Conscience - Cecilia London Page 0,6

she wasn’t going down without one hell of a fight.

The van rumbled on and she started to feel queasy. She didn’t even have enough room to put her head between her knees. She’d never been one to get carsick but she’d never been tossed around the inside of a transport van, either. The driver started making a series of sharp turns. They were likely close to arriving at their destination. Without a watch she had no concept of time, and she had no idea how long she’d been out before they’d put her in the back of the van. But she couldn’t have been awake for more than five or ten minutes.

The van squealed to a sudden stop. The rear door opened and the harsh sunlight reflected on the snow temporarily blinded her. She tried to shield her eyes with a shackled hand, but it didn’t matter. Three men climbed into the back of the van, blocking out the light.

“Well, well,” one of them said. “Our little celebrity has arrived.”

Caroline glared at him as he began to remove her cuffs from the bench. What could she do to defend herself if he tried anything? What would they expect? What could she get away with?

“Don’t try anything,” he said.

She knew better, even if she’d been pondering otherwise. That little excursion in the woods had taught her that. And they all had sidearms. An interesting observation. She had a hunch that their aim wouldn’t be all that bad at close range, and they surely wouldn’t shoot to kill. They’d shoot to cause unbearable pain and permanent disability. She was still valuable enough to keep alive.

Pick your battles.

Caroline sat back, compliant, as he shackled her wrists back together and removed the chains around her ankles. He lifted her to a hunched standing position. Her legs were asleep and she lurched forward into another man’s arms.

The first man laughed. “I think she likes you, Fischer.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Fischer asked. When the first man laughed, he frowned. “That wasn’t meant to be a joke, Cameron.”

“My mistake,” Cameron said. “Guess we’ll have to ask the last stripper who gave you a lap dance.”

“Suck it.” Fischer pulled Caroline closer to him and laughed meanly. “Now, sweetheart. I’m not your type. Don’t you have a jealous husband?”

Caroline told herself to keep her damn mouth shut but couldn’t help herself. She’d pick her battles, but she couldn’t be expected to choose wisely all the time. Whatever sedative that remained in her bloodstream weakened her ability to control her anger. “Fuck you.”

Fischer dragged her out of the van and she tumbled to the ground. He heaved her to her feet, slapping her across the face.

“Be nice,” he said. “Your life’s gonna get a lot worse once you go inside there.” He yanked her toward the gray building the van was facing. The other two men climbed out of the van.

“Let’s go,” Cameron said. “Book her in.”

They reached the back door and the first man buzzed them in. Fischer dragged her into a long hallway where a young man in blue sat at a computer.

“Hey, Gary,” he said. “Got a fresh one for you.”

“Inmate name?” Gary asked.

“Caroline Gerard,” Cameron announced, sounding a little too proud of himself.

“McIntyre,” Caroline added. She had no idea why she wasn’t controlling herself better. She was going to get the shit beaten out of her, and soon.

“What was that?” Gary asked.

“Caroline Gerard McIntyre,” she corrected. “If you’re going to detain me without probable cause and deprive me of any number of my constitutional rights, the least you can do is get my fucking name right.”

Gary turned to Fischer. “She’s a feisty one, eh?”

“She’ll lose that soon enough,” Fischer said. “We’ve already placed our bets on when she’s gonna start bawling like a little girl, begging to go home. We done here?”

“Yeah.” Gary gave Caroline a mocking smile. “Cellblock 5. Presidential Suite 27.”

Fischer pushed her down the hall. “It’s not really a Presidential Suite. In case you were getting your hopes up, sweetheart.”

“Now all my dreams are shattered,” she said. “And stop calling me sweetheart, asshole.”

He laughed. “It’s too bad you’re such a treasonous bitch. I suspect I’d enjoy having a drink with you.”

They took a meandering path down several hallways until they reached an unusually quiet area. Steel doors. Barred doors. Heavy doors. All up and down the hall. She and her escort were the only two people around.

Fischer withdrew a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the door in front of them. “You get some

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