That confused her for a minute. Was he talking about Val? Yes. Val had been sent to collect her. Imre was the hostage. And Imre was dead, so they had changed tactics. Yes. That tracked.
Memento of her mad love affair? What the hell? Images began to flicker on the TV screens. She could not make them out with the tears and sweat in her eyes. The light in both screens were dim, and it seemed like—those frantic, rhythmic movements—oh, for the love of God, was this possible? Porn, to accompany her torture? The sheer, banal stupidity of it was insulting. Even in the face of this much pain, this much fear.
Fuck it. Her arm hurt too much to bother contemplating the sewer of the man’s mind. She was far too busy calculating the best possible second for a murder-suicide. Focus.
“…no, look at it!” Novak was insisting. “Don’t you recognize yourself? Pay attention, Tamara.”
Herself? She squeezed the hot, stinging moisture out of her eyes, and looked again.
And looked and looked. It was…oh, hell, no. It was not possible.
It was their room in San Vito. The graceful triple loggia that looked out over the sea, the dim light of dawn, the tender glow of pink.
And on the bed, behind the fronds of some blurry plant in the foreground, herself and Val. Her, mounted and moving over him, head thrown back, making soft moans of pleasure.
How? How had they been found so soon after they arrived? When could the cameras have been planted? When they were out to dinner?
She looked at the other one, but it took over a half minute of horrified squinting to force that dim, writhing snarl of erotic images to resolve into something comprehensible. Mostly because she didn’t want to take the information in. Her mind resisted it desperately.
Herself, pinned against the door of the tiny staff kitchen of the Huxley. Moaning like a cat in heat as she let herself get good and nailed by Val Janos. The camera looked down at them, godlike from on high, judging her for being so stupid. It focused on her face, flushed with pleasure and excitement. And drugs, she remembered. She’d been as high as a kite, on the mystery drug, plus chianti.
The thought was a nasty icicle stab. She cringed, shuddered, and steeled herself. Forced herself to reason it through. Step by step.
There was no way they could have anticipated Janos and planted a camera to watch him without his knowledge. No way they could have connected her to Nick and Becca’s wedding before she actually went there. The only one who could have planted that camera was Val himself.
He’d chosen the place, prepared it, drugged her into a sexed-up daze, dragged her to it, and fucked her there. To entertain the beast. That was the truth. There was no other explanation.
Novak followed her train of thought step for step, his eyes hot and avid. “Yes, I see you understand now. Shocked, are you? He did what I paid him for. He got you to fall in love with him. It’s his professional specialty. I’m acquainted with PSS, you see. I’ve used them in the past. I’ve been told that Val Janos is always the operative of choice when it is necessary to fuck one’s way into the target’s confidence. What a coup for his CV. He can persuade any woman of his undying passion. Even an ice-hearted bitch like you.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Oh, yes. And they said you were so suspicious, so intelligent. But you fell. Legs wide open. Like magic.” He cackled and wheezed. Blood spattered over his lips and chin.
She had not thought it possible to feel worse than she did, but it was. One more thing wrenched from her, one more bleeding wound. And she felt so alone, more than ever before. Abandoned in hell.
Imre. The foolish, girlish part of her mind latched onto the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, that video footage was all about keeping Imre in one piece, something Val had been forced to do. Maybe…
But Novak was shaking his head, waving an admonitory finger. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, from behind his blood-spotted handkerchief. “Forget your romantic notions. He told you the heart-wrenching tale of how I held his old patron hostage and threatened to cut him to pieces if he did not deliver you?”
She did not rreply.
“We concocted that scenario together. And yesterday, he did as I commanded and told you of Imre’s valiant sacrifice? Did he beg you to run away with him to live in romantic bliss on some green island on the Aegean? I see that he did. That bad boy. He’ll definitely get that fat bonus that I promised him. He’s earned every penny of it.” He took a step closer, staring at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. “Let me show you how much Vajda loves you, Tamara.” He glanced at András. “Pull the rope,” he commanded. “Off her feet. Ten seconds.”
András complied eagerly. The rope wrenched her up off her feet.
She hated herself for the shriek that scorched her throat. And for being so vulnerable. For having loved Val for even an instant, for having believed him. For getting caught. For everything. All of it. Rachel. Oh, Rachel.
She struggled to get a better grip on the rope with her left hand. Ten seconds. Ten centuries of lightning stabbing through her nerves.
She sobbed in air and hung on, delirious with pain—
Thud, down she went onto her floppy tied ankles. She clung to consciousness, and attempted the agonizing task of trying to stand again.
“Enough chatter.” The old man suddenly sounded irritable and exhausted. “András, go get the child. I want to begin.”
András wound the rope around a hook set into the wall at waist level, knotting it with a jerk. She gasped at a blaze of fresh agony. He strode purposefully out of the room, leaving her alone with Novak.
“The stupidity of women is always a fresh surprise,” Novak mused. “You are very beautiful, it is true, but even so, it is obvious to what you are, what you exist for. You are a disposable toy, Tamara. How could a man declare love for a thing like yourself? Men don’t love women like you. They use them and discard them like the trash that they are.” He took a step closer. “But still, I’m surprised you were taken in so easily.”
Part of her was on her knees, no, on the ground, writhing and wailing yes, it’s true, yes, just kill me please and have done with it.
The other part whispered, come a little closer, you sick filthy fuck.
She moved the tongue studs in her mouth, positioning the poison capsule between her molars and trying to work up enough spit to deliver it. Difficult, with such a parched mouth. She would have to be spot-on accurate. She tried to sniff down her useless tears of terror and agony and make them good for something.
Come on, old man. Two more steps. Just two, and I’ll melt the organs inside your body into slop.
Faster. She snorted, sniffed. Novak’s weight shifted. Time slowed. She was so tuned in, she sensed his every tiny movement as if her own body was making it.
Finally. The mix of tears and saliva in her mouth was ready to spit as he moved closer…jaws ready to chomp, lungs ready to provide air to propel her liquid projectile…closer—
Ding, ding. A soft, musical chiming sound shattered the moment. Novak broke eye contact, turned to look at the intercom on the table.
She almost screamed her disappointment. So fucking close!
Novak punched the button. “I told you I was not to be disturbed!”
“They’ve brought in Luksch,” a male voice on the intercom informed him.
Novak’s face changed. “Oh. Excellent. Bring him in, then.”
He turned back to Tam, rubbing his hands together. Too far away from her. The moment had slipped away. She wanted to wail, shriek.
“Georg has been bad,” Novak confided. “Wanting you for himself, even knowing how you had wronged me. Then I discovered that he was planning