Stolen

PARTY

After Carmichael left, I studied the video camera for signs of activity, but it stayed silent and still.

"So," Haig said. "What are you in for?"

"Raping and pillaging."

The corners of his mouth turned up. "That would have been my first guess. Are you finding the accommodations to your liking?"

"My kennel, you mean?"

Another quarter-smile. "Ah, so you are the werewolf. I didn't know whether it was polite to ask. Emily Post doesn't cover circumstances such as this. Werewolf. Hmmm. I had a patient with lycanthropy once. Felt compelled to turn around three times before settling onto the couch. Quite trying. But he always brought in the paper from the front stoop."

I remembered how Carmichael had addressed him. "Doctor Haig," I said. "So you're a shr-psychiatrist?"

"A shrink, yes. My special abilities aren't very profitable in everyday life. I suppose they might help if I were to become an international assassin, but I'm a terrible shot. And please call me Armen. Formality seems rather out of place here."

"I'm Elena. Psychiatry, eh? So did you know Matasumi? Before you came here?"

"I'd heard of him." Dark lips curved in a moue of distaste. "Parapsychology. With a reputation for skirting the code of research ethics."

"Really? Go figure. You must have no shortage of people to analyze here, between the captives and captors."

"Frighteningly enough, the ones in the cages would be more likely to earn my recommendations for early release."

"Matasumi's got some definite issues," I said. "And Bauer?"

"One of the sanest, actually. Just sad. Very sad."

That wasn't the impression I got, but before I could press for details, Armen continued. "The one I'd most like to get on the couch is Tyrone Winsloe. Though once I had him there, I'd be sorely tempted to tie him to it and run like the devil."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Where do I start? Tyrone Winsloe is"-Armen cocked his head toward the door; footsteps entered the waiting room, then [49] stopped-" out of town on business at the moment." He lowered his voice. "If you need any help… adjusting, please ask. This isn't a very pleasant place. The sooner we can be out of it, the sooner we'll all feel much better."

As he fixed me with a knowing look, I knew he wasn't offering help with my psychological adjustment.

"As I said, my special ability isn't very useful," he murmured. "But I'm very observant… as a psychiatrist. And like everyone, I can always use companionship. For moral support. Additional resources and strength. That, I believe, is your specialty. Strength."

The doorknob turned. Carmichael bumped it open with a clipboard and walked in, flipping through pages.

"Off you go, then, Ms. Michaels," she said. "Your escort is in the waiting room."

"A pleasure to meet you, Elena," Armen said as I left. "Do enjoy your stay."

Bauer and the guards took me back to the sitting/interrogation room. One guard fastened me to the leg and torso restraints, and removed my arm restraints, which pleased me until I realized they'd only left my hands free so I could eat lunch. Once I finished, on went the handcuffs. Then Matasumi and Tess joined us, and I endured round two of interrogation.

A couple of hours later, as Bauer walked me to my call, I checked across the hall. The opposite cell was empty.

"Where's Ruth?" I asked.

"A slight setback. She's in the infirmary."

"Is she okay?"

"There's no immediate danger. We're probably overreacting, but our guests' health is very important."

"Can I see her when she comes back?"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," she said, reaching for the door to my cell. "But I have arranged for company of a different sort."

"I'd like to speak to Ruth."

Pushing open my door, Bauer walked through as if I hadn't said anything. The guards prodded me forward. I stepped into my cell, then stopped. My hackles rose, and some ancient instinct warned me that my den had been invaded.

"You remember Leah, don't you?" Bauer said.

The red-haired half-demon sat at my table, pouring a glass of wine. She glanced up and smiled.

"Hey," she said. "Elena, right?"

I nodded.

"Welcome to the party," she said, raising her glass in a toast. "Can you believe this? Wine, cheese, fancy crackers. I don't eat this well at home. Are you joining us, Sondra?"

"If you don't mind."

"The more the merrier." Leah beamed a smile 100 percent sarcasm-free. "May I pour you ladies a glass?"

"Please," Bauer said.

I didn't answer, but Leah filled two more glasses. As Bauer stepped forward to take hers, I could only gape. A wine and cheese party? Please tell me they were kidding.

"Do you like white?" Bauer asked, extending a glass to me. "It's a very good vintage."

"Uh-thanks." I took the wine and managed to fold myself into a chair, a task that seemed far more onerous than it should.

"Elena's a journalist," Bauer said.

"Really? TV or radio?" Leah asked.

"Print," I murmured, though it came out as a guttural mutter, dangerously close to a grunt.

