Page 73 of Reset

“We will stay,” the voice replied. It sounded male, young, and very formal.

“Where are we?” Ryan called again. “We woke up in here.”

There was a murmur of conversation before the voice replied. “My English is not so good. I am unsure we understand you. These are the catacombs.”

“Catacombs?” Sarah said, staring at Ryan.

He lifted his voice again. “What catacombs?” he shouted. “And which city?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Benson Security Basement

London

* * *

Rachel was in testosterone hell.

“Bloody Americans and their bloody guns,” Callum exploded when he saw the state Prentice was in. “Couldn’t you have knocked him out?” He pointed through the two-way mirror to the man in Benson Security’s interrogation room. “I just had that floor redone, and he’s dripping blood all over the new carpet.”

Rachel’d had enough. “Boys, focus. Ryan first, carpet second. For the love of Prada, go in there and beat some information out of that man before I die of boredom.”

“Aye.” Callum scowled at her. “Because stopping you from being bored is my first priority.”

Her husband smothered a grin while the other three men resumed their stupid argument. Obviously, it was up to the women to take control and sort things out. As usual.

With a look of disdain towards the Neanderthals, Rachel walked out of the viewing room and into the interrogation room. Flicking the lock behind her so the boys wouldn’t follow and continue to annoy her.

The plain white box of a room contained only a table and two chairs, one of which was bolted to the floor, and a two-way mirror—mirror side showing. Rachel eyed the new blue carpet. It was ugly. Callum should have saved his money and left the old blood-stained one alone.

“Good morning,” she said to the glowering man who was cuffed, hands and feet, to the bolted chair. “My name is Rachel Ford-Talbot, and I’ll be your interrogator today.”

She dusted off the chair on the opposite side of the table from Prentice before sitting. After placing her Chanel handbag on the floor beside her, she crossed her legs and assessed the mercenary. He was made up of muscle and scars, with a touch of intelligence thrown into the mix. Thug for hire. How cliché.

“Rachel,” Callum’s voice came over the intercom. “Get your backside out of there!”

“Please forgive my associate,” Rachel said. “He obviously hasn’t had his medication today. Now, tell me who paid you to kidnap Ryan Granger and where did you take him?”

She glanced at her phone; there was an urgent email from her brother, who was head of research and development at their pharmaceutical company. She held up a finger. “Hold that thought. I have to deal with this email first.”

As she typed, Prentice looked around the room. “Is this a fucking joke?” he snarled. “Candid fucking camera? Am I on some stupid-ass TV show?”

“Not with that language, you aren’t,” Rachel said absently as she focused on the email. “Please be quiet, this is important.”

The door rattled and someone thumped it. “Rachel, open the door,” her husband called, sounding far more reasonable than he probably felt. Harvard was very good at sounding reasonable. He seemed to do it quite a bit around her.

“Done.” Rachel rested her phone on her knee as she turned her attention to their prisoner. “You were saying?”

“Fuck all,” he spat. “That’s what I was saying.”

Rachel picked a piece of lint off the skirt of her black Prada suit as her husband thumped the door again.

“This isnae funny, Rachel,” Callum said, obviously through a clenched jaw. “You’re slowing us down.”

“Honestly.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s so dramatic. Of course, he has reason to be concerned. After all, I’m only a part-time interrogator.” She didn’t hide her disdain as she looked at the man. “Normally, I run a pharmaceutical company.”

“Bitch, I don’t give a fuck,” Prentice growled.