She shrugged.
He smiled. “I saw your eyes light up. It can’t be easy, being the only person like you that you know. I don’t pretend to understand, but I know it can’t be easy.” He steepled his fingers, touched them to his lips. “I took the liberty of making a few calls. The Feds are interested in you, very interested.”
“What’s the catch?” she asked.
Derek’s expression turned serious. “Before I tell you, hear me out. You’re in more trouble here than you realize, Loup. It’s not just the Santa Olivia business.” He shook his head. “That’s just a tempest in a teapot. I imagine it will blow itself out in another month or so. It’s the excuse it provides that’s a problem.”
“Excuse for what?”
He took off his glasses, wiped them on his napkin. “Coercive interrogation methods are based on the premise that three elements in the subject’s response render it effective: debility, dependency, and dread. The three Ds. You’re lacking the latter.” He put his glasses back on and glanced at her puzzled face. “Subjects being questioned—that’s you—have to be afraid, Loup. That’s the conventional wisdom. In certain circles, it’s a matter of intense interest. You’ve given them the perfect excuse to test the theory.” He ticked off the reasons on his fingers. “You’re incapable of feeling fear. You’re a citizen of no country; but if you were, you’d be recognized as a legal adult. And you’ve freely admitted to committing acts of insurrection against the U.S. government.”
Loup blew out her breath, impatient. “So… what? You’re saying in a month or so, they won’t care about the stupid questions they keep asking me? But they’re gonna keep hosing me down and asking them anyway?”
“Exactly.” Derek nodded. “Just to find out if you have a breaking point.”
“That sucks,” she said flatly.
He shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules.”
She eyed him. “So what’s the catch?”
“Loyalty.” Derek raised his hands as though to ward off an unspoken protest. “Loup, I can get you into this program. I can make this all go away, smooth over any problems. But I need a good-faith gesture from you. And I swear to you, it goes no farther than this room. No one gets punished; no one gets hurt. All it means is that I can report to Washington that you’re one hundred percent committed.” He lowered his voice. “Whose idea was the Santa Olivia business?”
“Thought you said I was a smart girl,” she said wryly. “I was smart enough to figure out how to beat the guy who killed my brother. You don’t think I’m smart enough to come up with a few stupid pranks on my own?”
“Just give me a name, one name.” His tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip. “Father Ramon Perez. Was he in on the conspiracy?”
Loup sighed.
She got up from the table, went into the bathroom. Took off the clean, fluffy bathrobe and hung it neatly on the hook. Regarded her filthy clothing with distaste, then put them back on. She glanced at herself in the mirror.
Her wide-eyed reflection looked back.
I’ve gotta tell you, the whole cute and deadly thing gets me, too.
Too bad. She would have made a great secret agent bodyguard.
Loup walked back out, resigned. “At least the guys with the hose are honest. Take me back.”
Derek didn’t smile. “I won’t make this offer again.”
“Yeah, right.” She shrugged. “Whatever.”
FIFTY-THREE
Cell.
Hose.
Questions.
The cycle seemed to accelerate after she turned down Derek’s offer. Loup couldn’t be sure; she could never be sure of anything involving time in that place. But it felt like they questioned her at least three times during the day that followed.
Never letting her sleep.
Never letting her rest.
Get used to it, she thought.
It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard, either. Not exactly, not in the way normal people felt and thought. It was pain and discomfort, and she endured it. What else was there to do?
Mack would have understood.
Ever see a dog get hurt? That’s what they do. Hole up and wait to live or die.
Loup prepared to hole up and endure for as long as it took. Her choice. This had been her choice. No matter that the repercussions were worse than she’d guessed. She’d made her choice and she would endure. She didn’t think they’d kill her and she’d rather live than die, but she wasn’t about to betray any of the Santitos, even if they kept her here for years.
Thinking that thought, she managed to fall asleep.
It was the darkness that woke her. For the first time since they’d put her in the cell the glaring lights were off. It was pitch-black, and someone was unlocking the cell door. She scrambled upright, putting her hands behind her head.
“Shh.” Ron Johnson entered the cell almost soundlessly, a flashlight in one hand and a rucksack in the other. He lowered the rucksack to the floor and pressed a finger against her lips. No flinch. “You want to get out of here? You’ve got about thirty seconds to decide.”
