Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,150

off her reaction. “Remember when we were going over my reports? You were wearing that tight skirt up to your slit, flashing your tits every time you leaned over? She was in my trunk the whole time, Angie. The whole time you were rubbing up against me, she was in the trunk of my car, pissing herself thinking about what was going to happen.”

Angie parted her lips, let some of the blood drip out. One of her back teeth was throbbing. It was probably broken.

He had stopped speaking, and she wondered if the coke was starting to wear off. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed since he’d snorted the line. Maybe he was one of those people who had the opposite reaction to the stimulant. Maybe he was so in control of himself that it didn’t matter.

He was silent for so long that Angie felt her eyes closing, felt her body relax into some kind of sleep. Michael started talking again and she jerked awake.

“They all act like they’re so fucking good, but all it ever takes is one hit, one snort, and they’re hooked. They keep coming back, begging at your feet. All of them. Especially John.”

Angie had to clear her throat a few times before she could talk. “Is that why you framed him?”

“That was Mom’s idea, but he got what he deserved. They all got what they deserved.” He glanced down at her. “Just like you.”

Angie felt her eyes wanting to shut again, her muscles start to loosen. She fought it off, biting her split lip until she tasted more blood, using the pain to keep her alive.

“Once you get a taste for it,” Michael was saying, his voice low, thoughtful, “you can’t do it the other way. You need that fear, the way they push against you, the panic in their eyes.”

Angie tested the rope again. The bones in her broken wrist shifted against each other, made a clicking sound that echoed inside her head.

“I got Johnny some credit cards,” Michael continued. “Got this place.” He meant the cabin. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not.” He tapped the side of his head. “Think, right? What’s the first thing you do when you’re trying to pin down a perp to the scene? Check their credit card receipts: gas bills, hotel bills, all that shit. Place the perp close to the scene, right day, right time, bingo, you’ve caught ’em.” He shook his head. “They won’t find nothin’ on Michael Ormewood, that’s for sure. Not in Alabama, not in Tennessee, sure as shit not in Atlanta. I’m just a family man, taking care of my poor retarded boy, looking after my wife, home every night in front of the tube.”

“You sold them drugs,” Angie said, thinking about all those girls she’d met on the streets, all those addicts who did anything to feed their addiction. A cop had supplied them. A cop had exploited their need and filled his own. How many had he raped? How many had he killed?

“I should be mad at you, but I’m not.” He rubbed his jaw, kept his eyes on her. “Stupid people let their emotions get the better of them; that’s when they make mistakes. I’m in control here, Angie. I’m the one who’s going to decide how you die.”

He stood up from the couch and she braced herself for more pain, but he went over to the fireplace, rested his hand on the mantel. Angie remembered being with Will three nights ago. He had stood at the fireplace in her house and she’d looked at his back, his strong shoulders, and wanted nothing more than to put her arms around him. She would never have that moment with him again. He would never know how she felt.

Michael said, “You don’t know what it’s like to have this dream in your head that you’re gonna have a perfect life, a perfect family, and then something like Tim happens and you feel like you’re just a fucking failure.”

She breathed in as much air as she could, tried to keep her thoughts clear. “How did it start?”

“You know about Mary Alice.”

“The other ones.” There had to be other ones.

“How far do you want to go back? Eighty-five? Ninety-five? Last year?” The smile was on his face again. “Hell, I can’t even remember which states they were in. Your boyfriend’s into that profiling shit, right? I guess he’d say I escalated when old Johnny got out. Took the gloves off because