Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [142]
I’d see to it.
But first I saw to his records—to his laptop, his desktop machine, and the drawerful of tiny thumb drives and CDs labeled with a Sharpie. I took them all, everything I could find.
Because the universe likes to tell stories in circles, I was willing to bet I’d accidentally scored myself some porn in this catch-all sweep of the premises. That’s how this began, after all—with me complaining about having too much other-people’s-pornography in my life. Yet here I was, emptying drawers and confiscating everything in sight.
Based on what I’d gathered about the man who lived in the sprawling mid-century ranch, I went out on a limb and guessed I was going to find some Japanaporn. Probably something with schoolgirls and tentacles.
When I was finished gathering everything and my trap was sufficiently laid, I set my go-bag down on the couch and dropped myself beside it. I thought about turning on the television, but that seemed like an unnecessary risk, so I didn’t. I just sat there in the dark and I didn’t move a muscle until I heard a car pull up into the driveway, and then footsteps on the paved walk outside, then a fumbling of keys and a turning of the tumblers in the lock.
I faced the door, leaning against the couch’s arm, with my go-bag serving as lumbar support. I’d like to imagine that my eyes were glittering cruelly, or that I glowed and leered like some otherworldly beast. But I knew that when the man flipped on the living room light, all he saw was a petite brunette in black, with a face that meant business.
It was still enough to startle him.
I could’ve smiled at the wide-eyed confusion, or laughed outright at the way he froze—a prey animal caught in the gaze of something hungry.
I didn’t. I only said, “Hello, Dr. Keene. Please, come inside. And shut the door.”
If the doc had possessed a lick of sense, he would’ve run back outside and made for his car. Not that it would’ve saved him, mind you—I’m just saying that’s what a sane man would’ve done. Or maybe that kind of action is only for men who aren’t accustomed to taking orders.
Dr. Keene did as he was told.
He stood there with his back to the door, keys in hand, un-moving. “Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Raylene. And I’m just your kind of girl,” I purred, striving for sinister and going for the gold.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ah, that was a misstep on his part. He should’ve saved that grand denial until I’d asked him some questions. This guy was a total failure at ass-covering, in every way possible. An innocent man would’ve demanded to know what I was doing in his living room. Guilty men open with excuses.
“Sure you do. You’ve spent a decade and change rounding up people like me, throwing us in basements and leaving us there, or cutting us up for curiosity’s sake, or for the sake of a government contract or two. This is a nice house,” I said. “Can’t imagine how you’ve paid for it.”
All the blood drained from his face. He’d been white before, when he’d first spotted me on the couch. But now he looked like death itself, chalky and slack-jawed, with a shock of reddish brown hair sticking up in surprise. Under his lab coat he was wearing the dullest kind of business-casual, brown shoes and belt, blue polo shirt.
To his credit, he nodded—a tense, terrified bobbing of his chin. “I know what you are.”
“Good. But it may or may not interest you to hear that I’m not visiting on my own behalf.” I chose this moment to stand, and to glide across the low-shag beige the poor bastard had picked for flooring. “You don’t know me, but you’ve nearly had me killed—or worse—several times over in the last few weeks. I’ve been trying to help one of your victims.”
He sputtered, “Help? You … your kind. They don’t help anybody.”
“Really? You know that for a fact, do you? Then answer me this: What am I doing, hanging out in your living room, having ransacked your home, if I don’t want to help Ian Stott by giving him a little closure—or a little proxy vengeance?”
“Ian?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know the name.”
It wouldn’t have done