Page 68 of Shadow Waltz
The question was direct enough to be insulting and vague enough to be legally meaningless. Standard interrogation technique—start with an accusation disguised as a question and see how the subject responded.
“I'm in the hospitality industry,” I replied calmly. “Providing entertainment and companionship services to discerningclients. All perfectly legal, as I'm sure your extensive investigation has confirmed.”
“Legal is a generous interpretation,” Reddick said, pulling out a tablet and swiping through files that probably contained every scrap of intelligence he'd managed to gather about my operations. “But you're right that we haven't found enough evidence to pursue charges. Yet.”
The 'yet' carried weight, suggesting that this conversation was more than fishing expedition. Reddick had something concrete, or thought he did, and was testing whether I knew what he knew.
“Is there something specific you'd like to discuss, Detective? I'm a busy man, and my lawyers charge by the minute for consultations like this.”
Reddick set the tablet aside and focused his full attention on me, and I could see why he'd been effective enough to cause problems for my organization. There was intelligence behind those dark eyes, the kind of systematic thinking that could piece together patterns others missed.
“I want to talk about Ashford Carter,” he said, and the use of Ash's full name made something cold and dangerous unfurl in my chest.
I kept my expression perfectly neutral, but Reddick was watching for micro-expressions, cataloguing every tell that might confirm his suspicions. “Should that name mean something to me?”
“Twenty-five years old, blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, distinctive scar through his left eyebrow,” Reddick continued, consulting his notes with practiced efficiency. “Last seen entering your building a couple of days ago. Hasn't been seen since.”
The fact that he had surveillance footage of Ash's arrival meant he'd been watching my building longer than I'd realized, probably with resources that extended beyond typical policeoperations. Federal backing, most likely, or interdepartmental cooperation that suggested someone higher up the food chain had taken interest in my activities.
“I host many guests,” I said. “Some prefer their privacy. Surely you understand the concept of discretion.”
“I understand the concept of kidnapping,” Reddick replied bluntly. “And I understand that Mr. Carter has a history of disappearing into systems like yours and emerging significantly worse for wear.”
He knew about Ash's previous owners, which meant he'd done his homework thoroughly. The question was whether he was here as a cop trying to build a case or as something else entirely.
“You seem remarkably well-informed about this individual's history,” I observed. “One might wonder why a New York detective is so interested in someone with no obvious local connections.”
Reddick's smile was grim enough to suggest personal investment rather than professional obligation. “Let's just say I have a personal interest in people who exploit vulnerable individuals for profit.”
Personal interest. That changed the dynamic considerably, because personal meant unpredictable, meant someone who might be willing to bend rules or take risks that purely professional investigators would avoid.
“And what exactly are you proposing to do about this personal interest?” I asked.
“That depends on whether Mr. Carter is here voluntarily or under duress,” Reddick said, leaning back in his chair. “Because if it's the latter, I'm prepared to make this a federal case.”
The threat was clear but not immediately actionable. Reddick was fishing, hoping I'd give him something concrete enough to justify the federal involvement he was threatening. But he wasalso revealing his hand—he didn't have enough evidence to move forward without my cooperation or a significant mistake on my part.
“Hypothetically speaking,” I said, letting amusement color my voice, “what would voluntary look like in your estimation?”
“A conversation with Mr. Carter. Alone. Uncoerced. Where he can confirm his status and make any decisions about his future with full knowledge of his options.”
It was a reasonable request presented in a way that made refusal seem unreasonable, but I could see the trap hidden beneath the diplomatic language. Once Reddick had access to Ash, he'd do everything possible to convince him to leave, probably with promises of witness protection and fresh starts that sounded appealing until reality set in.
“And if this hypothetical conversation revealed that the individual in question was exactly where he wanted to be?”
“Then I'd have to respect his choice,” Reddick said, but something in his tone suggested he found that outcome unlikely. “But I'd also want assurance that the choice was being made freely, without coercion or manipulation.”
The careful phrasing revealed exactly what Reddick thought about my relationship with Ash—that it was built on force rather than choice, that Ash was a victim rather than a willing participant. He wasn't entirely wrong, but he also didn't understand the complexity of what had developed between us.
“Detective,” I said, leaning forward with the kind of intensity that made grown men reconsider their life choices, “are you familiar with the concept of Stockholm syndrome?”
Reddick's expression darkened, but he didn't back down. “Are you admitting to kidnapping?”
“I'm acknowledging that human psychology is complicated,” I replied. “That people sometimes choose situations that outside observers find difficult to understand. That the line betweencoercion and preference isn't always as clear as law enforcement would like it to be.”
“Philosophical discussions aside,” Reddick said, pulling out a business card and sliding it across the table, “I'm offering Mr. Carter a choice. A real choice, with genuine alternatives and federal protection if he wants it.”
I picked up the card without looking at it, feeling the weight of what Reddick was offering. Not just to Ash, but to me—the opportunity to prove that what we had was built on something more substantial than force and fear.