Chapter Four
Kaitlin opened her eyes and gazed up at the white ceiling, bisected by the strip light.
Kane!
She was going to kill the bastard, rip his brain out through his eye sockets and beat him to death with it.
It was her first thought on waking—same as it had been for the last one hundred and eighty days or so she’d been stuck in here.
She came up on her elbows and peered around her. Nope. Nothing had changed. She was still stuck in her nine-foot by nine-foot cell, windowless except for the little glass pane in the doorway where the occasional passerby peered in at her as though she was some rare and dangerous exhibit at a zoo.
Rare and dangerous.
She liked that, and it was probably a good description. Or at least, she’d like to be dangerous if she ever got the chance.
What was happening outside?
Were Jake and the others all dead? If they were alive, surely they would have come for her by now? Maybe Kane had killed them all. As he’d killed Teagan.
Her head ached, but hopefully that was lack of fresh air and maybe too much of the drug they gave her to suppress her powers. They’d stopped the tests a few months ago. They’d been very unpleasant, but at least there was no permanent damage. They hadn’t cut out her brain, put it into a jar, and hooked it up to a computer, as they had with Sam.
She’d switched him off. She’d begged him to stay, but the pain had been unbearable, and so really, she had killed her own brother. She allowed herself one self-pitying sniff and then straightened her spine.
Would she ever get out of here?
A face peered in through the glass of the door. Kaitlin pushed off the thin sheet and scrambled to her feet. She hated being at a disadvantage. She was dressed; they didn’t actually provide pajamas in here, so she kept her clothes on—sweats and a white T-shirt—in bed so she’d be ready for anything. Not that much ever happened. If they didn’t kill her, she would probably die of boredom.
When the door opened, a man stood there, a stranger. Relatively young, maybe in his thirties, with dark hair and an unlined face. He was medium height and wore black jeans and a white shirt. He wasn’t a guard then, they all wore uniforms. She searched his hairline and found the telltale glint of silver. He was wearing the reflector device so she couldn’t read his thoughts. What a surprise.
He was flanked by two guards, but he turned and spoke to them. “You can leave us now.”
“Sir, we’re not allowed to leave you alone with the prisoner. She’s dangerous.”
He looked doubtful, quite rightly. She didn’t look dangerous. She hadn’t actually seen a mirror in months, but she was guessing she looked like a too-thin girl with pale skin and lank hair.
“I think I can protect myself from one girl.”
She almost smiled. The guards didn’t. “She broke a guard’s arms last month,” one of them said.
“And kicked another in the balls, sir.”
“Oh.”
She gave a smile. “I’ll be good. Your balls are safe with me.”
“There, see, she’ll be good.” Was the man an idiot? “I’ll take responsibility,” he added. “Leave us.”
They did, albeit reluctantly. As the door closed, she studied him, the balls or a swift chop across the throat. She might not look like it but she’d started military training at thirteen, when Jake had finally given in to her pestering. She’d never been on a real mission though—he’d said not until she was eighteen, and she’d been a prisoner by the time that happened.
In the end, she shrugged and sat back down on the cot. Maybe she’d listen to what this guy had to say. At least he was someone new, though she doubted very much he had anything new to say.
He perched himself on the single upright chair in the room, then twisted it so he was facing her.
“I’m Jason Walker, the new doctor in charge of your…case.”
She glared. “I’m not a fucking case, mister. I’m a person, and I’ve been kept prisoner here. I want to see a fucking lawyer.”
He leaned back in the chair as though to put some distance between them. She glanced at the window where the guards were watching. It would do no good to hurt him; she’d hold off until he really pissed her off.
“So why the change?” she asked. “Me and the other guy were getting on so well.”
A brief smile flashed across his face. At least he had a sense of humor. “I’ve read the reports.”
“So why are you here?”
“There has been a change in circumstances. Your friends on the outside are all dead. You have nowhere to go.”
Shock stabbed her in the gut. But he couldn’t know. They couldn’t be dead. “I don’t believe you.”
“What would it take to make you believe what I say?”
Her gaze flashed to the reflector device.
He gave a quick smile and then reached up and slipped the device from his head. For a moment, she sat with her mouth open, and then she reached out and peered into his mind. He was who he said he was, and he believed he was here to try and persuade her to work with them.
Also, he was telling the truth—as far as he knew it. He’d been told her friends were all dead. That didn’t mean it was true. She wouldn’t believe it. She dug a little deeper and found no mention about the Conclave. He believed he worked for a government department. She plucked all the details, in case they could be of use.
“What can you see?” he asked. He was skeptical; while he’d read the reports, there was nothing in them to prove she could do anything. Which meant he didn’t have access to the Tribe’s old case files. “And by the way,” he added. “I was told not to believe a word you say.”
