Quinn - Iris Johansen [111]
“Be polite.” Gallo got out of the car. “I’ve never told you exactly what those bastards did to me in that prison, but I’m tempted to show you.” He opened the rear door and pulled Jacobs out. “I have a number of questions to ask you. If you answer, you may live.”
“We can make a deal.” Jacobs moistened his lips. “Let me go. What do you care about me? It was Queen who caused all your problems. Look, I have all kinds of contacts. I know every important drug dealer in the Middle East. You may have money, but I can make you richer.”
“We’ll talk about it.” Gallo pushed him toward the front door. “The key is supposed to be in a lockbox under the fourth windowsill, Catherine.” He glanced at her and saw that she hadn’t moved. “Catherine?”
Her head was lifted as she gazed out at the fog-shrouded bayou.
“Catherine,” he repeated.
She shook her head as if to clear it. “It’s … eerie here. For a minute I thought—” She turned away and moved quickly toward the house. “Fourth window.” She retrieved the key and opened the front door. “Pretty obvious. It’s a wonder that the place hasn’t been burgled or trashed.”
“It’s fairly isolated.” He pushed Jacobs ahead of him. “I’ll take him to a bedroom and secure him. Then we’ll let him be alone for a while to anticipate.” He added softly, “That was one of the techniques I became very familiar with while I was in prison. It always heightened the pain to have to look forward to it first for a time.”
“You won’t have to hurt me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Jacobs said. “But you have to remember, Queen was always the one who called the shots.”
“That’s hard for me to remember.” Gallo was pushing him up the stairs. “Isn’t a silent partner just as guilty? The only difference is the lack of guts in execution.”
Catherine stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched until they disappeared around the landing.
Gallo was furious. She shivered as she remembered his expression as he had taken Jacobs upstairs. His lips had been set, his eyes glittering and reckless. She had been looking upon the capture and questioning of Jacobs as a job, a project. She had forgotten all that Gallo had suffered at Jacobs’s hands. Jacobs might be backpedaling and trying to absolve himself, but he was as guilty as his partner. Considering all that Gallo had suffered, it might be hard for her to defuse that rage.
And did she want to do it? She was beginning to be angry as well. Gallo had not deserved the atrocities he had experienced. Someone should pay.
But the reason they were here wasn’t so that Gallo could get his revenge.
She turned away and looked around the living room. Flowered wallpaper, an ornate wood fireplace, and furniture draped in sheets. The house had obviously not been rented in a long time. She went over to the window and gazed out at the bayou.
Fog. Moss draped trees. Shadows.
She tensed. Shadows. Of course, there were shadows. It was foggy as hell out there. Nothing was clear or defined.
“I tied him spread-eagled on that big four-poster bed in the master bedroom.” Gallo was coming back down the stairs. “Nothing makes you feel more vulnerable than being in that position. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“And you’d hate to be vulnerable.” Her gaze was still fixed on the bayou. “But now you have a chance to get your own back.”
“I thought that was bothering you.” He was suddenly standing behind her at the window. “You’re afraid of what I’m going to do to him.”
“Not afraid. I can understand. When I killed the man who kidnapped my son, I wanted the pain to last forever. But how you feel could get in the way.”
“I won’t let it. But not because I’m getting soft and mushy about the possibility of making him hurt. I’d relish it. But you’re in this with me now, and it’s disturbing you. He’s right about one thing, he was never a prime player in any of this. If I find he has nothing to do with Bonnie’s death, I suppose I can tolerate having him tossed into a federal prison for the rest of his life.”
She turned to look at him. “I’m surprised.