Page 20 of What Remains

I drop that thought when she begins to list off every operative working at Falcon Falls, including their loved ones—from spouses to children. Oh God . . .

The room spins, and I shut my eyes again.

“Stop, please,” I beg, opening my eyes.

But of course, she doesn’t.

She keeps going, killing me with every word.

“That hotel has a revolving door of operators coming and going. Though, I heard one left not too long ago.” Her mouth tips at the edges. “Where is that pilot now? Thought he was supposed to protect you.”

She sets her mobile down and dips into her bag for something. Duct tape and a set of handcuffs appear on the table. “If you don’t want any blood on your hands, you won’t fight me while I tie you down to that chair. Understood?”

I nod. What other choice do I have?

She unties the rope from my hands, then tethers one wrist to the chair with it. Slapping a cuff around my other wrist, she secures it to the second chair arm, effectively restraining me.

“Money,” I offer up, my voice weak. “Carter will pay you whatever you want. My parents, too. Just name your price.”

“What makes you think I need their money?”

“Isn’t everything about money?”

“Not always.” She picks up her mobile and studies it for what feels like the longest minute of my life, before turning it around to show me something.

My pulse pounds in my ears so loud it drowns out everything else.

The timer blinks: 00:03.

Air rushes from my lungs.

00:02.

The world tilts⁠—

00:01.

—and fire fills the screen.

I yell out, jerking from side to side in desperation to get loose from the chair, but I’m anchored to the floor.

“Soundproof room, and who do you think is going to save you anyway?” She swaps her mobile for my rig. “Password. Or Arthur Junior’s hospital is next. I have eyes on him now. He’s working a shift in the ER.”

I can’t process this.

Not any of it.

She’s not human. She can’t be. She just killed all those people and didn’t even blink once.

“What’s the password? I won’t ask you again.” She unclips a radio from her side and transmits, “Talon Six, I need you. Room nineteen. Now.” She hooks it back to the waistband of her jeans, then goes for the duct tape.

Shit. “How am I going to answer you if you do that?” I protest, but she ignores me and places not one, but three pieces of tape over my lips.

“We’re about to have company. I can’t have you running your mouth when she’s in here.” She tosses the roll of tape on the table and tucks my rig into the duffel bag, zipping it up.

Tears fall fast, but the sob I unleash is muted. All I can do is tremble in place. So many people are dead because of me. This can’t be real.

After a few painstakingly quiet moments, the door clicks and slowly opens, revealing . . .