Zeyar?—Hasan swore. His brother had been right: Somehow, even without storming the precinct, Hasan had managed to fuck this up. He should have checked on Poppy more, should have kept a guard to watch the door. He hadn’t wanted to station men down here, especially given how nosy she was?—what if someone spoke to her and gave the game away? Now he was paying for his mistrust.
He pressed his fingers harder against her throat, bringing his ear to her nose, listening for her breathing. Nothing. Then?—there. A faint flutter. Her stubborn heart, still beating. Her breath warmed his ear a touch. He sighed raggedly. “Damn, you scared me.”
She stirred slightly, her weight shifting as consciousness returned to her body. Her warm-brown eyes cracked open, moving sluggishly over his face. They sharpened, recognition flooding her gaze. Her eyes flew open fully, and her hands slammed against his chest, shoving him away.
“What are you doing on my bed?”
Though her push had been weak, her cry made him jump. He scrambled backward, slipping on the slick tiles. He caught himself against the wall, chest heaving.
Poppy pushed herself upright. Though she still looked pale, her eyes were alight with ferocity as she said, “My fiancé won’t have me back if you touch me.”
The idea was so absurd, it took Hasan a moment to figure out what she was implying. He barked out an involuntary laugh. “Is that what you thought I was doing?”
“Don’t act innocent.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know what men like you want. You thought you could try and feel my?—” She stopped, the expression on her face so mortified that he would have laughed had he not just had the fright of his life.
“The only thing I was trying to feel was yourpulse,” he bit at her. “You looked like a corpse when I walked in here, surrounded by your own vomit, in a room that’s starting to flood. Forgive me for demonstrating a little concern for your basic well-being.”
The intensity in his tone took them both aback. He needed to calm down. She was alive. The plan was still on.
“So you didn’t want to ruin me?” Poppy quavered.
He would have never touched a woman without her consent?—unlike many of the officers in her beloved fiancé’s force, he didn’t get off on brutalizing the powerless. It stung that she thought he was capable of such an act?—but then again, who would believe that even monsters had morals? He forced himself to adopt an air of indifference. “Don’t take it personally, Miss Sutherland, but overrighteous noblewomen are hardly my type.”
“As if I’d want a brute like you,” she said, glaring.
He didn’t dignify that with a response. “Give me your hands.”
“What?”
“I’m moving you into a dry cell, but I don’t trust you to not make a break for it. Give me your hands.” He put his right hand over his heart mockingly. “I promise I’m not going to make a pass at you.”
She scowled at him.
“Unless you’d prefer to stay here?” He eyed the water stain on the ceiling and the vomit on the tiles pointedly.
After a beat, she extended her hands reluctantly. Hasan reached over and took both her delicate wrists in one hand, helping her off the cot. As they walked across the hallway to the other vacant cell, he studied her, wondering how much she knew about the man who had his brother. While he doubted she knew anything about how the police operated, she might know more about Richard and the way he thought.
He waited until they’d entered the new cell together before asking, “Where is your fiancé, anyway, Miss Sutherland?”
She stiffened in his grip. “I’m sure you’d know better than I,” she quipped, “given that I last saw him at our engagement party, however many days ago that was.” A new edge had entered her voice, one he didn’t understand.
“Four,” Hasan supplied. “It’s been four days. Today is the fourth. And do you know how he responded to my ransom letter?”
She sucked in a breath, as though she couldn’t bear to hear the answer. He frowned. Why did the girl have so little faith in her fiancé?
“He didn’t,” he answered, when it became apparent she wouldn’t speak. “He hasn’t responded to our ransom note. One might think he intends to leave you in my care.”
“He has the money,” she said, her voice steady. “He wants me back, I assure you.”
“Then why hasn’t he responded?” He raised a brow. “It’s not a question of money. We didn’t ask him for that.”
“I don’t know,” she snapped, but her voice wavered.
He stopped, narrowing his eyes at her. “Youdoknow.” She averted her gaze, but he grabbed her chin and turned her face back toward him. “You know something, don’t you? Answer me. Tell me why Montrose hasn’t responded to our letter.”
She jerked her head back, pulling her face free of his grasp. “I am not answerable toyou.”
Hasan had had enough. First, he had found Poppy lifeless and immobile. Then, after he’d tried to check on her, she’d accused him of assault. Now she had the nerve to be smart with him? He would show her who was in charge here.