Her heart hammered. “To where?”
“Mexico.” His gaze was steady. “You’ve got kin there.”
“My father?”
Johnson shook his head. “Sorry, no. None of the original kin lived much past forty. Cousins. Aunts, of a sort.”
She stared at him, trying to read his expression behind the flashlight’s beam. If he lied, he lied like her, without fear of being caught. She couldn’t tell. “Why?”
“Long story. If you want to do this, I’ll tell you on the way.” He looked at her without blinking. “It’s not a trick, but I can’t prove it. All I can say is trust me. And it’s not a sure thing. If we get caught, you’re in twice the shit and I’m fucked.”
“And you’re only gonna make this offer once, right?” Loup asked wryly.
Johnson nodded. “First and last chance. I’m getting transferred out of here in three days. It wasn’t easy to set this up.”
Tommy’s voice echoed through her memories. Be careful!
“Oh, fuck it. Fuck careful.” She hopped off the bench. “Let’s do it.”
He was already moving, inhumanly quick. He set the flashlight on the shelf, unzipped the rucksack, and hauled out a set of fatigues, tossed them to her. “Put these on.”
She stripped off her grimy boxing gear, put on the fatigues. Johnson stashed her old clothes in a plastic bag, handed her a pair of boots. They were too big, but she laced them tight around her ankles.
He handed her a cap. “Hide your hair. Brim low. Lower.” He adjusted it. “Okay, good.” Loup began folding the robe. He touched her wrist. “Leave it.”
“But—”
There was sympathy in his glance. “We’ve got to leave a little mystery behind, Santa Olivia. Only way we’re going to get away with this on my end.” He pulled out one last item from his rucksack, a rustic woven basket. Placed it on the metal shelf, draped the blue and white robe over it. “See?”
Loup took a deep breath, fighting a disproportionate sense of loss. She stroked the satin fabric once in farewell. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Stay close beside me. If we encounter anyone, keep your head down, don’t make eye contact. Don’t talk to anyone.” His mouth twitched in a faint smile. “Try not to walk like a girl.”
“Okay.”
Dim emergency lights came online a few seconds after he opened the cell door. Johnson shoved the flashlight into his belt and strode purposefully down the hall. Loup stuck close to his side, trying to match his stride and gait. At a security door, he swiped a card through a slot and a light turned green.
They headed deeper into the detention center.
A guard hurrying in the opposite direction came toward them, talking into a handheld radio. Johnson gave him a curt nod, the brim of his own cap low enough to shade his eyes. Loup kept her head down and concentrated on matching his stride. The guard nodded in reply and kept moving, still talking into his radio. He seemed more distracted than concerned. They turned a corner, then another.
Halfway down the next hallway, Johnson yanked open a utility door. “Move,” he said. “Fast. It won’t be long before someone thinks to check on you.”
She plunged into darkness, feeling her way down a set of stairs. The door closed behind them. It smelled like dankness and corroding metal. A second later, Johnson switched the flashlight back on, revealing pipes overhead.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Boiler room.” The flashlight’s beam tagged a high slit of a window, then went dark. “Over there.”
Somewhere an alarm sounded.
Loup groped her way toward the window. It was propped open. She could smell fresh air.
“Give me your foot,” Johnson’s disembodied voice said. “I’ll boost you.”
She put her foot in his cupped hands.
He hoisted her effortlessly. “Stick tight to the side of the building. Don’t move.”
Loup nodded and wriggled out the window.
It was nighttime. The air was warm and dry. The sky was vast and filled with stars. Loup got to her feet and breathed deeply, raising her face involuntarily to gaze at the stars.
“Shit.” Johnson’s head and shoulders emerged from the window, but no more of him. “I’m stuck.”
The rising and falling alarm took on a new urgency. Loup grabbed his shoulders and hauled hard. For a long moment there was resistance, then something gave way and he came slithering out.
“You okay?” she whispered.
He got up, rubbing his left shoulder. “Yeah. C’mon.”
They sidled around the building, sticking close to the cinder-block walls. The alarm grew louder. The floodlights that had illuminated the front yard the night Loup had arrived were dark, but there were emergency searchlights sweeping back and forth across it.