Tripp had to keep her going. She'd be better able to stand up to
Vuong
, stay safe,
stay
strong, when alert. "What were you and your mother arguing about?"
Her eyes fluttered open and she laughed with a reckless hysteria.
"About my choices in men."
"Oh, really."
He perked up at that. "Sounds like a better way to pass the time than talking about me."
"What makes you think talking about the men in my life doesn't include you?"
"Does it?" he asked with a gulp.
"It should. Especially considering my mother's biggest complaint is that my two longest-running relationships have been with men belonging to a questionably criminal element."
"I'm crushed.
Criminal element indeed."
She shrugged.
"Hey, if the web fits."
He chuckled.
"Funny girl."
"Do you have one, Tripp?"
"A web?
A criminal element?"
"A girl."
He sighed, leaned forward to nuzzle his nose against her temple, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair. "I'm pretty sure I do. At least I'm working on it."
"Oh, Tripp."
She dusted kisses over his cheek, huddling up into the cradle of his neck and shoulder. "When we get out of here, can we work a little harder?
Together?
I'd really like it if we could."
"You're not just saying that because you want to swing on my web, are you?"
"No, I'm saying it because you've teased me for months. And because I didn't get the chance earlier to finish what I started."
He pretended to ponder. "That's true. That was all rather one-sided."
"Not my intention, trust me."
Talking about sex here and now seemed a bit like fiddling while the
Titanic
went down. But he was up for any distraction to keep Glory calm.
It was unfortunate
Vuong
had bound their hands. And damn unfortunate that Tripp himself had been the one to stash the knife.
"Well, if your intentions involve giving as good as you got, I'm all for some heavy-duty exploration of what you have on your mind."
"Giving as
good
as I got? You think rather highly of yourself, don't you
Shaughnessey
?"
"I'm just a man confident in his skills."
"Oh, I see," she said, her mouth twisting around what he was sure was a hell of a laugh at his expense. "What're you going to do if I give even better?"
"Guess I'll be up a creek and have to do a lot of extra paddling to make up for it."
"If by paddling you mean spanking, no thanks. But if by paddling you mean, well. . ."
Cute.
She'd embarrassed herself into a corner. He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips, rubbing his lips over hers lightly, gently, teasingly, because he wanted her to be the one to open up and beg.
He wanted that because it was so much easier to let
himself
fall when he knew he wasn't falling alone.
When she opened her mouth, she opened it with a whimpering groan, bathing his lips with the barest tip of her tongue before pressing the seam where he held his mouth in a tightly determined line.
The funny thing about determination, he mused, was how quickly the reasoning behind it fell into a big black hole of need. The physical, he readily owned up to. The emotional, however, he was just beginning to understand when the storeroom door crashed open for the second time.
Nine
Glory jerked away from the bliss that was Tripp and banged the back of her head on the wall. Tripp scrambled to his feet. She wasn't quite as quick, what with not being a superhero and wearing a really short skirt.
Boy, had it seemed like a good idea at the time she'd been dressing this morning. And, boy, what she wouldn't give to turn back the clock and start this day over. She'd wear a flour sack and a chastity belt if given the magical chance.
But this was her reality, and she managed to stand just as the professor who wasn't
came
stumbling into the storeroom,
Danh
shoving him from behind.
Danh
looked from Tripp to Glory to the older man who had gained his balance and now stood in the center of the room.
Danh
circled the professor or the agent or whoever the hell the man was, prodding him with the business end of his gun.
"Here are the rules for this party. Mr.
Shaughnessey
, you will sit back down."
Glory glanced at Tripp's inscrutable expression, watching his gaze never waver from
Danh's
, watching as he slid down the wall to sit.
"Very well done,"
Danh
said, turning his attention to her. "Miss Brighton, you will turn around so I can cut you free."
Her heart fluttered at the thought of gaining her freedom, sank at the realization that she wasn't free at all.
Simply being used as a pawn in
Danh's
game.
Facing Tripp, she presented
Danh
with her bound hands, wincing as he cut through the hard plastic tie. Blood rushed back into her wrists and fingers; she clasped her hands at her waist and rubbed at the bruises.
Tripp's face remained impossible to read. She had no idea if he wanted her to play nice, make a run for the door, maybe try to slip his knife out of the Advil box and use it.
Or, if all she needed to do was distract
Danh
by cooperating with whatever he had in mind while Tripp did what he had been trained to do.
In the end, the decision was taken out of her hands when
Danh
gave her a directive.
"Now, Miss Brighton.
I'm going to have you search the professor here for the information he has that belongs to my employer."
