Just then the office door opened. Another officer came in, younger, maybe twenty-eight. Victoria hadn’t seen him before.
— Boss, maybe it’s time to show this one the special room? he said with a smirk. Missura gave Victoria a long, ugly look.
— No, he said, dragging the word out. — I think we have a little fun first. Then we’ll see. He stepped toward her and reached for her arm.
That was it. Her training took over before conscious thought could catch up. She caught his wrist, twisted hard, and locked the joint.
Missura howled and doubled over. Victoria didn’t stop there. She drove him into the wall.
His head cracked against the plaster and he dropped. The younger officer lunged at her. Victoria pivoted and drove an elbow into his solar plexus.
He folded. She finished with a sharp knee to the face. He hit the floor.
Greer burst in at the noise, reaching for his baton. He was too slow.
Victoria kicked out at his knee. He cried out and started to fall. She caught him by the head and slammed him into the edge of the desk. He went down cold.
Fifteen seconds. Three grown men on the floor. Victoria straightened and brushed off her hands.
Her breathing was steady. Her pulse calm. It had gone as smoothly as a training drill. Missura, half-conscious against the wall, stared at her in raw fear.
— Who the hell are you? Victoria looked at him without expression. — Someone who’s had enough of your games.
Missura tried to stand, grabbing the desk. — Security! Get in here! Officer down! Assault on police!
The door flew open. Four more officers crowded into the office. Victoria assessed the room in an instant.
Four fresh men against her alone in a tight space. Maybe she could take them. Maybe not cleanly. And even if she did, then what?
Run? To where? She didn’t know the whole building, didn’t know where her phone was, and didn’t know for certain whether Whitaker had gotten the message.
No. Running was the wrong move. She needed to wait. She slowly raised her hands.
— Fine. I’m done resisting. Missura got to his feet, breathing hard.
He wiped blood from his forehead with a shaking hand. His face was twisted with rage and fear. — Grab her! Hold her!
Two big officers seized Victoria and wrenched her arms behind her back. Pain shot through both shoulders, but she didn’t make a sound. Missura limped toward her.
His face was slick with sweat and fury. — Thought you were smarter than everybody else? Thought because you can fight, we’d back off?
He hit her hard across the face. Her lip split. She tasted blood. — Thought somebody important was coming to save you? he snarled.
— Nobody’s coming. You’re alone here. He hit her again.
And again. Victoria didn’t struggle. Let them think she was finished.
— That’s enough, Lieutenant, one of the officers holding her said nervously. — You’re going to kill her. Missura stopped, breathing hard.
His knuckles were bloody. He limped back to the desk and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a police stun gun.
Blue sparks snapped between the contacts. — See this? he said. — You’re about to learn what happens when you put your hands on police.
Victoria stared at the device. Her heart dropped once, hard, but her face stayed calm. Against a stun gun, her training meant very little.
One strong hit and she’d black out. With him in this state, maybe for good. Missura stepped close.
He pressed the crackling stun gun to her neck. — Think you’re the smart one? Let’s fix that.
The world exploded into pain. The shock tore through her body. Every muscle seized at once. Every nerve lit up white-hot.
Her legs gave way. Consciousness started slipping fast. The last thing she heard before everything went black was Missura laughing. — Better already.
— Now we can talk. Then there was nothing.
She had no idea how long she was out. A minute. Ten. Maybe more. She came to because someone was dragging her by the legs across a dirty floor.
Her head bumped over uneven linoleum. Everything hurt, but her body still wouldn’t obey. Her muscles twitched from the shock.
— Take this one down to isolation, she heard Missura say somewhere above her. — Put her in the back cell and cuff her to the pipe. Let her think about her attitude.
They dragged her down a hallway, then down a steep set of stairs. The steps slammed into her back. Victoria tried to move her hands, but they barely responded.
Only her fingers twitched. At last they reached the basement. It was cold and damp.
The air smelled of mildew and old concrete. They stopped at a heavy steel door. Rusty hinges groaned.
They hauled her inside and dropped her on the floor. Victoria forced her eyes open. Her lids felt weighted down, but she managed it.
The cell was tiny, maybe six by eight feet. Bare wet walls. Along one side ran a thick rusted heating pipe.
No window. Just a narrow vent near the ceiling where a little weak outside light came through. One of the officers yanked her up and dragged her to the pipe.
He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He snapped them around her wrists and locked her to the pipe. The metal bit deep into already torn skin.
— Enjoy your stay, he said with a grin. Then they left. The door slammed.
The lock clicked. Their footsteps faded. Victoria was alone in the dark.
She leaned her aching back against the wall and tried to breathe. Every inch of her hurt. Her muscles still throbbed from the stun gun.
Her wrists burned where the cuffs cut into her skin. Her face pulsed with every heartbeat. Her lip was swollen. One eye was nearly shut.
But worse than the pain was the thought she couldn’t shake. What if the message never went through?
