Page 61 of Hotter than Wildfire

Another scrape and a small table was brought forward into the circle of light. On it a leather case, much like a travelling case for jewelry. The man slowly opened it up, like opening up a flower for someone’s delight. First the left hand flap then the right hand one. The upper one, the lower one.

Kerry flinched and closed her eyes against the glare of the gleaming steel instruments.

“Now these are not carpentry tools,” the man said casually. “They’re tools for extracting the truth, out of living flesh.”

Kerry’s breath was caught in her chest like hot rocks, she couldn’t breathe in or out. Sweat dripped down her face, fell between her breasts, between her shoulder blades. It dripped down into her eyes, big salty drops, stinging her.

She couldn’t clear her eyes.

She needed her hands.

The instruments gleamed brightly, as if brand new or recently polished to a high sheen. You couldn’t even pretend they weren’t for hurting. Every surface came to a point or a sharp edge. The handles were made to augment the strength of a hand. These two men’s hands were plenty strong. The instruments would only allow them to her hurt more.

The man across from her, Mr. Elegant, simply waited, one leg thrown over the other, one expensively-shod foot flexing every now and again, his only concession to nerves.

Kerry had no doubt that her nerves would snap first. Her nerves, her bones. She could be reduced to a mockery of a human being and he wouldn’t break a sweat.

Quiet. Utter and complete silence.

For the first time since coming to, Kerry wondered where they were. Someplace where no one would come galloping to the rescue, that was for sure. Rescues were for novels and movies. No one was going to rescue her.

There was no one to come. The deep silence could only be that of a place that was utterly deserted. Where? No clues at all. The floor was bare concrete. The small table formica-topped, the chairs inexpensive wooden kitchen chairs. That was it. She couldn’t even see the walls, beyond the pool of light thrown by the spotlight.

This place could have been a basement, a storage space, a warehouse. It could be anywhere.

“So,” Mr. Elegant said finally. There was no impatience in his voice. No impatience, no anxiety, not even curiosity. Nothing. “Are we ready to talk or do we have to use these?” He flicked at the table holding the instruments. “It makes no difference to me, because the end result will be the same.”

She needed her hands. In her worst nightmares, she’d always had the use of her hands.

As if he’d heard her, Mr. Elegant picked up what looked like needle-nose pliers, only of a superior steel, coming to a sharp point. He weighed it in his hand, turned it this way and that in the bright spotlight, as if admiring its workmanship.

“Perfect for pulling out fingernails,” he murmured. “Designed for it, in fact.” When he lifted his head to look at her, there was no menace. He wasn’t making an idle threat. He was stating a simple fact.

She shivered.

“Now.” Mr. Elegant put his open palm over the instruments and looked at her. “Are we ready to talk?”

The shivering took her whole body, as if she’d been suddenly plunged in ice. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

He waited.

“Y—yes,” Kerry choked out. “I—I’m ready.”

“Excellent. Where is Ellen now.”

“I don’t know.”

His hand fisted over the pliers.

Kerry wheezed to get air into her chest. “I don’t! I don’t know! I haven’t seen her in days! Last time I saw her I was coming off the day shift and she was coming on the evening shift. More than a week ago. She hasn’t come in for work since then. Our boss is worried. It’s not like her. She’s always been very reliable.”

He drummed his fingers once on the edge of the table, processing this.

“Where do you think she is?”

Running away from you. “I don’t know.”

His eyes slid sideways and the man behind her pinched that point on her shoulder. The pain shocked her so much she jumped in her chair, lifting it off the ground. This time he kept his fingers there, on and on and on.