If you touch her, I’ll rip off your balls.
Grant walked up to Quinn. “Five minutes.”
* * *
Still groggy,Elizabeth’s heart began to race the moment the man with the dark hair stepped into the room. Whoever he was, she knew he had murdered Jack. The wound on his left cheek where Quinn had stabbed him told her that. She also knew for certain that he didn’t intend to let her live—not now that she’d seen his face.
“You’re awake. Good. Let’s have a little chat.”
He wanted to talk? Fine.
Interrogation was a game she knew how to play.
“What should we talk about—the weather in Scotland, whether rugby or soccer is the better sport, why you killed Jack Murray? Let’s talk about that last one.”
His pupils dilated.
So, she’d taken him by surprise.
“Excuse me, sir.” The guard said. “I need to take a leak.”
He nodded, then pulled a chair over and sat in front of Elizabeth. “You and McManus have something I want.”
“Jack’s original phone. Yes, that’s true. You can’t have it.” She and Quinn had been right about that.
There was something on the phone, something tied to the parties in that villa.
Whoever this bastard was, he must work for Whitehall.
His brow furrowed, proof that she’d surprised him again. “I’ve told him that if he wants you back alive, he’ll deliver it to me in Edinburgh. Then you can go.”
“Liar.” She willed herself to laugh. “You’ve got no intention of letting either of us go. You’re just using me as bait. When you get your hands on the phone, you’ll put a bullet through our heads. Otherwise, we’ll tell the police that you killed Jack.”
“I prefer to work with knives.” He drew out a knife, flipped out its blade.
A frisson of fear shivered down her spine.
“The weapon of a brute.” She tossed out something she knew about him, tried to get him to reveal himself. “Jack trusted you.”
“That was his mistake, the noble idiot. He and Quinn are alike in that way—the two Wegians. Big hearts and small brains.”
His response narrowed things down for Elizabeth.
She laughed again. “You callthemidiots? If you think Quinn is just going to turn the phone over to you, you’re dumber than you look.”
Now, he was angry.
Good.
She was throwing him off-balance.
“If he double crosses me—”
“You’ll do what exactly?” Then it clicked. “Everyone is going to know it was you,Andrew.”
He flinched, proof she was right.
Andrew Lewis, who’d served in the SAS with Jack and Quinn, the man who’d gotten Jack the job at Holyrood, was Jack’s killer.