Page 57 of Wired Strong

Connor breathed slowly and deliberately through his nose as he went to the nearby bathroom and dropped the poison bottle down the commode chute. He had meditated all afternoon to gain the degree of control he needed—he must wipe away even a thought of his plans.The Master was able to detect almost any change in Connor’s electrical field or his mental state. He’d been outrageously lucky that the Master was otherwise occupied at the moment and he didn’t have to try to conceal doctoring the tea; and in case the Master sensed something wrong, he’d thought of a reason he might be agitated.

Connor turned over the hourglass timer for the tea to steep, and set up the chessboard.

The Master came out of the bedroom, knotting an embroidered silk robe. He scratched his belly, his bronze, chiseled chest gleaming. He resembled any man who had recently arisen, satisfied, from the bed of his mistress. “I’ll have tea before we have our game.”

“I thought as much. I have prepared it.” Connor kept his eyes lowered respectfully. “Will Pim Wat be joining us?”

The Master’s gaze sharpened on Connor’s face. “You don’t want her to, do you?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Connor said.

“You lie, but I know why you do.” The Master smirked, and seated himself on the stool in front of black. He always chose black, and not for the first time, Connor wondered why.

He had to ask now.This may be the last time he had a chance to. “Why always black?”

“The best strategy is to allow my opponent to show their initiative first. A smarter game is in reacting. In chess, and in many other things.”

Connor felt a chill. He narrowed his eyes at the Master. “You didn’t answer my question about whether or not Pim Wat is joining us.”

“She is, but when she is good and ready.” The Master stroked his chin, studying Connor. “Make your move.”

Connor wrenched his attention back to the board.He had to care about this match.

“You’re thinking about something else, already. I’ll beat you that much faster if you don’t focus,” the Master said.

Connor raised his gaze to meet the Master’s. “You are correct. I have something on my mind.”

“Tell me. Perhaps then, we can have a decent game.” The Master leaned back and yawned. His rich silk robe fell open to expose his ripped abs.How old was he?Connor still had no idea.

“I’ve heard from Sophie. She told me that the task force wants me to find a way to capture Pim Wat. They’re offering me immunity in the United States if I do.” When lying, always tell as much of the truth as possible. One of the Master’s earliest lessons; one Connor hadn’t needed. He’d always been good at lying with the wide-eyed gaze of honesty, lending truth to what he was saying.

The Master leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, his jaw on his hand. “What was your answer?”

“Pim Wat is too important to you to be captured.”

“Sheistoo important. In that, you are correct.”

“Too important to whom?” Pim Wat’s husky voice came from the doorway of the bedroom. She walked down the couple of steps into the living area. Her loosely-knotted robe parted to expose her perfect upper body. She seemed completely unselfconscious of that, but Connor knew better.

He kept his gaze on the chessboard. “The multi-agency team is offering me immunity in return for returning you to them. I told the Master you are too important to him for me to take that deal.”

“Interesting. They are getting desperate.” Pim Wat approached the tea things. “How long has this been steeping?”

“The timer just ran out.” Connor indicated the small hourglass that he had flipped over. Pim Wat removed the metal strainer, setting it in a waiting bowl; she picked up the pot, and poured three cups of tea.

In all of their afternoons or evenings interacting, Pim Wat had never waited on Connor and poured him so much as a glass of water. A good deal more than three drops of poison per person had been dissolved in the pot. Connor’s heart beat with heavy thumps.

“How do you take your tea?” Pim Wat asked, with a glance at him over her shoulder.

Connor swallowed. He had to find a way not to drink the beverage—but even if he had to, would that be so bad?If his life were forfeit, wouldn’t that be just?“Only a little honey.”

The Master indicated the chessboard with an impatient gesture. “Make your move.”

Connor refocused with an effort. He moved his first white pawn forward.

The Master countered quickly with a knight. Connor moved his next pawn.

He was executing a pawn wall. At least this play was something he could do somewhat automatically, once he had initiated the opening.

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