It would be one hell of a file. I would go as far as saying pretty damn impressive and maybe just a bit entertaining. A smug smile lifted my lips when his shoulders relaxed and he rolled his eyes. My smile turned into a grin. It was the fourth time I’d managed to get an eye-roll out of him. I was keeping score.
The snort from my left had my own eyes rolling. Kent. I swore she managed to get a read on everything and was everywhere. She didn’t miss a thing. “What?” I flicked my gaze to her.
She shrugged and pressed her lips together, then shook her head. “Nothing.”
I gave her a pointed stare.
“What?” Her brows lifted. “I just read something that was funny is all.”
I wouldn’t ask. Not interested. Nope.
“What did you read?” I whipped my head to look at Thatch, whose question took me by surprise. His eyes were on me, and a small smile now played on his lips. The arse.
“Well—”
I huffed. “I’ll go deal with this and leave—”
“Do you want ABBA?”
Kent’s voice stopped me in my tracks. I spun on my heel, eyes narrowed. The sound of grinding teeth echoed in my head. While my gaze remained on Kent, I noticed Thatch wince as his body angled just slightly. We hadn’t known each other that long, but after living, working, eating—everything except the one thing I knew we shouldn’t be doing but I really wanted to do—together, I could read his tells, gestures, could even begin to determine the subtle changes in his breathing. The one he’d just made meant he was fully focussed on my and Kent’s exchange.
Curious, yes, but he wasn’t alert.
I released my jaw and ignored the crack that came with it. “No.” Perhaps I should have said thanks to eliminate the suspicion that would grow from me being so abrupt. But this was Kent. She was a bitch of the best kind. Mostly. Instead of engaging, I turned and fled. Hand on the door, I cursed as soon as Thatch’s question came.
“ABBA? Do I want to know?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Kent and I answered simultaneously.
“O-kay.” He released the word slowly. There was no way he was letting this go, and I was surprised as hell that Kent knew but he didn’t. Kent had baited that damn hook. And I hated being a worm. Detested it in fact. There was nothing bloody wormlike about me.
“Why are you talking about worms?”
I scrunched up my face, back still to both of them. Thank God. “Nothing.” Okay, so I may have grumbled my frustration using my fishing metaphor, but I did not want to think about ABBA. Surely there was a rule or something about what happened in the interrogation room stayed in the interrogation room. Right? If not, it should be a thing. I had no drama going all Brad Pitt on anyone who couldn’t follow the rules.
It helped that Brad looked smoking hot doing so. I was sure I could pull it off.
“You want me to get answers from Cartwright or what?” My tone was snippier than intended. I threw Kent an “I’ll get you back for this” stare. She flipped me off immediately. I then turned my attention to Thatch, my features softening along with my tone when I said, “I’ll get it out of him.” There was no way Cartwright was leaving this facility until we had what we needed. Thatch above all others knew that.
His piercing gaze searched my own, and he nodded.
“Thank you.” I lifted my lips slightly in an apologetic smile.
“No worries.” Thatch tilted his chin towards the door. “We’ll be watching.”
I bobbed my head and clasped the door handle.
“You can tell me about ABBA tonight.” His parting words drifted after me as I pulled the door behind me securely. Son of a witch.
TORTURE WAS A FUNNY THING… unless you were the one strapped down being tormented by the one person who would do everything in their power to get the truth and the information they wanted. Torture by such brutal methods of hanging genitals, flaying, and waterboarding was a thing of the past. Despite some of the bloodthirsty ways of many of the supernaturals in our world, abusing prisoners was not the way we did things at the SCIB. Though, I was sure if I offered one of those alternatives to Cartwright, he might have asked for a switch.
Honestly, my method of interrogation was brilliant in its simplicity. While the ABBA jibe may have stung a little, and perhaps had brought with it a level of embarrassment, after two hours with Cartwright and his words finally pouring out, I was prepared to take ownership of my brilliance… ABBA or not.
I was a certifiable genius. Anyone who didn’t think so could screw right off.
I hadn’t known what blennophobia was until a few days ago. It was amazing the random information I latched onto when investigating, but it was that one word buried in one of the encrypted files in Cartwright’s private document that had stood out to me. Not long after its discovery, I’d asked a bemused Michaels to head out and grab as much slime from Target as possible and a bunch of facial tissues too.
Yeah, Cartwright, for all his sadistic testing and researching, had a very real aversion to slime and snot and anything phlegm-related, it seemed.
Go figure.
I looked smugly at the camera as Cartwright gave me the location of a third research test facility. After straightening my features and pulling myself back from smugdom, I faced Cartwright. While feeling a tad arrogant
