He dropped the bread onto the plate, disappointed and angry. He'd rather have a Ghostwater, and he would before the night was done, but even that pleasure had to be tempered. He couldn't drink too much, because drunks talked. Too many drinks and he might let his facade slip and tell the people around him what he really thought of them, the stupid bastards. He might even tell them what he had planned.
That didn't leave many pleasures to enjoy in the few days that remained. Tiffany Marsters had tried flirting with him, soon after her break with Traylor, but she was too loud and ballsy. Even if he were was still capable of screwing her, he'd have thought twice about getting involved with someone like her. He preferred women who knew who was boss, and it sure as hell wasn't her.
"Mr. Larkin, is everything all right?"
Larkin's head snapped up. He'd forgotten that Dean was still in the room. "Do you want it?" he asked, pushing the plate away with contempt.
"No, sir. Thank you."
"It's not poisoned," Larkin assured him.
Dean was always calm and unruffled, but for some reason he looked startled. "I hope not," he said. Would he be this calm in his last moments of life? Larkin wondered. Or would Dean dissolve into pure, unadulterated panic?
The only pleasure Larkin had left was picturing the deaths of all those around him. In a way, it was too bad he wouldn't survive long enough to see it all come to pass. But he could imagine it, and sometimes the images were so real he felt as if he could touch them.
He hurt so badly some days, he didn't know how he could wait days for the end of his life. He had to wait, though; setting off the bombs while they were in port would seriously increase the number of survivors. When the ship went down, the few passengers who survived the blasts would find themselves literally in the middle of a massive ocean, wounded and in a panic, in complete darkness except for the light from the flames on the burning ship, until what remained of the ship sank and they were left floating on bits of debris in a black night unlike any they could imagine.
He wanted them all dead. He wanted the world to remember Frank Larkin, and how he took all these stupid sheep to the bottom of the ocean.
With luck, even the survivors wouldn't survive for long.
Chapter Twenty-four
"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?" JENNER WAS NEARLY AT a jog, trying to keep up with Cael as he moved at a fast pace down the long, deserted passageway. He held her hand, which would look better than the usual iron grip on her arm if they ran into anyone. So far, they hadn't.
When he realized that she was struggling to keep up, he shortened his stride - only a little, but enough to give her a break. "I have things to do this afternoon. You're going to stay with Faith for a while."
"You mean she's going to sit with me." As in, babysit. She didn't like it at all.
While she was more than ready for a break from Cael Traylor, she didn't know Faith. She knew the facade, but likely Faith was, like Cael, two people: one public persona, one private. The public woman was classy, serene, quiet, and seemingly thoughtful. What was the private Faith like? She was about to find out.
Cael knocked, the door opened, and they were ushered in. The first thing Jenner noticed was that Faith was not alone. Tiffany was also there, sitting on a blue sofa, long legs crossed, eyes all but shooting daggers. Both women were dressed casually, as Jenner was. Their outfits were expensive and classically cut, even Tiffany's colorful sundress.
Remembering what Syd had said about the suite she'd chosen for them - lots of blues and two bedrooms - Jenner wondered if this was the one she and Syd would have been staying in if everything hadn't gone bat-shit crazy. For all she knew, there were a hundred staterooms just like this one, but she doubted it, because she was pretty sure she remembered Syd saying the suites were individually decorated.
"Two hours," Cael said simply, and then he left Jenner alone with the women, who stared at her as if she were a bug under a microscope.
She didn't like being in this position, and her back went up. "What, you've never seen a blackmailed, threatened, extremely cooperative prisoner up close before?"
Tiffany laughed; it was an honest laugh, a little throaty, not at all like the shrill laugh she affected in public.
Faith kept her composure. "We're just doing our jobs. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, thank you."
"Sit down, then, and make yourself comfortable."
So far, the private Faith was very much like the public one. Jenner was anxious to see how long that would last. She chose a chair in the seating area that put her back to the wall. "Are you always so polite to the people you kidnap?"
The two women looked at each other with meaningful and silent communication, and Jenner felt like an interloper. An unwilling interloper, but still ... these women, this team, were close. She was the outsider, but damn it, she hadn't asked to be here.
It was Tiffany who said, "This is a first, for us. Kidnapping isn't exactly SOP."
"But you're all willing to do whatever has to be done to get what you want."
"Yes," Faith responded, calmly but with certainty. "You'd do well to remember that until this is all over and done with. Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?"
Jenner looked from one woman to the other, and made herself remember that, like Cael, they were professionals. And dedicated, to whatever it was they were doing. She suspected either one of them could put a very quick stop to any resistance she might offer, which she wasn't going to do. She didn't want to lose her phone privileges.
She leaned back a little, relaxed. "Actually, I'd love a cup of hot tea."