Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,21
his wardrobe: Today’s perfectly tailored suit appears to be Armani, dark charcoal, and paired with a light gray shirt with white collar and cuffs, topped by a rich blue silk tie. How Samuel pays for his wardrobe, let alone his Lexus, is one of the many things he never discusses. I have my secrets. He has his. It’s what I like about him.
Since I won’t sit, he joins me, walking with his hands clasped behind him, dark-fringed eyes perfectly serious, black-is-beautiful bald head gleaming beneath the lights. I imagine it takes him serious time to get ready every morning. Trimming his sharply etched goatee. Picking out the suit, the shirt, the tie for the day. Let alone his collection of bespoke shoes and cashmere coats. Samuel is a scarily beautiful man. He uses his wardrobe to further enhance his skills. If others are stupid enough to get distracted by the packaging, that’s their problem, not his.
In contrast to my victim specialist, I wear jeans, worn combat boots, and a hoodie, the uniform of disenfranchised urbanites everywhere. When I first returned after my kidnapping, my mother would bring home bright summer dresses, which I never wore. She only recently stopped shopping. I wonder now if that’s because she finally figured out this is the new me, or if Samuel intervened on my behalf. Either was possible.
“You’re sure this Conrad Carter is the same person you saw in a bar?” Samuel asks now, pivoting at the wall, heading back toward me. He goes to one side of the twin chairs; I head for the other.
“Yes.”
“And he was there to meet Jacob?”
“Yes! He didn’t just sit down next to us; Jacob turned toward him. Jacob, like … talked to him. Jacob didn’t talk to others.”
Samuel tilts his head to the side, regards me steadily, as we reach opposite sides of the tiny office.
“I think they had a deal,” I say. “I think Conrad was there for me. Like … Jacob offered me to him or something. Some predators do that, you know. Trade around their victims. Or, hell, Jacob sold me for fresh drugs. He’d clearly been on a bender.”
Samuel nods. “Had Jacob done such a thing before?”
“No. But sometimes he’d pick out some random guy at a bar, then tell me I had to make the new guy want me.”
More nodding. More staring. Samuel has eyes like molten chocolate. When he uses his weapons like this, it always makes me wonder: If Jacob Ness made me, then who made Samuel?
“Some predators talk,” I say now. “In chat rooms, on super-encrypted sites, predators have been known to share tips.”
Samuel nods.
“So maybe this Conrad guy was another monster. He and Jacob connected somehow—Jacob had his laptop in the rig. And in some chat room, they made arrangements for the evening. Jacob promised me to Conrad. In return for what, I don’t know. Drugs, a fresh girl of his own.”
“But you didn’t go home with Conrad.”
“No. I ate and drank till I vomited. That put a damper on the evening.”
“You made yourself sick intentionally?”
“Yes.”
“Because to directly disobey Jacob would mean punishment, if not death. And to have sex with Conrad would mean punishment, if not death?”
I hadn’t thought of it that bluntly, but now I nod.
“You read the situation. You trusted your instincts. You survived.”
I sigh, whack the back of the chair. “Samuel! I’m not here for a fucking pep talk. I want the file. You’re FBI. The FBI loves files. Give me my fucking file!”
Samuel smiles. It’s a devastating look on him. Good luck to my mom, I think, because no man this beautiful can be easy to manage.
“No,” he says.
“What do you mean—”
“No. Big n. Little o. No. I will not give you the file.”
“That’s total bullshit—”
“That’s FBI policy. You’re neither an agent nor a member of law enforcement—”
“I’m a CI, working with the Boston police!”
He continues, “You have no right to the file.”
“Bullshit! You wouldn’t even have Jacob Ness if it weren’t for me. Half that file is my life story. Mine!”
“Technically, we wouldn’t have Jacob Ness if it weren’t for SSA Kimberly Quincy, who tracked him to the motel where he was holed up with you. She put together the data in the file. She organized the SWAT team that rescued you.”
I remember her. Not well. Those first few moments, hours, after the hotel room door blew in … I think I stood outside my body. I watched it all as a movie, happening to someone else. When she first approached