Charley Middleton held the gun, Tesla a letter opener she had found in the suite’s desk.

“Nora, we really should get you to a hospital,” Middleton said.

“It’s mostly stopped bleeding. We’ll go to the hospital soon enough, but we’ll have to figure out what to do with her first.”

Tesla set down the letter opener, removed the gag from the assassin’s mouth and quickly stepped away. She picked up the letter opener once more.

“So,” said Tesla, “perhaps you will tell us who wants Ms. Middleton and why?”

The woman looked up at both of them, her eyes dark with hatred and contempt. In French, she said, “There is no amount of pain I cannot endure.”

Tesla met her gaze. “Let’s find out if that is true.”

12 - P. J. PARRISH

12

P. J. PARRISH

A whimpering sound drew Tesla’s eyes to the corner. Charley was slumped against the wall. The Hawlen 9mm was still in her hand, but the barrel, with its long silencer, was pointed at the floor.

“Charley!” Tesla said sharply. “Keep the gun on her.”

Her eyes came up, brimming with tears. When she raised the gun, she had to hold it with two trembling hands.

Tesla turned back to Jana, who was seated on the floor in front of her. Her dark skin glistened with sweat and her breath was coming so fast and shallow Tesla could actually hear the whistle of air through her lips as she struggled to keep calm.

For the third time, Tesla snapped a flame from the lighter and positioned the blackened tip of the silver letter opener over it. A slither of smoke curled from the blade—not from the char of the silver, but from the sear of the tiny bits of flesh that clung to it.

As she reached toward Jana’s face, a memory flicked into her head. The beach at Cap d’Antibes. Harold questioning Balan in the same manner he questioned all suspects, no matter how vile their crimes.

Respectful, measured interrogation. There was no point in abusing prisoners, he said. It was counterproductive.

Tesla pushed Harold’s face and words from her mind. That was him, not her.

Tesla held the letter opener in front of Jana’s face. The woman’s eyes filled with defiant tears. Her dark hair was matted with blood from the gash inflicted when Tesla hit her with the chair. And her lip was swollen from Tesla’s fists. Nothing had made her even flinch. Until Tesla had brushed the red-hot metal of the letter opener against the smooth olive skin of Jana’s finely sculpted cheekbone.

Vanity. That was the key to unlock this woman’s tongue.

“Why are you trying to kill Charley Middleton?” Tesla demanded.

Jana shut her eyes.

“Who are you working with?”

Jana pressed back against the wall, trying to get away from the letter opener.