“Fair enough.” Her powers were dulled by the drug, but still this close, she could see everything in his head. “You have a wife named Julie and a fourteen-week-old baby, Sophie.”
Shock flashed across his face. He blanked it quickly, but she read his instinctive fear, his need to protect his daughter.
“You’re being paranoid. I can hardly hurt her from in here, can I? Hmm, what else? Sophie is a sweetheart, but she’s expensive, which is why you took this job although you once swore you would never work for the military. You’re a…behavioral scientist. Whatever one of those is.”
“I—”
She waved a hand at him to stop the words. “Don’t worry with the explanation. I’ll get it out of your head later. But I’m guessing you’re some sort of brainwashing expert. You think you can persuade me to work with my captors where force has failed. You’re here to be the nice guy, and honestly, with the types I’ve been mixing with lately—that will not be a challenge.” She raised her arms, there were dark bracelets around her wrists from the last time she’d been restrained. Shock flashed across his face, and she studied him for a moment. “The truth is, you have no clue what you are involved in.”
“I don’t need to know.”
She ignored him. “If you’re really so nice, tell me, my friends—not the ones on the outside, the ones in here—are they alive? Are they okay?” Trouble with being able to read minds, though, was she already knew the answer. He knew nothing about Stefan and the others. “Just find out. Then we’ll talk again. For now, we’re finished.”
She lay down on the bed, rolled over so she faced away from him, curled her knees up to her chest, and ignored him. His chair scraped as he got up, and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone.
But a little spurt of hope sprang to life inside her.
She didn’t trust her captors, and they were clearly only telling this man what they wanted him, and through him, her, to know. But at least, this was a change in tactic. Would she be able to bargain for certain things, maybe see the others, get off the drug? Fresh air. She dreamed about it. Then maybe she could reach out and contact someone. She didn’t believe for a second that Jake was dead. Or Kane—he wouldn’t dare die before she got the chance to kill him.
…
Ethan stared at his phone. It had been twenty-four hours and no news from his father. He didn’t like it. How long could it take to find out what Forrester was involved with?
Of course there was rivalry among the inherited members of the Conclave. They were all brought up to believe they were destined to be goddamned rulers of the world, and that made for a lot of ego. But they usually cooperated when it mattered. Unless something huge was going down, which took priority.
He stood up, restless, paced the huge office a couple of times. It was empty but for a desk and two chairs, a laptop, and his phone on the desk. He didn’t like clutter. The walls were bare, painted pale gray, and there were two doors, one to his assistant’s office, the other to his private quarters. One wall was made up entirely of glass. They were the highest building around, and he was on the top floor, so as he paused and stared out of the window, the whole of the city spread out before him.
When he’d come back, after his time in the army, he’d thought he could change things. That was the lure his father had used. This was his birthright and could be turned to whatever purpose he chose within the parameters of the Conclave’s guidelines. And they were broad. The people who had set up the organization all those centuries ago hadn’t been the types to be confined by rules. Five men, who founded five dynasties. Probably the most powerful families in existence, though unheard of by the average man on the street. But as his father had pointed out, there was nothing inherently evil about the Conclave. It was as good or bad as the men who ruled it. Why not be a force for good?
He wasn’t sure his father believed the idea had any merit, but he’d wanted Ethan back in the fold. He’d gone to amazing lengths to get him out of an Iraqi prison, to offer him the opportunity. He would have said anything to persuade him to come back.
Of course, taking control of the Conclave hadn’t been the real reason Ethan had come back. But he was hardly likely to share that with his father.
His phone rang and he strode back to the desk and picked it up. It wasn’t his father, but Fergus, his personal assistant, and he pressed the button to take the call.
He’d first met Fergus in the army—he’d been the platoon’s sergeant when Ethan had joined as an eighteen-year-old. Later, he’d shared a cell with the man in an Iraqi prison.
Fergus would have died in that prison cell if Ethan hadn’t insisted his father rescue the man when he came for Ethan. Afterward, he’d offered Fergus a place in the Conclave, made sure that he understood the consequences if he decided to leave. Fergus was loyal and knew most of Ethan’s business—you needed at least one person you were sure was on your side.
“I have an outside call for you,” Fergus said. “A woman. She said you would want to talk to her—she mentioned the name Forrester.”
“Really? You’d better put her through, then, but stay on the line.”
A second later the phone clicked. “Hello. Weiland speaking.”
“Ethan, how lovely to talk to you. I thought it might have been harder.”
“You said the magic word.”
“Forrester? Poor man.” She sighed dramatically.
He didn’t recognize the voice. Was this some sort of power play from the Conclave? “Who are you?”
“The name’s Suzi.”
When she said nothing more, he exhaled with impatience. “And you knew Forrester?”
“I was about to get to know him very well. Unfortunately, he was dead when we arrived.”
