Page 81 of Fighting for Brielle
“About thirty-six hours.”
She nodded and they didn’t speak again until they reached her cell.
“I’ll be back with your dinner.”
“Um, can you include a pair of panties and a box of feminine products, please?” Brielle sounded appropriately pitiful.
“Uh, sure.”
Carson said he’d be back in an hour, so Brielle used the time to rid herself of the lingering effects of the drug she’d been given. She drank cold tap water and started to jog around the perimeter of her cell. At least she had plenty of room. Pushing all thoughts of her family and Justice,oh, God, Justice,out of her mind, she focused on exercising, pumping blood and oxygen through her veins and up to her brain. She’d need to use every ounce of her training, skill set, and her intelligence to outwit Anderson.
When Carson returned with her dinner on a rolling cart, Brielle’s mouth watered and her stomach growled. Tantalizing aromas wafting from a thick grilled steak, a baked potato, and seasoned green beans teased her senses. A warm yeast roll and strawberry shortcake completed her meal. On the bottom of the cart she spotted a pair of granny panties and the box of feminine products she’d requested. A towel, wash cloth, a bar of soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush had also been provided.
“I’ll leave you alone for a little while to eat and refresh yourself. Take advantage of the luxury of a sponge bath while you can,” Carson advised.
Brielle pointed at the camera. “Can I have some privacy?”
Carson scowled. “This isn’t the Ritz.”
“All I need is five minutes.”
“You’re a rich, entitled, spoiled princess,” he complained, “and I can’t wait to see you broken and humiliated. You’ve got your precious five minutes.”
Brielle forced herself to eat slowly, not knowing if she’d be allowed another meal as good as this one. She kept an eye on the camera, and when the red light disappeared, she tore into the box of tampons, removed the absorbent material and dropped it into the pocket of her dress. She planned to stuff it into the door jamb when an opportunity arose and prayed it would prevent the lock from fully engaging. Within the allotted time she completed her toilette and felt better after she brushed her teeth.
Carson appeared a few minutes later and took everything away from her except the toothpaste, toothbrush, and tampons.
“So, you’re policing me, huh? Ironic, considering you said you were never the badge.”
Confusion crossed his face. “What? Never the badge…” he muttered. “But I’m a…” Blankness replaced his confusion. His eyes focused on a spot on the far wall. His body shuddered, and he shook himself free of whatever held him in its grasp.
Carson’s nostrils flared, and his gaze turned dark with anger. “I’m a lieutenant in Axel’s army.”
“You screwed up, though. You left an HK416 and a box of ammo for us to find.”
He grew wrathful. “No! I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did. We found your prints on the HK416, and your shoe print on the ammo. You took a beating for it. Axel punished you, didn’t he?”
Carson balled his fist. “Stop trying to manipulate me, Sergeant, or I’ll devise your punishment myself!”
“I’m sorry, Carson.” She followed him into the doorway.
He pulled his gun. “Back up. Now!”
“Look, I’m not going anywhere, as you said. Do you really have to threaten me with violence?”
“You’re far too clever for your own good.” Without warning, Carson grabbed her and threw her against the stone wall. One hand closed around her throat and squeezed. He leaned into her as her eyes grew wide, and she prepared to defend herself. “Hide it,” he whispered. “For God’s sake, hide it.”
He stepped back. Brielle gagged and coughed.
“Don’t mess with me again,” he warned her.
“Sorry!” she gasped. “Sorry!”
“The lights operate on a timer,” Carson went on, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if he hadn’t just tried to choke her. “Off at nine, on at five.”
The steel door closed behind him and locked automatically. Brielle let out her breath and sank onto the mattress. She touched her sore neck and faced away from the camera so whoever watched her wouldn’t be able to read her thoughts. With a shudder, she recalled Winston’s torture in Room 101 in Orwell’s novel1984. She feared something far worse than rats awaited her.
