racing and pouring over the skin like water. And just then a trickle of sweat broke free and slid down his back. It took effort to keep from shuddering at the thought of those ants crawling and biting.
“Find what matters to a man,” Falco said, as if, of course, that was the first thing that entered his head. It had to be what the Iceman wanted.
“What else?”
“Find out what matters most to him, then crush it. Discover his worst fears and make them come true.”
The Iceman nodded. “If you’re successful, he’ll beg you to kill him just to put him out of his misery.”
Falco knew that was the Iceman’s signature and why so many feared him. Other cartels sent hit men and death squads to cut the heads off their enemies and dismember their bodies, leaving them in the streets or hanging from bridges as a warning. The Iceman could find you no matter where you tried to hide, and he would destroy your life and your mind, as well as your body.
“Their venom includes a neurotoxin that acts on the nervous system and muscles. The initial bite causes intense pain that spreads through the body and shocks the muscles. It’s said that men who are bitten can experience painful, long-lasting erections. What an interesting fate for our Casanova, yes?”
Falco felt a shiver slide down his back. He knew the Iceman didn’t expect him to answer, and he remained quiet.
“Bring him in,” the Iceman told him, suddenly jerking his head in the direction of the doorway. He said it loud enough to be heard in the next room. “They’re ready for him.”
Falco’s boot heels clicked on the cheap linoleum, even with the mud that had started to dry. He liked the sound—a click then a clack—a stride that announced confidence. Before he crossed the threshold he could hear the man in the other room already whimpering. No matter how much Falco hated spiders, he knew that by the end of the day this guy was going to hate them even more. And that made Falco smile.
13
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
M AGGIE O’D ELL sat at a corner table in the cafeteria. The window looked down at the beginning of the forest. From her perch she could see the unmarked trailhead. It was overgrown and easy to miss unless you were looking for it. O’Dell was one of the few who used this path into the pine forest and onto the running trails that forked and wound through the trees.
Right now she wished she had her running gear on and she could escape. Even the heat and humidity would be a welcome relief. She’d already retreated from her cramped office down in the Behavioral Science Unit, six floors below ground. Lately she found herself needing a window, to see the outside and the sky. Sometimes even the elevator trip down made her feel like she might suffocate from the walls of earth surrounding her.
She knew her claustrophobia was progressing but she didn’t dare tell anyone. Assistant Director Kunze would find a way to use itagainst her. She’d learned years ago to hide any vulnerabilities and discovered early on that it was best not to remind her male colleagues that she was different. She wore form-hiding suits: navy or black, sometimes brown or copper. No jewelry, other than a watch, nothing that could get pulled or caught or grabbed. No spiked heels, only leather flats had become a part of her uniform. And never, ever anything pink.
She had the cafeteria to herself, if you didn’t count the sounds coming from back in the kitchen. O’Dell hadn’t been seated for five minutes when Helen—who had been a reliable and constant force in the cafeteria for longer than any agent could remember—brought out two coveted chocolate-frosted cake doughnuts on a plate and set them on the table in front of O’Dell.
“You’re getting too skinny,” she told the agent, pursing her lips to confine her smile, obviously pleased with herself for remembering how much O’Dell loved doughnuts, and that chocolate-frosted ones were her favorite. As quickly as Helen put the
“Find what matters to a man,” Falco said, as if, of course, that was the first thing that entered his head. It had to be what the Iceman wanted.
“What else?”
“Find out what matters most to him, then crush it. Discover his worst fears and make them come true.”
The Iceman nodded. “If you’re successful, he’ll beg you to kill him just to put him out of his misery.”
Falco knew that was the Iceman’s signature and why so many feared him. Other cartels sent hit men and death squads to cut the heads off their enemies and dismember their bodies, leaving them in the streets or hanging from bridges as a warning. The Iceman could find you no matter where you tried to hide, and he would destroy your life and your mind, as well as your body.
“Their venom includes a neurotoxin that acts on the nervous system and muscles. The initial bite causes intense pain that spreads through the body and shocks the muscles. It’s said that men who are bitten can experience painful, long-lasting erections. What an interesting fate for our Casanova, yes?”
Falco felt a shiver slide down his back. He knew the Iceman didn’t expect him to answer, and he remained quiet.
“Bring him in,” the Iceman told him, suddenly jerking his head in the direction of the doorway. He said it loud enough to be heard in the next room. “They’re ready for him.”
Falco’s boot heels clicked on the cheap linoleum, even with the mud that had started to dry. He liked the sound—a click then a clack—a stride that announced confidence. Before he crossed the threshold he could hear the man in the other room already whimpering. No matter how much Falco hated spiders, he knew that by the end of the day this guy was going to hate them even more. And that made Falco smile.
13
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA
M AGGIE O’D ELL sat at a corner table in the cafeteria. The window looked down at the beginning of the forest. From her perch she could see the unmarked trailhead. It was overgrown and easy to miss unless you were looking for it. O’Dell was one of the few who used this path into the pine forest and onto the running trails that forked and wound through the trees.
Right now she wished she had her running gear on and she could escape. Even the heat and humidity would be a welcome relief. She’d already retreated from her cramped office down in the Behavioral Science Unit, six floors below ground. Lately she found herself needing a window, to see the outside and the sky. Sometimes even the elevator trip down made her feel like she might suffocate from the walls of earth surrounding her.
She knew her claustrophobia was progressing but she didn’t dare tell anyone. Assistant Director Kunze would find a way to use itagainst her. She’d learned years ago to hide any vulnerabilities and discovered early on that it was best not to remind her male colleagues that she was different. She wore form-hiding suits: navy or black, sometimes brown or copper. No jewelry, other than a watch, nothing that could get pulled or caught or grabbed. No spiked heels, only leather flats had become a part of her uniform. And never, ever anything pink.
She had the cafeteria to herself, if you didn’t count the sounds coming from back in the kitchen. O’Dell hadn’t been seated for five minutes when Helen—who had been a reliable and constant force in the cafeteria for longer than any agent could remember—brought out two coveted chocolate-frosted cake doughnuts on a plate and set them on the table in front of O’Dell.
“You’re getting too skinny,” she told the agent, pursing her lips to confine her smile, obviously pleased with herself for remembering how much O’Dell loved doughnuts, and that chocolate-frosted ones were her favorite. As quickly as Helen put the
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