“We.”
“My friend and I. Come on, Ethan, you were there that night. You saw us. And we saw you.”
He frowned, then moved around the desk, sank into the seat, and swiped his finger across the laptop. A picture filled the screen. Two women, both tall, both beautiful, in short dresses, matching fake fur jackets, and towering heels. They were outside Forrester’s house. The hookers. They’d been cleared by his police contact. Which meant either she was genuine or she had an extremely good cover. They certainly looked the part.
“Which one are you?” he asked. “The blonde or the brunette?”
“Which would you prefer?”
He stared at the picture. The black-haired woman was possibly the more beautiful, but the blonde had an edge, something a little unusual. If he had to fuck one of them, she’d be the one. His dick jerked at the thought. He hadn’t had a woman in too long that was all. “The blonde,” he replied.
“Well, it’s your lucky day.”
Time to find out what this was about. Though he could guess. “What do you want, Suzi?”
“What do you think I want? Money of course and a lot of it. Fifty thousand in cash.”
“Or what? What do you think you know here, Suzi?”
“I know you were at the scene of the crime, and I’m guessing you’re connected to Forrester. If the police dig a little, they’d probably find you had a motive for him being dead.”
Extremely unlikely; there was no link to be found between them. But it was also beside the point. Just the fact that this woman had found him meant he couldn’t ignore the threat. “How did you get this number?” he asked.
“That would be telling.”
He rubbed his hand across his jaw. He was going to have to find out one way or another. Which meant the easiest thing was to play along with her. Take her in and find out what she knew. He swallowed the disgust at what might be done to her, and then glanced again at the photo. Maybe he should deal with this himself. Though paying her off wasn’t the answer, either. If she demanded money once, she would no doubt come back for more. And at the back of his mind was the niggle that there was more to this than was clear.
How the hell had she traced him?
“You’re right,” he murmured. “There’s nothing to be found, but I don’t want the bad publicity. So how do we do this? Do I send you the money? You have an address? A PO box?” That would be easiest. He could set someone to watch and snatch her when she showed up to collect her ill-gotten gains.
She snorted. “I don’t think so. We meet in person, in a public place. You hand over my fifty thousand, and I disappear from your life forever.”
Of course she would. He wasn’t sure where the next words came from. “What? I don’t even get a fuck for my fifty thousand?”
She was silent for a moment. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” Her voice had lowered to a purr which sent fire streaking through his veins. “But I suppose fifty grand is a lot of money.”
“Where and when?”
“Tonight, nine o’clock. There’s a wine bar in Covent Garden called The Sparrow Falls.”
“I’ll find it. And Suzi, this is a onetime arrangement. Keep it to yourself. If there’s anyone else at this meeting, you’ll be sorry.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared.” She didn’t sound scared, but maybe she was too stupid to understand what she was risking. “Don’t worry, I’ll come alone. Oh, and put the money in a black bag—I don’t want it to clash with my outfit.”
And the line went dead.
She was clearly an amateur at the blackmail thing—she hadn’t specified note size or unmarked notes. He suspected she was working alone and had seen an opportunity to make a little cash. Maybe they could come to some arrangement. Perhaps she could come and work for him. His own personal hooker. He’d never paid for sex before, but there was a first time for everything. He glanced at the picture again—something about her drew him. Even in the dim light, she exuded a sort of arrogance, a fuck-you attitude.
He pressed Fergus’s number. “Come in.”
“What did you make of that?” he asked, as Fergus took the seat opposite.
“Even if she somehow recognized you, she shouldn’t have been able to get that number.”
“No. Which means someone gave it to her, someone who’s trying to cause trouble, but I can’t see how. What would anyone gain from getting some prostitute to blackmail me?”
“You sure she is what she says?”
He shrugged. Was he? “90 percent sure. The police looked into her background and it all checked out. She had ties to a minor East End criminal—a Dave Madsen, he picked them up from the police station the night Forrester was killed. But that’s all he is—a criminal. A small-time arms dealer with no ties to any gangs or groups or terrorist organizations. And certainly no ties to us.”
“Send me the police file on the girl and this contact. I’ll check them through again. I presume you plan to pull her in.”
“I don’t have a choice.” But he didn’t want to. He would do his best to make sure she survived, but there were no certainties in his life and collateral damage went with the territory. He’d accepted that when he came back. “We have to get to the bottom of how she found me.”
“I’ll get a team together. We can pick her up after the drop off. We’ll take her to the Kent facility, do the interrogation there.”
He nodded slowly. The scars on his own back tingled and itched as they did whenever he was under stress. “No permanent damage.”
Fergus raised an eyebrow. “What do you think we are?” he asked wryly, then shrugged. “There won’t be a mark on her. I’ll make sure Bailey is available. He’s the best.”
That would have to do.