Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
6
Gideon stared down at the damning evidence for what seemed like far too long. With the precision of a sniper, he placed his plate on the table between them. He reached down and very gently lifted her ankle, placing it in his lap, smoothing his palm over the beautiful art piece.
Dr. Peter Whitney had “gifted” several of his orphan girls with a tattoo from a private artist. He had placed high-tech tracking in the petals of the flowers so small they appeared to be specks of dust. That way Whitney could track the women if they escaped.
“It’s really unique, isn’t it?” Rory said. There was a soft warmth in her voice. It was clear she really liked her tattoo.
Gideon glided his palm over the leaves and berries again. “It’s one of the most beautiful pieces I’ve ever seen, Red.”
He used the pads of his fingers to stroke little caresses over the artwork, using the lightest of touches. He knew what he was looking for. The chips had been cutting-edge. Flat. So flat Whitney had been certain they would never be discovered. They were part of the tattoo itself. Part of the intricate design.
There they were. Silently, he swore over and over. Was she a spy sent out by Whitney? If she was, why would she show him her tattoo? Why would she risk it? Whitney was aware the GhostWalkers—and the women who had escaped him—knew of the chips he’d put in them, along with the viruses. Rory’s history didn’t make sense if she was a spy. Javier had checked on her repeatedly. She had been to every single place he’d uncovered. She seemed to be an open book. Would Whitney have a spy waiting in the wings to put in play after a few years? Did that even make sense? Nothing about Rory made sense.
“What’s the name of the tattoo artist? Where did you get it?” He ran his thumb over the incredible art one more time before releasing her ankle. “If I’m ever in the vicinity, I want to visit the shop.”
She reached down and rubbed her hand over the art piece, paying particular attention to the cherries. “I can never remember his name. It’s so strange because I never forget anything. I really don’t. Not the slightest detail, but when I try to remember him and his shop, I can’t. I’ve tried before when friends have asked me where I got it.”
Rory sounded genuinely puzzled. “You have no idea how much that bothers me. It’s a small thing, but because I use an inhaler and a nebulizer, I sometimes wonder if I don’t get enough oxygen to my brain.”
He couldn’t help the smile that slipped out.
“Don’t laugh. I’m being serious, Gideon. I don’t forget things. I just don’t. A customer can come into the bar where I work and talk to me about his family. He won’t come in again for a month, and when he comes back, I remember his name and what he told me about his wife and children. Even his dog, if he mentioned he had a dog. I love this tattoo. How could I not remember where I got it?” There was genuine distress and puzzlement in her voice.
“I’m not laughing at you, Rory, but you aren’t losing brain cells. You’re intelligent. Whatever is keeping you from remembering where you got that tattoo could have a simple explanation, such as trauma. I had an experience that was extremely difficult to endure, and my mind shut down afterward. Not for all of it—that was the strange part—but afterward for small blocks of time. Even when my friends have talked to me about how we escaped, I don’t remember.”
He was deliberately leading her. Using trigger words. Trying to feel his way with her. She had put her bottle of water up as well. She pulled her feet onto the chair so that her knees were up, and she wrapped her arms around her legs and put her chin on top of her knees. No GhostWalker would tie his weapons up that way. She wouldn’t be able to move fast. And she was looking directly into the flames of the firepit. She was agitated and struggling to comprehend why.
Gideon felt like a first-class dick. He wanted her to associate him with protection and everything safe.
“What kind of experience, Gideon?”
“I’ve already told you I was captured and tortured. I fought back, never said a word, never told them a thing, never gave up. My friends came for me, and that’s when my mind shut down. I think it would have been a lot more helpful if it had shut down when I was going through the torture part.” He gave her a half smile.
She reached out and slipped her hand into his. “I don’t think anyone ever tortured me, not like that, Gideon. We talked about this. Me being in an attic and you being practically buried aren’t the same thing. I don’t have a real concept of torture. I think suffering blackouts after an event like that would be natural. Why would I have them?”