bleach.
As she opened her eyes, her lashes batted against the fabric of a bag that had been pulled over her head.
When did that happen?
The last thing she recalled was reaching for her gun.
Wait . There’d been a stinging sensation, on her…on her…
Where, she couldn’t remember.
Though it had been years since she’d done any fieldwork, she hadn’t forgotten the lessons she’d learned. Keeping her breaths even and her body still, she mentally checked for any injuries. She didn’t feel any pain beyond a dull headache, but she did discover she was restrained to a chair, unable to move her arms and legs.
Focusing outward, she tried to get a sense of her surroundings. Light did seep through the bag, but the fibers were woven tight together, keeping her from seeing anything. The light, though, was telling. It was neither particularly bright nor dim. If the room was small, a few lamps at most. If larger, maybe scattered overheads.
She listened for the sound of people, but all she could hear was her own pulse racing. She took a few deep, quiet breaths to slow her heart rate and tried again. This time she heard nothing but an empty space.
She wanted to scrape her foot on the ground and listen to how the sound reacted to the room. That would give her a better idea of its size, but doing so might alert her captors that she was awake. It turned out it wasn’t long before she learned the answer without even moving a toe. A door opened, ahead and to her right, the sound a good forty feet away. She was in a big room, then.
Heels clicking on concrete, or perhaps stone. A woman’s.
The door closed again, and the footsteps headed toward Helen at a relaxed pace. Ten feet away, they stopped for a couple seconds, and then something dragged across the floor and came to rest directly in front of Helen. A chair, she realized, as it creaked when the person sat.
In the silence that followed, a faint odor drifted off the visitor. A clean smell, more scented soap than bleach.
“I know you’re awake.” The woman had a French accent. “You have been for the last seven minutes.”
They must be monitoring my vitals , Helen thought. Perhaps a few of the restraints she’d detected weren’t restraints at all. With no reason to keep up the charade, she adjusted herself into a more comfortable position but did not say anything.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “I hate it when people try to play unnecessary games. It’s such a waste of time.” She paused. “So, Director Cho, where are they?”
Helen remained silent.
“The safe house you arranged for them to use was a ruse, was it not? Where did they really go?”
If Helen had any doubts this was about Danielle Chad, they were gone now. The only safe house she’d arranged recently was for Quinn, though she was surprised to learn he hadn’t gone there.
The chair groaned, and when the woman spoke again she was no more than a foot in front of Helen’s face. “Where are they?”
Though Helen’s extremities were tied down, her chest and shoulders were not, giving her room to move. The moment the last word left the woman’s mouth, Helen thrust forward with all her strength. Her aim was a bit off. Instead of smacking her forehead into the woman’s nose, she caught her interrogator on the cheek, but it was still a good, solid hit.
The woman grunted as she knocked against her chair.
Helen braced herself for her interrogator’s retaliation.
But she heard the woman stand. “Perhaps a little time will make you more cooperative.”
Helen heard the click, click, click of the woman’s heels heading across the room.
A few seconds later, she was once more alone.
CHAPTER 10
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
L YLE CLARK STUDIED his appearance in the full-length mirror before grabbing the knot of his tie and nudging it ever so slightly to the right.
There. That was better. Everything symmetrical.
He was dressed in a dark gray suit handcrafted by his favorite tailor in Milan.
As she opened her eyes, her lashes batted against the fabric of a bag that had been pulled over her head.
When did that happen?
The last thing she recalled was reaching for her gun.
Wait . There’d been a stinging sensation, on her…on her…
Where, she couldn’t remember.
Though it had been years since she’d done any fieldwork, she hadn’t forgotten the lessons she’d learned. Keeping her breaths even and her body still, she mentally checked for any injuries. She didn’t feel any pain beyond a dull headache, but she did discover she was restrained to a chair, unable to move her arms and legs.
Focusing outward, she tried to get a sense of her surroundings. Light did seep through the bag, but the fibers were woven tight together, keeping her from seeing anything. The light, though, was telling. It was neither particularly bright nor dim. If the room was small, a few lamps at most. If larger, maybe scattered overheads.
She listened for the sound of people, but all she could hear was her own pulse racing. She took a few deep, quiet breaths to slow her heart rate and tried again. This time she heard nothing but an empty space.
She wanted to scrape her foot on the ground and listen to how the sound reacted to the room. That would give her a better idea of its size, but doing so might alert her captors that she was awake. It turned out it wasn’t long before she learned the answer without even moving a toe. A door opened, ahead and to her right, the sound a good forty feet away. She was in a big room, then.
Heels clicking on concrete, or perhaps stone. A woman’s.
The door closed again, and the footsteps headed toward Helen at a relaxed pace. Ten feet away, they stopped for a couple seconds, and then something dragged across the floor and came to rest directly in front of Helen. A chair, she realized, as it creaked when the person sat.
In the silence that followed, a faint odor drifted off the visitor. A clean smell, more scented soap than bleach.
“I know you’re awake.” The woman had a French accent. “You have been for the last seven minutes.”
They must be monitoring my vitals , Helen thought. Perhaps a few of the restraints she’d detected weren’t restraints at all. With no reason to keep up the charade, she adjusted herself into a more comfortable position but did not say anything.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “I hate it when people try to play unnecessary games. It’s such a waste of time.” She paused. “So, Director Cho, where are they?”
Helen remained silent.
“The safe house you arranged for them to use was a ruse, was it not? Where did they really go?”
If Helen had any doubts this was about Danielle Chad, they were gone now. The only safe house she’d arranged recently was for Quinn, though she was surprised to learn he hadn’t gone there.
The chair groaned, and when the woman spoke again she was no more than a foot in front of Helen’s face. “Where are they?”
Though Helen’s extremities were tied down, her chest and shoulders were not, giving her room to move. The moment the last word left the woman’s mouth, Helen thrust forward with all her strength. Her aim was a bit off. Instead of smacking her forehead into the woman’s nose, she caught her interrogator on the cheek, but it was still a good, solid hit.
The woman grunted as she knocked against her chair.
Helen braced herself for her interrogator’s retaliation.
But she heard the woman stand. “Perhaps a little time will make you more cooperative.”
Helen heard the click, click, click of the woman’s heels heading across the room.
A few seconds later, she was once more alone.
CHAPTER 10
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
L YLE CLARK STUDIED his appearance in the full-length mirror before grabbing the knot of his tie and nudging it ever so slightly to the right.
There. That was better. Everything symmetrical.
He was dressed in a dark gray suit handcrafted by his favorite tailor in Milan.
Similar Books
