Jeffery Deaver - Watchlist

For the third time, Tesla snapped a flame from the lighter and positioned the blackened tip of the silver letter opener over it. A slither of smoke curled from the blade-not from the char of the silver, but from the sear of the tiny bits of flesh that clung to it.

As she reached toward Jana’s face, a memory flicked into her head. The beach at Cap d’Antibes. Harold questioning Balan in the same manner he questioned all suspects, no matter how vile their crimes.

Respectful, measured interrogation. There was no point in abusing prisoners, he said. It was counterproductive.

Tesla pushed Harold’s face and words from her mind. That was him, not her.

Tesla held the letter opener in front of Jana’s face. The woman’s eyes filled with defiant tears. Her dark hair was matted with blood from the gash inflicted when Tesla hit her with the chair. And her lip was swollen from Tesla’s fists. Nothing had made her even flinch. Until Tesla had brushed the red-hot metal of the letter opener against the smooth olive skin of Jana’s finely sculpted cheekbone.

Vanity. That was the key to unlock this woman’s tongue.

“Why are you trying to kill Charley Middleton?” Tesla demanded.

Jana shut her eyes.

“Who are you working with?”

Jana pressed back against the wall, trying to get away from the letter opener.

Tesla warmed its tip again, holding it to the flame until it glowed red. Then she pressed it against Jana’s cheek.

Jana jerked to the side and screamed.

As Jana slid to the carpet, a cell phone fell from the pocket of her trench coat. Tesla saw the woman’s eyes skitter to it. She snatched it up and tossed it out of reach.

“Who are you working for?” Tesla demanded.

“I never tell you,” Jana whispered in English through gritted teeth. “I never betray him.”

“Betray who? The Scorpion? Your father? He’s dead.”

“Dead,” Jana whispered. “You to be dead soon.” She looked to Charley. “Her too.”

Tesla pressed the letter opener to Jana’s cheek again. She screamed again as the smell of burning flesh filled the room.

“Stop!” Charley Middleton screamed.

Tesla’s eyes spun.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Charley had wedged herself in a corner, covering her mouth with one hand. The gun dangled from the other.

“Charley,” Tesla said evenly.

But she wasn’t listening. She was sobbing now. Tesla stared at her, debating whether to go to her or make her leave the room. But the bullet wound in her own shoulder was throbbing and even with Jana bound and weakened, she didn’t trust herself to handle things alone right now.

And she had promised Harold she would keep Charley safe. That was the last thing he had asked of her as they parted in London. He told her of his plan to get into Russia and when she insisted on going with him, he had asked her to meet Charley in Paris instead.

Nora, I can’t lose her.

Late that night, as Tesla had lain curled against his sweating chest, the sheets damp with their lovemaking, she had felt a rawness, a sadness, in Harold Middleton she had never felt before. His guilt was palpable over putting his beloved daughter in jeopardy over what he called “this quixotic crusade.” In the dark, she had held him and promised to protect her.

“Poor little Charlotte.”

At the sound of Jana’s voice, Tesla’s eyes swung back to the dark-eyed woman pressed against the wall.

“Shut up!” Tesla hissed.

Jana managed a swollen smirk. In French she said, “The daughter does not have the courage of the father.”

“I said shut up!” Tesla swung and hit Jana hard with the back of her hand. The cut on Jana’s lip ripped open, spraying blood on the wall.

“Stop it!” Charley cried. “No more, Nora, please!”

Tesla stared at her. What was this? Where was this coming from? For the last fifteen minutes, as Tesla had interrogated Jana, Charley had been quiet. Even as Jana’s moans of pain had grown deeper, Charley had not moved, not made a sound. Now, suddenly, she was coming apart.

“No more, Nora,” she whispered. “Please. Please. I can’t take this. I can’t do this anymore.”

Suddenly, Tesla knew. For all her bravado, Charley had never witnessed anything like this-the interrogation and torture of another human being. A woman, no less. Despite Harold’s willingness to let Charley play around the periphery of the Volunteers, he had never brought her into the violence of its world. Charley Middleton had hacked computers, done research. Her reality was virtual. Her hands were clean.

But her own past was clouded with violence. The brutal murder of her mother by her father’s enemies. The betrayal and death of her husband. The loss of her baby.

Another thought flashed through Tesla’s head. Yesterday, in a café, Charley let her guard down long enough to talk about her mother’s death and what she said after. I know you and Harry were lovers and I used to hate you for that but I don’t now. I admire you, Nora.

And second flash of memory. The threat she had made to Ian Barrett-Bone yesterday in the taxi as Charley listened: I’ll kill you for the sheer pleasure of it.

Charley’s sobs filled Tesla’s ears. She glanced back at Jana, whose dark eyes glittered with hatred.

“Poor little Charlotte,” Jana said, her voice almost maternal. “Death is around you. Mother, husband. Your baby cut from your-”

Tesla spun and smacked Jana hard, sending the woman into a spasm of coughing and spitting blood.

A soft thud. From the corner of her eyes, Tesla saw Charley slump to the carpet.

One second of diversion but it was enough. Jana brought her bound wrists up in a quick jerk, catching Tesla under the jaw and sending her reeling backwards. The letter opener went flying.

A second blow hit Tesla in her wounded shoulder. White knives of pain sliced through her body. For a second, the room swirled gray-going-black and she felt herself drop down to her knees.

Jana was just a blur, flailing and pulling against the electrical cord on her ankles.

Tesla fought back the waves of pain and nausea, one thought in her head. Gun… get the gun.

Tesla threw herself toward Charley’s body. The dark barrel of the gun was just visible beneath the blue of Charley’s running suit. Tesla grabbed the Hawlen, jerked to a kneeling position and leveled it, finger curled on the trigger.

She blinked the room back into focus.

Nothing. Just a flash of black boots and white trench coat disappearing behind the open door of the hotel room.

Jana stumbled down the stairs but when she hit the hotel lobby, she froze. A large man in a green windbreaker and ball cap was standing at the desk. His face was red and he was banging the bell on the desk.

“Hello? Hey, anybody here?”

From her vantage point, Jana could see the shoes of the dead clerk behind the desk but the American could not. A commotion at the door as a fat woman tried to drag a huge suitcase through. Beyond the window, Jana could see the open trunk of a taxi and the driver, letting loose a stream of crusty French as he pulled out more luggage.

The taxi was double-parked, blocking her limo. And there was no one behind the wheel.

Where the hell was her driver?

Then she spotted the Moroccan across the street buying cigarettes at a tabac. Jana cursed as she gently touched a finger to her seared cheek.

A sound behind her on the stairs. The bitch was after her. There was no time.

She bolted down the narrow hallway to the back. The tiny kitchen was a blur as she threw open the door and stumbled out into the cold morning air. A quick look told her she was in an impasse with one exit.

No choice. She would have to take her chances on the street. Jana began to run.