“Hornet, huh? You behave—or I’ll sting your sweet bottom. Eat something. Listen to the guys. Put Martin back on.”
Martin paced in a small circle to finish the call. “Yes, sir.” He blew out a tense breath.
At the call’s end, Cassie asked to watch the interrogation, demanding to see the men coming after her.
“Ian’s gonna filet me, Gator,” Martin said.
“We won’t tell him,” she implored. Martin shook his head. “I will yank out this feeding tube.” Using the feeding tube to control him, she soon stood in front of the observation window.
“I liked this job while it lasted,” Martin muttered.
Cassie stood, rocking on her toes, staring through the mirrored glass at the interrogation. Inside the small room, Julian straddled a chair in front of the first prisoner. “What’s your name?” Julian demanded first in Russian and then in English. The man with brown hair and brown eyes looked up. A jagged scar traversed his left cheek.
Cassie’s pulse rocketed; her head pounded, and her knees gave out. Martin caught her before she hit the ground. He radioed for Tucker and Eric and propped her cold, clammy body against his. “Help’s coming, Gator.”
Cassie’s eyes remained fixed on the room while Martin cradled her. Julian continued the interrogation, unaware of what had happened. The prisoner gave only his name.
Cassie answered all Julian’s questions in a monotone. “David Sucov, art importer. He works for a Moscow gallery owner, Arkady Sabitov.Svoloch!” she yelled—Russian for “you bastard”—as she shook harder in Martin’s arms.
“Martin, what the hell is she doing here?” Tucker thundered.
Cassie remained transfixed by the man being interrogated.
“Cassie, let’s go back upstairs. It was a long day today,” Eric said.
“No, I need to be here,” she fought.
“Gator, please. Ian wouldn’t want you to be so stressed. For Ian?” Martin begged.
“Okay.” Cassie put her hand in Eric’s, but her eyes remained fixed on the observation window until she crossed the threshold.
Once she and Eric were out of sight, she could hear Tucker roar, “Ian is going to take you apart, Martin. And when he’s done, I’m going to bury your carcass.” He stormed from the room.
* * *
Tucker unwrapped the blood pressure cuff from Cassie’s arm. “Ninety over fifty. When was the last time you ate or drank something?”
“I had a cup of tea and a couple of cookies at about five-thirty. I’m not hungry.” She remained sweaty and pale.
“Lie back.” Tucker reached into the huge med bag and tossed Eric fluid and IV tubing. “I’m getting some food. Hook her up.” The door slammed shut.
“Tuck’s mad.”
“Tuck’s worried. Sorry, angel. I have to stick you.” Eric started an IV. “He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at Martin. Cassie, you are our priority. Martin knew better.”
“I don’t know what happened; I got dizzy.” Cassie knew precisely what happened: David Sucov raped her six years earlier.
Tucker returned with a grilled cheese sandwich and a tall glass of milk. Both men stood over her while she ate. Only able to manage half, she pushed the plate away.
“Time to rest.” Before she could protest, Eric injected a mild sedative. When she was asleep, he hooked up a feeding.
Chapter Forty-Six
Burt Marshall and Kevin Tyler stood in the driveway of the funeral home. “This is freaking me out. First Sebastian, Phyllis, and Bobby—and now Cassie? Garett’s missing. You don’t think this is karma?”
Burt lit a cigarette. “Nah, you’re paranoid. It’s just horrible coincidences. Seb was stupid, and Bobby was a freak. You know he probably killed Phyllis. They did all that other stuff without us; it’s on them. And the paper said Cassie died during a home invasion. Who knows what Garett’s up to? You’ve met his mom. We need to keep it together; we did nothing illegal. We were just covering Garett’s ass at the restaurant. It was between him and Cassie. We’ll lay low, and this will all blow over.”
Burt put his arm on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go pay our respects.” He dropped the cigarette to the ground.
