Chapter Fourteen
Nina studies my work with a sharp eye. Her questions are smart and methodical. “Do you have a background in mathematics?” I ask, almost too eager to find a colleague.
“Computer science,” she says. “We need to get this plugged into some decryption algorithms as soon as possible. A brute force attack by hand would take forever.”
“That’s a good idea,” I say, and I mean that.
Nina’s eyebrows rise. “But?”
“No, I mean it is a good idea.” Sometimes people write their computer passwords on paper. It could be a lot of different electronic things. But I have a feeling it isn’t. A feeling isn’t logic. It isn’t anything I can verify or back up, but it’s there nonetheless. “The medium. It could be part of the message.”
“Telling us what?”
“How to decode it,” I say, unable to say more. Strangely unwilling.
“Is this her handwriting?” she asks, sounding dubious.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Is Gabriel still at the Emerald? We can ask for a sample.”
“We can do a lot more than that. We can get a handwriting expert. He has a lot of resources, and he’s willing to use every last one to find her.” She reaches for the note, and I pull it back in time. “It will help to have the original.”
“Not if you’re going to plug the numbers into a computer. Handwriting analysis can work off the picture, too.”
She smiles. “Are you on Damon’s side?”
“I’m on whatever side gets Avery back safely,” I say in total honesty.
Her expression reveals nothing. She would be brilliant at poker, if she played. And that’s exactly what she’s doing—playing a game, this one with far higher stakes than clay chips on green velvet. “Are you in Damon’s bed?”
Nina hadn’t blinked when I showed her into Damon’s bedroom—or when I continued into the small closet-room where we’re standing now. She had eyes only for the cipher.
I wave a hand, a little relieved that the sleeping arrangements are apparent. Mostly embarrassed that this is where he put me. “I have my own bed.”
“That doesn’t mean you won’t join him.”
My cheeks heat, memories of Damon’s strong body flush in my mind. From the outside he seems lean, but without the cover of his suit I could see ropes of muscle and layers of scars that speak to merciless strength. I could see the endless lines of ink etched into him. Monsters with only one eye. A wild woman with snakes for hair. And waves for miles of muscle.
“I won’t.”
A smile curves her lips, making her look like a dark-skinned Mona Lisa. “I wouldn’t judge you. There are plenty of women who’ve wanted him over the years. Plenty who’ve tried to get where you are.”
My tongue feels thick. “In a servant’s room?”
“Any way they can get him, I suppose. If you’re into that kind of thing.”
I blink, uncertain whether she’s talking about the man or the servitude. “What kind of thing?”
“Ownership.”
The line between me and my composure is made of steel, a long taut string. It snaps with an almost audible creak. I lean back in the small wooden chair, whiplash making it hard to speak. “He doesn’t own me.”
“Right,” she says, turning back to the cipher. “I’ll take high-resolution pictures of the code, plus your work—if you don’t mind.”
“It’s fine,” I manage. “If it will help.”
I set the note down directly under the lamp, studying the random assortment of letters and numbers along with her. Something about the sight of them stirs a memory, but I can’t bring it to the surface.
Nina uses her phone to take multiple pictures of the note, making sure each one uploads completely. Then she snaps quicker images of my work product—mostly my handwriting scribbled down with intermittent question marks.
“Gabriel’s going to find her,” I say, trying to convince myself more than her.
“Of course he is,” she says, a little sadly, and I realize that she means dead or alive.
She turns to leave and pauses at the door. “You know, before? I didn’t only mean that he would own you. It could be that he’s been waiting for someone strong enough to own him.”
My laugh bursts out of me, a strange relief after the pressure of the last week. “No way.”
Her smile is indulgent. “Are you sure?”
“He definitely thinks he owns me.” Because he bought me. He won me, but that’s not something I’m going to explain to her. If she works for Gabriel Miller, then she might already know. It’s strange to talk about something so personal with a stranger, but in some ways that’s the only kind of person I could share this with. It would be too humiliating to dissect with someone I know. “Look where he put me. I can’t even leave my room without going through him.”
Which puts a much more sinister slant on my stay here. I insisted that I wanted to stay before, and it’s true. What happens when I want to leave? Will he let me?
“Yes, but look at the way he protects you.”
My eyebrows lower, because I hadn’t realized I was in danger. “What do you mean?”
She looks at my little bed, the plain desk. “This room. It doesn’t only keep you inside. It keeps everyone else out. They’d have to go through him to get to you.”
I swallow hard, realizing that she’s telling the truth. It’s a place of both shame and honor. Which one did Damon Scott intend? Maybe both, because he’s nothing if not perverse.
It’s been strange not having the nightmares, as if Damon’s presence outside my room keeps them away. I feel almost guilty about that, as if I should be more messed up over Avery’s disappearance. Like I should have terrible dreams every night. I’ve put my whole life on hold looking for her, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I’m not sure anything would.
“No one’s trying to get to me,” I say, but it comes out as a question.
“Right,” she says. “The Den is the safest place in the city. And this room is the safest place inside.”
The words are meant to be reassuring, but a small seedling of uncertainty plants itself in my stomach. The safest place. I repeat the words, wondering why I don’t find comfort. Maybe because the safer I need to be, the more I’m afraid of the invisible threats that made it this way.