To say Candy was unhappy about waking and finding herself confined by three walls and a set of bars would be the understatement of the year, Savannah thought dryly. The pale-skinned woman, her clothes half shredded and covered in mud and blood, paced her prison, occasionally stopping to kick a wall or fling abuse at the monitoring camera. She didn't go anywhere near the cell bars though, mainly because they were coated with silver. Even the simplest of brushes could burn a wolf's skin. Their installation had stopped a run of escapes and cut down on the continuous replacement of ordinary cell bars. But then, ordinary cell bars had never been designed with an angry werewolf in mind.
"How long are you going to let her stew?” she asked, glancing at Cade. He was watching Candy's actions with narrowed eyes, as if every movement told him something new. And maybe they did. This is what he did for a living, after all.
"Just a few more minutes.” He glanced at her, his navy eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “She hates being confined. It's getting to her."
She glanced at the monitor. Candy was back to pacing rather than kicking. “Looks like anger to me."
"It was at first, but she's starting to get fidgety. Look at her eyes. Wide open."
"But angry rather than scared."
"For the moment."
Savannah crossed her arms. “Are we leaving her in that cell to interview her?"
"Yes. I'm not taking the risk of her being able to call up the blood frenzy at will. Not when there are only the two of us here."
"And Kel."
He flashed her a half grin. “Kel can't even make decent coffee."
"I heard that,” Kel said, walking into the room. “Maybe I should go back to giving you dishwater, Agent Jones."
Savannah accepted the offered mug of coffee gratefully. The rich aroma had hints of cinnamon and chocolate, meaning Kel had given them the good stuff.
"My palate greatly appreciates quality coffee,” Cade said, grabbing his cup with a nod of thanks. “It just doesn't get it often."
"With the attitude you fling about, I'm not surprised.” Kel winked at Savannah as she left the room.
Cade raised an eyebrow, his expression half-amused. “Is she always sharp-tongued?"
"You've actually caught her on a good week. She can be quite acidic when she's in a mood."
"Bet she's great for weeding away the callers who want to waste your time."
Savannah grinned. “She surely is."
She glanced at the screen as Candy stopped in front of the monitor and glared at them. It was a God-awful sight, given her face was covered in blood, strings of flesh, and short, dark hairs. Marion's coat had been black, she thought, and clenched her free hand against the desire to go down to that cell and beat the hell out of Candy.
She took a sip of the aromatic coffee, then leaned forward and placed a finger on the screen. “What do you want to bet that line of bruising is thanks to Denny?"
"Most likely. It's certainly the most advanced of her bruises.” He hesitated, glancing at her. “Your friend went down fighting."
"Yes.” She paused and forced away the gory, barely-seen images, even though she knew they'd haunt her dreams for years to come. “So, how are we going to question her? Good cop, bad cop?"
He rolled his eyes. “That went out with the eighties."
"They still use it on TV."
"TV is not real life, you know."
"Really? Imagine that.” She took another sip, watching as Candy mouthed obscenities at the camera. “Are you going to question her while reading her telepathically?"
He nodded. “And if that doesn't work, you can have a go at her."
"And if that doesn't work?"
He shrugged. “She can rot in the cell until she decides to cooperate."