Flee (12 page)

Either
he liked me too, or he was one hell of an actor. I ignored his query. "I
know you didn't have anything to do with that. I know you were just supposed to
find me. And believe me, I understand about needing a little extra money, God
knows. I'm not going to hold that against you. What I need to know is if they
told you why."

"Told
me? Who? What did they tell me? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come
on, Victor. I'm not the one playing games now. I already know how it went down.
I can even believe whoever approached you didn't give you a name. I just want
to know why they were looking for me. You tell me that much, and your worries
are over. I'll give you another sleep shot, take my friend, and be out of your
life forever."

"I
don't know who you're talking about. How can I tell you anything?"

I
studied him for signs of lying—an averted gaze, fidgeting, sweating, blinking
too little or too much—and came up empty. He was showing some signs of stress,
his voice was pitched a bit higher than it would be if he was relaxed and his
pupils were slightly dilated, but that was to be expected. He'd had a rough
day.

I
picked up the first syringe and slipped off the plastic guard.

 "Carmen,
please. You don't have to do this."

I
shook my head. "Apparently, I do. I have to admit, I thought you'd help me
with this. I'm disappointed." The truth was, I was far from disappointed.
Not only did Victor's body language suggest he was telling the truth, he was
also sticking by his claims of ignorance instead of jumping at the easy
explanations and excuses I offered. Unfortunately that didn't mean I could
trust him yet. I had to test him over higher heat. I stepped toward him.

He
eyed the needle in my hands. "What are you shooting me up with this time?"

"Something
to help you remember."

"Some
sort of truth juice?"

"Something
more effective." I knelt by his side. Before he could brace himself, I
stuck the needle into his muscle and delivered the dose.

"Ouch."
He shifted his weight, his movement limited to rocking a little back and forth
on the floor. "Now what?"

 Now
it was time to wait. And watch. "I need you to answer my questions."

"I
told you. I can't help you. I don't have a clue what you're talking about."
He shifted again as if growing uncomfortable. After a few minutes, I noticed a
little flush starting to bloom in his cheeks. "What was that stuff?"
he asked.

I
smiled. "A little something the U.S. government developed using the toxin
of the cone shell snail."

"Toxin?"
He stared at me as if I'd changed colors. "You poisoned me?"

"You
aren't going to die right away. It's a slow-acting poison."

"Well,
I guess that's okay then." He shook his head. "Are you out of your
goddamn mind?" Fear spiked his words, driving his voice higher, louder.

Just
the effect I was after. "Let me tell you a little about what you're
feeling."

"Why
are you doing this? What did I ever do to you besides think you're hot?"

I
tried not to hear the last part. "You're experiencing a tightening in your
chest, aren't you? Next your face and neck will flush. You'll start sweating."

"That
was how you made me feel before I found out you were some sort of sadistic
maniac."

I
continued. "Your skin will become blotchy, your fingers tingly. You'll
feel sharp heat, like a sunburn. And then your body will begin to shut down."

"So
you're killing me, why?"

 "I
told you. We need to talk."

"And
women wonder why men hate hearing those words."

I
turned away from him and paced across the small room, buying a few seconds of
time to compose myself. I'd observed different defense mechanisms from people I'd
interrogated. None had unnerved me as much as Victor's flirty humor. It had
been his humor that had first drawn me to him in the chat room. It had kept me
coming back for more in our internet conversations since. But today, the way he
still joked even while staring fear and death in the face?

It
was an unspeakable turn on.

There
was no more powerful aphrodisiac than facing death, and after the day I had, I'd
probably feel turned on by half the male population. But that didn't excuse my
ever-growing crush on this man. Wanting to fuck Victor didn't make him easier
to read.

I
moved to the window and looked out at the afternoon sun casting angles of light
and shadow on the street below, taking a moment to harden my resolve and let
the dose I'd administered catch up to him. With the amount I'd injected, it
shouldn't take long for him to feel all the symptoms I'd described. If the fear
I sensed under his jokes was real, actually feeling the symptoms I'd described
should make him eager to tell me everything I wanted to know.

Red
blotches started showing on his neck. His forehead carried a sheen of moisture,
his blond hair sticking in dark fringes. His breathing grew faster, bordering
on a pant.

Finally
I spoke. "How are you feeling, Victor?"

"At
the moment, I'm leaning toward scared shitless."

Just
the effect I was after. I dipped a hand into my duffle and pulled the picture
of the Russian hit man that I'd printed from his computer. I held it in front
of his face.

 "Let
me guess, you're expecting me to know who this guy is." He canted his gaze
up to my face and looked directly into my eyes, unwavering. "I've never
seen him before."

Again,
I wanted to believe him. Even though giving me a name would save his life, he
hadn't. Every test I'd given suggested he was telling the truth. But was I
missing signs because I wanted him to be an EMT from Chicago and not a spy out
to kill me? I had to be sure. I had to push him further. "Then why have
you been in contact with him?"

He
stared at me, his lips open, breathing through his mouth. "What?"

He
hadn't been in contact with the Russian. Not that I knew. But I hoped watching
his reaction to the accusation would let me get an accurate read on him. Right
now, I was reading genuine bafflement.

Or
an excellent actor.

I
decided to press it. "Your arms are burning, aren't they? Like a bad
sunburn. And I'll bet  your fingers and toes feel like they're being stuck with
needles. Does your chest feel tight?"

