Page 93 of Lure

Did I? That was a fair question. I put the glass down and reclaimed my fork to move some of the food around on the plate.

“Yes,” I answered, without looking at any of them. I didn’t want to see rough sympathy or doubt in their gazes. Honestly, I didn’t want the encouragement right now. “I am assuming questioning will involve some kind of torture. Not sure I’m one hundred percent comfortable with that, but I’m not opposed to it either.”

“You don’t have to stay for that part,” Voodoo offered.

“Yes, I do,” I countered as I cut a tomato slice into quarters. “You’re questioning him about me and about Amorette. I want to be there for his answers.”

All of them.

“We won’t keep anything from you,” Lunchbox offered, and I glanced from Voodoo to him to Alphabet. All three of them were reaching out in their own ways.

Weirdly though, it was the absolute lack of anything resembling sympathy or objection in Bones’ flat-eyed gaze that boosted me. “I know,” I said, speaking directly to him. “But this is about me, I should be there. For one, I’ve dealt with him before. For another, I’m the one he was offering so much money to see.”

If he had anything to do with Eleanor’s death, then I wanted to know.

“I have to know.” That was what it came down to.

“Then get some sleep tonight,” Bones told me. “Dawn will come early.”

Chapter

Thirty-Four

BONES

Grace Black was in the kitchen drinking coffee when I entered. Dawn ribboned across the eastern sky and the whole team was up and present, save for Alphabet who was out with Goblin but would return shortly.

Five hours of sleep was usually enough for me. Today was no different, except Ifeltlike I was on edge, sleep deprived, and tense. All three of my men were in different stages of a decaying orbit as they fell in toward Grace.

The model didn’t seem to have to do anything but exist to be a colossal distraction. Whether she was in shorts and a tank top, or an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, she stood out against the rest of us.

Far too damn delicate, fragile, and small. I doubted she’d ever held a weapon or had a self-defense class. The image of her wounded eyes when we’d first begun placing or helping the former captives return to their own homes left an indelible impression.

No doubt existed within me that she had been hurt, likely raped. The attempts of a few to reacquire her had kept her in our custody. Taking her to base, however, had been my choice.

That was a command decision I had to live with, and I would. At the sound of the door opening, I downed the last of my coffee. “Ten minutes. Then we get started. Make sure Miss Black has something to cover her mouth and nose.”

After rinsing the cup and leaving it next to the sink, I went to retrieve my gear. Every interrogation was different. Enhanced methods might get answers, but they didn’t always get accurate ones or even particularly truthful ones.

A person would say just about anything to avoid pain—especially after they were in tremendous amounts of it. Pain could be compartmentalized, but survival could overcome resistance. You just had to know what you were willing to suffer.

Interrogation should be tailored to the subject. It really wasn’t one size fits all, as most things in life weren’t. I’d spent the past week learning about Maurizio Gallo from his likes and dislikes to his personal preferences, history, and habits.

More, I’d learned about his family. An abusive, authoritarian father and an emotionally aloof and distant mother fostered poor self-esteem in young Maurizio, along with a difficulty in regulating his emotions.

He struggled in school, his father’s wealth often buying his son out of trouble. Based on observed behaviors and three ex-wives, Gallo struggled in social situations unless he was totally in control.

While there were no reports of physical abuse where his previous spouses were concerned, all three detailed his emotional unavailability and hostile home environments. With his wealth, he could pay off his ex-spouses and detractors, essentially “erasing” their complaints.

The combination of traits and historical behavior made him the ideal candidate for human trafficking. He preferred to pay for his companionship, to own it, to detail what they could do, think, and feel. When he tired of them, he discarded them like a used-up toy.

Spoiled. Vain. Damaged.

This was the man who wanted to purchase Grace Black’s presence and time. The amount suggested he wanted far more and he was willing to pay any cost. He was involved in the labyrinthine conspiracy surrounding her kidnapping and the disappearance of her sister.

How involved?

I opened the door to the wine cellar, flipped on the light switch to flood the darkness, and then descended the steps. The others were behind me. Maurizio Gallo squinted painfully against the sudden brightness.

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