Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(84)

“Think about that. If you had the ability to do anything you wanted without ever getting caught, what would you do? Make yourself rich? Change property title records so you owned the Hawaiian Islands? Start a war in the Middle East?”

Seemingly unoffended by my threat on his life, Downs considers my question. “I’d stuff my ex-wife’s boyfriend’s computer with kiddie porn and make an anonymous phone call to the relevant authorities.”

“Exactly my point. Think about the pure decency it takes to be able to rule the whole world, and choose not to.”

He mulls that over for a while. “But she did get caught.”

“You’re still not listening. She got caught because she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to get caught?”

I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose for several seconds, breathe in and out slowly for a count of five. That usually helps when I’m developing a massive headache, but this time, no such luck.

“Don’t pop a blood vessel, Mr. Hughes.”

I mutter, “Going in circles like a chicken with its f*ckin’ head cut off makes me want to pop something, I’ll tell you that.”

“Let’s recap. For some mysterious reason known only to her, Tabitha West decided to hack into the NSA’s database—”

“Knowing you were on the way, knowing she’d be taken into custody immediately, possibly knowing the exact location where you’d take her.” A thought occurs to me. Wheels turn inside my head. Gears start to click, coming together like fingers interlacing. “But maybe that wouldn’t even matter. Maybe all she had to do was…”

Set the trap.

My entire body goes cold.

Downs cocks his head and says, “Looks like you just had quite the epiphany, Mr. Hughes. Care to share?”

“The only way you’ll catch him is by using me as bait.”

“I still have the dagger…you know what has to happen next.”

“Let the hunt begin.”

I bolt to my feet, knocking the chair over. A sound I’m intimately familiar with instantly follows.

Downs doesn’t need to reach for his sidearm because I’ve got a pair of freshly cocked shotguns and two Glocks pointed at my chest. He looks up at me, his brows raised.

“You know what a margay is?”

Downs nods. “A nocturnal predatory cat native to Central and South America that can mimic the sounds of baby monkeys in distress to lure worried adult monkeys, who the margay then kills and eats. They’re a highly intelligent trickster, but small, so they use brains instead of brawn to hunt.”

When I blink, surprised, he shrugs. “Animal Planet. My ex loved that show. You were saying?”

“I’m saying Tabby just took a page from the margay’s book.”

A pause follows, but he’s quicker than I thought. His face clears with understanding. “She’s pretending to be a baby monkey.”

“Yep. And I bet wherever you took her, that’s where the big monkey is about to go.”

He gazes at me for a beat, and then motions for the others to stand down. They lower their weapons—a bit reluctantly it seems—and stand in tense readiness.

“And then what?”

“My best guess? He’ll take her back to whatever rock he crawled out from under.” My chest tightens at the thought of Tabby alone with S?ren, and at the reckless, desperate thing I think she’s about to do.

Downs stands. He takes out the bottle of Tums. He shakes a few into his mouth and starts to crunch. “There are miles between those dots you’re connecting, Mr. Hughes. And even if you’re right, you and I both know he can’t just waltz into a secure government facility and whisk away a detainee like he’s escorting her to a school dance. Where she went makes Fort Knox look like a wide-open door.”

“And yet you don’t look like you’re not buying it.”

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“Had a little convo with the director of the NSA on the way over—well, you know. Anyway, it seems they’ve been aware of Killgaard for a while now. More like, they’ve been aware of the effects of Killgaard. Described him as a black hole. Things within his orbit get all”—he makes a wiggly gesture with his fingers—“warped. But the man himself is invisible. He can only be detected by indirect observation, by looking at the distorted things he’s left his fingerprints on.”

Warily, he adds, “Meaning no disrespect but…like Tabitha West.”

Whatever he sees on my face makes him take a small step backward. The agents by the door take a step in.

“Does the NSA know where he is?” My voice is an animal rumble in my throat.

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no one knows where he is.”

A movement at the door catches my eye. I turn and see two agents walking past. Miranda Lawson is sandwiched between them. She glances over, our eyes meet, and she pales.

It hits me like a lightning bolt.

Heart pounding, I say, “Wanna bet?”





Thirty





Tabby




In the dark I sit, waiting. Listening. Because the walls are made of concrete, there’s nothing to hear except my shallow breaths and the thrumming of my heart.