“Getting waterboarded all day isn’t a misunderstanding.” She had no idea how long she’d been in here, or what was going to happen to her when she got out, but she knew it couldn’t possibly be good. At this point she figured the most likely outcome would be that they’d flood the cell with whatever lycanthrope knockout gas Stricken had used last time, then come in and pop her. With nothing better to do in between torture sessions, she’d practiced holding her breath. If she was lucky, they’d be stupid enough to open the door while she was still awake and she’d make a break for it.

“You brought that on yourself. I think of the Task Force like a family, and all good families have rules. You broke my rules, so you were punished. That’s all water under the bridge now.”

She’d already tested the door. It was rock solid, even to somebody werewolf strong. It was really too bad, because if there was one last thing she’d like to accomplish before leaving this world, it would be to kill Stricken . . . Okay, if she was being honest with herself and she could only have one last wish, it would be to see Earl again, but she’d always been something of a romantic. Biting Stricken’s face off would be a close number two on the list.

“Did you just come to gloat before you murder me, or do you have an actual point, Pinky?”

“Now that’s just hurtful. I’m not even genetically an albino. I have a medical condition I received while serving my country, so I find your hateful remarks about my appearance incredibly insensitive.”

“Are you serious?”

“Naw, I’m just messing with you, Kerkonen. I’ve come to offer you a deal. This is a limited time offer, so listen very carefully. You crossed some lines and poked around in classified Task Force business, which is all the justification I need to toss you in the incinerator, but I’m feeling merciful, and well, frankly, I’ve had a bit of a problem arise that requires your talents. If you help me out with this problem, your sins will be forgiven. I’m merciful like that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It is a rather big problem . . . Tell you what, you help me out with this, and not only are we square, but I will commute the rest of your sentence. All those months you have left? Gone. Do this for me, and as soon as we’re out of here, you’re PUFF exempt. You have my word.”

Stricken’s word wasn’t worth much, but if it got the door open, then it might be worth the risk. “What’s this problem of yours?”

“Have you ever seen Spartacus?”

“The old movie? Sure.”