Noah chuckled, looking at the man’s face. “I think you got some facial hair there.”
“You ripped my fucking lips off,” the man snarled before pressing his sore lips together with a little whimper.
Rowe held his phone up and snapped a couple of quick, clear pictures of the man’s face. He sent the images over to the triplets at Ward Security and then dialed Gidget’s number.
“Hey, Boss!” she greeted. “Ooooh…who’s the grumpy lump in the pictures?”
“That’s what I’d like you to uncover for me. I think he’s an employee of Clayborne, but I’m not sure.”
“I can run him through the facial recognition software. We’re starting to get all the details on Clayborne and its employees. We should have a full report for you in an hour or two.”
Rowe grunted. “Email it to me and Noah when you have it compiled. Call me when you get everything on this fucker in the pictures.”
“Should I check for a police record too?”
Rowe narrowed his eyes at the man who was glaring right back at him. The muscles in the man’s jaw flexed and jumped like he was clenching his teeth, determined not to say another word. Rowe wasn’t worried. Noah was pretty good about getting information out of people.
“Everything. I think he was in on the attempt on Noah’s life and could have been in on the deaths of Noah’s friends.”
“We’ll get everything,” Gidget said, her voice hardening. She was just as protective of Noah and the employees at Ward as Rowe was. These men were her family too. She’d spread the word to her coworkers in the tech room. They’d drop everything to uncover every little scrap of information about this fucker and they’d do it fast. Thanks to the digital age, there was no longer any hiding.
He ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket.
“You might as well let me go. You’re not getting anything out of me,” the man snarled. “And you don’t have the balls for torture.”
From a sheath on his belt, Rowe pulled out his black-handled ka-bar with its exquisitely sharp seven-inch blade. It wasn’t as flashy as JB’s knife, but Rowe could wield it like it was an extension of his own body. He stepped closer to the man and let the edge scrape along the tender flesh under his chin.
“I’ve already killed the man who murdered my wife,” Rowe started in a deceptively low and soft voice, as if he were whispering to him the secret of life. “I’ve killed to protect a man I see as my brother. I’ve killed total strangers because it was part of my job. Do you really think I would have any problem slowly gutting you until you’re telling me every little secret in your head?” Keeping his gaze locked on the man’s wide brown eyes, he lowered the knife until the tip was pressed into his dick. “And I’m more than happy to start with your balls if you doubt me.”
“B-bullshit,” their captive stammered. His voice had lost most of its heat and strength. Sweat broke out across his pale face, and Rowe was sure it had little to do with the heat in the air.
Straightening, he looked over at Noah, who was standing beside the man. His eyebrows were raised in question, and he looked a little pale. Noah knew the majority of the ghosts that left stains on his soul. He wasn’t hiding anything from his lover. Maybe just playing it up a little bit. But only a smidge. Rowe wouldn’t hesitate to kill this fucker if it meant keeping Noah safe, and he’d sleep soundly the next night.
“I think we can skip the torture and just kill him,” Noah said lightly.
“Really?” Rowe said, one corner of his mouth tilting up.
“Oh yeah, I’m pretty sure I can figure out who he is and what he knows.” Noah’s voice oozed confidence. “I just need to look at him. Sort of the Sherlock Holmes method.”
“Whoa! Who said you get to go first?” JB interjected. “I’m pretty sure that I can figure it out just as easily as you. We were both trained in the same method.”
Rowe stepped back farther and put his knife in its sheath before leaning against a large tree to watch the “argument.” He knew Noah’s method of interrogating, and it was kind of creepy. The way he could simply stare at a person and read the tiny reactions, from a muscle twitch to a hitch in the breathing to a simple eye dilation—all things people could barely control. And now the way JB was talking, he had a feeling that the two of them had worked in tandem on interrogations.
“Then we fight for who goes first,” Noah offered.
He placed his fist in front of the man’s face and waited. JB did the same. They counted to three, their eyes locked on each other, and they both came up with “rock” on the first go. On the second turn, they both hit “paper.” And on the final one, it was a tie of “rock” again.