"She does freelance work," Bauer said. "Covering Canadian politics. She's Canadian."

"Oh? Interesting. You guys have a prime minister, right? Not a president."

I nodded.

Leah gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Well, there's the extent of my knowledge of international politics. Sorry."

We sipped our wine.

"Leah's a deputy sheriff in Wisconsin," Bauer said.

I nodded, struggling to think of some germane comment to make and coming up blank. Oh, please, Elena. You can do better than this. Say something. Say anything. Don't sit there like a grunting, nodding idiot. After we'd touched on my career, I should have asked Leah about hers. That was how small talk worked. My experience socializing with other women was embarrassingly slight, but certain rules held true no matter who you were talking to.

"So you're a police officer," I said, then winced inwardly. Duh. If I couldn't come up with something more intelligent than that, I should keep my mouth shut.

"Not as exciting as it sounds," Leah said. "Especially not in Wisconsin. Cheese, anyone?"

She cut wedges from a round of Gouda and proffered the cheese board. We each took one, along with a lacy cracker that crumbled most unbecomingly as I bit into it. As we munched, Bauer refilled our half-empty wineglasses. I downed mine, praying it might help, then noticed both women watching me.

"Thirstier than I thought," I said. "Maybe I should stick to water."

Bauer smiled. "Drink all you want. There's more where that came from."

"So, do you live in Canada?" Leah asked.

I hesitated, but realized if I didn't answer, Bauer would. My life wasn't exactly a secret around here. "New York State."

"Her husband's American," Bauer said. "Clayton is your husband, isn't he? We couldn't find a marriage record, but when we were following you, I noticed he wears a wedding ring." She glanced at my left hand. "Oh, but you don't. That's an engagement ring you have, though, isn't it?"

"Long story," I said.

Leah leaned forward. "Those are always the best."

I inched back in my chair. "So, how about you two? Married? Boyfriends?"

"I've run through the marriageable material in my little town," Leah said. "I've put my name in for a transfer before the seventy-year-old widowers start looking good."

"I've been married," Bauer said. "Youthful rebellion. Married him because my father forbade it and soon realized that sometimes father does know best."

"What does your husband do?" Leah asked me.

"Clayton's an anthropologist," Bauer answered before I could deflect the question.

"Oh? That sounds… fascinating."

Sipping her wine, Bauer gave a giggling laugh. "Admit it, Leah. It sounds perfectly awful."

"I didn't say it," Leah said.

Bauer drained her glass and refilled everyone's. "No, but you were thinking it. Trust me, this guy is no tweedy academic. You should see him. Blond curls, blue eyes, and a body… Greek god material."

"Got a photo?" Leah asked me.

"Uh, no. So, how do you like-"

"We have some surveillance pictures upstairs," Bauer said. "I'll show them to you later. Elena is a very lucky girl."

"Looks aren't everything," Leah said, flashing a wicked smile. "It's performance that counts."

I studied the bubbles in my wineglass. Oh, please, please, please, don't ask.

Leah downed her wine. "I have a question. If it's not too personal."

"And even if it is," Bauer said with a giggle.

Oh, please, please, please-

"You guys change into wolves, right?" Leah said. "So, when you and your husband are wolves, do you still… you know. Are you still lovers?"

Bauer snorted so hard wine sprayed from her nose. Okay, that was the one question even worse than asking how Clay was in bed. This was a nightmare. My worst nightmare. Not only thrown into a wine and cheese party with two women I barely knew, but with two women who knew everything about me and were getting a wee bit tipsy. Let the floor open up and swallow me now. Please.

"This is really good cheese," I said.

Bauer laughed so hard she started to hiccup.

The door whooshed opened. A guard stuck his head inside.

"Ms. Bauer?"

In an eye blink, Bauer was sober. She coughed once into her hand, then straightened up, face as regal as ever.

"Yes?" she said.

"We have a situation," he said. "With prisoner three."

"They're not prisoners," she snapped, getting to her feet. "What's the problem with Mr. Zaid?"

"His clothes are gone."

Leah snorted a laugh and covered her mouth with her linen napkin.

"What's he done with them?" Bauer asked.

"He-uh-hasn't done anything, ma'am. He finished his shower and they were-uh-gone. Started raising a hel-ruckus. Cursing, ranting. All that voodoo stuff. Demanded we get you. Immediately."

Annoyance flitted across Bauer's face. "Tell Mr. Zaid…" She stopped. Hesitated. "Fine. I'll speak to him. Step inside. I'll be right back."