It was a silent ride back to the warehouse, but instead of going inside, Danny pulled the SUV into the parking lot and looked over at Raj, his eyebrows raised in question..
"You two check in with Em,” Raj ordered, opening the door on his side. “Take one of the blood houses. Sarah's going with me."
Sarah jerked around to stare. She wasn't sure she wanted to go anywhere with him in this mood, or any other, for that matter. But neither Danny nor Cervantes seemed to care what Sarah wanted. The truck's taillights were already disappearing by the time she'd processed the fact that they were leaving.
"Get in the car,” Raj said, beeping the locks open on his car.
"Maybe I should—"
"Get in the car, Sarah,” he said, staring at her over the gleaming black roof of his BMW.
"Where are we—"
"Get. In. The. Car."
Sarah took a deep breath and looked around. She was in the middle of an empty parking lot, on a dark street, miles away from anyone or anything, with not even her emergency twenty dollars in her pocket. The warehouse was right behind her, of course, but somehow she doubted they'd let her inside, even if anyone was there. And she really didn't believe Raj would hurt her. She sighed, opened the car door and slumped into the seat, thankful that at least she didn't have to climb five feet straight up to get there. Small favors.
Raj brooded as he sped down dark streets, not sure where he was going. Sarah sat next to him, silent for once, not demanding to know what he was doing or where they were going or any of the myriad explanations she was always insisting upon. She probably thought he was angry. Which he was, although not at her. What made him furious was what he'd discovered inside Regina Aiello's head.
Making a last minute decision, he took a hard right turn onto the thruway, the rear end fishtailing behind him on the slick surface. He caught the jerk of Sarah's hand as she grabbed for the armrest and smiled in satisfaction.
"What happened, Raj?” Sarah said suddenly, in a low, tense voice. “Please tell me."
So much for her silence. When he didn't say anything, she continued. “I know you got inside Regina's mind. I'd like to know what you found there."
"Why? So you can be certain I didn't rape her?"
She flinched away from him so hard her head bumped against the window. He could hear the tears in her voice when she said quietly, “I tried to call you. I left messages."
Raj ignored her and kept driving.
"I spoke to Jennifer,” she added.
"I know. She told me."
"You talked to Jen? But—"
He glanced over and saw the hurt in her eyes that he'd called Jennifer but not her. But then Jennifer hadn't accused him of being a rapist, had she?
"I said I was sorry,” she said softly. “I know you wouldn't . . .” She looked away from him and swallowed hard. “You have to understand what it's like for me. What it's like for them."
He gave her a sideways glance. “Them?"
"The women in my dreams, my nightmares. I'm inside their heads. I feel everything they feel—the pain, the terror, the awful, awful hope that someone will come in time.” She shook her head and turned away from him, staring out the window. “Please drop me off somewhere,” she murmured desperately. “I don't care where. Drop me at a phone. I can—"
"Running away again, Sarah?"
She swung on him. “How dare you—"
"Accuse you of something like that? Is that what you wanted to say, sweetheart?"
She sucked in a deep breath. “I said I was fucking sorry."
Raj laughed abruptly. “You know, I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear,” he said, just to irritate her.
"Yeah? Well, then, fuck you again. Let me out of this fucking car."
"No."
"No?" she all but screamed at him. “I am so sick of you—” Her words were chopped off as he cut across three lanes of traffic, slicing between two huge eighteen wheelers with only inches to spare, before zipping down an off-ramp and dumping into one of Buffalo's working class neighborhoods. Next to him, Sarah had released her death grip on the armrest and was looking around, scanning the streets. She probably had no idea where they were, probably never ventured too far away from the campus with its trendy restaurants and tidy bars.
