“Come again?” Lydia asked. “You specifically told us we can’t come here and you punished us for doing so, and now you want me to go in there?”
“Heather requested you,” Sylvia said. “She refuses to speak to anyone else.”
“Why me?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe you make for stimulating conversation. Look, she’s our only lead at the moment, and we need to find these people. They could be planning something else, and we don’t want another Golden Springs on our hands. Or worse.”
Lydia scratched her head, skeptical of their plan. “Last time didn’t go so well,” she said.
“We’ll be right there for you,” Arthur said. “Morella will be in the room and we’ll be outside. You can do this.”
She looked at the hall. She wanted another crack at Heather. I can get the name. I will get the name. Lydia agreed and they escorted her to the room.
As they opened the door, Sylvia patted her shoulder. “Don’t let her rile you up,” she whispered. She gave her an encouraging smile and Lydia returned it. Then Morella and she entered and he stayed by the door.
Like before, Lydia took a seat across from Heather. The bed that Lydia had broken had been replaced, and Heather was sitting on the edge of the mattress, already handcuffed with her filter. Her albino roots stood out, pushing away the retreating color. Lydia tapped her own thighs, unsure how to start. As she opened her mouth, Heather eyed the door and spoke low, so only Lydia heard her. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“What?” Lydia asked.
“What other choice do we have?” She paused and turned to her. “She can do this.”
Lydia raised an eyebrow, puzzled by what she meant. Heather jerked her head at the door, where Arthur and Sylvia whispered to one another. “Quite the vote of confidence,” Heather said.
“What did you want?” Lydia scooted her chair forward. “Why ask to talk to me?”
“Because we never got to finish our conversation. It was kind of fun, your pretending to be an actual agent. Like watching a toddler try to imitate its parent.”
Lydia flexed her knuckles and dug them into her legs. “I am in training.”
“And that excuses you from smashing my bed? You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep on the floor?”
“I’m sorry,” Lydia said. “A lapse on my part. But I’m in control now.”
“When you think you’re in control is when the floor falls out from under you.” Heather snapped her fingers. “Just like that.”
“Were you going to get around to telling me who your boss is, or are you going continue critiquing my interrogation skills?”
Heather clucked her tongue. “Oh, I could go on for hours about that. Unfortunately, I think a lot of the techniques I could teach you aren’t approved by Arthur.” She nodded to him.
Lydia brushed her hair out of her face. “Tell me already or this is over.”
“No it’s not,” Heather said, matter-of-factly. “Because you want this person. You want them dead as much as you want me dead. Don’t lie. I know you still hate me. But since I’m trapped in here, you want them more.”
“I’ve come to terms with what happened at the bank.” Her gaze went beyond Heather for a moment as she said, “It was an accident.”
“Oh, sure,” Heather said, unconvinced. “Come to terms with an accident that could’ve been prevented if we never took your parents. Please. You’re worse than an alcoholic in rehab. At least they admit they have a problem and seek help. They try to overcome it. You’re in a sheltered environment that lets you push it aside as long as you want, pretending you’ve beaten it. Yet as soon as you leave, all that hate, all that fury will come back and you’ll want to kill again.” Lydia felt like smacking her. Although doing so would prove Heather’s point. She curled her hands into her waist, holding them there. “And like the alcoholic, you’ll deal with that day in and day out, every time you find some scumbag that really deserves worse than they’ll get. You ready to offer mercy to all of them? To face that constant temptation?”
“Yes,” Lydia said.
“I said don’t lie. You aren’t. Sylvia is. She’s been institutionalized and that’s what makes her unsuited to this task. Makes them all unsuited, except you.”
“You think that automatically means I am?” Lydia asked. “Why do you wholeheartedly trust me? If your boss as bad as you say, surely there’s other people who could find him or her.”
Heather nodded. “Yes, there are. But you’re also driven. You wanted to find Finster and me bad and didn’t stop until you did. I believe you want to find this man just as badly.”
Lydia couldn’t deny that. “Doesn’t hurt that your options are also limited.” She leaned in. “So it’s a man.”
“Stay quiet and I’ll give you a name.” Heather exhaled a load of gas, watching the harmless trail until it dissolved. “I’m taking a big risk telling you this. I expect two things.”
“Which are?”
“Leniency for Mark and myself.”
Lydia sat back. “Mark?”
“Yes. He was being forced to come after us. Believe me,” she said. “He’s not acting of his own free will.”
Lydia looked at Arthur, who nodded. “Fine. If this pans out, we will. And the second thing?”
“For you to handle my boss and his people right. These aren’t two-bit crooks that will reform. You need to kill them all, plain and simple.”
“Not unless I have to.”
“Why not?”
Lydia shook her head. “It’s not right.”
“Right?! Right?!” Heather leapt to her feet and Morella moved forward with a taser. But Heather stopped beside Lydia and glared at her. “Is it right that while your bunch refuses to kill, that just lets the criminals kill innocents? Aren’t they the ones you should be protecting? Kill one, save many.”
“Why do you care?”
Heather sighed. “Because he’ll kill me, the same as you.”
“Would you rather we have killed you without trying to bring you in?” Lydia asked. “Use that kind of force on you?”
“You were close to it,” she whispered in Lydia’s ear. “More than once, you almost gave in.”
“But I didn’t.”
“I know,” Heather said. “Why? It would’ve been easy. Quick snap of the neck. A dangerous fugitive who’s been known to kill. No one would’ve questioned it if you had to kill me before I killed you.” She sat back down and Morella put away his taser.
“I won’t stoop to that level—your level—again,” Lydia said. “Never again.”
“My level?” Heather laughed and slapped her knees. “Look what my level got me. On the run, out of options. Oh, no. No, you have to go way past my level to get him.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Lydia said testily. Any more stalling and she would snap. “Tell me.”
“One final thing first: you won’t find any link between him and Rooke. He uses shell companies for business dealings. Places figureheads there while he controls things from the shadows.”
“For the last time: who?”
Heather lay down on her bed, gazing at the clean white walls. “The name’s all around you. I’m surrounded by it and reminded of him every day.” She turned onto her side. “Roland Whyte.”
At these words, Arthur and the others turned abruptly from the door, leaving Morella and Lydia behind. Morella opened the door and checked with them. “They won’t find anything,” Heather said, drawing Lydia’s attention back to her. “Whyte is very thorough on covering his tracks.”
“Thanks for your help,” Lydia said, standing. “I’m sure the FBI will keep you safe.”
“I’m a dead woman,” Heather said. “We all are. Particularly the BEP Division.” She looked at the ceiling, her breathing ragged. “He hates all of you. Absolutely hates. Arthur above all. And he won’t rest until he’s brought this place down on all your heads.” Lydia’s spine chilled as Heather continued, and her stomach tied
itself in knots. “The real test is if you can stay true to your no killing policy after he slaughters everyone you know. Because he will come for you, just like he’ll come for me. All of you.” The tension in her voice made Lydia’s skin crawl, and the hairs on the nape of her nack stood on end. “You have to kill him. You have to.”
* * *