Dead in a Week (Forensic Instincts 7)

Yes, she had. The spicy slices of sausage were the first thing she’d eaten all week that wasn’t bland and that had a pleasant bite to it. It wasn’t a pepperoni pizza with her family, but it would suffice—normally. Not today. And not now. She didn’t want food. All she wanted was answers.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then, seeing the hard set of Bashkim’s jaw, changed her mind. Refusing to eat would only piss him off and she wanted him as amenable as possible when she questioned him.

She had a little bread and soup and then chewed and swallowed three slices of kulen. It was all she could hold down. And it seemed to be enough for Bashkim, because he nodded, although his posture remained rigid, his mouth set in a thin, tight line.

“Very good,” he said, his tone belying his praise. He remained at her bedside, clearing his throat before he next spoke. And suddenly Lauren realized she wasn’t going to have to ask anything. Bashkim was about to fill in the blanks on his own.

Her heart began hammering in her chest.

“I’m going to leave you now,” he said. “Take a shower. Get dressed. Be ready.”

“Ready?” Lauren croaked out the word. “I don’t understand.” “I’ll be back to get you in a half hour. You’ll come with me. And you’ll do as I say if you want to live.”

Lauren’s insides turned to ice. “Please, Bashkim, tell me what’s happening. Please.”

“You’re going to talk to your father. On the computer. You’ll see him. He’ll see you. For five minutes only.”

Lauren started, stunned by this development, which was the last thing she’d expected. A videoconference. Her father had somehow managed to arrange a videoconference with her. How, she had no idea. But the very thought of seeing his face and hearing his voice made tears well up in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Bashkim frowned. “Don’t thank me. This is not a reunion. It’s an arrangement we made—for our purposes. There are rules. You’ll follow them. I don’t want to kill you. But I will—right in front of your father’s eyes—if I have to.”

Lauren didn’t doubt his claim for a moment. “What are the rules?”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time. Your job is to convince your father that he should give us what we’re asking for.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking him for. So how can I…?” The question slipped out before Lauren could stop it—and, seeing the thunderclouds now gathering in Baskhim’s eyes, she wished to God that she had.

“You don’t need to know.” His tone was as ominous as his expression—a further reminder to Lauren of what he was capable of. “Your father knows. Don’t ask any questions—or I’ll slit your throat.”

Lauren squeezed her eyes shut at the horrifying image, tears seeping out from between her closed lids. “I’m so sorry. I won’t ask anything. I’ll do whatever you say. Please, Bashkim, you’ve been so kind to me. I wouldn’t have survived this long without your decency and compassion. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll follow your rules exactly. I promise.”

The thunderclouds abated. “Good.” Bashkim took her tray and turned toward the door. “Thirty minutes.”

Starbucks

Northstar Drive, Lake Tahoe

28 February

Wednesday, 6:33 a.m. local time

Vance arrived early in order to stake out the table at Starbucks with the best Wi-Fi connection. He was desperately trying to find a semblance of control over a situation where none existed. Control was what he did best. But this wasn’t a business transaction. Lauren’s life was in his hands. Against his nature, he had to rely on Aidan and his team to take the lead, and do exactly what he was told.

After careful inspection, he selected the table near the back room and closest to the Wi-Fi access point. The door was labeled: Employees Only. Which meant he’d have the fast Internet connection and the privacy he needed. During the morning rush, Starbucks would be all hands on deck. None of the employees would be going anywhere other than to their stations to meet the needs of their coffee-craving patrons.

Vance got himself settled, then took a deep breath and fired up the special laptop that Ryan had prepared for this situation. He didn’t know the technical details, other than the fact that it wasn’t the normal Windows machine it appeared to be. Something about special keylogging and screen capture software that would secretly stream all data that came across the laptop back to the server belonging to Aidan’s team so they could see and hear everything that was going on.

He plugged in his headphones and waited for 7:10 to arrive.

It seemed to take forever.

Farmhouse

Slavonia, Croatia

28 February