Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(73)

I don’t see anyone but a lone kid at the very end, touching a skull.

Then I turn around and see it.

This time in front of me, not behind me at all.

A man passing across the tunnel and disappearing into the dark, going to and coming from a place he shouldn’t.

I walk forward and peer around the corner.

There are two passageways, both with DO NOT ENTER signs. One is completely dark. One has a dim light hanging from somewhere farther inside, like it’s a large cavern.

I know I should keep going.

I know I should get out of this place.

But now I’m curious, more curious than afraid.

I carefully walk through the narrow passage, ignoring the sign, my fingers brushing along the damp limestone walls.

And then I see it.

A small room carved into the stone.

A stack of busted crates in one corner.

Piles of broken bones.

A single swinging bulb giving off a dull sepia light.

And Pascal, standing right below it.

Waiting for me.

I should have expected to see him, I should have known it was him following me. This place looks like the sort he’d emerge from, somewhere between the real world and hell.

Yet, I’m surprised.

Surprised enough to freeze in place, my breath catching in my throat.

“You’re a hard girl to get ahold of,” Pascal says in a low voice. He steps forward, the light of the bulb hitting his eyes, making them gleam with intensity.

“And you don’t seem to take a hint very well,” I tell him, raising my chin and fixing him with my most confident glare, even though inside I want to run, maybe throw up somewhere.

I turn around and start out the way I came, because I may have been stupid enough to come in here, but I’m not stupid enough to stay.

“And you don’t seem to take threats very well,” he says sharply. There’s such an edge to his voice that I have no choice but to stop. “You’re a smart girl, Sadie. You know what’s going to happen to you, to Olivier, if you don’t start making the right choices. You can walk out of here and pretend you never saw me, but I’ll make sure to follow you wherever you go. Wherever your loved ones go. Wherever your loved ones are.” He pauses. “I’ve heard Seattle is lovely this time of year.”

My heart booms loudly in my ears, and I slowly turn to face him.

He can’t be serious.

Did he just threaten my mother?

But he is serious. He’s more serious than I’ve ever seen him. That mask he sometimes wears is gone, and there is nothing but ice-cold ambition, the kind of look that I’m sure most serial killers have while they’re planning their next kill.

“What do you want from me?” I ask quietly.

“I want to show you something,” he says, smoothly taking his phone out of his pocket and walking toward me.

I back up until I am pressed against the cold wall and wonder if I scream whether my voice would echo out into the tunnels or be swallowed up by the bones.

“Don’t panic,” he says to me, coming so close that he’s almost pressed up against me, leaving just a few inches that feel like no space at all. I can hardly breathe. His face comes in closer, his lips going into that lopsided smirk, one that enjoys what he’s doing far too much. “I’m not going to hurt you. We can discuss things like adults. We can decide what we’re going to do next.”

I don’t say anything, just stare at him, and I know my eyes are showing every ounce of fear rolling through me.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” he says. “Like an animal, caught, cornered. Once trusting, now afraid.”

I lick my lips, my mouth going so dry it’s like a bag of sand was poured in it.

“You don’t have to fear me if you listen,” he murmurs, his gaze now raking over my mouth. “You have nothing to fear at all if you play this the right way.”

“And what way is that?” I whisper.

He raises his brow. “You’re curious. Curiosity killed the cat, isn’t that what they say where you’re from? But you’re smarter than that. That’s why you’re going to listen. That’s why you’re going to leave.”

“I’ll gladly leave.” I make a move to go, but he flattens himself against me, positioning himself so I’m stuck between him and the wall. I suck in my breath, trying to muster enough energy to scream, when he puts his hand over my mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispers harshly. “What did I just say? You stay quiet and you listen, and everything will work out. If you scream, if you run, then it will be me on that next plane back to Seattle, not you. Do you understand me? I know my English can be bad sometimes, but I’m trying to convey something very important here. Do you comprehend any of this?”

I don’t.

All I know is the fear.

The fear that something terrible is about to happen to me.

But at the same time, how could it?

I could fight, I could escape, I could yell, and people would come running in a second. We’re in a room with one way out, and there’s a world of tourists just around the corner.

I could do all of those things and escape.

It would only make things worse.

I try to will myself to relax, to play along, but with his hand pressed against my mouth, his hard, strong body pinning me in place, it’s impossible.