Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(128)

She perched cross-legged on the cot and devoured everything on the tray, including the Excedrin. She put the wrapping and the tray back on the shelf and sat down on the cot again, cross-legged.

She tried to keep her mind blank. There was nothing constructive she could think about. Thinking about Bruno hurt too much. He belonged to that other world, that fantasy universe that might have been able to exist, if she’d rolled the right dice. But she hadn’t.

Tough shit. Here she was, here she’d stay. She stared at the wall, keeping her eyes open, flooded with light, as if it could overexpose her brain like camera film, wash it pale and blank. No thoughts, no feelings.

Time passed. The throb in her head eased down. Her inflamed arm felt hot. Her belly grumbled for more food. She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.

Dignity. Calm. Equanimity. This was probably it. She’d try not to snivel or whine. She’d had a good run. She’d bet money that she’d given them more trouble than they’d ever expected. It was the thing in her life so far that she was most proud of.

She thought of the drawing of her mother, and then of that sunset-tinged view of forever with Bruno, and her heart caught, twisted—

Not good. Chilly and detached. Blank was better.

She didn’t have that long to wait. It was a half an hour or so before the door lock clicked and the door opened.

It was the fake nurse in jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt, dark hair pulled back into a high, bouncing ponytail. Fresh-faced, wholesome. A girl from the varsity volleyball team. The furthest thing from a scheming kidnapper/killer that Lily could imagine.

She forced old air out of her lungs. Oxygen, for the brain cells. She repeated her mantra. Dignity. Calm. Equanimity. She waited for the other woman to speak first, leaning on the impulse to babble, to beg.

The bitch looked delighted with herself. Her dark eyes sparkled. She held up a steaming paper cup. “We thought you’d like some coffee,” she said. “Just how you like it. Dark roast, no sugar, real cream.”

Saliva practicallyuntained from her salivary glands. “How do you know how I take my coffee?” Her voice was a fuzzy croak.

“We know everything. Here, take it. It’ll make you feel better.”

Lily stared at the rising steam, trying to gauge how many notches of dignity, calm, and equanimity she might lose by accepting. She concluded that any loss of points would be offset by the advantage of caffeine. She had to choke back the urge to thank that scheming fiend, just for a lousy cup of coffee. She drank it without looking at the woman, who was probably primed for a barrage of questions.

But Lily had already decided that there was no point in asking. They would tell her what this was about, or not. The less noise she made, the better. When the cup was empty, she placed it on the tray with the wrappings and laced her fingers together.

The girl got impatient with the silence. “Come with me.”

Lily ran that hypothetical action through the dignity-calmequanimity algorithm, but the woman let out an irritated sound before the results could crunch. “Come with me, or I will physically compel you,” she said. “I have black belts in eight martial arts disciplines.”

“Tell me where I’m going,” Lily said.

The woman’s ponytail bounced as she tossed her head. “King wants to talk to you,” she said. “What King wants, he gets.” Her blue eyes dilated almost to black when she spoke the name.

“So King is the name of the guy doing this to me?”

“Come with me and find out,” the woman said. “If you don’t come willingly, you’ll still find out, but it’ll be more painful. As in dislocated joints, torn cartilage, snapped bones, missing teeth, broken nose, internal bleeding. Have I made myself clear?”

Data churned through the algorithm. Up she went, on her feet. The lure of information plus the avoidance of pain was a winning combination. The wooden floor was cold and smooth against her bare feet. Funny, how small and docile being barefoot made one feel. She supposed she should be glad they’d left her any clothes at all.

Pad, pad, pad. She tried to pretend her knees weren’t knocking and her bowels churning. The food she’d eaten was threatening to make a surprise reappearance. Not good. Stress urping was not dignified.

She willed her spasming stomach to calm down, focusing on the squeaking athletic shoes of the ponytailed ninja bitch. The corridor was long and hardly lit at all. Light filtered in from each end. It looked like the corridor in an old apartment building or hotel.

They stopped and she was shoved into a doorway, into a large room, also white and windowless. A table against the far wall. A single chair, sitting under a horribly bright light. An interrogation room.

Two men. One was on his feet, the young one who had helped kidnap her from Rosaline Creek.

The other was an older man, one she’d never seen before. Even when he was seated, she could tell he was tall and well built. He was handsome, his perfectly styled hair discreetly graying at the temples. He had the patrician good looks of a powerful politician—or rather, an aging A-list actor who played powerful politicians. Real politicians didn’t have time for this much grooming. This guy had gotten himself ironed a couple of times. His tan was too smooth, his jaw too taut. He smiled, activating deep, charming dimples. His teeth were unnaturally white.

“Ah, Lily. Finally you’ve joined us.” His smile was jovial. “Please, sit down.” He gestured toward the chair in the middle of the bleak room with the air of a kindly host seating her on a cozy sofa. “Hobart, are you ready with the videos? You look pale, my dear. Melanie, get Lily another coffee.” He turned to her, brow creased in concern. “This time two sugars, I think. I know you don’t take sugar, but indulge me—you look like your blood sugar is a little low. After all, you’ve been unconscious for close to three days. Sleeping beauty!”