The B-Team (Benson Security)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“When the cop comes with our dinner,” Megan Raast said to her cellmate, Violet Lee, “you need to flirt with him and see if you can get some useful information for us to use in our interviews—assuming we get interviewed today. What kind of shoddy operation is this where they leave their suspects languishing in cells all day long? I’ve watched Taggart . Somebody should have interviewed us by now. But then, Taggart is set in Scotland, and we have higher standards there.”

Violet sat perched on the edge of the platform that doubled as a seat and a bed. Her legs dangled above the floor, and her back was ramrod straight. She’d been in the same position since they were put into the cell. All she’d done was stare at the door as though trying to vaporize it with her glare. She hadn’t even blinked when Megan used the toilet. She was beginning to think Violet had experienced some kind of psychotic break and tuned out entirely.

“ Violent , are you listening to me? We need information, and you’ll have to get it. I can’t flirt. I’m married.” She thought about that. “Well, technically, I can flirt, but it’s unethical. So, it’s up to you.”

Slowly, like an evil toy in a horror movie, Violet turned her manic stare on Megan.

Yay! It’s alive.

“I’m not flirting,” she said firmly.

Megan was undaunted. Violet might have a reputation for violence, but Megan was recklessly fearless. It took a lot more than a tiny woman from Glasgow to intimidate her.

“Yes, you are. We need to find out more about this Fitzwater guy and what his beef is with Benson Security.”

“Why?” Violet glared some more.

“Because,” Megan said slowly, “we need to find out his weak spots so we can put pressure on them.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. “I’m not flirting.”

Honestly, if Megan still had her gun, she’d have shot the woman. Nothing deadly; maybe just pop one in her backside to get her attention.

“Violet, you’ll have to take one for the team on this. I can’t do it even if I wanted to. All the cops know I’m Dimitri’s wife, so they wouldn’t take me seriously. Just bat your lashes, throw out some compliments, then ask him what’s put the bug up Fitzwater’s butt.”

“No.”

Megan let out a strangled groan as she twisted her long blonde hair up into a knot on the top of her head. “What is your problem? Don’t you know how to flirt?”

When Violet’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, Megan almost choked on air.

“Seriously?” Megan gaped at her. “You don’t know how to flirt?”

Violet pushed her shoulders back even farther. If she got any more uptight, she’d snap her own back. “I know how to flirt. I’ve just never done it.”

“Never?” Megan had been born flirting. It was like breathing. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead as another thought occurred to her. She lowered her voice. “Are you… um… saving yourself for marriage?” She held up her hands. “No judgment. It’s just that I saw a documentary once about women who think flirting’s like teasing, which leads to loose ways and… I don’t know”—she waved a hand—“being a big old ho? I didn’t watch the end, so I don’t know where it led. Once I realized the show wasn’t about some kinky alternative lifestyle, I kinda lost interest.”

“I’ve had relationships.” Violet seemed to squeeze the words through grinding teeth.

“Just flirt-free ones, right? I’ve got to ask—how did you even get into a relationship if you don’t flirt? Did you advertise?”

Violet made a low growling noise in the back of her throat. Megan wasn’t intimidated; her brother-in-law was the taciturn man-mountain that made up Grunt.

“It’s not a big deal,” Megan assured her. “I can teach you some moves, and you’ll be good to go.”

“No.”

Megan ignored her as she warmed to the idea. “I’ll be your Cyrano. Without the huge nose, of course.”

“No,” Violet repeated.

“Vi,” Megan said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about the team.” She gestured around their white-tiled hell. “It’s about getting out of here and getting on with our lives. And it’s about getting some payback from the moron who put us here. You like payback. It’s right up there with your other hobbies—violent revenge and torturing people for fun.”

She could tell from the lack of growling that Violet was softening. “You’ve got five minutes, and if I don’t like the techniques you’re showing me, we’re calling this off.”

“Five minutes.” Megan nodded. “Got it.”

She stood, put her hands on her hips, and considered her cellmate. Violet wore a plaid flannel shirt under a denim jacket that was at least two sizes too big, shapeless black trousers, and Doc Martens boots. She had no makeup on her face, and her long black hair hung poker straight down her back.

“Okay, I can work with this,” Megan said. It wasn’t like she had anything else to work with. “Let’s make you look a little more approachable first. Take off your jacket.”

Violet frowned. “You didn’t say anything about a makeover.”

“Just take off your jacket, stand up, and put your arms out. We don’t have time to argue, so let me sort you out. The cop will be back soon.” One of Megan’s many gifts was an internal clock that was accurate to within a couple of minutes. She liked to think of it as being bulletproof when it came to time-deprivation torture.

With no visible enthusiasm, Violet did as she was told.

“Good.” Megan popped a few buttons at the top of her shirt and peered down. “Guess these will have to do,” she said.

Violet growled again.

Megan undid the bottom of the plaid shirt before tying it in a sexy knot below Violet’s boobs. She stood back, surveyed the results, and nodded. “Better. Now bend over and shake your hair out upside down to get some volume into it.”

Slowly, Violet bent over. And just stayed there. Like her hair would fluff itself. Megan sighed, threaded her fingers through Violet’s hair, and shook it out.

