Chapter Three
Cross stared at the crumpled and shaking figure, curled up in the corner of the room. Drenched and shivering she looked smaller than he remembered, he hoped he hadn’t over estimated her resilience or they would have to begin the process all over again, which would be an annoying waste of his time.
Just when he was starting to fear that she might have drifted beyond the point of being able to respond in any useful manner she braced one shaking hand against the wall and hauled herself to her feet. Her pained expression showed the effort required to cross the few feet to the opposite chair and lower her stiff frame onto it.
Once seated, she reached for the mug, but he moved it away.
“Answers first.”
Her hand dropped onto the table, the bluish tinge beneath her nails clearly visible.
She tried and failed to raise a smile and in the end just shook her head. “What do you want to know?” Her voice was a rough whisper, already carrying the weight of defeat.
Cross studied her in silence for a moment. There were any number of questions he wanted answers to, but most she’d be expecting and had, no doubt, rehearsed her responses.
“Who taught you to pick pockets?” His eyes dropped to the handcuffs, now placed on the floor. “And locks for that matter.”
If she was surprised by the line of his inquiry she didn’t show it. She gave a stiff shrug and said, “My dad.”
“He must be so proud of what you’ve become.”
“No idea. He fucked off when I was a kid, haven’t heard from him since.”
Cross lifted an eyebrow. Clearly, she still had some fight remaining.
“You were raised by your mother?” He already knew the answer to this one, but was interested to hear what she’d say.
“No. Grew up in foster homes. My mum is dead.”
Well, she was telling the truth about that at least, which might have provided a useful benchmark for future responses, but the monosyllabic responses weren’t giving him much to work with.
This time, when she reached for the mug, he let her. She gave a moan of gratitude as she cupped her palms around the warmth, letting the steam caress her face before raising it to her lips. When she did, her hands were shaking so badly he was afraid she was going to chip a tooth against the heavy ceramic.
“Who are you working for?”
Her features were so rigid with cold it was hard to tell if her expression was confusion or alarm, but she shook her head. “No one.”
Giving a sigh of disappointment, he removed the mug from her numb fingers and set it down out of reach. “Shall we try that one again? We both know there are things far more valuable than money in this club. Any good thief would be quick to take advantage of that fact.” He drummed his fingers on the table, a light frown creasing his brow. “And you are a surprisingly good thief.”
Her eyes still fixed on the warm mug, Verity shook her head. “I swear, I’m not working for anyone.”
Cross let out a bored growl and reached for the ice bucket, enjoying the look of sheer terror bloom in her eyes.
“Wait!” Her desperate hands clutched at his, trying to halt the inevitable. “Think about it. Please. If I was selling information, wouldn’t I have found a way to be assigned to the top table? What am I going to learn stuck behind the main bar?”
He paused, tilting his head to indicate that while he was listening, she had a very short window to make her case.
Not releasing her grip on his wrist she swallowed hard. “Everyone knows that’s where the deals are made. The main floors are just there for distraction. If I had any interest in your business, I would have made sure I was working where the action takes place.” Wide eyes pleaded with his. “Please, I was just following the money. Your club is permanently filled with rich, drunk assholes, who don’t even notice what I take. Why would I risk that source of steady income… for… for… what?” Almost hysterical, her words distorted by her chattering teeth she was getting harder and harder to understand. If he hoped to get anything useful from her, he might need to adapt his tactics.
Cross leaned back in his chair and tapped one finger against his upper lip. “Perhaps this conversation would benefit from a change in direction?” Ignoring her yelp of confusion he grabbed her arm and towed her from the room, across the corridor and into a small bathroom. Turning the shower on full he thrust her under the heavy spray and held her in place.
Verity screamed and fought against his grip as if scalded by the lukewarm water. Ignoring her struggles he held her under the stinging spray until she quietened, her breath coming in short pants. Giving her a few more moments to acclimatise he stepped away and waited. Eventually she seemed able to appreciate the gift of warmth, raising her hands and face towards the steady downpour. Cross interrupted her silent prayer of thanks. “To be clear. You get to stay in there only as long as you keep talking. If you stop or if I’m not satisfied with your answers, you go back into cold storage.” Closing the door he leaned back and folded his arms. “So I suggest you explain yourself thoroughly and at length. Let’s start with why you needed the money?”
She glowered up at him through the heavy veil of sodden hair now plastered to her face. “Because I have shitty taste in men.”
Jaw tightening in irritation he leaned forward and reached for the dial.
Throwing herself in front of his hand to stop him switching off the steady source of warmth, she clutched at his shirt front. “It’s relevant! I swear!”
Cross pushed her roughly out of the way and kept his hand on the controls for the water, making it clear that he would not hesitate to switch it off if her answers displeased him. “Then get to the point,” he snapped.
Verity pushed her sodden hair back from her face and sighed. “My low-life, scumball of an ex skipped town almost a year ago. I knew he was a lying, cheating asshole, but I did not know he had a gambling problem. A problem he attempted to solve by taking out a dodgy loan.” She growled out a breath, clearly still angered by the memory. “Nor was I aware that he’d forged my signature in order to get the fucking loan in the first place.” Her shoulders slumped. “The first I knew was when the heavy mob arrived to chase late payment.”
“How much?”
He saw her lip quiver, just a fraction, before she bit it, trying to hide the tell - but her voice was surprisingly steady as she said, “The original loan? I have no idea, but between the insane interest rate he’d agreed to and him missing a few payments, I’m now on the hook for 800 quid a week.”
“And who holds that debt?”
“Mickey Barnes.”
Cross nodded thoughtfully. He’d never met Barnes personally, they swam in very different criminal circles, but knew him by reputation. A particularly unpleasant reputation. Not someone who took no for an answer. While it didn’t excuse her actions, it did at least make them understandable. And other elements in her file started to fall into place.
Unwilling to let up the pressure just yet, he shook his head. “This doesn’t explain why you avoided working the top table. The clientele there are even richer and possibly have their guard down further.”
Verity pulled a face. “And how long would that have lasted? The tenure of those lucky girls can be measured in days not months. This isn’t the sort of debt I can pay off with a couple of good nights. I need regular, long-term income.”
“The whispers you’d have been privy to would have fetched a significant sum. More than enough to pay off your debt.”
“And if I had any way to monetize that information, I would have.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t move in those kinds of circles. I don’t know how it works.”
He gave a snort, his tone carrying the sharp edge of disbelief. “The daughter of a thief and you don’t know how to sell valuable information?”
She straightened, and he could see fury burning in her eyes. “He left when I was twelve and I am nothing like him!” she spat.
Mildly surprised by the strength of her reaction, Cross decided to change tack. “I take it we weren't your first choice?”
Anger deflating, her brows knit together in confusion. “What?”
He elaborated with a shrug. “Your file says you were arrested for solicitation shortly before you started here.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Yeah. That wasn’t one of my better ideas, but I was desperate. I guess it goes without saying it did not turn out well. And after that, my options were limited.” She slumped back against the tiling. “Yours is the only high end club in the city that doesn’t immediately veto someone with a prostitution arrest on their record.”
“We try to be more enlightened,” he murmured, silently turning her answers over in his mind. He frowned, one detail still not sitting right. “But that begs the question, why weren’t we your first choice?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You are clearly far more skilled at picking pockets than turning tricks. Why not start with that?”
For the first time her gaze skittered away from his and she hunched her shoulders. “I always swore I wouldn’t turn out like him. That I wouldn’t make the same mistakes. I tried so hard to build something different.” She lifted her face and gave a bleak laugh. “Guess some things you can’t escape.”