Six
Lukas
“The good news is that the cameras are in and the feeds are routed to your personal drive.”
I switch my phone to my other ear, glare in irritation at the Origin Engineering exec whose whimpers are distracting, and focus on what Haynes has said.
“That implies there’s bad news.”
“Well, she does have a boyfriend.”
I grip my phone harder, clenching my other fist.
“Lukas? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.” Just regaining control. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t tell me to—”
“I’m telling you now, goddammit. And next time, show some initiative.”
Haynes is quiet for several seconds. “I’ll email you. Give me two hours.”
“I want everything there is, Haynes. I want to know exactly who this bastard is that’s…” Touching my girl.
“Leave it with me.”
Killing the call, I shove my phone back in my pocket.
So Amelia’s in a relationship. It was always a possibility, it just wasn’t one I wanted to consider.
What now?
It doesn’t change anything. My obsession with her has only grown in the three days since we met. I wondered if it would fade; it hasn’t.
Instead, thoughts of her plague my every waking moment. My dreams, too.
I don’t want to be here, in this dingy warehouse, in the middle of goddamn Seattle. What a dismal city. It’s raining outside, as usual, heavy grey clouds casting their gloom over the afternoon, and no doubt incrementing the already prominent suicide rate.
On the subject of early deaths, I turn back to Giles Cox, the Chief Revenue Officer of Origin Engineering.
He’s a portly man in his fifties, his skin pale and flaccid, cheeks and nose too rosy. His wrists are chained together, suspended from an iron beam above. One hand is missing a finger, the wound tracking a crimson trail down his wrist and arm. Elevation is good for the blood loss.
His shirt is off, his prodigious stomach bulging over his suit pants, chest hair matted with sweat and blood, cuts in neat little lines where we were just discussing Origin’s international trade before Haynes called.
“So that call was bad news,” I divulge. “I was doing okay, but it’s really put me in a foul mood.”
Cox whimpers again, desperately trying to pull away from me. It’s laughable; his toes are barely touching the ground.
“Shall we get back to it?” I prompt. “You were telling me about Africa.”
“Yes… yes.” He’s only too keen to talk. Apparently, being a six-figure exec of a multinational with no ethics hasn’t prepared him for the eventuality of kidnap and torture. “We only do mining infrastructure,” he whines. “Containment systems… tailings dams…”
“I don’t want the jargon.” I pull out my karambit again, flicking the blade open. Cox’s eyes widen as he focuses on it. “Tell me who your clients are.”
“Uh… it’s not my area…”
I set the blade against his chest, in line with the four cuts that are already there. “Every trade Origin performs flows across your desk. That sounds a lot like an evasion to me.”
“I swear! It sits with our Head of International—”
I draw the knife down, slowly, digging deep. Cox screams, trying to twist away. My hand on his belt keeps the line straight.
When it’s a good six inches down his chest, I stop. Each line is longer than the previous, and it makes a pleasing graduated pattern.
By the time I’m done, Cox sags in his chains, his legs unable to hold him, his wrists taking the strain, shoulders wrenched up. Blood coats his chest and stomach, dripping to the floor.
I step back so I don’t get it on my shoes, giving him a moment to regain his wits. “Shall we try again? Who are your clients?”
He gasps in a pained breath, coughing and sobbing. “I’m not responsible.” He lifts his gaze to mine, trying to convince me he’s telling the truth. “You have to believe me. It’s Andrew Leopold you want. He’s our Head of International Affairs. He’s the one who—”
“I don’t believe you. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if you like this. Shall we go for another line?”
“It’s just Africa!” he cries out as I raise my karambit. “Pay enough bribes, and all the problems go away!”
“Look at yourself and tell me the problems go away. What do you think happens when the SEC or DOJ find out?”
“They won’t!” Cox whimpers. “This is how business is done in Africa, don’t you understand?”
“Save your bullshit excuses,” I growl. “Let me break it down for you. Local slave labor. Women kept in camps for the men. Communities destroyed, water sources contaminated. Heavy metal poisoning, elevated cancer rates—and that’s just what we’ve uncovered so far.
If we can do it, so can anyone else who looks.
” I shake my head. “Very disappointing, Cox.”
“No one cares!” he cries. “How the hell do you think mining is done in those parts of the world?”
