I watched, silent and still, as she went through the motions – struggling, yelling, begging, whatever. Real or fake, I refused to care. The minutes were passing, but I didn't know how many. I recalled that supposedly, she had to work.
So what? Not my problem.
Suddenly, she laughed, a bitter sound that cut through the cool basement air.
I gave her a look. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, so now you wanna talk?" Her voice sounded raw, like it hurt to talk. She glared at me. "Fuck off."
The rawness, like nothing else, got under my skin. I glanced toward the basement door. "You need some water?"
She stared at me. "Water? Seriously?"
I made myself shrug – cold, indifferent. That's what I should be, right? I made myself say, "It's water or nothing."
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"I let you keep your panties, didn't I?" They were black and lacy, and looked expensive. The bra hugged her curves and dipped in the middle, meeting in a little black bow nestled between her breasts. It rose and fell with her angry breathing.
Like the monster I was, I wanted to see more.
From the chair, Chloe spoke again. "The guys who attacked me. Where are they now?"
Probably, they were in the garage. Or maybe in a warehouse a couple miles away. I almost smiled. Compared to them, Chloe was getting off light. "Trust me," I said, "It's better if you don’t know."
"Trust you?" She rattled the handcuffs. "You're joking, right?"
"Believe what you want."
"How long are you going to stand there?" she asked.
"As long as you're here."
Her tone grew brittle. "And how long will that be, exactly?"
For the first time, I glanced at my watch. We'd been down here for almost an hour. I recalled our original plan. Bishop was going to search the house, and then ask the so-called kidnappers a few more questions. He was a pro, so it wouldn’t take long.
I shrugged. "Another half hour should do it."
"Do what?" she asked.
"Again, better if you don't know."
Her voice grew quiet, but ragged on the edges. "So you're saying you'll let me go in a half hour?"
The sound of her voice hurt to hear. I recalled the very first time I'd ever heard it, all those years ago. It was probably the first thing I'd fallen in love with. Listening to it now, it broke my heart.
I had to glance away. "Probably."
Chapter 56
In the chair, she started to shiver, quietly, like she wanted to hide it. She was no longer talking. Or yelling. Or asking any more questions.
She just sat, looking alone and defeated as she silently trembled in the damp, basement air.
Whether she deserved it or not, it still hurt to watch. But probably, that was the whole point. Odds were pretty good that this, like everything else, was just part of her act – a bid for sympathy, like the thing at the fence.
It was a good strategy. I could almost see it. A few mock shivers, and I'd let her go. Who knows? Maybe I'd join her in a hot Jacuzzi, and we'd make a new film. She could name it "Riding the Waves" or something equally stupid.
