I haven't moved since Spencer left two hours ago. Another agent with blonde hair came in about an hour ago to give me a black long sleeve shirt, a turkey sandwich, and bottle of water but they're still sitting on the table where she left them. I keep my eyes locked on the two way mirror, eyeing down the agent who's undoubtedly standing on the other side. My muscles are tense and uncomfortable, but I refuse to flinch. If they want to keep me in a box like a zoo animal, I'm not going to be their form of entertainment too. I only perform when it's necessary and right now, I just have to act pissed off and stubborn which isn't difficult given my circumstances.
I hear the door open and close but my eyes stay locked on the mirror. Dr. Reid sits down in front of me, and my eyes fixate on him. He hands me the shirt, "you look cold."
I roll my eyes and take it from him. I put it on, but I keep my eyes on him the entire time. Even though I resisted putting it on, the extra layer the long sleeve gives me instantly warms me up but I can't let him know that.
"You going to let me leave soon?" I ask. "I mean, you technically have 63 hours left, but you can always give up sooner."
"I don't plan on giving up," he says sternly. He opens up the file and pulls out a photo of me from Friday night getting into a black SUV at my hotel. "Where did you go on Friday night?"
I look at the photo, it's not the best quality. Plus the windows on the SUV are so darkly tinted that you can't see anyone inside the car. I can work with this.
I flick my eyes back to him, "I met with a client."
True.
"Where?" I scan his eyes, trying to figure out what he knows, but his face is just as expressionless as mine.
"I went to her home."
Lie.
"How long were you there?"
"About five hours or so. I can't remember exactly when I arrived, but I returned to my hotel around 1 am."
True.
"Why were you there for so long?" He folds his hands on the table.
"Because the client offered to pay extra for me to be there a little longer."
Half true.
"Is that where the three thousand dollars we found came from?"
"Mostly," I lean back in my chair, my muscles aching as I do so, "some was from my client on Saturday."
True.
He nods, "Plus, it's nice keep cash on you. You don't really want to leave a paper trail when you're kidnapping your clients."
I roll my eyes, "nice try, Dr. Reid. But like I've said many times now, those men who are missing aren't my clients. And I'm sure you can tell by my credit card transactions, I'm not one to care about 'paper trails'." I put air quotes around 'paper trails', purposefully emphasizing his phrasing.
"Hm," he says looking in his file again. He pauses, closes the file and looks at me, "so if you're not afraid of people knowing your whereabouts, why didn't you take your phone on Friday night?"
I look at him and cock my head to the side, "I never bring my phone when I go to my clients homes. Mostly for privacy reasons, if I bring my phone and someone is tracking me because of my occupation, their identity can be compromised. Which can lead to many messy divorces and prenup violations. But also a majority of my clients request that I don't bring it as it enhances the time spent together."
True again, well half true. Mr. Maxwell Huntington requested that we go tech-free during our meetings since he hated what a distraction cell phones are.
He nods again, searching my eyes for any indication that my story doesn't line up. "And I'm guessing you're not willing to give me the name of the woman you were with on Friday."
I shake my head, "not a chance."
"You know," he leans in, his voice just above a whisper, "I don't think you were with a female client on Friday." His eyes are focused on mine as he continues, "I think you were with our latest victim, Maxwell Huntington."
I don't react to the sound of his name, even though it makes my blood boil. I lean forward, meeting Dr. Reid across the table. "Do you have any evidence to back up your theory, Dr. Reid?"
He squints his eyes, searching for anything to tell him he's right, but he doesn't find anything.
"That car you got in," I hear his finger hit the table but neither of us break eye contact, "was rented by one of the partners at Morrison Tyler Law Firm which is the same firm that Mr. Huntington happens to be employed at."
I let out a small scoff, "You do know that Morrison Tyler is a multi-branch firm with hundreds of senior and partnered lawyers, right?"
His eyes shift slightly and I can tell I've caught him off guard, "So by coincidence, one of your missing men, happens to work at the same parent company as my client. You're going to have to do better than that, Spencie."
I smirk at the new nickname and sit back down in my seat. His eyes narrow, I've struck a nerve yet again. God, he makes it so easy.
The door opens and a dark haired, male agent walks in. He hands Dr. Reid a new file and whispers something inaudible in his ear. He nods and opens the file as he walks out the door. Damn, the FBI really knows how to bring on the dramatics. He barely glances at it, but he's now the one smirking at me.
"You're smart, Sloane, you really are," he states, closing the file and placing it on top of mine, "but sometimes even the best laid plans have their flaws."
My facial expression remains in its unamused state, but my mind is frantically trying to think of where I may have had a misstep. They couldn't have found Maxwells body already, right? I mean, I used a fucking anchor to weight him down in the water. Plus I took us far enough out that the water is deep and they wouldn't be able to spot the body from the surface.
He opens the file and pulls out a photo of a dead body. I instantly look away, trying to express a mixture of disturbed and upset by what he showed me. But I looked at it long enough to know that the body in the photo wasn't the bloated corpse of Maxwell Huntington. Thank god.
"Why are you showing me that," purposefully making my voice shake a bit; I mean, no innocent person would be okay with seeing a dead body, even in a photograph.
"That is the body of Richard Banks, the fourth man who went missing," I can't see his face since I'm still avoiding the photograph, but I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. "Nashville PD just discovered him while searching his property."
It's about time they found him, I mean he was on his own land after all. Granted he does live on a 200 acre property; but still, taking two weeks to find him just feels lazy to me. Also, I obviously didn't care if he was found, otherwise I would have gotten rid of the body rather than leaving him in the guest house.
Dick was an interesting one though. I set up to look like a suicide. We met at one of his many guest houses on his property, the one furthest from the main house. He got handsy and when I told him no, he persisted. I said no again, and he told me he already paid for me, he should be the one making the rules. But unfortunately for him, that's not the way things work in my world. So, I injected him with vecuronium, a paralytic that I started bringing with me to secluded meetings. The drug also makes you more susceptible to suggestions, making it easy for me convince him to take one of his many pistols, put it in his mouth, and pull the trigger. The bullet not only killed him, but removed the small hole the needle created. Plus, the drug metabolizes so quickly that it won't show up on a toxicology report.
But I'm still not sure why Dr. Reid thinks that the police finding this body is going to make me look bad. I know for a fact that I didn't leave any DNA or any evidence of me being there.
"Can you please put the picture away?" I ask, voice shaking. I have to sell that it makes me uncomfortable, because that's how an innocent person would react.
I hear him pick up the photo and the sound of the file closing around it. I look over cautiously, as if I was scared it would still be there. But I see he did actually put it away and I allow my body to relax a little, as if I was relieved.
"Thank you," I say in a quiet, small voice, "I don't do well with blood, even if it is just in a picture."
I look at Dr. Reid's face to see that his own expression is one of confusion, like he's trying to piece together what just happened. I completely flipped the script on him and he doesn't know how to handle it.
"Look," I say, after taking a deep breath, "I get that you want to find out what's happening to these men, I would too if I were in your position, but I didn't take them."
I try to sound as genuine as possible, and based on his expression, I think it's working. I mean I am telling the truth. I didn't kidnap any of these men, I just killed them. Which is very different if you think about it.
We sit there in silence for a moment, he doesn't know how to reply to me now that I've changed my demeanor. I went from cold, defensive, and confident to a scared little girl and he can't decipher which one is an act.
The silence is broken by a knock on the mirror. Spencer stands and leaves without a word, I think I finally broke him.