel, not yet. I had a question first, the same question for both of them, but I asked Raynor first. “How did you find me?”
“Oh, I have a tracker too. I found the house in Laramie the same as you, but as I flew, while suctioning out my new tracheotomy—quite pleasant, thank you—I beat you. I saw the discarded chips inside the house and I knew you wouldn’t be far behind. I waited out of sight and shot your ‘borrowed’ SUV with a magnetic tracking disc. Hands-on operation, that’s what I’m about. And I don’t care for my mercenaries to know too much about what I’m doing. Then I followed you and waited for a chance at you alone, without your rather shady companions. Lucky me, I stumbled across one fairly quickly.”
Again, thanks to me. Now I looked at Ariel. Despite the dark and with the help of the occasional passing headlights, I could see that her usually smooth pink bob was a tangled mess. The faint glitter of light purple eye shadow and mascara was smeared. Her standard pink lip gloss was gone, the same pink as her short fingernails that decorated the hands that sat in her lap. The hands didn’t have much choice. Her wrists were restrained with the same plastic ties the police used. She looked lost, confused, and vulnerable . . . right up until the moment she lifted her bound wrists and smacked me hard across the jaw with them. “Liar!” Then she leaned back far enough to plant one purple sandal in my left ribs. “You are such a filthy liar, Bernie! Or is it Parker? That’s what they were calling you in that tiny little town. And this maniac is calling you Michael. So which is it?”
Strands of hair had fallen in her eyes and she blew them out of the way to gauge that perfect aim one more time. The sandal slammed me again. “When we get out of this, when I kick your brainiac ass, I want to know exactly what name to call you, and it damn sure won’t be Dr. Theoretical.”