Shadows by Ilsa J. Bick Page B

would’ve called a filthy night. When the large drays pitched a fit—dancing and kicking when the guards boosted them onto the running boards—they almost went nowhere, which would’ve suited Lena just fine. The wagon was open, and a single lantern bounced and swayed as the thickening snow drew down in a dense, billowing curtain that swirled and eddied and muffled all sound. They might as well have been in a tornado in a bell jar or snow globe. The wind snatched and plucked at her hair because they hadn’t let her get a hat, and her ears were so icy they burned. The lantern was a swinging fuzzy blur, and their guard, a mountain of a man, had been reduced to a white hump.
    A sudden gust scoured her face. Lena winced, blinking as tears pooled. She wanted to wipe them away, but her fingers were numb even in gloves because of the plasticuffs. When the guard zipped them on, she tried tensing her muscles, but then he’d slapped her hard enough to sting.
    “None of that funny business, girl,” the guard said, wrapping a chain around her waist that he locked to a thick metal O-ring. “Seth might be old, but Seth ain’t stupid.”
    “No, Seth’s just an asshole who can’t speak in the first person,” she said, but there was no fight in it and she’d only groaned when Seth yanked the plasticuffs so tight the zip sounded like a wood saw.
    Now, she straightened, gritting her teeth against the bite of plastic in skin. Her wrists were wet. Blood . Just one more thing. She ducked her head, smearing her burning eyes on her shoulder.
    “You okay?” Chris asked. He was on her right, his head and chest and shoulders frothy with snow.
    “No. I can’t feel my hands. These cuffs are too tight.”
    “Yeah, me neither. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
    “Do you know where he’s taking us?” She’d realized as soon as they turned out of Jess’s street that they weren’t headed into town but east.
    “Torture house,” Kincaid said. When he looked down at her, a mound of snow slid from the brim of his Stetson and plopped into his lap.
    “What ?”
    “Well, they call it the interrogation center, but . . . oh yeah.” Kincaid swayed as the wagon dipped in and out of ruts. “Sometimes the boys get overly enthusiastic . Afterward, they call me and I get to patch up whoever they’re working over so they can start in again.”
    “Torture?” Her voice thinned to a squeak. “You mean, they’re going to—” She whipped her head around to Chris. “You know about this?”
    The light was bad, but she saw him hesitate. “Well, I—”
    “Oh my God, you do.” Her bravado had evaporated, and she wondered again what the hell she’d been thinking. She didn’t even like Alex. And if Chris knew they were torturing people, why didn’t he do something to stop it?
    “They’ll just try to scare you,” Chris was saying. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
    “That’s not a promise you can make, Chris. ’Sides, my guess is she does have information.” Kincaid eyed Lena. “Do you?”
    “I don’t have anything to say to you,” she said. “You’re one of them. ”
    “Oh, right. I’m so glad you reminded me I’m one of the bad guys, in case these cuffs weren’t enough.”
    “How can you joke around?” She was feeling sick again and badly needed to pee.
    “I wasn’t aware I was.” Kincaid paused and then his tone changed. “You’re from up around Oren.”
    “So what? It’s not a crime,” she said, and then thought, Shit, I make it sound like it is.
    “You don’t owe him any explanations, Lena,” Chris put in.
    “I can talk for myself.”
    “I’m just saying—”
    “Whoa, whoa,” Kincaid said. “If you two can’t do better than that, you’ll be sunk in ten seconds, maybe less. Chris, you of all people ought to know that.”
    “Is there a question in there?” Chris asked.
    “Should there be?” When Chris said nothing, Kincaid went on: “Chris, it’s what your grandfather asked. How do you know where