“What ‘desperate times’?” Terry demanded.
“Whether you want to believe it or not, Ms. O’Loughlin, we are at war. The enemies of our country plot against us constantly,” Collingwood said. “We must, ah, use every means at our disposal to combat that threat.”
“And that includes torturing innocent women?” Terry threw at him, the anger almost, but not quite, subjugating her fear. She rose, shoulders stiff. “I must have missed the day they taught that class at law school.”
“Sacrifices have to be made,” Collingwood said blankly. “Collateral damage.”
Collateral damage. Is that how Vondie thought of me? She was going to pump me full of drugs, knowing what they’d do to an unborn child. Was that just collateral damage, or was she simply having a good time?
“Is that all Dr. Lee was to you?” she asked. “And his wife? And Charlie, her parents, Sean? Me?” She stepped forwards, looked him straight in the eye. “What about me, Mr. Collingwood? Am I just collateral damage, too?”
He stared back and I saw his shoulders drop a fraction. For a second, I thought she might actually have got through to him.
“Yes,” he said. He bent his elbow to bring the Glock up, pointing straight at her. “Move back a little farther, if you don’t mind, Ms. O’Loughlin. I really would hate to have to kill you unless it was entirely necessary.”
“Yes, I’d hate that, too,” said a voice from the doorway, and Sean slid into view fast and smooth. Like Collingwood, he too had a Glock, but he was holding it at shoulder height, right hand supported by left, finger inside the guard and already taking up the first stage of the trigger, which acted as the safety. The gun was a hairsbreadth from firing, but Sean’s voice was steady, relaxed, showing no strain.
His eyes darted sideways, just once, but I knew he’d taken in the whole thing in that single rapid survey. Knew he’d seen what they’d done to me, could fill in most of the rest.
But not all of it, Sean.
For the first time since he’d entered the room, Collingwood’s face showed a hint of unease. He glanced at Terry, not letting the muzzle of his own gun deviate. He gave a kind of sad smile and looked back at Sean.
“You pull that trigger, son, chances are I’ll fire anyhow.”
Sean shook his head and smiled politely. “Two through the mouth will take out your brain stem,” he said. “The only thing you’ll do is die. Quickly.”
“You Special Forces boys are all the same—all show,” Collingwood said. “Had a sniper in Afghanistan who swore the same thing to me. Tried it on a rebel who was holding a ten-year-old girl hostage. Bastard still blew her brains out as he dropped.”
“Perhaps your sniper wasn’t as good as he thought he was.”
Sean was good enough, I knew. He always had been. And if they’d matched off hand-to-hand, he was good enough to break Collingwood’s neck before the older guy had a chance to spit.
“Perhaps he wasn’t,” Collingwood said. “Either way, somehow I don’t think you’ll risk it, son. Not today. So, I’ll give you three seconds to put that gun down before I shoot the lady lawyer here. One.”
Sean’s Glock stayed up and on target. So did Collingwood’s. It was Terry who’d begun to tremble. Sean didn’t waver.
What kind of a father will he make?
“Two.”
Sean shifted slightly. Collingwood wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t let his gaze slide sideways to check the movement. As if they’d planned it, Terry O’Loughlin leapt forwards, her right foot swinging, and kicked him in the balls like she was hoping for nothing better than to see them reappear as lumps in his throat.
Collingwood’s reactions were nowhere near as good as Sean’s had been under the same circumstances. The government man didn’t even get to twitch before the blow landed. He certainly didn’t get the chance to take a shot of his own before Sean was on him, twisting the gun out of his nerveless fingers.
Collingwood folded up slowly, mouth working without producing sound other than a slow exhalation, like the last gasp of a deflating rubber dingy. Sean watched him go down and turned away.
“I have to hand it to you, Terry,” he said as he came past her, “you’ve got one hell of a set of legs on you.”
“Mm,” she said, breathless, her voice almost remote. “I played soccer in college.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet you were a striker.” He bent in front of me, fingers under my chin to tip my head back, checking the size of my pupils. “What did they give you, Charlie?” he asked, and if he seemed cold and detached, I knew that was the only way he could deal with this.
“They stuck me with something to put me out after they cattle-prodded me,” I said. My throat felt raw like I’d been screaming. I nodded towards the smashed contents of the trolley. “Vondie was after payback as much as info, I think, but she didn’t get a chance to add anything else to the mix.”
He brushed my chin with gentle fingers, brought my focus back. “Good,” he said softly, and smiled at me.
I nearly told him right then. Nearly let it burst out of me, but the words just lodged in my throat.
“What?” Sean said quickly, but behind us Collingwood got enough of his breath back to begin to groan.
“It’ll keep,” I said, dredging up a smile of my own from reserves I didn’t know I had.
It’ll keep until I know for certain.
We heard footsteps outside the door. Sean turned, braced, shielding my body with his own, but it was my father who came in. On the outside, he looked as together as always, even his tie was perfectly knotted. But inside was a different story. He saw Collingwood stirring limply on the floor, then caught sight of Vondie’s body and froze. It was the sight of him, more than of Sean, that snapped me back to reality.
I struggled for my feet, had to claw my way up the wall to make it. “How the hell did you both get in?”
“Terry,” Sean said shortly, but his eyes were on my father. “Turns out there was a back way, after all.”
Terry had found my clothes. They must have been stashed somewhere close but I hadn’t seen them. She handed them over, flushed, looking miserable. I needed help to get into them again. My father had seen me naked more times than either of us could count, but he still kept his back turned while Terry and I struggled.
Going to need practice dressing someone else—someone helpless—aren’t you, Fox?
I shut it out, yanked on my shirt with enough force to split a seam at the back of the arm, then let Terry nudge my fat fingers aside to button it.
“Did you get hold of Parker?” I asked Sean.
“We tried—believe me,” he said with feeling. “It went to voice mail every time. I’ve left him half a dozen messages.”
“Voice mail?”
“Yeah. I’m hoping that means he’s in flight.” He had moved up alongside my father and there was something strangely similar about the way both of them stood and gazed down at Collingwood while he got himself back together.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” my father demanded, in a quiet arctic tone I didn’t quite recognize, even from him.
Collingwood looked up, eyed the pair of them. “My guys’ll have taken her somewhere nice and, ah, safe,” he said. “How long she stays that way depends on you. You let me go and maybe she might come out of this in one piece.”
Sean stepped forwards and hit him in the face, a casual downward left that nevertheless had all his weight and muscle behind it, delivered so fast it seemed no more than a trick of the light. One moment the government man was half-sitting, propped on an elbow. The next, his head jerked back and bounced off the wall behind him. He rode it as best he could, brought a hand up and tested the inside of his lip.