“You're in trouble. How is he threatening you?”
She licked her lips again and her hand dropped onto her belt where her weapon had been. “No one's threatening me. Take me to Clara.”
“Is it your family?” Her jaw tightened. That was it; he had her. “Does he have them now?” He held her gaze. “Tell me,” he demanded.
Marsha let out a long, shuddering sigh, deflated and suddenly haunted. “My girlfriend. He has my girlfriend.”
Reid led her further into the room and asked her to sit. He sat across from her. Her face was nothing but grim although no tears showed in her eyes.
“What are the terms? Bring Clara out of here, to him? And you get your girlfriend back?”
She nodded.
Reid leaned back and rubbed his hand over his mouth in thought. His other hand tapped against the armrest. What had he got himself into?
“Do you have any idea where he could be keeping her?”
Her voice was tight, “No, but Santino recently got out of prison and checked into a halfway house in Dallas. Any resources he has would've had to be from someone he knew prior to his imprisonment or someone he met during.”
Reid got up and walked behind the reception desk where he unlocked a drawer and pulled out a bottle of rum. He poured two lowball glasses before retaking his seat and handing one to her. She downed it in one go despite her teeth clanking into the cup. Reid held back a mirthless smile as he downed his own glass.
“Thanks,” she said. He took her glass in response and set it aside.
“Santino?”
“I shouldn't have told you his name, I shouldn't be telling you any of this.” Marsha ran her fingers across her temple. “My commander is going to be furious if he finds out but what am I to do? I'm in trouble regardless.” She shook her head and cringed again. “I can't think straight. I want her back, and until she's back I can't think straight.”
She hadn't answered his question but he let it slide. He was great at reading people, one of the best. He could do it without looking at them, without speaking to them, without hearing them, he could do it—read them just by scenting alone.
His senses were powerful, not only because of the tech inside of him but because of the DNA that was spliced into his cells. There was nothing quite like his sense of smell. His fingers twitched on his thigh. Even now he could smell her, Clara, from across the facility—behind a dozen doors, he could smell her.
Only a day had gone by and her scent made him uncomfortable. It did things to him he wasn’t thrilled about.
She wants me.
He couldn't deny the slick arousal before her surgery and it had taken everything within himself to not shut her mouth with his, peel down her underwear, and slam himself inside of her. His lips twisted. How was he going to survive three months?
“Well, Marsha, I'm afraid I can't let you leave.”
Being a dick came easy to him.
