Adam’s mind came to a decision.
Custo brought himself to standing as the lock released on the cell door.
“I want a lawyer. You’ve got no right to hold me against my will!” Annabella yelled at the slit in the wall of her weird holding cell. It was worse than the prison cells she’d seen on TV—cold, nondescript gray, like an awful basement, with only a shitty folding table and a shitty pair of folding chairs. At least the room was somewhat lit. If she stayed near the door, she should be fine. The dim corner on the other side was out of the question. It seemed like the kind of place the wolf would hide. She wanted her flashlight to burn him out.
She slapped the palm of her hand on the table to make some noise. In the concrete room, the slap was like the report of a gun.
“Hello, damn it! I’m frickin’ exhausted in here!” Her voice was rough and shrill. She was terrified out of her mind, cringing at the least little thing. If she were getting sick from all this Custo crap, she was going to kill him. Kill that Adam bastard, too. She should have never agreed to share that cab. “I want a lawyer!”
Annabella dragged a chair around to the bright side of the table. The damn thing started to collapse into itself and she had to fight with the seat to get it properly unfolded again. She banged it on the floor when she got the seat open, and lowered herself carefully onto it.
“I. Must. Chill,” she said aloud. Obviously no one was listening to her. “I must chill. I must stay calm. I perform in”—she calculated the number of hours before she’d be onstage—“twenty hours-ish. I must keep it together. Deep breaths.” She inhaled until her lungs were bursting, then let out the air slowly. And again. Much better.
She glanced over her shoulder at the slit in the concrete. Screw it. “Get me out of here!” Her screech broke on here, the type of sound that shattered glass, but it didn’t do much to the concrete. She’d have to try harder.
This was so not happening. She looked around herself again.
“Maybe I’ve gone completely insane.” Sure seemed more plausible than any other explanation. “That’s it. I’m insane. This is not a prison cell; this is a padded room in some very low-budget hospital. I am not being hunted by a wolf—that’s only a manifestation of all my fears and stress. And that man Custo is…”…my hottest fantasy come to life. See? Crazy.
Concrete scraped loudly against concrete. Annabella stood, knocking her chair onto the floor. The huge, thick door retracted. She felt her anger rising again. Whoever was responsible for her unlawful imprisonment was going to get an earful from her. And charges filed with the police. And a civil lawsuit for attempting to ruin her performance.
“I want some ans—” Annabella began. She broke off when the door finally retracted enough to reveal her jailer.
A short, very pregnant woman. If Annabella was exhausted, the woman looked ready to pass out. She was deathly pale, dark circles under her eyes, both aspects accentuated by white-blonde hair pulled back in a day-old ponytail.
Annabella fought to hold on to the outrage and obscenities she planned to hurl at whoever came through that door for kidnapping her and locking her in a creepy basement. Not to mention she was starving to death. She’d just danced for four hours.
The woman gave her a little smile.
“Oh, damn it,” Annabella said, surly. “Let me get the chair for you.” She turned to offer it, but, of course, the damn thing had fallen in on itself again.
The woman chuckled and waddled forward. “I appreciate it.”
“Well, you look ready to pop,” Annabella grumbled, getting the metal chair unfolded again. “Here.”
“Not for another two months. Twins.” The woman used the table to lower herself down. The metal door slid closed and locked with another loud scrape.
“Uh…” Annabella looked at the door, her body flushing with anger again.
The woman squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m Adam’s wife, Talia. We won’t be in here long. He’s spying on Custo now, but he checks on me all the time.” She sighed heavily. “All the time,” she emphasized with a roll of her eyes.
Annabella wrestled with the second chair. “Where is here? And why the hell am I being held hostage?”
“You’re not a hostage. And you are just north of New York City, at one of Segue’s holding facilities.”
“This is criminal.”
Talia shrugged. “The president himself has granted us the authority to apprehend and hold wraiths.”
“I’m not a wraith,” Annabella shot back. The president?…of the United States?
“But you believe it anyway.” Talia flashed that tired smile again, pulling her hand back with a satisfied sigh. “Want to tell me why?”