Chapter Twelve

As it turned out, Carmichael was not a fan of pain. He was about as far from a masochist as a person could be. I duct-taped him to one of those hideous red chairs and set him up near the windows with his back to the glorious view so the backdrop of the Seattle waterfront and the Puget Sound beyond would give me comfort and lend me strength. So it would remind me of why I was here—to protect my beloved city from people like Carmichael.

I left him naked, not because I was overly fond of the sight of him, but because nudity creates insecurity. It’s one more barrier cast away, one more protective wall torn down. Being naked in front of others has the tendency to make a person feel exposed, no matter how comfortable they are in their own skin. Especially when those “others” have not-so-nice intentions. It had been Dom’s suggestion, and a damn good one at that.

Carmichael cried out when I nicked his left pectoral with Mercy’s invisible tip. To be fair, I cut a smidgen deeper than I’d planned, but I was still getting used to the very strange lack of visibility of her sword blade. I knew the feel of her well, but it was becoming all too clear that my sword and I would have to become even more familiar with one another.

“That was just so you’d know the blade is real,” I explained to Carmichael, standing a couple feet away from him. “Every time you lie to me, I’ll cut you again. And yes, I’ll be able to tell when you’re lying.” It was true enough; my heightened hearing allowed me to hone in on his heartbeat, and my eyesight was good enough that I could see the level of perspiration on his skin and gauge any change in his pupil size. “We’ll keep playing this game until you bleed out or I get all the information I need. Understand?”

Carmichael gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Alright . . .” I flipped Mercy up and rested the flat of her blade against my right shoulder. “Did you know about the children your SoDo lab was abducting and experimenting on?” I watched him carefully, taking in every part of his response, verbal and otherwise.

“No,” he rasped.

“Lie.” I slashed a shallow nick across his cheekbone, and he yelped. I planted my hands on my hips and leaned over him. “I gave you fair warning—you lie, you get cut.” I gave him the look. “You did that to yourself. Now, did you know about the kids?”

Again, Carmichael swallowed roughly, then licked his lips. “Yes, I—I knew about them.”

“And did you know about all the research and experiments going on in that lab?”

“Yes,” Carmichael admitted. “We all did—all of the board members.”

I tutted, tapping the flat of the sword against the side of his face. He flinched at each touch of the smooth, invisible At blade. “Don’t try to deflect the blame onto them. They’re not here. You are. I’ll get to them later.” I returned the sword to my shoulder. “Tell me, Mitch, do you remember a boy named Sammy?”