Countdown - Iris Johansen [82]
“Bluff. He’ll never give you the woman.”
“He might. Some people would think any woman was expendable when weighed against a Judas coin. Wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not Trevor.”
And Reilly was grateful he wasn’t. Trevor was much tougher to deal with and wouldn’t be manipulated like Grozak. “We’ll see. It’s a moot point if you deliver. Let me know when I can expect her and we’ll set up a meeting place.” He hung up the phone.
Enough pressure?
Perhaps. If not, he’d apply more.
He rose to his feet and moved over to the shelves. There were several priceless coins on display from all the ancient worlds. For years he’d gathered all the artifacts he’d been able to get his hands on from Egypt, Herculaneum, and Pompeii, but coins were his passion. Even in those times they’d signified power.
What an age, he thought. He should have lived then, during that golden period in history. A man could shape his life and the lives of others with ruthless efficiency. It was what he had been born to do. Not that he hadn’t been able to do that in the present day. But then slaves were not only accepted, their owners were admired and respected. Slaves lived and died at their owners’ whims.
Cira had been born a slave and yet had never been conquered.
He would have conquered her. He would have found a way to break her, even without the tools he used now. What a subject she would have been, he thought wistfully. To control a woman of that strength would have been totally exhilarating.
But Jane MacGuire was also strong. He’d read how she trapped that killer who’d been stalking her. Not many women would have risked what she had and managed to pull it off.
He’d been intrigued and his imagination had been sparked by the resemblance to Cira. Lately he’d been fantasizing about how he was going to interrogate her. Only, Jane MacGuire kept blending together with Cira in his mind.
He smiled in sudden amusement as a thought struck him. What better way to dredge her mind and memory than to make her think she was Cira? He must consider that possibility more carefully. . . .
13
What are you thinking about, Jock?” Jane’s pencil flew over the sketch pad. “You’re a million miles away.”
“I was wondering if you were angry with me,” Jock said soberly. “The laird is angry. He said I shouldn’t have tried to protect him from that Mario this morning.”
“He’s right. Mario was doing nothing wrong and you can’t just go around killing people.” Good God, how simplistic that sounded. “If MacDuff hadn’t stopped you, you’d have done something terrible.”
“I know that—sometimes.” Jock frowned. “When I think about it. But when I get worried, I can’t think, I just do it.”
“And you worry about MacDuff.” She looked down at the sketch. “What else do you worry about?”
He shook his head and didn’t answer.
Don’t push him. She sketched in silence for a few minutes. “Mario is very sad. It wasn’t MacDuff he wanted to hurt.”
“That’s what the laird told me. He wants to punish the man who works with—” The last name came out with difficulty. “Reilly.”
“Yes. And Reilly too. That should please you. Don’t you want Reilly punished?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about him. Not to anyone.”
A fragment of that damn brainwashing was obviously still in place. “You’re supposed to do anything you want to do.”
A sudden smile indented his lips. “Except kill Mario.”
Good God, a flash of bitter humor. For an instant as she met his eyes there was nothing childlike about him. “Except kill anyone innocent of wrongdoing. But no should be able to control your mind or free speech.”
“Reilly.” Again he struggled to get the name out. “Reilly does.”
“Then you have to stop him.”
He shook his head.
“Why not? You have to hate him.”
He looked at her.
“Don’t you?”
“Not allowed.”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes. “Sometimes. Hard. Hurts.