I felt a light flush creep over my skin, a subtle reminder that I was still a living, breathing human.
“No.”
“What’s with that ring?”
I was almost surprised to see it still on my finger.
“Nothing. It’s just something I found.”
It was the ring Chase had stolen for me from the Loftons’. When we’d been pretending to be married. A lot of things had been pretend with him.
Because Tucker was watching, I didn’t take it off, but it suddenly felt much too tight. His expression returned to the normal haughtiness.
“I talked to my commanding officer. You’re sleeping up here until your trial.”
I’d figured as much but still shuddered. Who would still be alive in the morning?
“I saw the result of one of your trials today,” I said accusingly.
I remembered how the soldier’s face had become Chase’s face, right before my eyes. I wondered, for a fraction of a moment, if Chase felt that same sick terror whenever I’d mentioned my mother. If the fear cut fresh with each recall. But then the feeling was gone, clouded by betrayal.
“And?” Tucker said. As though an execution were nothing. “The quickest way to stomp insubordination is to strike fast and sure.”
No doubt an officer had fed him that line. The hint of pride in his voice sickened me so much I almost walked out, but then I thought of Wallace and the resistance. Of Rebecca, maybe still here, in this building, and I knew I needed to stay.
“You give them a pill or something?”
“A shot. Strychnine. They can’t breathe. Their muscles seize up and go into convulsions. And then they die. It’s quick.” I almost thought he was trying to comfort me with his last words, but there was no inflection in his voice.
“You do that to the girls, too? The strychnine?” I tried to look frightened, but I wasn’t. I was less averse to dying than before, and Tucker Morris didn’t scare me. He was weak. He needed the MM. He needed something to believe in, since it was probably too depressing to believe in himself.
“Sometimes.” I knew he was thinking of my mother. I hated him for having her in his mind in any capacity.
“Do you know if they executed a girl named Rebecca Lansing? She would have come from the West Virginia reformatory. Blond hair, cute…”
“Great rack.”
“I guess.” My spirits rose.
“Nope.”
“You just said—”
“I can’t give you that kind of information.” His eyes glimmered with power. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well, I’d trade it to you.”
“For what?” I asked skeptically. I became very aware of how small the office was.
“How about a kiss? We’ll see where that takes us.” He leaned back against the wall, hips jutting forward, his cast-free arm hanging loosely at his side. His face glowed with arrogance. I couldn’t believe he would want to kiss someone he knew would be dead in less than a week.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He laughed. “I bet he liked that. You playing hard to get.”
My face burned. That was too close. Too personal.
When I turned to leave the office, his free hand grabbed both of my wrists, twisting them above my head so that a jolt of pain zinged up my arms. He was fast, just as he’d been at the overhaul. I shouldn’t have underestimated him just because he’d broken his arm. He shoved me against the cabinet and pressed his body against mine. He wore superiority as if it were expensive cologne.
Rage filled me. Nobody touched me without my permission. Not anymore.
I wanted to fight him.
Sure, he was bigger and stronger than I was. He’d probably win in the end. But I could at least get a couple good shots in. Especially if I let a good mad build up.
I couldn’t believe I was thinking like this. Like Chase. I
His face was close to mine. So close I could feel his breath on my lips. His green eyes blazed with desire; such a different look than I’d known before. Chase had studied me, reading my feelings. Tucker was only trying to see his own reflection.
Disturbing on several levels.
“Back off or I’ll scream.”
I knew for a fact Tucker could not risk being seen with an inmate, one who was more or less reform-school trash. And I wasn’t about to go any further with him until I was sure he was going to make good on his end of the deal.
“Ooh,” he groaned quietly. “I didn’t think you’d talk dirty.”
“Sir?” Delilah stuck her head into the office. “Oh!” Her face reddened, and her eyes shot to the floor. In a snap, Tucker released my arms.
“What do you want?” he snarled.
“I’m sorry sir. Just going home for the night. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me on the same detail tomorrow with Ms. Miller.” She said this all in one breath, obviously ruffled. I couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed myself. I certainly did not want anyone thinking that his advance had been invited.
“Yes. Tomorrow, same thing,” Tucker said. Then he smiled slowly. “And Delilah? A little discretion if you will. I’d hate to lose you after all your hard work.”
Delilah seemed to shrink into the floor. We both knew when Tucker said
I didn’t have any more time to waste. I all but shoved past Delilah in an attempt to get out into the hallway as the guard on rotation walked by. He gave Tucker a curt nod. Tucker returned the gesture and closed the office door behind him.
Without another word, he locked me in my cell.
I COULDN’T sleep that night. I stared into the darkness and shivered. Tucker, in all his kindness, had given me a ratty old towel and a blanket. It was a power play, showing me he could permit me comfort even in this house of death. What a benevolent captor.
I’d ripped the thin towel to shreds and left the blanket untouched.
Standing on my bed I could see out the high, barred window onto the base. It was absolutely still, apart from the single security guards cutting their paths over the cement walkways. I assumed there were more civilians like Delilah working here, but they obviously still had to observe curfew. Even if I could get out now, it was suicide to try to escape at night.
I slid down the wall and pulled my knees into my chest. I blew on my wrists, which still bore red blossoms from Tucker’s earlier grip.
Without prompting, my eyes filled with tears.
“No,” I said out loud. If I let one tear come, another would join it. Another and another after that. I couldn’t afford to be weak. I had to help the resistance. I couldn’t honor my mother’s murder by meeting the same exact fate.
So I lingered on the knife’s edge, balancing between recklessness and despair.
I tried to stop the pictures, but they came anyway. The darkness set the scene, and like a movie, Chase’s memories played before my vision.
My mother in the cell. Alone, like I was now, but scared. Chase coming in, backed by Tucker Morris and other soldiers. Chase’s raised gun. Had she fought? I bet she had. Then fear, followed by compassion, and her whispered plea to protect me. His twisted understanding that he was trying to do just that by killing her. But he couldn’t kill her. His faceless CO did that. While he was forced to watch.