Knowing the man wasn't a professor at all but a member of a crime syndicate should've made the prospect easier to face. But, in fact, the opposite was true.
She looked up at his kindly, forgiving expression and tried to smile in return. Knowing the evil heart that beat beneath his tweed jacket and chocolate cashmere turtleneck sent her thoughts racing in directions she didn't want them to go.
The idea of the crimes he might have committed, the horrors he'd perpetrated . . . she couldn't even pry her fingers apart to touch his clothes.
"Haven't you done that already? Searched him, I mean?"
"Cursorily.
I want you to be more thorough.
One hundred percent thorough.
And you can start by helping him remove his jacket."
Glory moved around behind the professor and lifted shaking hands to his shoulders.
"I'm so sorry about this," she whispered, speaking to the man she wished he was, speaking to herself.
Even speaking to Tripp, apologizing for not knowing anything to do to help him get them out of here.
"Don't worry about it, my dear. We are all forced to deal with certain
unpleasantries
in our lives," he said, shrugging out of fashionable and expensive tweed.
Glory stepped back, holding the jacket by the padded shoulders, waiting for further instruction. The professor smoothed down the rumpled sleeves of his shirt.
Danh
moved to face him, his gun now seeming to be an extension of his arm rather than a weapon.
"
Unpleasantries
.
An interesting
turn
of phrase for a man in your profession, yes?"
The professor's gray eyes studied
Danh
from behind wire-rimmed glasses. "I suppose were you to poll my students, they might agree."
Danh
laughed at that, a tight humorless sound that left a trail as it crawled over Glory's skin "We're among friends here.
Or at least among those similarly invested in leaving here unexposed."
Glory slid her gaze to Tripp's face. His eyes were focused on the professor's. And she swore she saw him give the other man a signal. All this subterfuge . . .
who
did he think she was that she was going to fall apart while these three cats batted around a mouse she couldn't see?
"Miss Brighton. The coat seams, collar, pockets, lining. Shred the garment if you must."
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything that doesn't belong."
"And if I don't find anything?" she asked, fingering the collar from point to point.
"Shoes or shirt next.
We strip the professor bare if need be. And then we search his person."
"Wait the hell a minute. I am not taking off this man's clothes."
No sooner had she gotten the words out than she found
Danh
standing over Tripp and lining up his head as a target. "I think you'll do what you're instructed to do. There will be consequences if you do not."
Tears welled and burned until her vision was nothing but a blur of tweed. That blur was so much
better,
however, than picturing what a bullet would do to Tripp's head.
She moved to the pockets, the lapels, laying the jacket out on the floor and running her fingers over every inch of the lining as well as the heavier outer fabric. She finally stood, folding it over her arms.
She shook her head. "There's nothing here."
"Professor?
Where would you like her to continue?"
"Miss Brighton," the professor addressed her directly. "I understand your concern, but please realize I am aware that you have no choice."
And you?
she
wanted to ask. If you're who Tripp says you are
,
what sort of choices do you have? "It would go easier on all of us if you could give me a hint? Or maybe just give Mr.
Vuong
what he's looking for, and save all of us this hassle?"
"She has a point," Tripp finally put in,
Danh
having removed the gun from the top of his head. "Give up the goods and we can all go home."
The professor's expression remained unaffected. Apparently he wasn't as put off by having her strip him as she was by the reality of the act. He slipped off his turtleneck with a nonchalance that was strangely disturbing and handed her the shirt.
Danh
circled the both of them while she went through the same process of searching seams and hems.
"Professor.
Why don't you tell us about the memoir you're
writing.
With your experience, you must have more than a few tales to tell."
Why the hell was
Danh
baiting the man? Nothing good was going to come of this, Glory just knew. She found nothing embedded anywhere in the shirt and glanced helplessly at Tripp. His response was no more than a look that encouraged her to hang in and he'd figure a way out of here soon.
"I'm not so sure this is the time and place for stories," the professor argued as he heel-toed off both shoes for Glory's inspection.
"It's time for whatever I decide. Do you have a publisher for your memoir? Do you have an audience waiting to read about your life?"
The professor's smile was a picture of paternal patience. "I'm not seeking publication, Mr.
Vuong
. I'm recording my memories as a self-indulgent exercise more than anything."
"Is that right? So if I have one of my men bring in your portfolio, then you will read to us?"
Glory sensed a shift in the room's tension even before she got to her feet with the shoes hooked over two of her fingers. Tripp had moved from leaning against the wall, his knees drawn up, his hands at his back, to a sitting sort of crouch as if ready to launch himself forward.