Page 99 of Twisted Enemy
Cole stiffens at that. Now he knows all about the Bad Men. But he doesn’t know what I did to convince Tarasov to take the coding bait. I’ll tell him later. He deserves the truth. It will help him accept what I’m about to do.
I take my time, crossing to the armoire. I know the contents of all its drawers; I’ve paid attention every time Cole brought me to this room. I open a drawer and take out a tool he’s never used on me. It’s one I wouldn’t stand for. I’d use my safeword—red.
But Tarasov doesn’t have a safeword. All he has is a choice.
Holding the device in my left hand and the gun in my right, I say, “Here’s your choice,” I say. “One of these is going up your back bum. You get to decide. Will it be the gun?” I show him the gleaming pistol, still slicked with his own spit. “Or will it be the cattle prod?”
Tarasov twists within his bonds. He yanks his hands in their cuffs, digging tempered steel into the soft flesh of his wrists. His feet scrabble at the floor as he tries to back away.
“Call her off, Wolf,” he says, eyes frantic as he looks over my shoulder.
Cole doesn’t say a word.
“Eyes on me, ya gobshite. Ya’ve got two options. Gun or prod. IfIdecide, yer gettin’ both.”
Tarasov’s eyes close. His head lolls between his outstretched arms. “Prod,” he finally whispers.
I deliver what he asked for.
40
COLE
Granny is an extremely perceptive woman.
“I don’t think you borrowed Nilsson’s Land Rover formybenefit,” she says as I slide behind the wheel. This is the third time in a week that I’ve taken the large vehicle. I should buy myself one and stop pretending a sports car is appropriate for everything I do.
I dodge Granny’s broad hint. “I wanted you to be comfortable. It’ll take an hour and a half to get to the wedding.”
She harrumphs, but she doesn’t call me on my evasive answer. Instead, she nods at the guards by both gates, mine and Nilsson’s. “It’s beginning to look like a military parade around here,” she says.
As much as I don’t want extra eyes on the premises—given the captive in my basement—I’ve ordered more guards from Apex. Four armed men stand at each gate. Two are detailed tomy front door, two to Nilsson’s, and two to the carriage house. A pair of K-9 teams patrol each property.
I hope to God that’s overkill. But once tonight’s farce of a wedding fails to move forward, I suspect the extra manpower will be necessary.
Granny’s still waiting for a response, so I say, “I’ve heard rumors of some threats.”
“I’m certain you have,” she says.
I catch her studying my tux and paying far too much attention to my cummerbund. I intended it to cover the lines of the pressure bandage Kate wrapped before she left this morning.
Trying to distract Granny, I say, “Two granddaughters married off in one year. Did you have that on your bingo card?”
Her lips twist with a wry smile. “Not even a hint. At least one of those marriages seems off to a good start. I’m not so sure the other will be a strong match.”
I need to tread lightly.Iknow Breagha is about to be left at the altar. The groom is hanging, spread-eagle, in my basement. But the only other person who knows Breagha Lynch is about to be jilted is Kate.
The loyal matron of honor left for Baltimore shortly after she jammed a cattle prod up the recalcitrant groom’s ass. Kate’s the one who said we have to keep up appearances, to pretend we know nothing about Tarasov’s whereabouts. She feels so strongly about the matter that she was willing to wear the hideous pink dress Orla sent to the house.
As I ease the Land Rover onto the Beltway, Granny says, “I hope you know how grateful I am to you.”
“I’m glad to see the carriage house is getting used.”
She snorts softly. “I’m not talking about the carriage house.”
“Mrs. Watson?—”
“I’m not talking about Helen either.” Granny’s eyes are bright as I maneuver into the far left lane. “I’m talking about Kate.About my little nettle. Brush against her, and she’ll sting like holy hell. But grab her tight, and you can keep her forever.”
