The Gender Plan (The Gender Game #6)(38)

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Desmond said, the corners of her mouth turning up just slightly.

“Not for very much longer,” Ms. Dale said, although the pause after Desmond made the remark was a little too long. “But we’ve made up our minds. Your days are numbered. The number is very short.”

“So where am I to die? Here in this room, or shall we go for a lovely stroll in the forest?”

“Forest. We don’t want to expose the children to that level of violence.” Ms. Dale gave Desmond a tight smile. “We had a sort of compromise—Viggo didn’t want to execute you, but he was outvoted. Then when it came down to timing, there was a bit of an argument, hence the compromise.” As she spoke, Ms. Dale paced the room slowly, her arms crossed under her chest. “Basically… you get a final request, within reason.”

Desmond looked at each of us in turn, and then gave a surprised laugh. “Dear God, is that the best you can do? This… little sashay around the room with a hokey story about how you all agreed to execute me… Please. You are too soft to do something like that. You can’t even muster the practicality to sacrifice a few orphans.”

I emitted a bitter laugh. “I can’t believe that I spent forty-five minutes in a meeting arguing to keep you alive, even though I know you are never going to provide any information to us.”

My retort caught her off balance, and she considered me with a long smile. “It’s a pity you didn’t consult me before you voted. I could’ve helped your argument immensely. But I suppose, since you’re so set on executing me, it doesn’t matter now.”

I ignored the hook she was trying to set, and took a step forward, changing tact. “Aren’t you tired of all this? All this fighting and killing people? I know I am, and I’m half your age.”

“Closer to a third, actually,” Desmond corrected me primly, her fingers coming up, jangling the chain through the gray and white hair hanging in curls around her face. With her hair down, she looked less severe and more elderly. Frail and fragile. I noticed the translucency of her skin, how the tips of her fingers were slanted down, likely from arthritis. Like this, she appeared almost… soft.

She met my gaze, a sardonic smile playing on her lips. “As for my request, where’s my son?”

I already had my answer for that. “You’re not going to see him.”

“Is that his decision, or yours?” The question was delivered casually, but it packed a solid blow. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Jay what he wanted—I had just made the decision. “That’s what I thought,” Desmond whispered, her lips curling up and around into a circle as her smile grew. “You know the difference between you and me, Mr. Croft? At least my soldiers know that I’m going to be making all decisions on their behalf, with their lives, before I go off and do it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” I snapped back.

“Winning makes it right.” Desmond rested her shoulders back into her pillow. “And, by the Mother, I will make sure that I take everything away from you, starting with those boys, and ending with Violet. And if dying is what it takes to do it, I accept that price gladly.”

The hatred was back, thick and acrid on my tongue, as I thought of the way Desmond had fired at Violet, and how Violet had dropped, lifeless, to the ground. For Desmond, it had been as simple as breathing, but to me… In that moment, I’d thought she had robbed me of any last hope I had for the future. The despair alone had threatened to crush me—I couldn’t bear losing Violet. Not now, not ever.

Ms. Dale noticed my rising temper and stepped in between us, blocking my view of Desmond. I moved around her as she spoke, but also took a step back, cautious enough not to get too close to her. “You’ve given us your request. We’re done here.”

She turned and pressed a hand to my chest, sternly mouthing the word ‘go.’ I robotically moved back a few steps, and then turned, gaining control of myself. I left the room, Ms. Dale hot on my heels. I watched as she locked the door, then hid the keychain in the next room—with our team coming and going, we needed an accessible place to keep it.

The hatred that had cloyed my chest a moment ago had started to dissipate, my anger draining away bits at a time. I had never felt so out of control in an interrogation room, but then again, I had never had the chance to interrogate Desmond. “I’m sorry,” I said roughly. “I thought I could handle that better, but—”

“It’s Desmond,” Ms. Dale said, her voice bitter. “You’re not the only one who can feel her like something greasy on the skin. She’s an expert at this, so it’s going to take a while to break her.”

“That last part… she didn’t sound like she was lying,” I said, hating that I even had to entertain that thought.

Ms. Dale scowled, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “Well, at least we haven’t taken any steps backward. Viggo, the two best ways of breaking someone are through fear or guilt. We tried fear, but Desmond is old. She doesn’t have much left to fear. She’ll lie through her teeth to save her life, but it doesn’t help us much if we have no cross-references. Maybe we should try guilt, see if we can’t shake something loose.”

I frowned. “You want to use Jay?” I did not like that idea at all.