The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [682]
“Are you sure, Becca? You don’t have to.”
She glanced toward her father, who was standing behind a chair, looking at her intently. She didn’t know that very handsome man with all those expressions on his face that she didn’t understand, but then, she realized that she did know him; on a very deep level, she knew him quite well. It was a very strange feeling. “Yes, sir”—her voice was steady—“I’m sure.”
“All right, then,” Agent Cobb said, looking directly at her. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. I don’t go for the couch thing. I prefer the traditional face-to-face method.
“Now, there are also many different ways to hypnotize someone. I use the fixation object method.” He pulled a shiny pocket watch out of his vest pocket. For a moment he looked embarrassed, then shrugged. “It belonged to my grandfather. I’ve always worn it, just discovered a couple of years ago that it was the perfect object for me to use to relax people. Now, I want you to sit back and look at this watch, Becca. Just listen to the sound of my voice.” He started talking, nonsense really, his voice low and smooth and never rising, never falling, always the same. She stared at the watch that was swinging gently back and forth, back and forth. “You will find that your eyelids have a tendency to get heavy,” he said in that singsong soft voice. “That’s right, just look at the watch. See how it’s moving so slowly right before your eyes?”
Agent Cobb continued reciting a familiar litany to everyone in the room. His voice stayed low and smooth and very intimate. That damned watch kept swinging back and forth, shiny, gold, swinging. Adam had to shake his head and look away. He was getting drawn under.
Five minutes later, Becca was still staring at the shiny gold pocket watch, listening to Agent Cobb’s voice telling her about how her eyes were going to close now, how she felt good, and comfortable, how she could just let herself drift. But she didn’t. She tried desperately to relax, to get with the program, but she couldn’t. All she could see was Sam, that sweet little boy, holding out his arms to her, smiling but hardly ever saying anything. Krimakov had him. He would kill him, kill him without hesitation, without a qualm of regret, if she didn’t do something. An innocent child, it didn’t matter to him, any more than Linda Cartwright had mattered. She had to—
Agent Cobb knew it wasn’t working, but he kept swinging the watch as he said calmly, in an easy, deep voice, “You were sound asleep, right, Becca, the night he took you?”
“Yes, I was,” she said, her voice slow, mimicking his. “I remember knowing that I wasn’t dreaming, a very good thing. Then I felt this prick in my arm and I jerked awake. It was him.”
“But you couldn’t make out his features? Could you make out anything? Surmise anything from the way he was standing, the way he held his arms? His body?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
“You’re not going under, Becca.” Scratch sighed. He lowered the beautiful gold watch, slipping it easily back into his vest pocket. “I don’t know why it’s not working. Usually someone very intelligent, very creative, like you are, goes under right away. But you didn’t.”
She knew why. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell anyone.
He said in that same easy voice, hitting it right on target, “Something’s holding you back. Perhaps you know what it is?” When she didn’t say anything, he looked over at Thomas Matlock. “No go. For whatever reason.”
Tellie Hawley nodded. “Okay, then, we ask questions and you answer as best you can.”
She nodded and