Page 6 of Savage Beauty

The family resemblance between Sloane and her sister, Sage, is undeniable. But there are distinct differences too. Sloane’s tall and lean, for one, whereas Sage is petite and curvy. Sloane’s a darker brunette, and her straight hair, in the right light, has a lustrous black sheen. Sage’s hair is wavy, full of body, a lighter, semi-chocolate brown, and she almost always wears it pulled back.

Knox fell hard for Sage, claiming she possesses that mythical heart of gold. I’ll admit, when I first met her, I was slow to warm to her. She had one wild story, and Knox fell too fast. Way too trusting. My man put his heart on the line within days of her showing up on his front stoop. But with time, I’ve come around. Knox called it right. She’s a sweetheart. And she loves my buddy. She’ll be good for him. I hope.

Sloane, however, is her sister’s opposite. By all accounts, she’s sharp like a knife. Cutthroat. We’re still gathering information, but we all suspect she’s not entirely innocent and her poor choices played into her abduction. We fully expect she willingly broke the law. But they’ve got her hopped up on meds that keep her floating in and out of consciousness, so we have yet to press her.

They lowered the dosage of whatever’s been keeping her sedated. We should get answers soon.

We aren’t law officers. If she broke any laws, she did so outside of US territory. If anyone will investigate the matter, it will be Interpol or the Cayman Islands police. And the Cayman Islands aren’t going to send investigators to Kuala Lumpur.

“Sloane, this is Tristan Viognier. He’s part of the team that helped us find you. If you feel up for it, he’d like to ask you some questions.” Knox steps away after making the introduction.

“The nurse said they may discharge me in the morning,” Sloane says to the room with no noticeable acknowledgement of the stranger.

Mr. Interpol drags a chair up beside Sloane’s hospital bed. He removes his sportscoat, revealing a close-fitting, lavender dress shirt with gold cufflinks. He’s positioned himself at a lower height than Sloane, presumably to set her at ease. The effort seems lost on Sloane, who maintains a listless stare out the window.

“Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

Knox fumbles with his phone, and I’d bet he’s setting it to record. Smart. Our team back home has questions. One of our own died protecting Sage. Our best guess is whoever abducted Sloane came after Sage to use her as a tool for coercion.

“What do you want to know?” Sloane jabs her temple with her index and middle fingers. “My head hurts.”

“I shall strive for expediency.” Tristan leans back in the seat and crosses an ankle over his knee, exposing purple paisley dress socks. The guy has a British lilt to his words that matches his odd fashion sense.

Sloane closes her eyes. She’s clearly not too concerned about the Brit. I’m not sure she’s even looked at him.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with,” she snaps.

“Very well. I’ll be as brief as possible.” The officer’s posture strikes a classically friendly interrogation position. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Sage’s head dips, then jerks. She’s struggling to remain awake. I tried to send her and Knox home countless times, only to be rebuffed.

Sloane had a bad allergic reaction to the pill we slipped her in Cambodia, and her dehydrated state intensified the reaction. The pill was supposed to make her lose consciousness so no one would question her being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. Unfortunately, the reaction was so severe we had to fly her to Kuala Lumpur to save her life. Sloane didn’t wake up from her medically-induced coma until early this morning, so I can’t blame Sage for insisting on remaining by her only living relative’s side.

“It’s my understanding you were taken against your will,” he prompts. He reminds me of a lawyer. Or maybe a politician. This is my first interaction with Interpol, but this guy isn’t what I expected. “Do you know why they took you? There was no ransom, which is typical in an international incident. We’re quite curious, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“He took me on a boat. I told him I get seasick.”

“Does this man have a name?”

“Anton. That’s how he introduced himself. I overheard others address him as Solonov. I assume his name was Anton Solonov.”

Tristan turns slightly in the chair, meeting Knox’s gaze. I don’t recognize the name. But maybe I should. “How did you know Mr. Solonov?”

“I didn’t know him,” she snaps. Tristan appears unfazed by her attitude. Sage comes to stand beside her sister, physically blocking her view of the window. She brushes her sister’s hair behind one ear and leans closer, setting her face near Sloane’s.

“Sloane. Do you think you could tell us what happened? Just start from the beginning.” From this angle, it’s difficult to read the exchange between the sisters. “Where did you meet this…Anton?”

“The man is a psychopath. Possibly a sociopath.”

Sage picks up her sister’s hand and rubs her thumb back and forth over the back of it. “Let’s start from the beginning. Where did you meet him?”

“The lab. It was a Sunday. An hour and thirty-three minutes before our Sunday video chat. He asked me to go for a ride.”

“Had you seen him before?” Sage asks.

“No.”

Sage looks distraught. “You got in a car with a man you don’t know?”

---