What could he say?
He headed for the door. She spoke as he opened it.
“I’m glad you got Tara back.”
“So am I,” he replied and stalked out.
…
Faith stared at the closed door.
He hated her.
And wanted her.
For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of crying. It wasn’t something she did often. In fact, until the last few days, it had never occurred to her to cry. Now she let the tears fall. She reckoned she was allowed a little self-indulgence under the circumstances. But once she started, she couldn’t stop. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor, legs stretched out in front of her, bawling like an idiot. A stupid fucking idiot, who should have known better than to allow herself to care about a man she knew nothing about. Except that he looked like a scary badass and acted like a scary badass and had lots of scary badass friends and could kill a man in a second without showing a flicker of remorse.
She didn’t want to care for anyone. She’d never wanted that. And if she had it would have been a “nice” man.
And Ash hated her. And his son-in-law wanted her dead. And even if they didn’t kill her, she was dying anyway.
She bawled some more. It felt good, but then her nose started to run, and she couldn’t do anything about it because her stupid hands were tied behind her stupid back. Her shoulder ached where she had taken the bullet.
Did they mean to leave her like this forever?
Or right up until the point where they snapped her neck like a twig, or Christian Roth ripped her throat out with his teeth. But her mind shied away from that image. Finally, her tears dried up.
She sniffed. Time to stop feeling sorry for herself. Shifting on her bottom, she tried to get comfortable but it was impossible. Well, maybe she could do something about that. Wriggling, she slid her hands beneath her ass and down under her legs, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. With a little contortionism, she managed to thread her wrists underneath her feet, and then her hands were in front of her.
She rolled her shoulders; it felt good. Pushing herself to her feet, she examined her accommodation.
About nine feet by nine feet, white walls, a glass panel in the door, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a small camera in the corner where the ceiling met the walls. Was someone watching her? She avoided looking at it.
At least there was a tiny bathroom, with a toilet and a sink. No shower but she wouldn’t have felt right showering wondering if someone might be watching. She stuck her head under the tap and gulped down the cold water, then splashed her face.
Her cheek stung, but she scrubbed at it anyway, cleaning off the dried blood. Blood also stained her shirt, but she couldn’t do anything about that. Finally, she went back into the main room and curled up on the cot bed.
She closed her eyes but images flashed up, teeth and blood. Her mind screamed in denial, and she sat up instead and leaned back against the wall.
A lot of people had died tonight. Including the colonel. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel any sadness over his passing. What he’d done to Tara was wrong. Totally wrong. He was supposed to be on the side of the good, and he shouldn’t have done bad things. For that alone, she hated him. She’d always been so sure. Always known there were bad guys and good guys and she was good. And he’d made her doubt that.
At least Ash made no pretense of being good. But did that mean he was bad?
She didn’t know anymore.
At the start of all this, she’d been so sure of what she wanted. If she could solve Julie’s murder, bring the killer to justice, then she would get some closure for all those that hadn’t been solved. Including her mother’s. And then, if she was going to die, she could do so, if not happy, at least with a measure of satisfaction that she had achieved something with her life.
But maybe there was no such thing as closure. Not for her anyway.
A jab of pain stabbed at the back of her skull. She closed her eyes in the hope it would go away. But the jab came again, repeated over and over, until it was a continuous ache.
“Crap.”
…
Ash let himself into the office. Christian was already there, sitting on the black leather sofa, still holding on to Tara. She’d showered and changed and looked much better; her face was still bruised, but her eyes were clear.
She glanced up and gave him the second genuine smile he had ever received from her. At least something good had come of this.
Ryan, Carl, and Jonas were also present, in a huddle by the window. Ryan glanced up as he shut the door behind him. “Is Faith okay?”
Ash shrugged. Were any of them okay right now?