I’m getting bored now. “This isn’t an ethical debate. You’re going to give me the name of every client you work with in that continent. We’re going to shut it all down.”
“Who the hell do you work for?” he asks, incredulous. “Are you some fucking human rights bleeding-heart terrorist?”
“I give you credit for running your mouth when you’ve already lost a finger and I’ve told you I’m now in a bad mood.
” I add a sixth line to my design, taking my time, cutting deeper.
The screams fade to sobs about halfway through, and Cox looks on the verge of losing consciousness when I’m finished.
I slap him awake. “The names, please. Every client.”
“WLG… Extraction,” he mumbles. “Crestfield Mining.” He swallows hard, working his mouth. “Consolidated… Mineral… Group.”
“And the rest?”
“That’s all I know. I swear… that’s all.”
“There. Was that so hard?”
He looks at me with misguided hope in his eyes. “Are you going to let me go?”
I scoff. “Of course not.”
“But… what are you going to do?”
In answer, I grip hold of his belt again, and press my blade to the side of his neck.
“Wait!” he cries. “Please! I have a family!”
“So did everyone in those communities you destroyed.”
“I have a wife!” he wails.
I cut slowly across his throat, standing to the side as the blood spurts out.
“I doubt she’ll miss you,” I tell him, as he gurgles his life away, the light draining from his eyes.
I wipe my karambit clean on his shirt, then sigh.
A body that weighs an easy two hundred pounds, and one hell of a mess to clean up.
Always my least favorite part of the job.
Back in my hotel room, I call Bastien and give him an update.
“He gave me a name—Andrew Leopold—the file doesn’t mention him, but a search says he’s in Zurich.”
“That’s where you’re going next, then.”
“Yeah.” Open on my laptop, beneath the searches I’ve been running for Leopold, is the folder where the camera feeds from Amelia’s apartment are being added. I really want to be looking through those, not booking a flight to Switzerland. “What’s the time frame? How long have I got, Bastien?”
“Days, not weeks. We’re that close.”
“Fine. I’ll book a flight to Switzerland.” But it’ll pass through New York. I can make a brief stop.
“Good. And the Volkovs?”
I glance at my phone in irritation. “I’ll get to it next.”
“You do that.”
He cuts the call abruptly, as usual.
Great. Work piling up, when all I really want is the time to focus on Amelia.
There’s a message waiting from Haynes: Call me.
Not the email he promised, and he’s had all day.
I dial his number, clenching my jaw, not in the mood for more excuses.
“Lukas,” he answers. “I did what you asked.”
“Where the hell is it then?”
“Slow down, will you? There’s more.”
I force myself to take a breath and let it out. “Go ahead.”
“The boyfriend is one Scott Webber. I’ll send you his address.”
“Why the hell haven’t you already?”
He pauses. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No,” I bite out. Irritability isn’t like me. Bastien is his usual demanding self; that hasn’t changed. It’s Amelia. She’s affecting me more than I should let her, and I’ve only met the woman once. “Proceed.”
“That’s as close as I’ll get to an apology, I suppose,” Haynes drawls. “So this guy visited the subject’s apartment this evening, as it happens.”
“Is he there now?” I ask swiftly. I need to check the cameras. Or do I? Do I really want to watch that?
“Jesus, Lukas. You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? Would you like me to tell you, or would you like to keep interrupting?”
I clench my jaw, staying silent. Haynes is insufferable sometimes, but on this occasion… he might have a point.
“As I was saying,” he continues, irritatingly slowly, “Webber pays her a visit. He’s there barely ten minutes, and she kicks him out. So as I was in the area, I followed him. Guess where he’s gone?”
Oh, so now he wants me to speak? “Do tell.”
“To the house of some other woman. He’s there right now, fucking her in her bedroom. I’m parked across the road with a prime view. Curtains open and everything.”
That worthless, cheating bastard. How dare he treat Amelia like that?
“Do you think she knows? Are they in some kind of open relationship?”
“Why don’t you play the feed? Maybe you’ll find out. I followed your instructions—I don’t have access.”
“I’ll do that. Get photos, will you?”
“Already have. They’ll be in your email within the hour.”
“Good work, Haynes.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“I have to go to Switzerland. In my absence, make a start on the Volkovs.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“You do that.” I kill the call, and it hits me that now I’m mirroring Bastien. I’ll have to watch myself.
