Chapter Eight
Ethan went down on one knee. Relief flooded his system. He couldn’t believe how bad he’d felt when he’d opened the door and seen her there, tied and vulnerable. He’d wanted to rip the heads off those responsible.
He’d had to wait a moment to get control of his fury. This was his doing. This was what he did. No time to start getting squeamish or pretending otherwise. He had been at interrogations before, but never a woman’s, and while he’d never admit that he was sexist, there was something so inherently wrong about it.
But he believed her. He’d always suspected that she was a mere pawn. The other woman had clearly been a member of this Tribe and she’d used Suzi to get close to him. Maybe an assassination attempt that had been abandoned when they’d realized how many men he had with him. Whatever. He’d get to the bottom of it.
He unfastened the buckles holding the leg restraints in place, then couldn’t resist stroking his fingers up the silky skin of her ankle. A shiver ran through her, and he raised his gaze to look into her eyes.
His hand slid higher, under the cotton robe to curl around her calf and squeeze gently. Heat flushed the pale skin of her cheeks.
He lowered his gaze and went instantly still. For a moment, his brain couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, and he stared at her long slender feet…and her eight toes.
“Oh shit,” she murmured.
The softly spoken words brought him out of his trance. He released his hold on her leg, pushed himself upright, turned, and left the room.
What the hell?
He leaned back against the door, pressing a finger to the spot between his eyes. His mind refused to function. But he was going to have to think this through, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answers he came up with.
“Boss?” Fergus was standing in front of him, brows drawn together. “Are you okay?”
Hell, no. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “I’m fine.”
“Do we go ahead with the interrogation?”
“No.” The word came out without conscious thought. “Not right now,” he added. “Take her back to her cell.”
He didn’t wait for Fergus to say anything else. There was an office on the first floor, and he made his way up there. He needed to be alone and think through the implications. The room held a desk and chair and a black leather sofa along one wall, as well as the thing he needed most right now—a liquor cabinet. He poured himself a scotch and took it, together with the bottle, to the sofa, sat down and sipped the drink. When he’d finished, he poured another and repeated the process. Then put the glass down.
Eight toes.
What the hell did it mean? He pulled out his phone and looked up the article he’d found on the Tribe. It didn’t mention telepathy. They were mute. Or were they just communicating another way?
He was putting off facing up to the main issue here.
Was she telepathic?
Could she read minds?
Had she read his mind?
Christ, he wished he had more information. He needed to know what he was dealing with.
He scrolled through the numbers and found Travis’s. His call went to voicemail, and he swore softly. He pressed his father’s number, the one guaranteed to be picked up. “Where’s Travis now?” he asked.
“In transit, I believe, but he’s out of contact for the moment.”
“Let me know the moment he gets in touch.”
“Is there a problem?”
How much did he want to reveal right now? He thought quickly. He did not want to say anything until he knew more. His father had said he didn’t want to risk anyone getting inside his head. If his dad got word of this, there was a good chance he would order Suzi’s execution. And if his father knew she had been inside Ethan’s head, then she would definitely die.
“No. I was just looking for some more information.”
“Has the woman said anything?”
“Not yet. But she will.”
“Good. I’ll let you know when Travis gets in.”
Ethan ended the call and sat for a minute longer. The thing was, he had no clue how to play this. What was he supposed to do? Go in there and ask if she could read his mind?
Was she likely to tell the truth?
Should he even risk it? Maybe he should stay the hell away from her. Though if she could read minds, then presumably she already knew everything about him. How much could she read? Shit, this was doing his head in. Was there any way to test it?
Then he remembered her reaction when he’d seen her feet. She’d known what he was thinking. He’d swear on it.
Fuck.
A goddamn telepath. The ramifications were huge.
Could they read any minds? Get the answer to secrets that might otherwise never be revealed.
There was one thing he’d always wanted to know, one truth that had the potential to change his life. It was the real reason he had come back after they’d rescued him from that Iraqi prison. And that was…what had really happened to his mother? But he’d gotten nowhere. That particular truth had been buried too deep, never spoken of, and he’d eventually put it from his mind. For now. Because there was no way he could get to the truth, and it was tearing him apart.
Was he ready to go there?
Half an hour had passed. Time to go talk to her. Would she answer, and if she didn’t, would he make her? Could he let them interrogate her?
Christ, he’d wanted to believe she was a mere pawn. He hadn’t wanted to interrogate her; he’d wanted to screw her.
Did she know that?
At a guess, yes. She probably didn’t even need to be telepathic to figure that out. He pushed himself to his feet and pressed his fingers to his forehead, trying to move past the shock and make his mind function again.
He headed down to the lower level. First, he went to the control room. “Shut off the surveillance in cell three,” he said. He wanted no witnesses to the upcoming conversation. The less people who knew, the better.
