“You do?”
“You look like a fun guy, Ollie.”
“A…Allen. My name’s Allen,” he said in a rush of Frito breath that made her want to recoil.
“Allen is a very sexy name.” She grabbed him by both arms and led him into the house, trying not to trip over her feet in the ridiculous shoes. “What do you say we have our own party? Just the two of us?”
She took another swig from the champagne bottle and then handed it to him. His eyes were glazed with lust, and he was hers to do with as she pleased.
“Just the two of us?” he parroted. “Is this a joke? Did Kimball put you up to this?”
“Now, Allen, you’re going to hurt my feelings.” She pouted prettily and pushed him back into one of his dining room chairs. It was made of sturdy oak and had armrests. It was exactly what she needed. “Do I look like a joke to you?”
He landed with an oomph, and his face was practically buried in her cleavage. “N…no. No joke. Our own party.”
“Do you know what my favorite game is to play at a party?” Grace asked, reaching for her bag and digging around inside. She pulled out a black scarf slowly and ran it across Standridge’s overheated flesh. He was panting like a racehorse, and Grace figured she’d better tone it down a bit before he really did keel over from a heart attack. He was incapable of speech at this point. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and his face was flushed an unhealthy shade of red.
“Have you ever been tied up, Allen?”
He shook his head no and watched, eyes mesmerized, as she tied his wrist to the arm of the chair. She took another scarf out of her bag and did the same to his other wrist.
“Do you know how hot it makes me to have someone completely at my mercy?” His breath turned into a wheeze as she knelt at his feet and tied each ankle to the chair leg. She stood up and took one final scarf from her bag. “What about you, Allen? How hot does it make you to know that I can do whatever I want to you?”
Grace trailed the scarf over his shoulder as she walked behind him. Her mouth grimaced in irritation as she pulled the scarf over his eyes and noticed his fat head almost made tying it impossible.
“I c—c—c…can’t see.” The panic was ripe in his voice, but Grace knew he couldn’t break the bonds.
“No, you can’t,” she whispered against his ear. “But everything you feel will be enhanced. Just relax, Allen. You’re in good hands. Are you ready to get started?”
“Yesss.”
Grace kicked her shoes off and went to the kitchen door where Gabe waited. He rolled his eyes at her as he slipped past her and made his way over to Allen Standridge.
“Hello? Hello?” Standridge called out. “Are you still here?”
Gabe kicked out his foot and pushed the chair over. All three hundred pounds of Allen Standridge went straight back and landed like a ton of bricks on the kitchen floor. The air went out of him with a
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Gabe said, pulling off the blindfold and smacking him a couple of times on the cheek. “Let’s have a conversation.”
“My back. I think my back is broken.” Tears streaked his face, and Grace shook her head at the pitiful sight he made. She grabbed her Sig from her bag and dug around inside for the silencer. She screwed it on slowly and went to stand on the other side of the weeping man.
“Come on, Dr. Standridge. Let’s be a big boy about this,” Gabe said.
“Who are you?” He looked back and forth between Gabe and Grace, obviously confused.
“Seriously? Are you really so dumb as to think a woman like her would want you? Damn, and I thought you were supposed to be brilliant.”
“I don’t have any money. You can look. Take whatever you want.”
“I will, thanks. Let’s talk about The Passover Project.”
Standridge’s eyes grew big and round in their sockets. The scent of fear wafted from his skin along with the urine that ran down his leg and soaked his clothes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Standridge closed his eyes, and Grace couldn’t tell what prayer he was muttering under his breath.
Gabe let his fist fly into Standridge’s stomach with a meaty thwap, and Standridge’s crying turned to all-out sobbing. Gabe grabbed the doctor’s face and held it still between his hands.
“Open your eyes and look at me,” Gabe ordered. Standridge didn’t have any choice but to obey. “You’re not a nice man, Dr. Standridge. And if you don’t tell me what I want to know, then I’m going to kill you. The world will be a better place without you. So let’s try this again. I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to answer.”
“No, I won’t talk. I’m dead either way.”
“You’re right. Looks like you’re pretty smart after all. So let’s cut the bullshit. Are The Passover Project files here or at your lab?”
Standridge stayed silent, and Grace’s estimation of the man went up a notch. Gabe was a scary son of a bitch.
“You can either die easy or die hard. The choice is up to you.” Gabe grabbed the chair by each arm and lifted it back into a sitting position. Grace appreciated the sight of muscles and the impressive show of strength. Gabe pulled the spare 9mm Ruger from his ankle holster and checked the clip. He pulled a silencer out of his jacket pocket and screwed it on. Grace moved to stand behind Gabe so she was out of the blood spatter range.
“You’ve got a lot of extra fat on you, Dr. Standridge. There are plenty of places I can shoot that won’t come near any major organs. You ever been shot?”
Standridge shook his head no, his eyes wide as he stared down the barrel of the gun.
“It hurts like a bitch. Like liquid fire is flowing in your blood and your flesh is being stabbed with a hot iron poker.”
Standridge’s pasty complexion paled even further.
“Where are the files?”
Dr. Standridge took a shaky breath and swallowed. “Most of them are at the lab. I bring what I need home with me every evening.”
“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Where do you put them once you get here?”
“Everything I have is on my desk. Just take it and leave.”
Gabe barely took the time to aim as he pulled the trigger. The smell of cordite and a blood-curdling scream filled the air. Blood welled from a tiny hole in Standridge’s right calf.
“Don’t lie to me, Doctor. I’m not a fool. There’s no way you’d take the chance of anyone discovering what you were working on. I’ll bet as soon as my associate rang your doorbell you put all of your top secret papers in a safe. Tell me where it is, or you’ll have a matching bullet in your other leg.”
Standridge leaned to the side of the chair as far as he could and vomited on the floor. His head hung down on his chest for several minutes before he answered.
“There’s a safe behind the mirror over the fireplace.”
Grace moved quickly and lifted the mirror from the wall. A thick metal door, no bigger than a foot long and wide, sat behind it.
“What’s the combination?” she asked.
“Even if you steal all of my research, you won’t be able to recreate The Passover Project,” Standridge said. “There’s not another scientist in the world who has the genius to restore it to its original form. If the price is right, I’ll finish it for you.”
The wheedling sound of his voice was getting on Grace’s nerves. She was an assassin, for God’s sake. She’d killed some of the most terrible people in the world. But here she was, stuck with a man who was a combination of Boris Karloff and Baby Huey. It was degrading.
“Nice try, doc,” Grace said. “You know as well as I do that you’re not the only one who is capable of recreating the formula. The list is short, but it still exists.”
“And we might have forgotten to mention something at first acquaintance,” Gabe said. “We’re not stealing anything from you. We’re the good guys. The Passover Project isn’t leaving this room. If you think for a second that your life is worth more than the safety of the rest of the world, then you’re completely out of your mind.”
“What’s the combination?” Grace asked again, looking at Standridge. “This is your chance to do something
