He’d touched the Boker, as she’d known he would. She felt the muzzle of the gun press hard into her kidney. Again, a deviation from sound tactics—the closer he was, the better her chances at a disarm—but not quite the opportunity she needed. Still, if he kept this up, an opening would present itself. She just had to be patient.
He reached under her blouse and pulled free the Boker. “Jesus, Livia, you’re a regular fucking Rambo, you know that? So, what was the plan, tie the senator up, get him to talk, something like that, hmmm?” She heard the Boker hit the carpet with a quiet thud somewhere behind them. Then he reached around again and squeezed her breasts. “Was that it? Was that the plan? Come on, you can tell me. Come on.”
His voice had gone husky and he was getting hard where he was pressed against her. She felt rage begin to smolder inside her. The dragon, stirring awake.
No. Not now. Not now.
“You like that, Livia? My cock against you like that? You like it?”
“Where’s my sister?” she said, and was pleased that her tone was fearful, almost childlike.
“Oh, your sister again. All right, we really should get you to the senator. Damn, and here we were just starting to have fun, right?”
He felt her belly, then ran his hand up and down her legs, finishing by rubbing her ass, and then her crotch. Then he yanked off the wig and tossed it aside.
“That’s good,” he said. “I think the senator will like you better like this. And let’s lose those glasses, too.” He pulled them off and dropped them.
He stepped back. “Okay, Livia, why don’t you open that door for me. Just unbolt it and pull it open. Give it a good tug, it’s heavy and fits pretty snugly in the frame.”
She did as he said. He was right, the door was heavy—at least two inches of what looked like solid mahogany. There was another like it on the other side, presumably bolted from inside the suite. She’d been wrong about kicking this in. It would have taken a battering ram.
She heard that plaintive sound again. Still faint, but through the single door it was unmistakable. A child’s wail. What was happening in there? She felt the rage rising again and fought to push it back.
“Yeah, I was afraid of this, we’re interrupting the great man at play. Well, that’s another reason he pays me the big bucks—command decisions. I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy to switch up once he sees it’s you. So just go ahead and knock on the door. Hard, with your knuckles, so they’ll hear you.”
They’ll. Lone, and who else? The child she thought she heard screaming?
She knocked. A moment later, she heard a muffled voice on the other side. “What is it?”
The voice sounded weirdly familiar. And was that a Thai accent?
“It’s me. Open up, Chanchai, the senator will want to see this.”
“Can it wait?”
“Trust me. He won’t want to wait.”
Livia heard the bolt draw back. The door opened.
It was Skull Face.
62—NOW
She stared at him, suddenly seething. For an instant, all her years of training deserted her, and all she could imagine was launching herself at him, knocking him down, ripping his face apart with her teeth and her nails.
No. Scared. You are scared.
Skull Face looked almost exactly as she remembered him. The hair, the face, everything. Like Redcroft, he was wearing a suit, though on the boat he had always been either bare-chested or in a dirty tee shirt. Beyond that, the only thing different was a black eye patch. She wanted to tear it off his head and jam her thumb all the way into whatever was behind it.
Scared. You are scared.
Skull Face was looking at her intently. In confusion, at first. And then with slowly dawning recognition. He looked to Redcroft, then back to Livia, then to Redcroft again.
“This is . . . this is that girl.”
“Yeah, it’s her. The one who took your eye, right? Well, she’s always been a fighter, I guess. You should have seen what I took off her just now. Mace, a Kubotan, sweet little folding knife . . . Hey, man, you’re welcome. She probably would have taken that other eye.”
Skull Face smiled. His hand shot out and he grabbed her by the back of the hair. She had to force herself not to take him down and break his neck.
Scared. You are scared.
He twisted her head back. She didn’t fight him. He said something in Thai.
“Where’s my sister?” she said, grimacing.
He looked at her. “What?” he said in English. “You forget your Thai?”
“What did you do with her?”
He smiled and pulled her closer. That curry smell . . . it was exactly the same. It made her feel she was back in the box again. On the boat. On her knees. A nightmare from her childhood bursting into the present.
“Everything,” he whispered.
And suddenly the dragon was gone. She was just Labee, in the clutches of the man who had hurt her. Who had hurt Nason. It had never stopped. It was never going to stop.
Skull Face pulled her by the hair across the room, Redcroft behind them, his gun still out. She caught a glimpse of a couch and chairs, an enormous flat-panel monitor, a dining room set. Then they were at an interior door, presumably to the suite’s bedroom. Skull Face rapped sharply on the door.