Zandra glared up at him defiantly. She said nothing because she was gagged. Gingerly he removed the gag, jerking his fingers away from her mouth as her teeth came down hard.
“If you’d bitten me, I would have killed you.”
“You’re—” She coughed and coughed. He let her gasp for air, then dribbled a little water down her throat. Greedily she drank the thimbleful, chasing the bottle when he pulled it away. “More,” she rasped.
“Say you’re sorry,” he said with a smile.
“Go to hell,” she snarled. She might have tried to spit at him again, but she had no moisture in her mouth.
“Not today,” he said with a smile. “You, on the other hand . . .” He gave her an earnest look. “Do you need anything special to meet the requirements of your religion? Last rites, anything like that?”
She stubbornly remained silent, but there was fear in her eyes. He wanted to hear her fear. He wanted to hear her respect.
“Say you’re sorry, Zandra.”
She closed her eyes, turning her face away.
His temper snapped, and winding her hair around the ring finger and pinkie of his left hand, he yanked her head up and slapped her face with his right, hard enough to dislocate her jaw. He shoved it back in place, earning him a low moan.
“Say you’re sorry, Zandra,” he hissed.
She drew a breath, sobbed it out. And said nothing, her eyes still closed.
He threw her head back to the bed, earning another low moan. But it wasn’t enough.
“Open your eyes.” He gripped her chin and dug his fingers into her skin. “Open. Your. Eyes.”
She didn’t reply. She didn’t open her eyes, either.
Frustrated, he found a roll of tape in his supply drawer. Awkwardly, he cut two lengths of tape and attached them to her eyelids, forcing her eyes open and taping them in place.
“You had to choose the hard way.” He was panting already. Both energized by her and furious with her. But not aroused. Never aroused.
That had only happened with Daisy. The nice Daisy at the pet store. Not the bitch Daisy who’d shot his hand. Not the whore Daisy who’d protected the Fed. Who’d slept with him.
He wanted the nice Daisy. He needed the nice Daisy. He eyed the bed, the restraints. The blood that Zandra had shed. Perhaps once Daisy had experienced a little negative reinforcement, she’d be more inclined to be nice.
He’d make her say she was sorry, too. Just thinking about Daisy apologizing—on her knees—stirred his blood. Made him hard. Made him want, when none of the others had.
He’d have her here, he promised himself. He’d keep her for a very long time.
But first he had to break Zandra. He gave himself a firm stroke, renewed. He might not even need his blue pills this time.
“Let’s try this again, Zandra.” He leaned over until she was staring straight into his eyes. “Say you’re sorry.”
She jerked her chin to one side, staring at the cabinet with all his souvenirs and trinkets. She was trembling, which was just how he liked it.
“You really want the hard way, don’t you?” He pulled out the drawer of knives, arranging them on the table next to the bed. “So far you’ve got an ‘S,’ a ‘Y,’ and a ‘D.’ I’ve been kind to you. Have given you recovery time. Not today. I don’t have anywhere to go but here and nothing to do but this. You are the recipient of my undivided attention.”
He grabbed the first knife, frowning because it felt wrong in his right hand. “You remember this one from last time, don’t you?”
Tears rolled from her open eyes. She said nothing.
“Say you’re sorry, Zandra.”
Her throat worked, like she was trying to speak. “Fuck you,” she whispered.
“Oh, we’ll get to that,” he promised. “Don’t you worry.”
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 1:55 P.M.
“Reynolds,” Gideon murmured in answer when his cell buzzed, careful not to wake Daisy, who’d fallen asleep during the fifth Buffy episode, cuddled into his side. His arm hurt too much to sleep, but his mind was clearer without the pain meds, so he’d deal.
The nurse had removed the IV an hour ago. She’d managed to do it without waking Daisy and for that he was very grateful. He had to lean his head up from the pillow to put the phone to his ear, but it was a small price to pay to keep holding the woman he’d come to rely on in a terrifying short time.
“It’s Molina. I’ve assigned your protection detail. Agent Hunter will be accompanying you everywhere for the next few days. We’ll reevaluate at the end of the week or whenever we catch this suspect, whichever comes first.”
