Chapter 4
Fifty-four degrees was the optimal temperature for interrogation, cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not so cold that it posed any real danger to the interviewee.
At least, that was according to the former CIA analysts Lucky Losers employed.
I stood on the other side of the two-way glass, watching as the yet-unidentified prisoner curled up in the corner of his concrete cell.
Reid’s people had stripped him down, leaving him naked and shivering.
By now, his fine motor control would be shot, his nose would be running, and the initial adrenaline spike would have worn off, leaving him exhausted.
Perfect.
I pressed the intercom. "Hose him down."
Two guards entered the cell. The prisoner tried to stand, making it halfway before his legs gave out. The guards grabbed him, dragged him to the center of the room, where a chair had been bolted to the floor. They zip-tied his wrists and ankles to the chair, then one of them went back for the hose.
The prisoner gasped and tried to curl away when the water hit him, but the restraints held him in place. The guards soaked him thoroughly from head to toe and then left without a word. The door sealed behind them with a heavy mechanical sound.
Now we waited.
"How long?" Maxime asked.
"Fifteen minutes." I checked my watch. "Long enough for him to understand his situation."
The observation room was barely ten feet square with two chairs bolted to the floor, a control panel, and the two-way glass.
Maxime stood close enough that I could count his breaths.
Close enough to catch his cologne. I'd spent eighteen months memorizing that scent during massage sessions.
Having it this close now, in this confined space, made something tighten low in my gut.
I ignored it.
Through the glass, the prisoner sat dripping and shivering. Water ran down his face. His lips were taking on a blue tint.
"Former Marine," I said, keeping my voice even. "Reid's team identified the tattoos. Third Battalion, Fifth Marines, deployed to Fallujah in 2004."
"Dishonorable discharge?"
"Most likely."
Maxime shifted. His shoulder brushed mine, and heat flared where we touched. He stepped back immediately, but the damage was done. My body had noticed. My body remembered every goddamn time he'd touched me over the past eighteen months, professional and necessary and never enough.
Fuck.
I moved away from him, closer to the glass, putting distance between us. The prisoner was testing his restraints, finding them solid. Good. Let him understand there was no escape.
"He knows how to handle interrogation," I said. "He's been trained to resist."
"Everyone breaks eventually."
I glanced at Maxime. He was watching the prisoner with an expression I'd seen before. The same look he got when I was being ruthless in board meetings.
"Yes," I said. "They do."
Silence stretched between us. On the other side of the glass, the prisoner was shaking violently. His teeth chattered loudly enough to hear through the speaker. Minutes crawled past.
Five minutes. Eight. Ten.
The observation room felt smaller with each passing minute.
Maxime stood with his hands clasped behind his back, posture perfect despite the hour.
His suit was immaculate, everything pressed and precise.
He looked like he'd stepped out of a boardroom instead of being dragged from bed at three in the morning.
But I knew better. The slight shadow of stubble on his jaw said he hadn't had time to shave, and his hair wasn’t quite as perfect as usual. The faint crease in his shirt collar meant he'd dressed in under five minutes.
I knew him too well. That was the problem.
"He's scared," Maxime said quietly.
"Good."
Maxime turned to look at me. The movement brought him close again. Too close. "And if fear isn't enough?"
"Then we'll use pain."
His pupils dilated slightly.
There it was, that flash of arousal that he couldn't quite hide.
Maxime had spent thirty-two years pretending to be civilized, buttoned up and proper and in control.
But I'd always known the truth. He got off on the darkness in me, on watching me be exactly the kind of dangerous that made other men flinch.
I looked away before he could see my reaction. "Reid," I said into the intercom. "You're up."
The door on the other side of the interrogation room opened, and Reid appeared with a towel over his arm and cigarettes in his hand.
The prisoner's head jerked up, waiting for violence.
Reid said nothing as he sat down across from the prisoner, placing the towel and the cigarettes between them.
He lit a cigarette and sat back, taking the time to give the prisoner a once-over before saying, “I’m Commander Sebastian Reid, but you can call me Bash.
” He pushed the cigarettes across the table.
The prisoner stared at them. His hands were shaking too badly to pick one up.
Reid took another drag, then leaned forward and plucked a cigarette from the pack. He lit it and held it out. The prisoner took it, brought it to his lips with trembling fingers.
"Third Battalion, Fifth Marines," Reid said, his Quebecois accent softening the edges of his English.
"Fallujah, 2004, right? I wasn't there, but I've worked with plenty who were.
JTF2, Canadian Special Forces. We did joint ops in Afghanistan.
" He took another drag. "Different war, same shit.
Coming home was the worst part. Nobody wanted to hear about it. "
The prisoner's eyes flickered, expression softening slightly.
"It's hard to find work after," Reid continued. "Especially with a dishonorable. No VA, no support. Most employers won't touch you. So, you take what you can get. Private security. Freelance work." He paused. "Whatever pays."
The prisoner nodded.
"The guy who hired you," Reid said. "He promised good money?"
The prisoner hesitated. Then nodded again.
"How much?"
"Two hundred thousand." His voice was rough. "Half up front."
Reid whistled low. "That's serious money. What'd you have to do for it?"
The prisoner's jaw tightened. He'd given information without meaning to.
"He's good," Maxime said quietly beside me.
He licked his lips, and my cock stirred.
I shifted my weight, and pain shot through my hip. Good. I needed that. Needed the reminder.
Reid leaned back in his chair. "Look, you’re in deep shit.
Not with me. I’m just here to collect my paycheck, which I get whether you talk or not.
But my boss? He cares. He’s the one you stole from and that machine you took out of here?
