His eyes light up. “Honesty.Howrefreshing. If your friend Ms. St. James had been as forthcoming as you have been in this moment, she and the father of her child might still be alive.”
Horror fills me even as hope tries to take root, convincing me that if I continue to be honest I can make it out of this alive. “Jordan’s dead?”
“Do not grieve for her, Mrs. Taylor. She revealed your location within seconds of Travis putting a bullet in her partner’s head. She was willing to sacrifice you to save herself.”
Cordelia lets out a tisk of disapproval, pointing at Aubrey. “I always told you that girl was a liability. She didn’t have the stomach for this work.”
A vein in the center of Aubrey’s forehead begins to throb. “I know, Cordelia.”
“So that’s how you found me?” I ask, unwilling to be subjected to another one of Aubrey and Cordelia’s spats. “Jordan told you.”
“Yes.” Phineas smiles then says, “You are not a fan of deviation are you, Mrs. Taylor?”
“No, I would prefer to stay on task. Things get done a lot quicker that way.”
And I want this conversation, this experience, this entire day to be done. I want to go to the home I’ve made in Cal and Beck’s arms and never leave again. I want to forget the sound of Cordelia’s voice and Langham’s chewing. I want to delete every memory I’ve ever shared with Aubrey from my brain and scrub every place on my body that has been touched by those green eyes.
“I wouldn’t be in such a rush to get things done if I were you,” Aubrey says, smirking when Langham pulls a syringe filled with a colorless liquid from a pocket inside his suit jack and sits it on the table.
Langham waggles his brows at me. “Potassium cyanide. Same stuff I used on Sanders.”
The not-so-subtle threat snuffs out the flames of anger, leaving me cold and so fucking afraid I can’t convince my features to convey anything else.
“Put that away,” Phineas snaps, and the order hits Travis like the crack of a whip. He jumps into action, sweeping the syringe out of sight.
“She might as well know what’s coming,” Aubrey argues.
Cordelia nods. “It usually helps if they know they won’t make it out alive.”
“If I wanted either of your opinions, I would have asked for them,” Phineas growls. “This is not your White House or thefucking Oval Office. This is my home, and I get to decide what happens with my guest.”
“But I’ve already told you?—”
“The last time I listened to you I wasted hundreds of thousands of dollars liberating a man from prison who could not be bothered to do the job I paid him to do and thousands more to get the men already on my payroll to clean up the mess you made, so you will forgive me if I do not give asingle fuckabout what you have told me.”
Aubrey shrinks. Cordelia and Langham fall quiet. Phineas looks to me, huffing as he grabs his wine and takes a long sip. He swallows slowly, savoring it and the silence that only breaks when he wants it to.
“Mrs. Taylor, you have found me in a unique mood.”
I will my voice not to shake, needing confidence and strength I don’t possess to continue engaging with him. “Is that so?”
“Yes, I would like to open the table for a discussion.”
“A discussion?”
He squints, tilting his head to one side as he regards me. “You are familiar with the concept, yes?”
“Of course.” I roll my shoulders back. “Since this is your home, I think it would only be right that you start us off.”
The offer is ridiculous. I wouldn’t even know where to begin with brokering the terms of my freedom. I mean, if that’s even what he’s offering. I’m sure there’s a world where this sick fuck thinks allowing me to choose the method of my murder would be a kindness.
“Showing such respect under these incredibly harrowing circumstances is admirable.”
“Thank you.”
“But playing to my ego will not save your life.”
“I don’t expect it to.” The lie rolls of my tongue, smooth as silk. Phineas studies me, searching for signs of deception and coming up empty.