“Right, flip back over.”

Violet did so, and Megan was pleased. If you squinted, Violet looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed after a wild night burning up the sheets.

If you really squinted.

Megan grabbed her leather biker’s jacket, unzipped one of its many pockets, and dug out her emergency lip gloss. It was a tiny tube, easily missed by the duty officer when he confiscated everything else she owned.

“I’m putting this on you.” She showed it to Violet. “It’s only lip gloss. It isn’t a personal attack. Okay?”

Violet looked skeptical but allowed Megan to apply the gloss.

“Okay,” Megan said, chuffed with herself. “Now we go over how to flirt. Guys are easy, so it doesn’t take much. Just copy me. Put one hand on your hip and cock it out, then twirl your hair with your other hand. Then lower your head slightly so you’re looking up at them through your lashes—they like that. I think it makes them feel all dominant or something.” She snorted. “Next, you wet your lips and pout. See?” She demonstrated what she’d just described, also shoving her boobs out for extra attention. Something she didn’t want to suggest to Violet because she didn’t have a whole lot going on in that department.

Awkwardly, Violet copied Megan. It didn’t go well. She looked like an articulated wooden doll posed by a toddler who didn’t know how arms worked.

“Let’s try that again, but without the hand on the hip,” Megan said.

Violet moved her hand from her hip but didn’t seem to know where to put it. It ended up flapping uselessly at her side.

“Rest it on the platform behind you,” Megan said, beginning to regret this idea. “Or put it in your pocket.”

“This is stupid.” Violet shoved her hand deep into her pocket, making her shoulders hunch; then she lowered her head, looked up at Megan, and twirled her hair.

Dear heavens above, it was that girl from the horror movie who climbed out of the TV.

Megan shuddered. “Try smiling.”

That made it worse.

“Okay, new plan. Sit back on the platform and look happy, like you’re really pleased to see whoever walks through the door.”

“This isn’t working.” Violet stomped around and jumped back up onto the platform.

“Sure it is. We just need to make it feel natural.”

Violet sat ramrod straight, the way she’d been before.

“Perfect,” Megan lied. “Now smile.”

Violet smiled. It wasn’t what anyone could call natural, but at least she didn’t look like she was about to kill someone.

“Great. We’ll go with that. Now, all you have to do is say what I tell you to say.” Megan went to sit beside her. “When the guy comes in and asks if we need anything, you say, with a smile, ‘How about some company? It’s getting pretty boring in here, and I’d love to hear about you.’” She nodded encouragingly at Violet.

“How about some company?” Violet sounded like she was asking someone to give her a colonoscopy. “It’s boring, and we’d love to hear about you.”

Megan lost the will to live.

“How was that?” Violet seemed unsure of herself, something Megan had never witnessed before.

Suddenly, the Violently she knew and loved was gone, only to be replaced by a needy little puppy. Megan wasn’t heartless. There was no way she could give that pitiful face negative feedback.

“Well done,” Megan said with all the fake enthusiasm she could muster. “Now you say, ‘So, how long have you been working for the commander?’ And, from there, you prod him for more information. Got it?”

Violet scowled. “It isn’t exactly rocket science.”

And yet…

Megan looked skyward, praying for help to keep her mouth shut.

There was a noise, and the door swung open. The young constable who’d shown them into the cell stood in the doorway. Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Violet beat him to it.

“The company is boring,” she said, obviously trying to sound husky but instead sounding like she needed to clear her throat. “Come in and tell us all about the commander. And you.”

Megan watched in fascinated horror as Violet maniacally twisted her hair while sticking out her lips in a way that suggested a trumpet should be attached to them. It was all going horribly wrong.

And then Violet decided to improvise.

She leaned one hand on the platform beside her, swung her legs up to the side and under her, and placed her other hand on her hip in what, Megan assumed, was supposed to be a seductive pose. It was like watching a seal try to get comfortable on a rock.

The cop’s jaw dropped, and he eyed the corridor behind him, as though preparing to run.

That’s when Violet tossed back her head, presumably in an attempt to flip her hair. The movement shifted her balance, and her hand slipped off the edge of the platform. She let out a startled yelp and toppled headfirst to the floor. There was a sickening thud right before she bellowed, “Son of a bitch!”

Megan jumped down to crouch beside her. Yep, there was blood. She looked up at the stupefied cop. “Might be a good idea to fetch the nurse.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He backed up at the speed of light and slammed the door behind him.

“I hate flirting,” Violet said with menace as she clutched her bleeding nose.

“You were doing great until the falling part.” Megan tried to reassure her; after all, the woman probably had a concussion. “He looked really close to falling for your wiles.”

Violet narrowed her eyes and winced. “Are you lying to me?”

“Would I do that?” Megan asked solemnly. “We’ve got to think of something else to do to help, seeing as the flirting was a bust. If we don’t, we’re stuck relying on the people who aren’t locked up to get us out of here. Do you really want to depend on Claire? I love my sister, but all she’s thought about for years is Grunt and babies. I’m not sure how much help she’ll be.”

And just like that, Violet was back to growling.