His
shallow breaths told me it did.

"I
don't know what you want me to say. Tell me, and I'll say it."

"I
want the truth."

"I'm
telling you the truth."

I
held up the second syringe and spoke, this time in Russian.

He
shook his head. "I don't know what the hell you're saying…"

"Come
on, Victor. If you want to live, you'd better quit fucking around." I
repeated my Russian statement, watching for some kind of acknowledgment in his
eyes, some kind of reaction to my words.

He
stared at me with wide eyes, on the verge of panic. "I don't know what you
want from me. You're insane."

This
time I spoke in English. "You know that toxin I gave you?"

"How
could I forget?"

I
directed his attention to the second syringe with a shake of my hand. "This
is the antidote. I'll give it to you, but first, you have to help me. You have
to give me the truth. Are you a spy?"

"Are
you joking?"

"Are
you a spy?" I asked again and watched him closely.

"Of
course not. What the hell is going on, Carmen? Spies? Is this for real? Who
talks about spies?"

"I'm
not giving you this shot until you come clean."

"And
if I don't tell you I'm a spy, I'll die. I get it. But I've been honest. You're
not listening." He gasped in a breath.

If
he were anyone else, someone I didn't give a shit about, I might believe him.
But I just wasn't sure I could trust my own instincts. Not where he was
concerned. Still every objective test I'd given him had suggested Victor was on
the up and up. And in light of that, I'd taken this interrogation as far as I
was willing to go.

At
least for now.

I
set the syringe back on the table and picked up my razor. I crossed to him,
knelt by his side and sliced the zip tie binding his feet. I took a step back,
pulled up the tail of my shirt and flashed him my gun. "Get up."

It
took some effort, but eventually he scrambled to his feet, his hands still
bound behind him with the other zip tie. "Where are you taking me?"
Judging from the tight line of his lips, he was expecting a firing squad or a
wood chipper.

"Over
to the couch. Walk."

He
hobbled across the floor in the gait of a man whose feet had gone too long
without decent blood circulation. "What about the antidote?"

"You
won't need that."

He
reached the sofa and twisted to face me. "So that's it? I can't answer
your questions because I don't have a clue what you're talking about, so you're
going to let me die? Or are you planning to shoot me and get it over with?"

"Neither."
I circled back behind him and pulled out my razor. A couple of slashes and his
hands were free. I drew my gun, just in case he tried something stupid and
motioned to the couch. "Sit." I indicated the spot.

He
did as I ordered, rubbing the angry red lines ringing his wrists.

I
grabbed the handcuffs I'd taken off of Kaufmann from my back pocket and tossed
them to Victor. "Put one of the cuffs on your right wrist."

"You've
got to be kidding."

I
brought my weapon up and slid my finger to the trigger.

"Okay,
not kidding. I should have known better." He circled his wrist with one of
the bracelets.

I
moved my index finger back alongside the trigger guard. "Now close the
other cuff around the radiator."

He
hooked the handcuffs over a rib of the radiator and locked it into place. Even
though he was still showing fear, now that he was upright, he looked like the
Victor who had opened the door to me a few hours before, the one who'd smiled
and joked on the webcam earlier this morning. And for a moment, I couldn't help
acknowledging that little flutter up under my rib cage.

"Now
what happens?" Victor asked. "You watch me die?"

"You're
not going to die."

He
narrowed his eyes as if trying to figure me out. "You didn't give me
poison, did you? What was it? I feel like I'm burning up."

"Niacin."
I shrugged. "Vitamin B3. It's water soluble. The effects will wear off,
and as a bonus you won't have to worry about Pellagra." My turn at a joke,
if a quip about a nasty skin, nervous system and digestive disease caused by
niacin deficiency could be considered joking.

His
lips flattened to something short of a smile. "And you did this…why?"

"I
needed to know if you were telling the truth."

He
closed his eyes and shook his head. "You have some serious trust issues."

I
couldn't argue. I did. But only because I preferred to remain breathing. At
least that's what I liked to tell myself.

Victor
shifted on the cushion, the handcuffs clanking against the radiator. "Wouldn't
you know it," he muttered under his breath.

I
raised my eyebrows in a silent question.

"I
always get turned on by the strange ones."

I
almost smiled. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He
shrugged and leaned against the sofa's arm. The move was a relaxed one, and I couldn't
help feeling relieved to see his fear fade and the Victor I'd known before take
over. "Tell me something. After all our chats online, did you ever feel
anything, or were you just looking for an apartment to use or a cheap stash of
first aid supplies?"

That
was a question I shouldn't answer. I didn't regret what I'd done. Although I
hadn't been thinking of Victor in a tactical sense in the time I'd spent
chatting with him online, once my cover identity had been blown using him was
an easy decision, one I wouldn't hesitate to make again. I should walk away and
let him curse me or hate me or whatever he pleased. It would be easier that
way. But after putting him through all I had, I couldn't do it.

Or
maybe, I just didn't want to. "I felt something."

"Funny,
you hide it well." He tilted his chin down and looked up at me, a smile
tilting one side of his lips. "Unless you're just into handcuffs."

The
warmth of that smile pulled at me, made me want to reciprocate, made me want
things I shouldn't. I'd just finished interrogating this man, telling him I'd
poisoned him, leading him to believe he was going to die. How could he forgive
me so suddenly? "Is that your way of trying to convince me to release you?"

"That
would be nice."

"Not
happening."