The area cleared of everyone but Rodney, Bones, Tate, and me. We were underground in a sealed section with just one way in or out. This would be our only chance to talk, because afterward, it wouldn’t seem plausible. But now, it made sense that I’d want to confront Bones’s Judas.
“How could you do it, Tate?” I asked. Sound traveled well with that echoing hallway leading to this room, so whispering would have been too obvious.
“I hate him, but it wasn’t me,” Tate replied.
I withdrew a small notepad and pen from under my sweater. Tate watched warily. I nodded to Rodney, who unshackled one of his arms from its clamp. Letting him all the way out would have made too much noise, and Bones was still being cautious. He didn’t want Tate loose around me, not trusting if he’d rather see me dead than with him. He still thought Tate was guilty no matter how I disagreed.
I quickly scrawled some words onto the paper and held it up for Tate to see.
I believe you.
Tears came to his eyes. It was all I could do not to hug him and tell him it would be okay. He jerked his head and Rodney brought him the pen, holding the pad up so he could write.
“See, I don’t believe you, mate.”
Bones said it with no lack of venom, and anyone overhearing would have thought it was him answering Tate’s denial to me. Rodney gave a disgusted glance at the page Tate wrote on before he passed it to me.
Love you, Cat
“I don’t give a shit what you believe, you sneaky English slut,” is what he said to Bones.
Well, we wanted this to sound authentic, I thought ironically. At least that’s covered.
“Want to know what I think, dickhead?” Tate went on. “I think you faked your death to send her into a spiral of grief, and then you miraculously reappeared with the guy you hate to blame it all on. You’ve wanted an excuse to kill me ever since you came back in her life. Got sick of waiting, didn’t you?”
I blinked. Tate sure went the other way in coming up with an explanation.
Bones gave a rude snort. “Think I’d hurt her like that just to kill you? Imbecile.”
This is not why we’re here! I wrote and waved it in front of Bones, forgetting in my agitation that I could just think it at him.
Bones didn’t even pause to look. “You’re not strong enough for her by half, mate. Faith, conspiring to have me murdered is the most impressive thing you’ve done. Stick to your story that it wasn’t you? Then you’re right back in that forgotten place where she’ll never notice you. So which are you, a betrayer or a pathetic loser?”
It was a trick question, of course. One answer would have him dead and the other, according to Bones’s scathing analogy, emotionally dismissed. There were several points of contention I wanted to argue with him about, but that would wait until later.
Tate glowered at him with even more fury than before, which was saying something. Bones waited with a mocking curl to his lips. I was still scribbling on the notepad when Tate spoke.
“Just let’s be clear about one thing—if you kill me, it won’t be because I did this. I didn’t rat you out to Patra, though thumbs-up to whoever did. If you kill me, it’s because you’re afraid that if you don’t, one day you might watch her walk away with me. So right back at you, Crypt Keeper, what’s it gonna be?”
Dark brown eyes that could melt me were flat and icy now.
“I gave you the chance to own up to your deeds with dignity. You refused. Right then, we’ll have it your way. You’ll stay chained here, no food, no companionship, until hunger and solitude soften you up. We’ll see what you have to say again in a month or so. Let him be alone with his deceit and his spinelessness. In the meantime, I’ll be enjoying my wife’s company.”
Bones took my hand. I resisted long enough to hold up the messily written page and have Tate read it as Rodney chained his arm back into place.
Promise I’ll find who it is, but if anyone comes in this room but me or Bones, you scream as loud as you can.
“Don’t worry, Cat,” Tate said, with a touch of humor. “I’ll be right here.”
When Rodney closed the door behind us, I whirled on Bones. Do you still think it’s him? I demanded.
He stared at me with competing emotions across his face, none of them pleasant. Finally, he shook his head.
No.
TWENTY-SEVEN
O F OUR BAKER’S DOZEN UNDEAD SUSPECTS, we had it narrowed down to four. This was an exceptionally painful process for Bones, since each of them had spent no less than a century with him, and he considered them all close friends. Caesar hadn’t suspected Brutus, either, however, and look where that got him. So Bones had to be unmerciful in his evaluations.