It’s seven billion dollars American out of his pocket.
He’s pretty pissed about it. Me? I get paid no matter what.
The one good thing about being a grunt, am I right? ”
The prisoner glanced at the mirror. His Adam's apple bobbed.
Reid took one last drag and stubbed out his cigarette, leaning forward. “I’m gonna be straight with you. You’re better off talking to me. Tell me what I want to know, and maybe I can smooth things out with the boss. Maybe you get to leave here in cuffs instead of a pine box.”
The prisoner’s eyes snapped back to Reid, but he said nothing.
Reid sat back. “Sound good?”
"I was told this was the right thing to do," he said quietly.
"What do you mean?"
The prisoner reached for the towel but hesitated, glancing at Reid, who nodded.
"He said Caisse-Etremont was dangerous," he said, picking up the towel.
"That the weapon we were taking was too powerful.
That it couldn't be trusted in his hands.
" His voice dropped. "He said we'd be protecting people. "
Beside me, Maxime let out a small snort. The sound went straight to my cock.
"And you believed him?" Reid asked.
"Honestly?" The prisoner shrugged and stared at the table. “I figured as long as nobody got hurt… and I needed the money. After I got back, my wife… Well, ex-wife now.”
“Let me guess. She cheated on you?” Reid huffed. “Typical.”
“Yeah, but you don’t understand. It’s not about the alimony.
It’s about my daughter. Emma.” The prisoner lifted his cigarette with trembling fingers, staring at nothing.
“My ex is with this drunk fuck. He puts his hands on her, and on my baby girl. Judge says if I want custody, I’ve got to show a stable income, but it’s like you said.
Nobody wants to hire me. They all want zit-faced kids with MIT degrees. ”
“Fuck that,” Reid said. He played the blue-collar act well enough I almost bought it myself, despite knowing he’d earned his wings at ETAP, an elite French airborne school.
"Yeah." The prisoner took a drag. "So when the money was offered, I figured... why not? As long as nobody got hurt."
"And then someone showed you pictures of your daughter."
The prisoner's hands clenched around the cigarette. "Yeah."
"What's her name?"
"Emma. She's eight."
Behind me, Maxime had gone still. I could feel the heat of him, close enough that if I moved back even an inch, we'd be touching.
I didn't move.
Reid leaned forward. "Who showed you the pictures?"
The prisoner stared at his cigarette and said nothing.
"Come on," Reid said, voice gentle. "You're already in this deep. Give me a name."
"I don't know his name."
"Bullshit. You took a job worth two hundred thousand and didn't ask questions?"
"I asked. They didn't answer." The prisoner met Reid's eyes. "Look, I just did what I was told. Showed up where they said, took what they pointed at, left. That's it."
"Who hired you?"
"I don't know."
"Who gave you the floor plans?"
"They were emailed. Encrypted."
"Where were you supposed to deliver the prototype?"
"I don't know. That wasn't my job."
Reid's jaw tightened. He was losing him.
"Where's the rest of your team?"
"Scattered. We split up after the breach."
"Where?"
"I don't know. That's how it works. You don't know where the others go. Can't give up what you don't know."
"The safe house in Gary."
The prisoner went still. Too still. "What safe house?"
"Where is it?"
"I'm telling you, I don't know anything about a safe house."
Reid sat back. His expression hadn't changed, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. He'd hit a wall.
Beside me, Maxime shifted. His sleeve brushed my arm, and heat flared where we touched.
"He's lying," Maxime said quietly.
"I know."
Through the glass, Reid was trying a different approach. "Listen to me. The people who hired you? They don't care about you. They're not going to protect your daughter. But we can. We will. All you have to do is give me something."
"I've told you everything I know."
"No, you haven't."
The prisoner took a final drag and crushed out the cigarette. "I’m done." He met Reid’s eyes. “You do whatever you’re going to do, but I’ve said all I’m going to say.”
Maxime let out a soft laugh that made my cock harden.
Reid stood and went to the door. The door to the observation room opened, and Reid stepped in. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight raise of his eyebrow.
"I know." Maxime turned to look at me, heat in his eyes. "Are you going in?"
"Yes." I pulled out my leather gloves, sliding them on.
"Good."
The word was soft, almost a purr. He always did love to watch me work.
I turned to Reid. "The weapon they used on our guards. You said it matched GidTech's prototype design?"
"Yes sir. Same configuration, same output signatures from last year's intelligence."
"But no confirmation of who hired him."
"No sir. He's protecting someone."
I looked through the glass at the prisoner. He thought he was done. Thought stonewalling would save him.
"It's Shaw," I said. "The MO fits. But I need confirmation. Names. Connections. Where the prototype went."
"He's not going to give that up easily," Reid said.
"No, he won't." I flexed my hands in the leather gloves. "But he will give it up."
Behind me, Maxime was silent. Waiting.
"Stay here," I said without turning around. "Both of you. Watch."
I stepped into the corridor. My hip protested, but the pain was distant now. Adrenaline was doing its job.
The interrogation room door was just ahead. Through the small window, I could see the prisoner hunched over, trying to conserve body heat.
I opened the door.
The mechanical sound echoed off concrete. The prisoner's head jerked up. His eyes went wide when he saw me.
I walked in slowly, letting him see the cane, the gloves, the careful way I moved. Let him think I was weak.
The lock engaged with a heavy click.
I pulled the chair directly in front of the prisoner and sat down, letting my cane rest across my lap.
He was shivering. Scared. But still defiant.
That would change.
"Mr. Castellanos," I said quietly. "My name is Algerone Caisse-Etremont. And you're going to tell me everything."