Dr. Fowler’s smile faltered; he jerked a little in his chair. “You didn’t.”
“I very much did.” The Smith & Wesson .45 fit her hand with the familiarity of an old friend, reassuringly cool and heavy. “If you’re going to operate outside the law, then so am I. I’ve had very little sleep in the last week, you’ve kidnapped my friend, and I’m an excellent marksman. So unless you want me to Han Solo your ass through this table right now, you’ll tell me what you did with Sasha.”
He met her stare-for-stare. “I didn’t do anything with him. It’s like I’ve already told you: I work with helping vets. Sasha is of no interest to me.”
Her hand tightened on the gun. “You’re on very thin ice, doctor.”
“As are you, I believe. You have no evidence for your case – at least not any that you can actually take to your captain, and the clock is ticking.” He leaned forward, voice lowering. “It seems like everything’s been upside down since your life got tangled up in other people’s business. If I were you, I’d forget about Sasha and worry about your job.”
She leaned forward, too, though the gleam in his eyes sickened her. “Last chance.”
“You won’t shoot me.” He held her gaze a moment, then smiled with satisfaction and got to his feet. “I’m sorry we couldn’t work something out, detective. It’s a shame.”
“Wait,” she said, just before he turned away. “Not today, you’re right. I won’t. But someday. Eventually. I will shoot you. And I can promise I won’t miss.”
He snorted, amused. “Good afternoon, Trina.” And walked to the door.
When he was gone, Jamie twisted around in his seat, his eyes huge. “Um. What.”
Trina sighed and holstered her gun. “Yeah. I know. Let’s hope that bought the guys enough time. I kinda got…carried away.”
“Are you really gonna shoot that guy?”
“One day? Yeah. I think so.”
~*~
Lanny reached for his badge when they crossed into the lobby, intending to flash it, but Nikita batted his hand down.
“You won’t need that. Watch.” And he proceeded to turn the brain of everyone they encountered into worshipful mush.
“This is seriously creepy,” Lanny said, as Mona the Adoring Nurse led them to Dr. Fowler’s office. “That’s what you did to me, isn’t it?” He turned to glare at Alexei, who walked beside him.
Alexei, the little shit – he was a prince after all; weren’t they all little shits? – shrugged, as remorseless as ever. “It was for your own good.”
“So was hitting you in the face. How did that feel?”
Ahead of them, Nikita snapped his fingers, a voiceless command to shut up.
“Who the fuck put him in charge?” Lanny muttered.
Alexei snorted in an agreeing way.
The office door was locked. “Oh, I can,” Mona started to offer, and Nikita snapped the handle off with one effortless twist of his hand. Lanny heard the other half hit the floor inside the office, and Nikita pushed his way in.
They all filed in after, finding the space surprisingly cramped; Lanny had expected someone with Fowler’s penchant for theatrics to work in an office with a massive, ornate desk and shelves full of oddities. Instead, the space felt just like any hospital office, with a cheap desk and rolling chair, white walls, and several wall shelves of plastic-covered file folders.
“Mona,” Nikita said, and his voice wasoff: soft, and low, and cloying in a way that made Lanny’s skin crawl. “Why don’t you go stand guard for us?”
Her voice was wrong too: slow and syrupy. “Okay.” She wandered out, smiling, dazed.
“Dude,” Lanny said, and shuddered. “That is fucked up.”
“You can probably do it too,” Nikita said absently, sitting down in the desk chair and waking the sleeping computer.
“I what?”
“It’s hereditary. Well. I guess that’s what you’d call it. It can be passed through breeding and through siring.”
