Page 26 of Sigma

A…something.

A smell.

Soap, and expensive cologne.

I inhale—it’s a good smell. Male. Clean. The fragrance is quite frankly intoxicating—spicy, a hint of something musky, a hint of sweet.

I don’t move. Barely breathe.

“You’re awake, Corinna Roth.” His voice is deep, smooth, strong. Accented. Greek?

I don’t answer.

“Are you gagged? They were supposed to gag you.”

I don’t answer. I don’t want to get Arnau in trouble.

Fingers touch my breastbone where the hood ends, slip under. Touch my lips. His fingers are smooth. Warm.

“No, they didn’t.” A sigh. “Well, no matter. If you’d caused trouble they would have told me.”

I don’t answer. What is there to say? The thousand questions I have I assume will be not answered.

“You may speak.”

I don’t.

“You must have questions.”

“W-would…” I clear my throat, start again. “Would you answer them?”

A laugh. “Not likely, no.”

I shrug. “Well then.”

“Nothing else to say?”

“Are you going to kill me?”

A pause. “No. If you cause too much trouble, perhaps. I’d rather not. You’re far more valuable to me alive.”

“Surely there are easier ways of acquiring money.”

A laugh, then. “Money? No.”

“They’re not going to negotiate with you.”

“They will.” A sense of absolute certainty.

A long pause. If I had to quantify the silence, I would say he’s thinking about something. Considering.

“Will you behave?”

“For now.”

A laugh—his laugh is sharp, predatory. Amused. “Allow me to demonstrate for you that you should amend your answer.”

Something sharp touches my thigh where my tennis skirt ends. A prick—a very,verysharp knife. It stings, burns. Drags down, a short line, splitting the top layer of skin.