Well, theoretically we could communicate.
I examined the photos of Clay for clues as to when and where they were taken. The date stamp on the back said August 27. I mentally counted days. August 27 had been yesterday. So Winsloe's story had been true-at least the part about someone taking these pictures of Clay the morning before. I still refused to believe he was dead. Judging by the realism of Winsloe's tale, I assumed Clay really had killed several members of a search party. That made sense. If Jeremy discovered these guards were following the group, he'd have sent Clay after them with instructions to bring one back alive for questioning. But the last time I'd seen Clay, he'd been in no shape for high-risk missions.
"Do you recognize him?"
I whirled to see Winsloe and his two guards in my cell.
Winsloe smiled. "Werewolf hearing not up to par this morning, Elena?"
Come to see what damage your sadistic ploy has wrought, Ty? Well, last night's breakdown was all the reward you're going to get. I was back and ready to play the game.
"Sorry," I said. "I was busy studying these pictures. He looks vaguely familiar, but I'm not coming up with a name." Eyes still riveted on the photos, I asked, "So, how did Xavier like the cognac?"
A split second of hesitation. I peeked out of the corner of my eye and saw Winsloe's mouth tighten. Score one for me. I bit my cheek to keep from grinning. Winsloe rolled his shoulders and crossed the room. When he looked my way again, he'd replaced his smile.
"Bastard never showed up," Winsloe said. "Probably passed out somewhere sleeping off that Jack Daniel's."
Oh, yeah. Sleeping it off in a five-star hotel somewhere with a wallet full of Winsloe's cash.
"Probably," I said. "Now, about this wolf you want me to ID, like I said last night, a scent would be better. Get me a scent and, if I've met the guy, I'll know it."
"You're that good?"
I smiled. "The best. If you had an article of clothing or-" I jerked my head up. "I know. The body. You have the body, right? Doctor Matasumi wouldn't leave the body in the woods for anyone to find. Take me to it and I'll give you that ID."
Winsloe pulled out my dining chair and lowered himself onto it, buying a few extra seconds. Come on, asshole. Think fast.
"Well, that's a problem," Winsloe said. "The guard was really shaken up after he shot the brute. Hightailed it back here. Larry and Tucker lit into him like you wouldn't believe. Leaving a werewolf corpse in the woods? We didn't hire these guys for their brains, that's for sure. Tucker rounded up a new team yesterday afternoon and sent them out to retrieve the body. Only they couldn't. Guess why."
"It was gone."
Winsloe laughed and tilted his chair back. "A fellow horror-flick buff. You got it. They found the spot and they found the blood, but no body. Now Larry's furious, thinking the project's in jeopardy because someone found the body. But there's another possibility, isn't there? That the werewolf is still alive." Winsloe hummed the theme to Halloween. "So I ordered another team to start looking for our mystery immortal. But don't worry."
"About what?"
Winsloe grinned. "I know what you're thinking, Elena. Don't put on the tough-chick face for me. You're worried that we'll find him. Am I right?"
"I really don't care-"
"Sure you do. You're worried that we'll bring this 'mutt' back here and he'll try to hurt you, like Lake did. Or, worse yet, that he'll usurp your position here, that we'll find him a more interesting specimen and dispose of you. But that won't happen. I won't let that happen, Elena. You're too important to me. No other werewolf will take your place. I've made sure of that. Before that last team left, I took them aside and promised a hundred-thousand-dollar bounty for the guy who brings me the head. Just the head. I made that clear. I don't want the live werewolf."
He stood to leave. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until I smelled blood. Winsloe took five steps. Ryman smirked at me, then pulled open the door for Winsloe. Before stepping through, Winsloe snapped his fingers, pulled a smaller envelope from his pocket, and tossed it at my feet.
"Almost forgot. New surveillance photos. Fresh from last night. Seems Tucker was using his brains, sending a new team to find your friends. They found them. For a few hours at least. They've lost track since, but I'll keep you posted. I know you're concerned."
I gritted my teeth. Daggers of fury threatened to split my skull.
"Seems they're looking for someone," Winsloe continued.
"Me," I managed to say.
"Oh, I assume that, but now someone else has gone missing. Our team managed to capture some bits of conversation. Someone's jumped ship. Someone important. Problem is, we're having trouble figuring out who it is. Larry's working on it, comparing these new pictures with our old ones. Maybe you can see who's missing. You don't have to tell me, though. I wouldn't ask you to rat out your friends."
Winsloe left. I closed my eyes, felt the pain stab through my skull and palms. It took several more minutes before I was ready to look at the photos. When I did, I found pictures of the group conferring and milling about. I didn't need to figure out who was missing. One look at Jeremy's expression told me. Clay was gone. He hadn't been acting under Jeremy's command the morning before, when he'd tracked down the former search team. He was on his own. Alone.
Clay was coming after me.
I spent the rest of the morning racking my brain for a new escape plan. I had to get out. Not eventually, not soon, but now, immediately, before Winsloe tired of this latest game and upped the ante yet again. The harder I struggled to come up with an idea, the more I panicked, and the more I panicked, the harder it was to come up with an idea. I had to calm down or I'd never think of anything.
Bauer settled down later than morning. When I was sure she was lucid-which I determined by the fact that she'd stopped screaming and started eating her cold breakfast-I went to the hole and tried to talk to her. She ignored me. When she finished her meal, she rummaged for a pencil and paper in a drawer and wrote a two-page letter, then walked to the door and politely asked someone to deliver it. I could guess the contents: a plea for release, a more reasonable version of what she'd been ranting about for the last few hours.
So Bauer wanted out. Well, so did the rest of us. Did she feel like a "guest" now? As I thought this, a plan formed in the back of my brain. Bauer wanted out. I wanted out. When I'd first gone to nurse her, I'd hoped that in her gratitude she'd help me escape. Gratitude was out of the question now. But what about escape? What if I offered to take her with me? Bauer knew the compound's weaknesses and its security system-that is, if she was sane enough to remember. Combine my strength and experience with her knowledge and we could be a formidable team. Not exactly a complete and foolproof plan, but it was a start.
One remaining problem-well, okay, there were lots of remaining problems-but a big one was how to escape the cells. I pondered the possibility of staging something that would get me out of my room. Sure, I could probably do it, but could I get Bauer out at the same time? Unlikely. When the guards brought my lunch, I studied the door as it opened, seeing how it operated, looking for a weakness. Then I noticed something so blatant I kicked myself for not seeing it before. The guards didn't completely shut the door. They never did. Why? Because the door opened only from the outside and they never brought an extra guard to stand in the hall and let them out, as Bauer and Matasumi had always done. When they entered, they left the door a half-inch ajar, giving them finger room to pry it open. How could I use this to my advantage? Well, I could knock out one guard while the other pulled his gun and shot me-okay, bad idea. I could say, "Hey, what's that crawling down the wall?" and make a break for it when they turned away. Umm, no. Better give this one some thought.