when he had been sneaking into the basement with a bottle of bourbon, his face had never shown the stress. He’d picked up a few extra lines on his forehead, but his skin was still tight and he’d kept his hair. Now it seemed as if the years had hit him all at once, his jowls loose, his mouth slightly open.
He stood. His face changed again; tightened, toughened, the shift so decisive that for a moment she wondered if she’d imagined the weakness.
“You do the clubs if you think that makes sense. Tony and I will go to the train station, put these up”—he grabbed the posters—“the subways, the bus stops, walk the Gothic Quarter. We’re not sitting here while she’s out there.”
She went to him. He put his arms around her, squeezed her almost hard enough to hurt, hard enough for her to feel how strong he was.
“We’re gonna find her, Becks.”
“Yeah, we are.”
19
Somewhere in Spain
Alone again.
In the dark again.
Her life was a bad country song.
* * *
Jacques had stood over her, nudged the orange peels and water bottle with a booted foot.
“Rodrigo came?”
“No, I snuck out, got myself an orange. Then I decided I missed it in here, so I came right back up and locked myself in.”
He reached down, swept up the peels. Again she was struck by the quickness and precision of his moves. Like the best instructors in her karate classes. Personal trainer her ass. He had hand-to-hand combat training. Too bad he hadn’t mentioned it back in Paris.
“Clever girl.” He nodded at the empty hallway. “He’s not supposed to bother you when we’re not here.”
Because I’ll be worth less if I get raped before I get sold? Because you’re jealous? Or just because you’re a control freak? She didn’t much care. As long as he stayed focused on her and didn’t notice the lighter or the screw and nail.
“He didn’t bother me. I like a man with the confidence to paint his nails.” Probably talking too much, but she didn’t care.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if he tries anything like that again.”
“Trouble in paradise, Jacques?”
“Don’t be too clever.”
He turned, pulled the door shut.
* * *
She counted to a thousand, slowly. She didn’t cheat. Four hundred and three… Four hundred and four… A thousand didn’t seem like a big number, not in a world filled with billionaires. But counting it took a while. Eight hundred and five… Lucky her, she had time. When she was done she stood, double-checked the shelf where she’d found the stuff, then the shelf on the other side. She didn’t come up with anything else. She had the lighter, the nail, and the tape. Maybe a piece of wood if she was strong enough to tear the shelving off its hinges.
She had something else, too. The knowledge of trouble between Jacques and Rodrigo. Of course she couldn’t ignore the chance they were only pretending, toying with her. She wouldn’t put anything past Jacques. But Jacques’s annoyance with Rodrigo had seemed real.
They could hand her off or move her to another safe house anytime. She couldn’t wait too long to make her move. But she thought that for now she would be better off biding her time, figuring out how to take advantage of Rodrigo.
She sucked down the bottle of water, sat back, listened, waited. A sweet, dense smell seeped into the closet. When the kidnapping’s done, me and my boys love to chill with a fat blunt.
* * *
After a while she realized she had to pee.
Badly.
Thanks, Rodrigo, for that extra water bottle. The need was not a gentle I can hold this a while itch but a heavy hot-stone pressure in her bladder. She tried to distract herself—I’m thinking about kittens now, puppies and kittens, cute lil furballs—but her body wouldn’t take the bait.
Minute by minute, the stress worsened until it was nearly overwhelming. She didn’t understand how a simple need could be such torture. Yet it was. Maybe because she knew she could relieve it in the simplest way possible.
But she didn’t want to piss in here, to foul her nest.
She didn’t want to beg for the bathroom, either. Humiliation atop humiliation. But she had no choice. She went to the door, knocked. Nothing. Downstairs the mumbled voices continued.
She knocked again. Hard this time, hard enough to rattle the heavy door on its hinges.
Finally she heard a slow tread on the steps. Rodrigo. She couldn’t help wondering if he was taking his time on purpose. Like he knew