I’ve been resisting Amelia’s videos all evening, and Haynes just handed me the excuse.
I pull up the folder. There are several files labeled by location—living room, bathroom, three different files for the bedroom.
The bedroom ones are incrementing in size as I watch.
It’s all motion-detection, so that means she’s in there right now.
I want to see what she’s doing, but I want to know about her boyfriend first. I open the living room file; it’s several hours long.
Ten minutes, Haynes said, sometime this evening.
I skim through at triple speed. The camera’s in the ceiling, giving a goldfish-bowl view of the whole room.
Amelia watching television, making some food, getting out a bottle and two glasses.
I slow the playback. She goes to open the door. It’s not Webber, it’s another woman.
Fast forwarding again, I watch them talk for a while. There’s clearly tension; it’s equally clear they’re close. They get up and hug, and it looks emotional. Intrigued, I pause and rewind it, going back to the moment where it all began.
“So Steven Serranto won’t be bothering you anymore,” Amelia says.
My eyebrows rise. This must be her sister. That explains the similar dark hair and pale skin, the likeness in their faces. I’m looking at the very reason Amelia and I met. Maybe one day I’ll buy this woman some flowers.
“Such a mess,” her sister replies. “I feel so goddamn foolish. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful, really grateful—I had no idea he was like that—but if all I have to do is be nice to him… for the sake of your work…”
Amelia dismisses that. “Not even a concern anymore. It’s all taken care of.” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “You ever hear from him again, you tell me right away, okay?”
I hit pause, chuckling to myself. Amelia’s just given assurances, based on what I said to her. She’s trusting me, and so she should—I told Serranto to stay away from them both.
That conversation was interesting, but it wasn’t the one I wanted to see. I skip forward again, but barely has Amelia’s sister left, when a man turns up. I hit play, watching as the scene unfolds.
His hands on her. She seems to be resistant, then the bastard kisses her. She’s not into it; he doesn’t notice. I scowl. They argue, she kicks him out. His parting words, the way he expects her to come crawling back. He accuses her of cheating, then leaves to go fuck another woman.
Sickening. How dare he treat her like that? She’s far too good for him.
Someone else I need to pay a little visit to.
The playback runs out shortly after, and the timestamps show she went to her bedroom, then the bathroom for long enough to bathe.
I open the bedroom videos, running the three feeds side-by-side.
Another ceiling camera, one directly over the bed, and one in the wall, facing it.
She comes out of the bathroom with a towel in hand, her gorgeous body naked.
She barely dries herself, like she’s distracted, then lies on the bed, on top of the duvet, spreading her legs.
The cameras show me everything I could want to see, but it’s her face I focus on.
She closes her eyes, her words barely a murmur. “Let me go, or I’ll scream.”
I sit bolt upright. She didn’t just say what I think she said.
My fingers are trembling as I inch back the video to where she’s first lying down.
“Let me go, or I’ll scream.”
There’s no doubt.
Those very words. I’ve heard her say them before.
Can it really be?
Her fingers delve between her legs, her hips twitching, her mouth slightly parted as she pleasures herself.
What’s going on in her head? What is she imagining?
Speak again, I will her. Say something else. Send me a message.
And she obliges.
I don’t catch it at first. It’s so quiet, barely a breath. I have to go back, listen again, and then I’m only certain because I’ve heard her say those words, too.
“I’ll… I’ll suck you,” she whispers, and while she says it, her fingers lightly caress her clit. She spreads her legs wide, letting the camera perfectly catch the way her pussy glistens.
While she fantasizes about me.
I’m so distracted, I almost miss it when she speaks again. “Please… spank me…”
Damn.
Three lines, all spoken before, repeated while she’s masturbating in her bed.
I watch as Amelia comes hard, body arching, knees parted wide, imagining me touching her.
My obsession?
It’s gone from preoccupation to infatuation.
I didn’t think Amelia knew she was mine. Turns out, she was ahead of me.
It’s a six-hour flight back to New York.
Fourteen minutes later, I’m checked out of this damn hotel and heading for the airport. I can sleep on the plane.
First thing tomorrow, I’m going to find her boyfriend and set that record straight.
Then I’m going to go and visit my girl.