Read Online Conscience (The Bellator Saga Book 2) by Cecilia London - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cecilia London
Ads: Link
endearment, she wanted to slap him.
Caroline didn’t want to think about Jack. Or anyone else she loved. God only knew where they were. Her hopes lifted, however fleetingly. He knew. They knew. Someone knew. And they were probably already en route to get her. This couldn’t last forever.
Why didn’t they get you out of the hospital, then?
She was a trained lawyer, but she hated arguments. Especially with herself. Maybe this was a giant mindfuck. See how long she lasts in a room by herself with nothing but her thoughts. That’ll drive her insane.
Shit. She’d last all of a day. No good could come from talking to herself all the damn time. She had yet to figure out why anyone else bothered doing it.
Don’t get negative, now.
Caroline was on the verge of telling her inner monologue to go fuck itself when the lights flickered on. She shielded her eyes with her free hand, adjusting to the brightness. Now she could see. She hadn’t really paid attention when Fischer first brought her into the room. She had been otherwise occupied, possibly because he was strangling her and punching her in the nose.
Time was precious. She had to make this quick. Take in what she could, search for ideas, familiarize herself with her surroundings. Who knew how long the lights would stay on? Or how long she’d remain in the room?
The room – no, the cell – was small. Not as small as a typical jail cell, but small enough. A toilet in the corner. Cold comfort, all things considered. A sink next to it. No mirror. No windows. No nothing. Except…
She tried not to gasp. Chains on the wall. Shackles hanging from the ceiling. Hooks too. Oh, this was not good. This was so not good. And a camera in the corner, its red light blinking. Sadistic voyeurs. What an unpleasant combination.
No, not a typical jail cell. Not exactly a torture chamber but she’d take a room in any one of the prisons in the federal system right about now. This room had been specially equipped. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that it had been done up for her personally. It had been prepared for anyone who dared defy the rules. And damn it, she’d done more than defy them. She’d taken the rules and repeatedly set them on fire, sometimes on national television. As Fischer had put it, she was their little celebrity. She doubted she’d be receiving the star treatment. There would be no mint on the pillow, no monogrammed robe to greet her at the end of a long day.
The cell door creaked open, and Fischer walked in alone.
“The FBI would like to have a little chat with you,” he said.
Caroline shook her head back and forth. Wishful thinking, but perhaps they’d leave her be if she refused.
He uncuffed her from the bed, yanking her up by the elbow. “You don’t get a choice.”
Of course she didn’t. But she didn’t have to make it easy for him, or for them. She shuffled her feet as he started to drag her out of the cell, and he slammed her head against the wall.
“Cooperate,” he said.
Now her ears were ringing on top of everything else. Maybe she could throw them a little bone. Maybe they’d go easier on her. At least she wasn’t cuffed anymore. A surprisingly poor judgment call on his part. How easy would it be for her to knock him down and make a run for it?
No, that was silly talk. An unwise move. She couldn’t do anything rash or impetuous. She had to plan ahead. Caroline started walking at a normal gait. It could be worse. She could have to take a piss. How considerate of him not to ask beforehand.
The room he led her into seemed normal enough. A table and chairs. Bright lights. Two agents sitting there, smiling at her. And not in a good way. Both male, both white, both oily looking as hell. One significantly older than the other. Was it wiser to remember facial features and characteristics or try to forget? Caroline decided to make a mental note of each person she saw, just in case.
Camera in the corner. Of course. Wouldn’t be a
Caroline didn’t want to think about Jack. Or anyone else she loved. God only knew where they were. Her hopes lifted, however fleetingly. He knew. They knew. Someone knew. And they were probably already en route to get her. This couldn’t last forever.
Why didn’t they get you out of the hospital, then?
She was a trained lawyer, but she hated arguments. Especially with herself. Maybe this was a giant mindfuck. See how long she lasts in a room by herself with nothing but her thoughts. That’ll drive her insane.
Shit. She’d last all of a day. No good could come from talking to herself all the damn time. She had yet to figure out why anyone else bothered doing it.
Don’t get negative, now.
Caroline was on the verge of telling her inner monologue to go fuck itself when the lights flickered on. She shielded her eyes with her free hand, adjusting to the brightness. Now she could see. She hadn’t really paid attention when Fischer first brought her into the room. She had been otherwise occupied, possibly because he was strangling her and punching her in the nose.
Time was precious. She had to make this quick. Take in what she could, search for ideas, familiarize herself with her surroundings. Who knew how long the lights would stay on? Or how long she’d remain in the room?
The room – no, the cell – was small. Not as small as a typical jail cell, but small enough. A toilet in the corner. Cold comfort, all things considered. A sink next to it. No mirror. No windows. No nothing. Except…
She tried not to gasp. Chains on the wall. Shackles hanging from the ceiling. Hooks too. Oh, this was not good. This was so not good. And a camera in the corner, its red light blinking. Sadistic voyeurs. What an unpleasant combination.
No, not a typical jail cell. Not exactly a torture chamber but she’d take a room in any one of the prisons in the federal system right about now. This room had been specially equipped. She wasn’t egotistical enough to think that it had been done up for her personally. It had been prepared for anyone who dared defy the rules. And damn it, she’d done more than defy them. She’d taken the rules and repeatedly set them on fire, sometimes on national television. As Fischer had put it, she was their little celebrity. She doubted she’d be receiving the star treatment. There would be no mint on the pillow, no monogrammed robe to greet her at the end of a long day.
The cell door creaked open, and Fischer walked in alone.
“The FBI would like to have a little chat with you,” he said.
Caroline shook her head back and forth. Wishful thinking, but perhaps they’d leave her be if she refused.
He uncuffed her from the bed, yanking her up by the elbow. “You don’t get a choice.”
Of course she didn’t. But she didn’t have to make it easy for him, or for them. She shuffled her feet as he started to drag her out of the cell, and he slammed her head against the wall.
“Cooperate,” he said.
Now her ears were ringing on top of everything else. Maybe she could throw them a little bone. Maybe they’d go easier on her. At least she wasn’t cuffed anymore. A surprisingly poor judgment call on his part. How easy would it be for her to knock him down and make a run for it?
No, that was silly talk. An unwise move. She couldn’t do anything rash or impetuous. She had to plan ahead. Caroline started walking at a normal gait. It could be worse. She could have to take a piss. How considerate of him not to ask beforehand.
The room he led her into seemed normal enough. A table and chairs. Bright lights. Two agents sitting there, smiling at her. And not in a good way. Both male, both white, both oily looking as hell. One significantly older than the other. Was it wiser to remember facial features and characteristics or try to forget? Caroline decided to make a mental note of each person she saw, just in case.
Camera in the corner. Of course. Wouldn’t be a
Similar Books
