Hidden Truths by Tess Gerritsen

Author:Tess Gerritsen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-03-09T15:34:55+00:00

* * *

The sun, glaring and relentless, was shining in her eyes. She tried to escape it, tried to close her lids tighter, to stop those rays from piercing through to her brain, but the light followed her.

“Wake up. Wake up!”

Icy water slapped her face. Cathy gasped awake, coughing, rivulets of water trickling from her hair. She struggled to make out the face hovering above her. At first all she saw was a dark oval against the blinding circle of light. Then the man moved away and she saw eyes like black agate, a slash of a mouth. A scream formed in her throat, to be instantly frozen by the cold barrel of a gun against her cheek.

“Not a sound,” he said. “Got that?”

In silent terror she nodded.

“Good.” The gun slid away from her cheek and was tucked under his jacket. “Sit up.”

She obeyed. Instantly the room began to spin. She sat clutching her aching head, the fear temporarily overshadowed by waves of pain and nausea. The spell lasted for only a few moments. Then, as the nausea faded, she became aware of a second man in the room, a large, broad-shouldered man she’d never before seen. He sat off in a corner, saying nothing, but watching her every move. The room itself was small and windowless. She couldn’t tell if it was day or night. The only furniture was a chair, a card table and the cot she was sitting on. The floor was a bare slab of concrete. We’re in a basement, she thought. She heard no other sounds, either outside or in the building. Were they still in Palo Alto? Or were they a hundred miles away?

The man in the chair crossed his arms and smiled. Under different circumstances, she might have considered that smile a charming one. Now it struck her as frighteningly inhuman. “She seems awake enough,” he said. “Why don’t you proceed, Mr. Savitch?”

The man called Savitch loomed over her. “Where is he?”

“Who?” she said.

Her answer was met by a ringing slap to her cheek. She sprawled backwards on the cot.

“Try again,” he said, dragging her back up to a sitting position. “Where is Victor Holland?”

“I don’t know.”

“You were with him.”

“We—we split up.”

“Why?”

She touched her mouth. The sight of blood on her fingers shocked her temporarily into silence.

“Why?”

“He—” She bowed her head. Softly she said, “He didn’t want me around.”

Savitch let out a snort. “Got tired of you pretty quick, did he?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I guess he did.”

“I don’t know why.”

She shuddered as the man ran his finger down her cheek, her throat. He stopped at the top button of her blouse. No, she thought. Not that.

To her relief, the man in the chair suddenly cut in. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Savitch turned to the other man. “You have another suggestion, Mr. Tyrone?”

“Yes. Let’s try using her in a different way.” Fearfully Cathy watched as Tyrone moved to the card table and opened a satchel. “Since we can’t go to him,” he said, “we’ll have Holland come to us.

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