Yet, as Holbrook eased me down into the chair my ribs didn’t hurt quite so much as before, and the pounding in my head had receded to a faint ringing in my ears.
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Ms. Cray,” Santos said with a sigh.
“Best thing I’ve done all day,” I said triumphantly, cocky now that I could draw a full breath without feeling like my ribs were about to puncture a lung.
“You know I’m going to have to detain you now,” Santos said, though he at least had the good grace to look apologetic.
“Seriously? He’s the one that tried to kill me.”
“An event for which you have no evidence or corroboration. It’s your word against his.”
“Have you looked at my face? Do you want me to show you my broken ribs? Or my stitches? They didn’t just show up on their own you know.”
A crease appeared on Santos’s brow for an instant as though he was trying to puzzle through something, his eyes looking glazed and distant. His gaze locked on me again, his eyes widening as if he was seeing my injuries for the first time, and then the expression of surprise was gone, and the angry frown fell back into place.
Pressing the intercom button on his phone Santos leaned in and said, “Marge, we’re going to need security in here.”
Rounding on Holbrook, I found him looking at me with confusion etched into the lines of his face. He’d seen it too, and was as stumped as I was. Something was definitely affecting Santos, altering what he saw. I had no idea how something like that would even work, but it didn’t appear that I was going to get the chance to figure it out.
The two guys that walked through the door looked like rejects from Goons ‘R Us, their matching Men’s Warehouse XXL suits silently screaming at the seams. I wondered if the FBI had started cloning agents to save on resources.
“Arrest that bitch!” Johnson instructed, wagging his thick sausage finger in my direction.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I snorted, throwing my hands in the air.
I caught another glimpse of the braided band circling his wrist, there was something about it that niggled at the back of my mind. I was sure I’d seen something like it before, but couldn’t put my finger on it. The sight of Goon #1 advancing on me, unhooking a pair of cuffs from his belt, swept all other thoughts from my mind.
“You’re serious about this?” I asked, leaning around the bulky agent to glare at Santos. Avoiding my gaze, he waved a hand at the agents to proceed. “You’re as much of an asshat as Johnson,” I muttered, extending my wrists towards Goon #1.
“You’re gonna have to stand up,” he rumbled, his voice sounding like a rockslide.
I was about to protest when Holbrook sighed, “Just do it, Riley.” Looking up at him in disbelief, I was struck by the weariness that etched deep lines around his eyes. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for days, or was in serious pain.
Was everyone around me going insane?
“Fine,” I grumbled.
Standing, I turned my back on them, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath when Goon #1 pulled my hands behind me, snapping the cuffs over my wrists. My skin began to itch and tingle beneath the cool metal in reaction to the trace amounts of silver they imbued into the metal to detain people like me. I suppose I should give them credit for having done their homework, though the fact that they were using it against me didn’t leave me feeling very magnanimous.
“You couldn’t at least put the cuffs in front?” I managed through clenched teeth as he turned me around and pushed me back down into the chair.
“Sit.”
“Assholes,” I muttered, squirming in a futile attempt to find a position that didn’t irritate my injuries.
Across the room Johnson regarded me, his mouth curved into a smug grin and his beady eyes full of triumphant glee. Rocking back and forth on his heels he clasped his hands in front of his bulging belly. He absently toyed with the braided band, running his thick fingers over the ridges of the weave again and again, the oils from his skin leaving a dark smear on the fibers. Something in the back of my brain clicked and I finally made the connection.
The bastard was using a glamour charm to conceal his injuries. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d gotten through security without setting off the magical detectors, or how no one would have noticed the inevitable bruises and broken nose I’d likely left him with. Glamour charms were easy enough to come by and easier still to activate, requiring a single drop of blood from the wearer, but they’re damned expensive and I doubted Johnson had that kind of money lying around. I was willing to bet that he was wearing a pain amulet underneath his shirt too.
Looking up, I caught Holbrook’s eyes as they rose to meet mine, wide in surprise. He’d seen the charm too. A flood of anger darkened his face all the way up to the roots of his hair and down into the collar of his shirt.