Seeds of Iniquity (In the Company of Killers, #4)(10)

Nora’s brown eyes follow him and she looks him over from his shiny, expensive dress shoes, his black Armani suit jacket and to the top of his nicely-groomed hair. Surely she’s ‘looked him over’ in this sultry manner already, but now that I’m in the room with him she must be trying to push the jealous buttons. It doesn’t work because I know I have nothing to worry about.

“Shall we begin?” Victor says.

“Of course,” she says, as always with an air of sophistication. “I would say have a seat, but seeing as how there’s only one extra chair…”

“We’re fine to stand,” Dorian says with impatience, stepping up beside us. “Let’s get on with this.”

Niklas moves off to the side to stand against the wall. He’s as interested as anyone in what Nora has to say, but he appears bored. He crosses his muscled arms over his chest and brings one foot up, propping the sole of his boot against the wall behind him.

Woodard has barely moved the whole time. He continues to stand in the center of the room, sweating profusely and looking like he’s about to be forced on a rollercoaster and is afraid of heights—if any of us cracks under the pressure, it’s likely to be Woodard.

Nora’s eyes scan us all, one by one. Propping her elbows on the chair arms, she interlocks her fingers over her lap dressed in black leather, her hands dangling there.

“As I’ve said,” Nora begins smoothly, confidently, “one of you knows who I am, or at least will realize who I am by the time this is all over.”

We all look at each other, all except for Victor who keeps his eyes trained on the enemy—always focused, always disciplined, always absorbing every miniscule detail, always the one of us who has his shit together at all times no matter the situation.

“This is how the game will be played,” she goes on. “I want information, and if I don’t get the information that I came here for”—she smirks and points her index finger upward—“yes, I said came here, because I wouldn’t be sitting here in this room if I hadn’t let you bring me.”

“I suppose you wanted to be chained to a chair, too,” I cut in sarcastically.

She raises her wrists as if to show us the handcuffs.

“These little things?” she says mockingly.

“Get to the point,” Victor cuts her off.

Her brown eyes move from me to Victor and then after a pause, she goes on.

“Each one of you will give me information. Privately—“she points her finger upward again—“except the one of you who I’m here for. That particular person will have no choice but to give me the information that I want in front of everyone else. And if he or she refuses, your loved ones will be executed.”

I swallow nervously and picture Dina’s face in my mind.

Dorian steps closer, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his teeth grinding, and rage in his face.

Victor puts out his arm without moving any other part of his body, stopping Dorian in his tracks. Dorian doesn’t go any farther.

Nora’s eyes pass over Dorian as she warns, “And if I die, they will also be executed.”

She interlocks her fingers over her lap again.

“Lastly, if my contact doesn’t hear from me in forty-eight hours, that will also get your loved ones killed. So, are you willing to play?” Her gaze falls on all of us once more.

“It’s going to depend solely on what kind of information you want,” Victor speaks up. “And you seem to overlook the very clear fact that you are my prisoner. What makes you think that we won’t simply use you to get these people back? If you know anything about me, and apparently you do, then you should know that I will not give up information on my organization, nor will I let anyone else”—he places his hands on the table and leans over, looking her dead in the eyes—“and I have no problem killing a woman.”

My gaze falls toward the floor; the glare of the light on my black boots the only thing visible in my unfocused vision.

“Proud of that, are you?” Nora mocks, and I can’t be sure, but I thought I felt her eyes on me momentarily.

She cocks her blonde head to one side as I lift mine.

“You must like killing women, Mr. Faust.” She smirks, but is quite serious—and I know she’s trying to get under my skin.

“Killing is what I do,” he answers, sliding his hands off the table and returning upright. “I neither like nor dislike it. But I don’t kill innocent people, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Oh, not at all,” she says, her tone laced with mockery.

Her eyes do meet mine this time, and I can’t help but feel like there’s something hidden in them, something that has to do with me. Or maybe—and very much a possibility—it’s my paranoia at work again.

“But to answer your question,” Nora goes on, “you can use me all you want to get your people back, but it will do you no good”—she leans forward over the table, her long hair laying against the metal—“you see, I’m not afraid of death, and I have nothing else to live for other than the information that I came here to get. So by all means, use me all you want, but you’ll only risk their lives further by doing so.”

Silence fills the room. Again, we all look at each other momentarily, contemplatively.