Seeds of Iniquity (In the Company of Killers, #4)(8)

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.

I take a step back, intent on getting dressed, but his hands tighten about my hips, holding me in place.

“Tell me,” he says.

“I can’t.”

And I won’t. I don’t even know what compelled me to bring it up like that.

“It’s nothing,” I say and finally he lets go, his hands falling away from my hips as I walk over to the closet. “We need to go talk to this bitch. I don’t care if she’s pulling all the strings. She’s going to start talking if I have to beat it out of her”—I shake my finger at him, turning from the closet—“And I couldn’t care less if she’s handcuffed to a chair with no way to fight back—I’ll still beat her to death if she hurt Dina.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less of you,” he says.

Victor stands from the end of the bed and tucks the tail of his white shirt behind the waist of his slacks, tops it off with a thin belt and then steps into his dress shoes.

As I’m slipping a thigh-length black dress over my head, Victor steps up behind me and kisses the back of my neck, his fingers trailing softly down the bare skin of my arms.

“I’ll see you in ten minutes,” he says.

He turns and starts to walk toward the door, but I walk quickly over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, resting the side of my bruised face against his back. His big hands enclose mine.

“I do trust you, Victor,” I tell him in a quiet, intent voice.

He squeezes my hands one last time and leaves me to finish getting dressed.

~~~

Nora is sitting alone in a generously-sized room with thick brick walls painted white. A square metal table sits in the center with two black metal chairs—one on each side—and a row of dome-shaped lights running along the high ceiling, bathing the room in bright light. There are four vents set in the wall close to the ceiling to pump heat or air into the space, but it’s neither too hot nor too cold right now to need it. The floor is made of white tiles, blemished by scuffmarks and scrapes from the various pieces of furniture that were taken out of the room months ago, turning what was once some kind of storage space into a confinement and interrogation room. A heavy steel door is the only way in or out, unless one is the size of a toddler and can fit through the vents near the ceiling. Nora is not. She’s a little bigger than me; taller and heavier by a few pounds, and I know I couldn’t fit through an opening that small.

As requested, Nora was allowed a bath—Niklas was happy to volunteer to be the one to stay in the bathroom with her while she did, not because he wanted to see her naked, but because she hit him in the face and he hoped that watching her bathe would make her uncomfortable. It didn’t. I think he’s already beginning to hate her more than he hates me.

She was also given food and wine. And only because she knows where Dina is, I gave her some of my clothes to change into. A pair of black leather pants, long-sleeved black see-through silk shirt, and a pair of black six-inch heels. Her special request was a tube of dark red lipstick—I thought about giving it a few strokes across a toilet seat before giving it to her, but it would take too long to walk back to the restroom.

Niklas has been standing guard inside the interrogation room for the past hour while she ate her meal—lamb with rice and mashed potatoes—and drank her wine all as if she were on a date and enjoying a night out that she didn’t have to pay for. Dorian was persistent about getting his turn to sit in the locked room with her, but seeing as how he wants to beat on her as much as I do, Victor told him to stay out.

Victor is inside the room now, sitting in the empty chair across the table from her when I finally make my appearance. I push up on my toes to look into the room through the small square window, covered by thick Plexiglas.

“Has she said anything?” I ask Niklas.

He’s standing outside the room with Dorian now. The tall steel door is closed and locked from the outside. There is no way to hear anything being said inside, except from the video surveillance room located two floors up.

Niklas shakes his head, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“I don’t like not being able to hear what they’re saying,” I say, pressing my ear to the door, knowing it’s too thick and I’m wasting the effort.

“The only thing she’s said to me really,” Niklas offers, “is that she’s not pleased with the accommodations.”

Dorian paces the brightly lit hall, his black boots moving heavily across the floor, a look of anger glazing in his features. A thick vein is visible near his temple. His jaw constantly moves as if he’s gritting his teeth.

“We’re going to find them,” I tell him, trying to sound optimistic, even though I’m not so sure I feel that way myself.

He glances at me, but continues to pace.

“I don’t like being out here,” he says, “when I should be in there finding out what she wants.”

“Victor knows what he’s doing,” I say.

He nods. “But I still want to know what she’s saying.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door from the inside. When Niklas sees that it's Victor, he punches in the code on the panel on the wall and there’s a clicking sound. The door opens and Victor steps out into the hall and then closes the door behind him.