“I don’t know him,” Gideon said with a slight frown.
“He’s new. This is his first placement, but he comes highly recommended by his superiors at Quantico. Don’t be difficult with him.”
Gideon blinked at that. “I hadn’t planned to.”
“You’re just the type to ditch him and do your own thing.”
Gideon looked at the woman sleeping in his arms. “I won’t. I promise. Because he’ll be keeping Daisy safe, too.”
There was a beat of silence. “All right,” she said, her tone softening. “Schumacher called me. She found the beige car on the pet store’s surveillance tape.”
Gideon hoped he sounded surprised. “She did? Where?”
“Pffft. You youngsters all think you’re so brilliant. I know you found it first, but I’m giving her credit for it.”
“That’s fine with me. I want him caught. I don’t care who does it.”
“Hm. That I actually believe.” She let out a breath. “The nurse’s body washed up on the riverbank. We’re looking now at current models to see where she was dumped.”
Gideon sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And sorry that Daisy would feel guilty. “What else did Schumacher say? Have they found any leads on Eileen?”
“They met the Danton woman, the one who helped Eileen.”
“And me.”
“And you. For which we are all appropriately grateful.”
He almost laughed at her stilted gratitude but realized that stilted was her go-to tone when she cared. “And Eileen?”
“I’m only telling you because Detective Sokolov probably will. They found the diner where she worked. The owner had surveillance tapes but they were grainy. He remembered a man giving her a hard time. He nearly threw the guy out. That was two months ago. When Schumacher and the detectives found the day on the tape, they saw a man who looked like the man on the pet store surveillance tape.”
Two months. Eileen’s been dead for two months. Gideon’s heart tripped, and he focused on staying calm so the nurse didn’t come in and yell at them. “So we have a face?”
“Not a great one, but better than we had before. We’ve put out a BOLO. That’s all I have, Agent Reynolds. I’ll let you go back to ‘not working.’”
She’d said it lightly, trying to make him smile, but he didn’t have a smile in him. Eileen had been dead for two months. She’d had a single month of freedom between running from the monsters of Eden and falling into the hands of a sociopath. “Yes, ma’am.”
He ended the call and let his head fall back on the pillow. Brutus sat up on her haunches and stared at him, head tilted, bat ears sticking out so far it was comical. She looked like a cross between Yoda and Gizmo, from Gremlins.
That made him smile. A little. And he was suddenly so tired, he couldn’t hold his eyes open.
He woke abruptly, sensing a presence at his side, then relaxed at the sight of Irina and Karl standing together on one side of his bed.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Don’t wake her up. She was up all night.” Crying, but he kept that to himself.
Wearing an impossible grin, Irina pointed to the other side of his bed and Gideon slowly turned his head, dread instantly a live thing in his gut. Shit. The tall man bore no real resemblance to the woman using him as a human pillow. Except they shared a certain set of their mouths when they were annoyed.
Which her father seemed to be at the moment as he looked down at the two of them.
“Mr. Dawson,” Gideon murmured, somehow managing to keep his voice level and somewhat dignified.
“Agent Reynolds,” Dawson said with a nod. He gave his daughter a pointed glance.
“She was awake crying all night,” Gideon said quietly. “This has been very hard for her. So if we’re going to do the macho handshake thing and the stay-away-from-my-daughter speech, perhaps you can wait until she wakes up.”
The man stared down at him for a long moment. Then his lips twitched. “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Reynolds,” he said, his tone as low as Gideon’s had been.
“Gideon. And likewise.”
He glanced over at Irina, whose smile was very smug. “You might as well sit.”
She did so, like a queen taking the throne. Frederick took the other chair, leaving Karl to perch on the arm of Irina’s seat. “We talked to the doctor,” Irina whispered. “He’ll be releasing you in an hour or so. You’ll probably need physical therapy. Cash says to tell you he’ll do it.”
“Cash” was Cassian Sokolov, Sasha’s twin. He was one of the physical therapists contracted by Sacramento’s basketball team and traveled with the team. “He doesn’t have time for that.”