Page 139 of Lethal Torture

“We take the party somewhere more private.” I give the group of men a dark smile. “I’m sure you all remember how difficult Major Welch made torture week during selection, and how much he seemed to enjoy it.”

Their eyes begin to gleam.

“Well,” I say, dragging the major’s unconscious body toward Paddy’s car, “we’re about to find out just how well our old instructor here puts his own lessons into practice.”

32

ZINAIDA

“Are you going to answer that?”Charlie looks from my vibrating phone to me.

“If it’s important, they’ll call back.” I avoid her eyes, standing with my arms out while Lily tacks material around my body.

“It’s Luke.” Charlie folds her arms and gives me a rather belligerent look. “And hehascalled back. Several times today.”

When I don’t answer, she rolls her eyes. “This isLuke.He wouldn’t keep calling if it wasn’t important.”

As if to punctuate her remark, her own phone suddenly starts blaring the theme music fromThe Fly, the ringtone she uses for Luke in honor of their first movie-line exchange. That seems like years ago, though in reality it was barely two months ago.

“McTasty,” she greets him. Then she frowns. “What the fuck?” she says blankly. Then, quickly switching to all business, “Yes. She’s still here; I’ll let her know. Hang on, I’ll ask.” She turns to me. “Luke wants to know if he’s clear to use one of the basement rooms at the Quartier. I take it he’s questioningsomeone who may need some... persuasion.” She holds the phone out to me pointedly.

“There’s no need for him to ask permission.” Ignoring the proffered phone, I lift a shoulder, trying not to let my fierce surge of interest show. “Luke’s free to use any of the rooms as he chooses.”

Charlie continues to hold the phone out toward me, and I continue to pretend I don’t see it.

“Christ.” Luke’s voice crackles down the line, his frustration palpable. “I know you’re listening, Zin. If you won’t talk to me, then at least check your emails. And call Mak, okay? You need to be in the loop on this.” He ends the call without waiting for an answer.

I look up to find Charlie watching me with a reproachful expression. I stare coldly back.

“There’s no point giving me your death stare,” she says, entirely unmoved. “I’ve seen it all before. Why are you being so mean to McTasty?”

Lily the dressmaker almost spits out the pins in her mouth as she holds back a laugh. I glare at her, then turn my frown back to Charlie. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes. “The fuck you don’t. But whatever.” She throws up her hands and stomps toward the door. “I’ll wait in the car. Make sure you call Mak,” she says, pointing her phone warningly at me before she leaves. “Whatever is going on, it’s clearly serious.”

I barely wait until the door closes behind her before I snatch up my phone and hit Mak’s number, ignoring Lily’s small smile. She danced at the Quartier for years and remains close friends with Nadja and Charlie, which means she knows enough gossip to make me distinctly uncomfortable.

Mak answers on the first ring. “Zinaida.”

It doesn’t escape me that his greeting is significantly cooler than normal.

“I understand you have an update for me.” I match his tone.

“Lukehas an update for you,” Mak says coolly. “One I’m certain, having worked with the man for years, he’s attempted multiple times to deliver in person.”

I clench the phone in frustration. “Just give me the update, Mak.”

“You know,” he says conversationally, “it would serve you right if I refused. I won’t, but only because Luke called earlier to warn me that his phone would be off tonight and to instruct me that if you called, I should fill you in.”

“Wait.” I frown. “What do you mean, he said his phone would be off? He just called asking to use one of the basement rooms for an interrogation, so he’s clearly still working.”

“If he’s already called, then why are you ringing me?” Mak asks bluntly.

I grimace, aware I’ve just messed up. “He rang Charlie,” I say tightly. “She passed on a message. What’s he doing? Why does he need one of the basement rooms?”

“Zinaida.” His tone implies he’s exercising considerable restraint. “I run an organization specializing in high-risk intelligence operations and private security, not a fucking high school messaging service. If you want an update, check your emails. Luke has sent you the same summary he’s sent me. And if you want to know what is going on in your own club, then I suggest you return the calls of the highly competent professional I hired to solve your problem, rather than interrupt the first decent martini I’ve enjoyed in a fortnight. I’ll see you at the ball.”

The line goes dead in my ear.