Grace Katherine Reilly.
That was the name on the mug shot, on the rap sheet. That was the name of the punked-out teenage girl scowling at the police camera and the world. That was the name she had been born with and that she hadn't touched since joining N-Tek.
Grace Katherine Reilly was about to have a panic attack.
Kat Ryan was playing it cool.
"Nice hair," she said, looking at the photo with disinterest, and leaned back in her chair. "Your point?"
Shine was smiling. Not fooled. "I told you that I'd seen you somewhere before. I had some business in Philadelphia a few months ago. Lovely city, just lovely. You know, your father doesn't talk about you very often," he said. "But he still keeps a photo in his office."
"Uh-huh," Kat said.
"So, Grace Katherine Reilly, that brings us back to my business proposal. You can sign on the dotted line and become my client. Or…" He picked up the papers and flipped through it slowly. "Or you can dip into your trust fund and buy this back. I'm willing to accept a payment plan. Say, two million a year. For the rest of your life."
Blackmail. So that's why he wanted her alive and well.
She remembered each and every charge on that rap sheet. It was a long one, and some of the entries (okay, all of them) would be very interesting to the national news media. And her current name and whereabouts would be very interesting to a few other people.
Grace Katherine Reilly went ahead and had her panic attack.
Kat Ryan said, "Oh please. I'm not giving you two cents. If we're done with this lame blackmail attempt -? I was in the middle of a seriously good nap."
Shine's lizard smile faded. For the first time he looked less than supremely confident. In fact, he started to turn a little red. He tossed the paper back across the table at her, defiant. "If that's the way you want to play it."
He turned and motioned at the one-way mirror. Almost immediately, the door lock clunked open and the hired goon brought in a chunky portable TV – an embarrassingly old one, as evidenced by its size and the eighties-classic purple-turquoise color combo.
Her stomach dropped. Had he already leaked everything to the press?
"Wow. You guys really spared no expense," she said, casually scornful. She folded the papers around the mug shot and stuck them in her back pocket.
Shine's red flush deepened to scarlet. Then he recovered his reptilian poise, smoothed the front of his suit, and turned on the TV. The audio was tinny, the picture was black-and-white, and the quality of both just somewhere south of "really sucky".
But it was more than adequate to show her the perils of messing with Richard Shine.
"- live from what we're hearing is a suspected terrorist bombing of the Vizcaynos Hotel. The fire is right now being contained to the top floors of the hotel, where it began, and I'm being told that the employees and guests were safely evacuated... uh… with some exceptions –"
Not Josh. Not Berto.
"-still unable to locate five to seven hotel guests and employees, Eric, some of whom are believed to have been on the upper floors when the explosion occurred. No names have been released at this time –"
Shine flicked off the sound. "My condolences on your tragic loss, Ms. Ryan."
"What?" she said, looking around. "Oh, sorry. I'm supposed to cry or something, right? Break down into hysterical sobs at the thought that my beloved family is toast? Yeah, okay. I'll get right on that."
Shine went red again.
"No bodies, no tears. And anyway, you don't open with the deaths. That's your best leverage – save it. Use it. You're supposed to make me beg for their lives." She crossed her arms and leaned back, maintaining cool, deliberate eye contact. "You really suck at this."
Finally, Shine broke. "Shut up!" he yelled, pounding a fist on the table and half-rising from his chair. "What do you know, you miserable little b-"
Strike. Three.
Kat kicked up with her good leg and flipped the table over. Shine, who was off-balance and partially supporting his weight on the table, went down. The table went up – and smacked him in the face.
She jumped up from her chair and grabbed the embarrassing TV from the floor just as Tweedledum opened the door again. Kat shifted her balance onto her good leg and swung the heavy old portable TV at the goon's head.
He said, "Oof," and went down like a sack of bricks in the open doorway – except bricks were probably smarter.
She dropped the now-busted TV (no loss there) onto his chest and returned her attention to Shine. He was blinking, dazed, and gingerly touching a bleeding scalp wound. He was not ready for Kat to grab him by the lapel, haul him up, and slam him face-front into the wall.
"Blackmail's illegal," she said, twisting his arms behind his back in a hold that wouldn't really do any damage… unless she increased the torque. "So's kidnapping. And name-calling? Is just really rude."
Shine was panting and still fairly rattled. "How – did you -?"
"I don't know how you got that file," she said. "But I want it. And all the copies you made, you slimy little weasel. I want to know where you're hiding them. And I'd kind of like that information now."
She couldn't quite make out his response, but it sounded more like name-calling and less like a helpful answer.
She increased the torque on his arms, ignoring the twinge of pain from her bad ankle. "Pop quiz, Richard," she said. "What charge got Grace Katherine Reilly her last nine to twelve months in Juvie?"
Shine opened his mouth, but couldn't get any words out. Involuntary tears were springing up in his eyes.
She leaned in closer to his ear and dropped her voice to a calm, controlled whisper, because "calm and controlled" was always scarier; she'd learned that from watching Jefferson Smith. "Here's a hint – it starts with 'assault' and ends with 'battery'. And I think, if she was here right now, she might be a little angrier with you than she was with that poor schmuck back in Philly."
She eased the pressure on his arms and he made an obvious attempt to not gasp in relief. "My office," he said. "Everything's in my office."
"Okay," she said, shoving him toward the door without letting go of his arms. This was the tricky part, but with any luck Shine would be too stunned to realize that if he made a move, he could probably overwhelm her in short order.
Sure enough, they climbed over Tweedledum with no problem and emerged into a construction zone that looked like it had been a guest bedroom in its former life. Tools and materials were still scattered around; the cell really had been a rush job. Kat would not have been surprised to find a hardware store receipt in amongst the junk – except Shine had probably taken it all off of his own sites.
"This is a really low-rent operation," she said, force-marching him towards the bedroom door, which was standing open. "Guess the hotel was just a fluke. Which way's your office?"
"Left," he said. He was darting glances around, and his body language screamed Hey, I'm about to make a break for it.
She bit back a sigh. Heaven help her survive Amateur Villain Night. She was so overqualified for this, it wasn't funny.
Kat stuck her booted foot between his expensive loafers, tripping him up. Shine crashed down, and she grabbed an orange extension cord from its resting place on top of a nearby drum of plaster. A couple of quick loops and a knot, and he was hogtied: hands bound behind his back, ankles tied together, and a length of cord connecting the two.
With a lot of effort, he could conceivably get to his feet and shuffle, but there was no way he could run… or fight her.
"That's better," she said. "Tell you what – I'll find your office, and you'll stay right there like the loser you are."
He glared heavily at her, but she was impervious to the glares of idiots. She gave her knotwork a last critical glance and walked out of the room, trying not to limp.
