Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(99)

Before my eyes, Saskia pulls back a dark curtain and shows me her ugly past.

"I've walked into situations where drug lords or dictators wanted information, but they've tortured their targets for days, even weeks. The human mind is resilient yet complicated. Memories and fantasies intertwine. What is a dream? What is reality? They all twist into the unknowable when under stress. Think of it as trying to remember a name when you see someone at a party. If you have time to think, you can usually recall the name. If you're under too much pressure, your mind locks up, and the name remains lost."

Saskia fingers caress mine absently. Her mind so focused on the past that she doesn't see me. I shiver at the thought of her mother teaching a child such horrible skills.

"The key is to tear a person's body apart without destroying their mind. Most people want to give up early on, but they don't want to give up too soon. Most of us aren't martyrs or cowards, so it’s necessary to peel slowly away their need to refuse. It takes time and patience. Even more so when I walked into a situation where the target was already pulverized. Bringing them back to sanity enough to dig into their minds can be impossible. Compared to such lost causes, the man tonight would have been a cakewalk."

The indifference in her expression doesn't bother me as much as the pride in her voice. Imagining her entering a room with a man strapped to a chair, I see her coldly tearing him apart until he has nothing left to offer. Human life meant nothing to her mother, and I wonder if it means anything to Saskia either.

"You only left that life out of boredom?" I ask, my voice shaking.

Saskia hears the judgment in my words. When she looks at me, her face reveals emotions I don't understand. Is it possible I really don't know this mysterious woman and our feelings are no more than lust born out of shared loneliness?

The confusing emotions on her face shift into a cold mask. Saskia releases my hand and slides out of bed. "Everyone has darkness in them, but not everyone embraces it."

"You were a child when darkness touched you."

Saskia yanks on her robe and walks to the bathroom. "I embraced it long after Maven was dead, and I feel no guilt for my past. While I take a shower, I'd like you to leave. Now that all the other publicity events are canceled, we can return to Houston tomorrow."

The door shuts gently behind her as if Saskia refuses to admit she's upset. Her voice never wavers. Her cold expression never falters. Despite the hours of wild abandon in bed, she's once again closed off to me.

Dressing quickly, I leave as she wants. I ought to feel worse about giving up so easily or upset about her closing the door on her feelings. After her prideful speech on the wonders of torturing someone, her indifference feels like a relief.





22


Saskia

Pieces of a Puzzle

The flight back to Houston is a tense one. Brad says nothing to anyone. Nell and Ruth whisper heatedly, arguing over something. Minka is positively miserable and takes a seat away from everyone. Once the plane takes off, the bad mood onboard is oppressive.

A few hours into the flight, Marx decides to take the seat next to mine. I continue flipping through my catalogs while he settles in for a long time. He's clearly nervous to talk to me. Though I hope he'll chicken out and go away, he smiles at me instead.



"You don't like me very much, do you?"

"I have no feelings towards you whatsoever."

"I probably come on too strong. This entire experience with Brad and the book has been overwhelming. Sorry if I annoyed you."

Glancing back, I notice Ruth and Nell watching us from two rows over. I decide to prove I'm nice by tolerating Marx.

"I'm sure you did a professional job on the book."

"You still haven't read it?"

"If Brad wants to share something about his past, he can tell me himself."

Marx studies me with his pale blue eyes. I check my phone while he does his thinking.

"I think you have an interesting story to tell," he finally says.

"I'm sure you do."

"A book could be written in such a way that it would tell your story without giving away personal info about you."

"Unlikely. What would be the point of telling my story anyway?"

"You could explain how you got into your line of work. I'm sure you have a lot of great stories."

Thinking of how I shared too much with Brad and he's now avoiding me, I have no interest in telling more stories.

"I doubt there's a way to write about my life without giving away info about me and the people in the stories. If you put too much info, bad people might come looking for us."

Marx gives me a confident smile. "I'm sure we could fudge some things."

"If you're planning to lie about the details, the book would be fiction. If so, why not write whatever you want and leave me out of it?"

Frowning, Marx glances around. I don't know what he's looking for, but he returns his gaze to me and says, "I prefer writing about real people."

Even having no interest in this man, I realize Marx might provide me with info to help me protect Brad.

"You did research into Brad's case before writing the book, yes?"

"Sure. I talked to the detectives in charge. Retraced the crime and took pictures of everything."