The guard let him into the cell. Dressed in her own clothes, the cotton robe tossed over the end of the bed, she was sitting on the cot with her back against the wall, and her legs dangling over the edge. She looked at him, a wary expression in her eyes.
He leaned against the door and studied her. Her blond hair was obviously dyed.
“Contact lenses?” he asked.
She reached up and removed them, placing them on the table beside her. When she gazed back at him, her eyes were a deep, dark blue.
“Are you telepathic?”
She glanced away, then back. “Of course not. Why would you think that?” She blinked those big blue eyes guilelessly up at him, and he gritted his teeth.
How the hell did you interrogate someone who was possibly anticipating your every question? “Why the contact lenses?”
She shrugged. “No reason. I just like the look. Who wants to be a boring blue-eyed blonde?”
Maybe he should wash his hands of this and hand her over to his father. Maybe he was the last person who should be talking to her. His judgment was clouded by the fact that he wanted her. For whatever goddamn reason, she had got through to him like no other woman.
Had something flickered in her eyes at that thought?
Her face went blank.
Jesus. He crossed the room and sank down onto the cot beside her. She inched away. He made no attempt to touch her. Instead, he allowed his mind to fill with everything he’d like to do to her. He wanted her naked beneath him. He wanted to taste her. He pictured his head between her thighs, imagined his mouth on her sex, his tongue pushing inside her. How would she taste?
As his dick came to instant attention, a small sound escaped the woman beside him. He glanced sideways at her and his eyes narrowed. Her hands were balled at her side, and a dull flush colored her cheekbones. A pulse throbbed beneath the pale skin of her throat.
Had she seen his thoughts? “Like that idea, do you?”
She sniffed. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
He was becoming increasingly aware that he actually believed this. Unbelievable though it was, he was coming to the conclusion that she was telepathic. That she was reading his thoughts. That she no doubt knew his every secret.
She probably even knew what he was capable of. That he had killed before and that he would no doubt kill again.
But would he kill her?
He’d always been loyal to the Conclave. Even during his years away, it had never occurred to him to betray them in any way. They were his family. But if she truly were able to read minds, then she had access to information that was an instant death sentence. And allowing her to live was a betrayal of everything he’d been brought up to believe.
He tried to imagine killing her. Putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. But unlike the earlier image, this one would not take form in his head. Neither would the other option of handing her over.
Why did she matter?
He searched her face, found her watching him in return, a small line between her eyes.
Was it because of that vague idea formulating in his mind? Was she his chance to discover the truth at last?
He closed his eyes for a moment, leaned back against the wall, and slowed his breathing. He should end this. Kill her. Or have her killed. Fergus would do it. She wouldn’t suffer. He would make it quick.
“Well, gee thanks, but no thanks,” she said, and he opened his eyes.
“So you can read my mind?”
“You’d already reached that conclusion. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.”
“If it seems impossible, then chances are it’s the truth.” He shifted on the bed so he faced her. “How much can you read?”
She shrugged. “Not much. Just top-level stuff, things you’re thinking right now.”
Was she telling the truth?
She gave him a small smile. “Of course.”
Christ, it was enough to do his head in. “Is Suzi your real name?”
“No. Thank God. It’s Sadie. Sadie Brooks.”
He liked it. It suited her. Certainly more than Suzi. He exhaled. What was he supposed to do now?
“You could let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you or your secret little club. Honest.”
He snorted. He should definitely kill her.
“You could, but there wouldn’t be much point. I’ve already told my friends your name. They’ll be hunting for you.”
“The brunette from Forrester’s?”
“Yup.”
Did he believe her?
“Of course you do. I never lie. Well, not without a really good reason.”
…
He wanted something from her. She just couldn’t get to the bottom of what it was. Maybe because her mind was still full of that image, of his head between her thighs. Warm, wet heat flooded her; she could almost feel the stroke of his tongue as though he were really there.
Would he kill her?
Part of her believed never, but was her judgment sound where this man was concerned? Whether her dreams were really just that—and she wouldn’t allow herself to believe anything else—there was something that tied her to this man. At the same time, he had killed before. His morals had been warped at an early age. He’d grown up believing in the Conclave, and his loyalty was absolute.
Or maybe not quite absolute. There was something…
“What were you doing at Forrester’s that night?” he asked, the question dragging her from her thoughts.
How much could she tell him? He knew very little about the Tribe; he was guessing much of it. If he understood their true purpose—to destroy the Conclave, to tear it down—then he very likely would put that bullet in her head. But perhaps this was an opportunity to find out what had happened to Kaitlin and the other hostages, and she and the others could finally put them to rest.
“We were looking for information about the Conclave.”
At her words, his eyes widened; he hadn’t expected her to actually give him an answer. “You’re willing to talk to me?”
