“I’ll come with you,” I say. Part of me doesn’t want to see Drew and Peter right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to explain to them what’s happening. That I failed. But I’m not sure I can stay in this room any longer.
“Stay here with Christophe,” she says. “We have a rule to never leave a prisoner alone with just one person. When I come back, you can go.” The door shuts behind her with a tight seal.
Christophe finishes a text and looks up at me. “Why don’t you just relax? You can’t function if you’re agitated. Calm down and you can try again.”
I shake my hands out. “I’m okay. I want to see if I can get anything else from him before everyone gets back. We don’t have a lot of time to waste.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Christophe says. “You said yourself that you needed time to recover.” He smiles at me, but I can tell it’s not sincere. Something passes over his features, and I can see that he doesn’t want me to read the guy again. But why? It can’t all be out of concern for me.
“I feel fine,” I say, walking over to the chair. Christophe reaches out to stop me by grabbing my left hand. He’s stronger than he looks. “Ow!” I cry, yanking my arm away.
“I’m sorry,” Christophe says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He looks down at the scar that runs the length of my forearm. “What happened?”
I rub the spot where he twisted my wrist. “Veronique,” I say. “And a broken window. That’s what happened.” I’m suddenly wary of him.
He tilts his head as if he’s interested in the story. “Veronique caused that? Looks like a nasty scar.”
“It is,” I admit, watching him carefully. “Ended my cello career.” I flex my left hand. “There was some nerve damage that will probably never heal.”
Christophe nods slowly. “That must have really pissed you off,” he says. He raises his eyes to mine. “Enough to make you want to get back at her.”
The tone in his voice is vaguely accusatory, and now I’m on total alert. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing,” he says, holding up both hands. “All I meant was that permanent physical damage would be enough motive to want someone gone from this lifetime.”
I take a step toward him. I don’t like where this is going. “Are you saying that you think I had something to do with Veronique’s death? Are you crazy? Rayne’s my best friend. I’d never do anything to put her in danger.”
Christophe’s eyes widen. “You have to admit, that would be a good cover. Having your best friend kidnapped. It would totally throw the scent off of you.” He sniffs the air as if to demonstrate.
“Do you honestly think I could kill someone?” I ask.
I can almost feel his eyes on me as he scans my dress. “I don’t think you’d get your hands dirty, no. But there are other means to the same end, aren’t there?”
I can feel my hands clenching into fists. “I had nothing to do with any of this. I’m just here to try to help, that’s all.”
“Fine,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “Janine may trust you, but in situations like this, nobody is above suspicion.” He gives a little nod. “You understand.”
“Right.” I slump into one of the empty chairs and stare into space, my mind whirling with possibilities. My eyes are half-closed when some movement in the room makes me suddenly alert. I keep perfectly still, but watch both Christophe and the guy in the chair until I see it again. There’s nothing I can pinpoint directly, just something in the way they make eye contact, but I’m as sure of it as if they’d been speaking out loud. Christophe and this guy know each other, and not just from tonight.
I get a cold chill down my spine as I watch them through half-closed lids. I’ve never really paid that much attention to Christophe before—he’s just a guy who came from Switzerland to work with Griffon on the lab, but he’s always been there in the background. He’s had access to all of the information about Veronique, about the formula and about Rayne, and I’m sure Griffon didn’t hesitate to tell him anything he didn’t already know. They’re friends, and he’s a trusted member of the Sekhem. But like he said, in situations like these, no one is above suspicion.
Stretching in my chair, I pretend to stifle a yawn.
“Tired?” Christophe asks, apparently under the impression that we’ve got a truce.
“A little bit,” I lie. I get up and walk over to him. If he is what I think he is, I’m going to have to make physical contact to find out. And Christophe isn’t under a nerve block, so I have to do it so that he doesn’t suspect anything. “Connecting as an empath does take a lot out of me.” He’s leaning against the wall, one hand hanging down, the other in his pocket. I lean against the wall next to him, as close as possible.
“I’m sorry about getting angry with you,” I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Good thing I’ve watched Kat do this a million times. “This whole situation is just so stressful. I know you’re only doing your job.” Just getting the words out requires effort, when what I want to do is spit in his face.
I can see him relax. Amazing what a few words can do that fists can’t. “I’m glad you understand. We have to rule out all of the possibilities.”
“I do,” I say. “I just hope you know that I’m not one of them.”
Christophe grunts in reply and bends over a text again.
“So, what do you think they’re going to do with him?” I ask, nodding to the guy in the chair, who has his eyes trained on us. He may not know what we’re saying, but he knows he’s being discussed.
“They won’t kill him,” Christophe says, looking up briefly. “So in a way, he’s safer here than he is out there.”
“The Sekhem don’t kill prisoners?” I inch my arm along the wall to get closer to his, but he must sense it, because he moves just a tiny bit to the left.
“No. Not anymore.” Christophe grins. “Not like in the old days, when we could pretty much do whatever we wanted.”
We’re only about two inches apart now. I think about pulling the falling trick like I did on the bridge, but I have a feeling that would only make him suspicious. Christophe’s got one leg bent against the wall, so I casually bend mine the same way, tilting my body just the slightest bit so that I can make contact with his leg, hoping that I don’t fall off these heels at the same time.
Making contact and conversation at the same time is tricky, so I focus on the last words that he said in an effort to keep him talking. “What was it like back then?” I ask.
“Easier,” Christophe says. I can still see his lips moving, but all my concentration has gone to the point where our bodies connect. I feel a surge of overwhelming confidence rush through me, almost a euphoria that something he’s been working on is going really, really well. I also feel a split; loyalties are divided, and there’s a hesitation to cross over a line completely. I close my eyes, still aware that Christophe is talking, and try to let my mind go, to allow any images that are in his consciousness flow over to me. I get flashes of airplanes and the long empty space of a runway.
My eyes fly open as I hear a crash. The kidnapper has fallen over—he’s still tied to the chair, but he’s moving now and shouting something in a language I can’t understand. Christophe rushes toward him, breaking the connection between us, speaking quickly in the same language. I may not understand their words, but I get what he’s saying by the way he’s staring at me. The nerve block has worn off, and the kidnapper knows I’ve been reading Christophe.