Page 77 of Snow Bound

“Another stupid question.” The words fairly vibrated with controlled rage. “Ask another and it’ll be your last for a very long time.”

Her breath hitched on a sob, hastily controlled. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he asked smoothly and jerked the blindfold down.

She blinked rapidly, ducking her head away from the bright lights he’d arranged around the room. He supposed in a real interrogation the lights would’ve been more directly in her face, blocking her vision of the rest of the room. But he wanted her to see, clearly, what was coming.

Her head whipped around, eyes widening as she took in the basement. The hard-packed dirt floor, the bank of monitors that reflected her own image back to her from various angles in crisp, high-definition detail. The second table set up to her left, a large white sheet covering the array of tools and toys he’d laid out.

And the hook that hung from the ceiling.

Her eyes widened at that, and he saw the first hint of real fear in her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone.

“Mr. Snow, please.” She jerked her arms, tugging at the leather cuffs. Her big brown eyes were wide and pleading, mascara already smudged from the blindfold.

“Please?” He scoffed. “So polite you are, Ms. Goodwin. So lady-like.”

He paced away. “Where was that politeness, that decorum, when you were helping yourself to millions of dollars of my money? Hmm?”

He watched her lick her lips on the monitors. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He whirled to face her, his face suffused with rage. “Don’t lie to me, you little bitch.”

He stalked toward her, watched her eyes go wide. He bent down, pushing up into her face so she was forced to lean back. “I know everything, Anna. I know how much you’ve taken, when it was taken, how it was taken. I know the name of the bank you wired the funds to, the account number. And I know that you withdrew it all, yesterday afternoon, in the form of a cashier’s check.”

She swallowed, the gulp audible in the small room.

“What I don’t know,” he said, his conversational tone a sharp contrast to his previous snarl, “is where it is now. That’s what we’re here to find out.”

She swallowed again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” He straightened. “Then this is going to be quite difficult for you.”

He turned away and walked to the blank monitor. “Let me introduce you to my associate, Mr. Rogan,” he said and turned it on.

Anna’s eyes went wide as the screen flickered to life. Michael sat behind his desk at the club, hard-eyed and grim. He wore a white shirt, open at the collar, and a dark jacket. One hand lay on the desk in front of him, the other held a crystal tumbler with a few fingers of amber liquid.

“Mr. Rogan,” he went on, watching Anna carefully, “is one of my investors.”

Anna’s eyes darted from the monitor to his. “But...he’s with the mob.”

Michael’s dry chuckle came through loud and clear. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“Regardless of his other interests—and I don’t care what they are—Mr. Rogan has invested in my business. And investors expect to turn a profit, don’t they?”

He narrowed his eyes when she stayed silent. “Don’t they, Anna?”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, I suppose they do.”

“And when someone like Mr. Rogan discovers that someone has been stealing those profits? Well, let’s just say he found that to be a bit upsetting.”

“A bit,” Michael drawled and drained his glass.

“We can do this the easy way,” Grant went on, “or the hard way. Tell me where the money is.”

“I don’t know.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I swear, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t know there was any money missing, I?—”

“You’re my accountant, Anna, and you didn’t know millions of dollars have gone missing from my accounts?” Grant shook his head in mock disappointment. “If that were true, I’d have to fire you for it.”

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