She pursed her lips as she considered her words. “You want something from me. You think I can help you in some way…getting information at a guess. And if so, then maybe we can help each other.”
“You know what I want?”
She shook her head. “Not the details. You’re…conflicted. You still haven’t decided whether you’re going to ask me yet. Probably you suspect the truth and aren’t ready to accept it.”
He looked away. He didn’t like her answer, but then very few people were totally honest with themselves. At least, when it came to what mattered the most. Finally, he looked back with a shrug.
“Maybe you’re right. So you went to Forrester to find out about the Conclave. Why? What’s your interest in us?”
“You killed my friends.”
The sad thing was, he wasn’t even shocked by her answer and certainly wasn’t disbelieving; she reckoned the Conclave had killed a lot of people. “How?”
“They were hostages, taken six months ago.”
“Then you don’t know they’re dead.”
“They must be dead. We’ve heard nothing. They were being used as leverage to lure the rest of us in. Then everything went quiet and we’ve heard nothing since.”
He was considering how much to reveal to her, but came to the conclusion that there was no reason not to tell her. Anyway, now that she knew there was something, she could wriggle it out of his brain. But he was already speaking.
“They’re probably not dead.”
God, she wanted to believe there was a chance, but they’d gone over it so many times. Finally, they’d lost hope. “Why would you think that?”
“The Conclave tends to compartmentalize things, including projects. It reduces the chances of anything coming out. Your group was under the control of a man…”
He was still unhappy about revealing this stuff; it went against everything he’d grown up believing. She decided to help him out. “Travis.”
He snorted. “Yes.”
“You don’t like him.”
He was surprised at that. He’d never really thought about it, but no, he didn’t like Travis. “It doesn’t matter. Six months ago, Travis disappeared. It’s not unheard of. I’m guessing your project went off track, and he took himself out of harm’s way. He must have believed there was a chance you might trace things back to him. Though I think that would be unlikely.” He didn’t like that aspect, hated that he didn’t understand why Travis had vanished. “That’s why you haven’t heard anything. Why there have been no further demands. In the absence of Travis, the project would have gone into lockdown. No major changes. But there’s no reason the hostages would have been killed. Especially if they were potentially valuable. As I’m guessing your friends would be.”
Did she believe him? He was telling the truth as he saw it. Could Kaitlin and the others still be alive? They could have been drugged, isolated. At one point, the colonel had kept Kaitlin in a specially constructed cell he’d had built, which had sealed off her brain waves so she couldn’t communicate with the outside. Maybe they were all being kept like that.
Her heart started beating faster. “Can you find out?”
“Given time. Travis is being brought in. He’s expected soon. He’s the only one who can open the files.”
Unless he died, and then all his projects would be shut down, the files destroyed. And then the hostages would be killed. Protocol.
“You’d better make sure he doesn’t die, then.”
He shook his head. “I don’t suppose I could ask you to stay out of my mind.”
She grinned. “You could ask.” She decided not to mention the reflector devices, which, if worn, would stop her getting into his head. No doubt once his friend turned up, he’d find out for himself, so she might as well make the most of it. She was finally relaxing. It was sinking in that maybe she was going to avoid the whole torture thing. And that there was a chance the others were alive. She needed to tell Jake. He’d felt so guilty, as though he was responsible. But in order to tell Jake, she needed to get out of here and back to the city where there was a better chance he could locate her. Or if she played this right, she could contact him herself.
What did Ethan want from her? Information presumably, but what sort? She reached out and eased into his mind. But he’d locked down tight. He was good at this. All she could get was his surface thoughts.
“I’ll help you,” she said. “Whatever you want, I’ll find it for you. In return, I need you to let me out of here. And then, find out if my friends are still alive and where they are.”
He considered her for a moment. He had to make a choice. Take her offer or kill her. And he’d gone beyond killing her. Afterward, he would find a way to shut her down, get rid of the threat to the Conclave. Though who knew where his loyalties would lie if she actually found the truth. That was interesting. What was he expecting to find out?
But she was in the same dilemma. The Conclave had to go down, and he was part of the Conclave. Kane had said that outcome wasn’t negotiable. They were a threat to the secrecy of his goddamn stupid mission. But no way were they bringing anyone down until they were absolutely sure there was no chance that the others were alive. She held her breath, keeping her mouth closed while he worked it through.
He didn’t trust her, and planned to keep her close. He was considering the possible ways he could do that without drawing undue attention to her. His girlfriend? He decided not—it would look odd for a girlfriend to accompany him to the office. His new personal assistant? Better. This could work. When he finally reached that decision, she almost slumped with relief.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They were on.
“From now on,” he added, “I don’t let you out of my sight.”
That wasn’t good news, but she’d work around it. “Just get me out of here.”