Page 38 of Capture
“Waiting for who?” My hands trembled as I started to think the worst.
In seconds, I’d convinced myself that he was waiting for a girl, maybe his favorite girl, to appear so he could follow her into one of these rooms so that he could fuck her. I was not enough for him.
“Do they give you special discounts?” I asked him.
He frowned, confused as his head cocked to the side. “Who?”
I nodded down the hall, so he understood what I meant without having to spell it out, but he still seemed perplexed. Or maybe he was faking it.
“About time,” he stated, gazing down the hall, sounding relieved, and I hesitated to look that way because I didn’t want to see the girl that he chose over me.
“It was awkward,” a calm, warm voice answered. Ronan was carrying a large box and had to turn to the side and shuffle so that the corners wouldn’t graze along the fancy, outdated wallpaper.
“What’s that?” I asked as he seemed to be bringing the box our way.
“A TV,” Mikael replied as if he should already know.
“As per order,” Ronan added as he shuffled into my room.
“Oh, was that why you were waiting out here?” I clarified with Mikael.
“Yes,” he answered slowly, always frowning just like Gunner. “I was waiting for Ronan to lug it up here, so we could install it for you.”
“Wow, thank you, but wait, why am I thanking you when you’re keeping me prisoner?” I argued, and he hushed me, ushering me back inside my room, then closed the door behind us.
“You asked for it, so…here we are,” he stated as a small smile appeared on his face as if he was proud to do a good thing for me. When I matched his smile with my own, his smile vanished, and a flash of that cold severity appeared behind his eyes. It must be hard for him to be in my presence when I remind him so much of all the bad stuff and what I did to him.
Ronan began pulling the television out of the box, and all the packaging came out with it as Mikael turned his attention to my dinner. “Have you tried a crab cake yet?”
“No,” I replied. “I’ve been distracted.”
“It’ll go cold if you don’t eat it. And I’m not taking it all the way down to the kitchen to warm it back up for you,” he said scornfully.
I swallowed nervously and sat on the edge of the bed next to the bedside table where he had left the covered plate. I was reluctant to try crab cakes in front of him, fearing I might hate them. I’ve never been fussy about food, but I did know what I liked and disliked.
“Are you planning to keep me here long-term?” I asked to distract him from my meal that I hadn’t touched.
“You keep asking me that, and I keep giving you the same answer. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do withyouyet, so it’s better to have you where we can keep an eye on you,” his voice growled as he spoke that even Ronan glanced up to readhis expression, “rather than out there where you can go running to the Larsson cops.”
“I swear I’ll never go back to them. I have no loyalties to them,” I tried to convince him, but he shrugged nonchalantly as if it didn’t matter what I said; he wouldn’t believe me.
Ronan’s phone rang just as he was unraveling the electric cord, and he checked the name flashing up on the screen before excusing himself from the room. I noticed that he shot Mikael a sharp look as he left, as if the caller was someone important.
Mikael followed him out, and I then focused on the covered plate. He’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t try it. If I didn’t like the taste, maybe I could hide it under the bed.
I removed the silver cover from the plate and was pleasantly surprised by the meal before me. I had imagined a soft, mayonnaise-smeared slab of crab meat, but instead, it was fried and crispy, and it looked and smelled delicious.
“It looks like you were right about Betty,” Mikael’s voice shuddered down my spine. I didn’t notice him walk back in, and it looked as though Ronan had left.
“You’ve got evidence?” I asked, looking up at that chiseled face as he stood over me. He liked standing over me, imposing his authority because he could see the way he made me nervous, and he liked it.
His nostrils flared. “Let’s just say, we found who she was,” he said, picking up a silver fork and using the side to cut a small piece of the crabcake.
“Who was she? Are you saying she’s not a cop?” I enquired, hoping he’d give me more information than little hints dropped every so often. “Have you heard from Gunner yet?”
“So many questions and none of it is your concern,” he told me as he dug the prongs of the fork into the piece of crab cake. I assumed he was going to swallow it, but instead, he held the fork an inch from my mouth, prompting me to eat it.
“Why did you bring it up then, if you weren’t going to tell me more. Was she a cop? No. Wait. She must’ve been,” I rationalized outwardly, before taking the piece of crab cake in my mouth and chewing it. “Hmm, yum, that’s good.”
