His eyes narrowed. “How did you coordinate your role as the Lady in Black while working for the police?”
“What are you talking about?” I said, shaking my head slightly and regretting it.
He took a step closer. “You’re not her, are you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His eyes widened slightly. “You don’t know about the Lady in Black?”
My vision was fuzzy, so I closed my eyes for a second and opened them, hoping it would clear. I was getting under his skin, and right now, that was my only defense. “What is that? An urban legend? Is she like Batman?”
A door on the far wall opened and Nicole Knox walked in, wearing a light blue tweed jacket and skirt with a white blouse. Her right arm was in a sling, but a black handbag hung from the crook of her left arm. Her two-inch heels click-clacked on the concrete floor.
Her sharp gaze landed on me. Hatred oozed from her.
I was in real trouble now.
“Did you find out where she’s keeping the file?” Nicole asked her son.
“No,” he said, breathless with frustration. “She won’t say.”
“You didn’t try hard enough,” she said.
“Look at her,” he said, flinging a hand toward me. “She’s not cooperating.”
A slow, evil smile spread across Nicole’s face. “She will once we give her the right motivation. Did you find Malcolm yet?”
“No.”
Nicole frowned. “Your father would have found him a week ago.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Mother,” he said, his words tight.
Nicole strode toward me. “Not so tough now, are you, Ms. Adams?”
I looked up at her, refusing to show any sign of anger or fear. “I’m not scared of you.”
“You should be.” She slipped her handbag down her arm so she could reach inside with her left hand and pulled out a small handgun. Then she set her purse on the empty chair. “Maybe I should shoot you in the arm. You know the saying, ‘an eye for an eye.’”
The look in her eyes told me she’d do it in a heartbeat. But I suspected she wouldn’t stop with one shot. I also suspected she wouldn’t be calling 911.
“I don’t seem to be in a position to negotiate,” I said. No sense pretending otherwise.
“Not true,” Nicole said, bending at the waist to look me in the eye. “All you have to do is answer my questions.”
“I’m not going to tell you where my mother’s file is,” I said, holding her gaze in defiance. “She died to keep it from you. It would be like spitting on her grave.”
Nicole laughed. “She wouldn’t have suffered to protect you.”
Her words sank into my skin like a knife. “You didn’t know my mother.”
“Didn’t I?” Her thin brow lifted. “She was my friend for a month. She told me things.”
A chill went through me. “I don’t give a shit what she told you. I’m still not giving you the file.”
“You were a disappointment to both of your parents. Your mother told me in the strictest of confidence that she wished you had been kidnapped and murdered, not your sister.”
While my mother had never outright said this, I’d still known. So why did it hurt so much hearing this sociopath say it?
