“You aren’t cops. And you’re sure as hell not lawyers. So I’m going to ask you a direct question: why did Mark Sevcik send you?”

The blade dropped a quarter inch.

“He didn’t,” North said.

“What are you talking about? What you told Jeremy downstairs—a video. What’s that?”

North took a moment, his thoughts flashing. Brueckmann wasn’t pretending. Brueckmann honestly had no idea why they had come here. Brueckmann must have—

The tip of the blade dug in again, and another runnel of blood trickled down North’s throat. “That,” Brueckmann said, “was a direct question.”

“Mark Sevcik has a blackmail video.”

“Just one?”

The question was so bizarre that North almost forgot to answer. “As far as I know.”

Some sort of internal calculation was taking place inside Brueckmann. The man’s breathing had quickened, and for the first time since he had placed the blade against North’s throat, his hand trembled. Not fear, North decided. Something else. Excitement? That was a bizarre reaction, but nothing else made sense.

“All right,” Brueckmann finally said. “Your trip just got canceled. You’re going to have an all-inclusive stay instead. I want you to listen very carefully. Are you listening very carefully, sub?”

Something had shifted in the room, and North felt his fear for Shaw retreat a few yards. “Yeah, I do all my listening through my jaw, so when you poked those extra holes in there, it really helped.”

“I might keep you a few extra days. Teach you a few things.” Brueckmann shifted, and North realized the other man was hard again, rutting against North softly, steadily. “For now, I just want you to stay and be comfortable. I’ve got a lot of questions for you about our friend Mark. A lot of questions about this video. So I want you to understand something: do you see Jeremy over there?”

“That’s not really an understanding question.”

Brueckmann laughed softly. “Jeremy is going to put his boot on your boy’s neck right now.”

Jeremy’s huge boot slid up to Shaw’s neck.

“And now Jeremy’s going to press down, cutting off your boy’s air.”

Jeremy’s foot came down. Shaw let out a strangled gasp, and he twisted, trying to roll out from under the pressure. Jeremy had leverage and position, though, and he had a hell of a lot more mass. Shaw’s hands raked along the thick leather.

“I’m going to kill you,” North said. His voice came from somewhere else. One of the bottom floors in hell, maybe. Somewhere very, very far off. “Get off him or I’m going to kill you right now.”

“You can do one of two things. You can go through that door right there, right now, like a good little sub. And you can crawl into your new spa suite. Or you can try to do something stupid. But Jeremy’s not taking his foot off your friend’s throat until you’re all tucked away.”

North’s mind raced. How long had it been? Ten seconds? He watched, paralyzed, as Shaw clawed at Jeremy’s leg, as his long, whipcord body flexed and tried to get free, at the helpless terror convulsing him. Fifteen? Had it been fifteen seconds? And how long before Shaw lost consciousness? How long before brain damage? A few minutes, maybe? Less?