The In-Between Years by AB Plum

Author:AB Plum [Plum, AB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, serial killer, psychological thriller, mystery, suspense, crime, murder, psychopath, kidnapping
Publisher: AB Plum
Published: 2017-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Discovering Who Holds the Advantage

Dismissed from the breakfast table, Dimitri went to his room to dress in “polo whites” per my father’s orders. I remained at the table, my back flagpole-stiff, facial muscles as fixed as those of the nearby statues.

Far sipped another cup of coffee laced liberally with cream and broke open a fresh medialunas. He laid the pastry on his plate. With his index finger, he nudged the plate with the four remaining sweet crescents closer to me. The fragrance of sweet butter and sugar raised a memory of Emma’s kringles.

My mouth watered. I focused on my father chewing his medialunas and forced thoughts of Denmark to the back of my mind. Say nothing. Make him explain.

The tip of my nose twitched, but I refused to scratch the itch.

Did he have any idea I’d prefer company with a saint than with him? Did he think I was a child? That sweets would bring me to my knees? That—if we sat in front of the pastries long enough—I’d capitulate? Or break down because I wanted to return to Copenhagen—where, despite my kidnapping—I felt safe?

He refilled his coffee cup, pouring in more cream than the bitter, black brew I disliked. Blood pooled in my feet. My toes lost all sensation. I readjusted my hips and fought the desire to rub my thighs. The bottom of the chair dug into my ischial tuberosity like a medieval instrument of torture.

Unwilling to appear fidgety—a behavior Far had never tolerated in Dimitri and me—I shifted my pelvis. The itch on my nose intensified. My fingertips tingled relentlessly.

Concentrate.

“Pouting does not become you, Michael.” Far wiped his fingertips on the napkin.

Acid dripped into my gut. “Why would I pout?”

“I can state the obvious. Which is boring. Or I can be subtle. Which isn’t helpful. Or I can say hormones and arrogance.”

I pressed my spine into the chair and enjoyed the stab of pain. Where did he learn about hormones?

He chuckled. “You imagine I know nothing about hormones.”

“I—”

“Forget lying. I came into the world a liar. I’ve out lied world-class liars. You fall far short of their league.” He paused, adding, “You’re an open book.”

So open you don’t know I killed your favorite son. Laughter rumbled in my belly.

“You will, however, learn to lie with the best of liars. I will teach you. Which means you’ll never be able to deceive me.”

“Sounds interesting.” I tore a corner off one of the medialunas and laid it on my tongue.

“As long as you do what I say. Defy me, and … do I need to say more?”

The pastry burned my mouth like a blowtorch, adding heat to my reply. “I understand.” Someday, so will you.

He shrugged. “We shall see. In the meantime …”

Abruptly he rose from the table. No further mention of my hormones and arrogance. He led me from the conservatory, through a bewildering labyrinth of poorly lit corridors with circles and curves leading nowhere except deeper into gloom. My heart pounded in my ears.

Dammit, I despised admitting I’d never find my way back to the foyer alone.

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