Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📗

in. There was no way a window that big was free of cracks. But as she explored it, she noticed the window was double the expected thickness. There was Plexiglas reinforcing the window from the inside.

That only made her search harder for a weakness, because she was nowhere close to admitting defeat. But there was heavy weatherproofing material all around the frame, inside and out. There was no way to open the window. She couldn’t escape that way.

A low rumble caught her by surprise, and she searched the dark sky for a plane. There wasn’t any sign of one, and the more she listened, the less right it sounded. She moved over the metal vent in the floor and felt a surge of warm air passing through it. So, the kidnappers had finally turned on the furnace. That was something, at least.

She went over the room looking for anything she could use as a weapon. The nails in the wall were a possibility, if only she could get one out. She pulled and pried, damaging her perfectly manicured fingernails in the process, before finally extracting one. It was two inches long, with a flat head and a dusting of plaster dappled over its surface. Lying almost weightless in her palm, it didn’t look like much of anything, let alone anything dangerous. Some weapon, she thought. She went back to the window, scratching at it with the nail. If Plexiglas could laugh, she thought, it would have quite the chuckle right then.

Maybe I could pick the cuffs with the nail. That wasn’t exactly her skill set. Desmond could have done that with his eyes closed, at least as a teenager, but he’d never taught her how.

While she was contemplating the possibilities, she heard a key in the door. She put the nail in the pocket of her jeans and glanced at her watch. It was close to nine. The man eased the door open gingerly, as if expecting an attack.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “and I have an offer to make you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll let you out of here. Kidnapping you was never really part of the plan, so I’ll let you go. But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You help me kill Gary first.” He smiled, revealing perfect, even teeth. His tone was nonchalant, almost playful. “How about it?”

Chapter 10

Dominique stood stock-still, balanced between shock and horror. “Say that again,” she told him. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You heard me just fine.”

“Maybe I did, but I don’t believe you,” she answered. “What you’re talking about isn’t just crazy. It’s evil.”

“I’m not suggesting you kill an innocent person. This is about Gary.”

“He’s a good person, at heart.”

“You know that’s not true,” the man said. “He’s a sleazeball who married a woman he didn’t even like for her money.”

“His mother had breast cancer and was on the verge of losing her house,” Dominique pointed out. “I think that had a lot to do with his choice. Gary took good care of his mother until she died.”

“He took great care of himself, too. Only the best would do for him. He was a golden boy, raised to think he was better than everyone else. Handsome. Athletic. The type who always got the girl.” The man lifted his big shoulders in an impassive shrug. “He got addicted to a lifestyle he couldn’t afford. And that made him a monster.”

“Did Gary hurt someone you cared about? Is that why you kidnapped us?”

“No.” The man shook his head with obvious impatience. “I told you, this is just business.”

“Then why are you obsessing about him?”

“He reminds me of a certain type of person I hate. So smug. So superior. The golden boy who wins at everything. The rich man who uses people and calls them his helper monkeys. Personally, I don’t care about Gary one way or the other. But make no mistake: he’s a killer.”

“Who did he kill?”

The man cocked his head to one side. “That’s a complicated question.”

Anger flared under Dominique’s skin. She hated people who played head games, especially when she couldn’t walk away from them. “In other words, you’re making this up.”

“No. It’s just… I’d love for Gary to explain it to you himself. It’s quite a story.”

Dominique wracked her brain. There had been a story once, something about a boxer Gary had knocked out cold in the ring. The man had suffered a serious concussion, and he’d gone on to develop chronic traumatic encephalopathy. His life had been circumscribed by memory loss, aggression, and depression, and eventually he’d killed himself. “Carlos Murcia,” she said.

“What?”

“The boxer. Gary always felt bad about what happened to him. Like he contributed to his condition.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said. “This doesn’t have anything to do with boxing.”

That only left her more confused. Who else had Gary harmed? “Why don’t you explain?” she prodded.

“It would take too long. Anyway, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me if Gary lives or dies. It only matters to the person I work for. And make no mistake about it: Gary is going to die.”

“No. You can’t.”

“The only question is whether you’re going to die with him. Do you want to?”

“What kind of fool question is that?”

The man’s mouth stretched back in a smile that lasted for a nanosecond. “You’re beautiful, and you’re kind of amusing. So I’ll make you a deal. If you’ll kill Gary, I’ll let you live.”

“That’s your idea of a deal?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I would’ve expected you to say you’d let me live if I sleep with you.”

“Obviously, that’s also part of the deal.” He was so cool as he said it. Dominique didn’t feel the slightest spark of desire from him or any heat from his skin, but those feral eyes of his said I have you in my power and I can make you do whatever I want. “But that’s just a given. And sleeping with me wouldn’t keep you from going to the police and telling them what I