Raj, on the other hand, knew exactly where he was going. He made a series of quick turns down narrow streets and pulled onto a smear of blacktop in front of a seedy-looking bar. He parked, got out of the car and started across the poorly lit lot without saying a word. He clicked the remote in warning and heard her swear softly. She opened her car door and he smiled, feeling the angry heat of her gaze on his back. He stopped at the bar's entrance, waited politely until she caught up and then opened the door and gestured for her to go in ahead of him. She paused to peer cautiously through the door, gave him a dubious look and crossed the threshold. Raj chuckled and followed her inside, letting the door swing slowly shut behind him.
Sarah shuffled to a halt just inside, letting her eyes adjust. It was even darker inside than out, especially once Raj let the door close with a muffled thud. She was aware of him crowding impatiently behind her and she stepped aside, watching as he strode across the room. A trio of cheap, tin wall sconces hung on the opposite wall, the kind with a pattern punched into the metal to shed a dim, yellowed light on a row of banquettes. There was a long bar to the right, with tired-looking twinkle-lights around the mirror. Raj called out something to the bartender in Polish. The bartender grunted and headed for a small freezer unit sitting on the counter at the far end.
Sarah threaded through empty tables to the bar where she took one look at the dull, sticky surface and decided to stand. Raj had no such qualms, he was leaning forward with both elbows, one foot cocked on a railing which might have been brass in some long-ago former life. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You want something to drink?"
"What are you having?” she asked.
"Vodka,” he snorted, as if it was a stupid question.
"I'll have the same."
He barked out a surprised laugh and called to the bartender who reached beneath the bar and produced two shot glasses. Carrying the glasses in one hand and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other, he deposited both on the bar in front of Raj with no comment. The label on the bottle was in Polish, but it wasn't one of those trendy made-for-America Polish vodkas in a beautiful bottle, and Sarah had a feeling the alcohol content was quite a bit higher.
Raj picked up both glasses and bottle and headed for a booth in the darkest corner of the already dark room. Sarah saw little choice but to follow him.
"Have a seat,” he said. He took his own advice and slid onto one of the benches, dropping the glasses onto the table and twisting off the bottle cap with a snap of metal seals. The vodka was so cold, it poured more like thin syrup than liquid, the alcohol preventing it from ever freezing solid.
"You guys drink a lot,” she commented. She brushed off the bench seat across from him and sat.
He gave her a lazy look. “That's all we do, sweetheart."
She hated it when he called her sweetheart like that. Like what he really wanted to say was bitch, but he was too polite. “That's not what I meant and you know it,” she said.
He smiled and pushed one of the brimming shot glasses across the table to her. “Have a drink. You'll feel better."
She doubted that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but the few times she'd indulged it had made things far worse, not better. She looked down at the small glass, now frosted white from the cold liquid. His chuckle made her glance up quickly to meet blue eyes which were as icy as the vodka in front of her. His gaze moved slowly down to the glass and back up again in blatant challenge. Damnit. Sarah drew a breath, picked up the shot glass and brought it to her lips. Her eyes watered immediately from the alcohol fumes and she hesitated, but he was watching her with that patronizing smile of his.
She opened her mouth and threw the freezing liquid straight down her throat, feeling the muscles there contract in shock. She choked, fighting down a reflexive cough, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as her stomach burst into flames. Jesus Christ! How did anyone drink that stuff?
Raj laughed appreciatively. “Nazdrovia,” he said and tossed back his own shot, slamming his glass to the table and immediately lifting the bottle again. He gestured at her glass, but she shook her head, still unable to speak, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. Raj slid out of the booth, strolled over to the bar and came back with a glass of water, no ice.
"This will help,” he said, putting it on the table in front of her.
Sarah waited until she was sure she could open her mouth without gasping for air, then picked up the glass and sipped slowly. The water was just slightly cooler than room temperature, soothing her traumatized throat and washing away the residue of what was surely pure alcohol. She grabbed some cocktail napkins from the table and dabbed her eyes with them, their rough texture like sandpaper on her overheated skin.
"Not much of a drinker?” he asked.
"That,” Sarah rasped, “is not drinking."
"It is where I come from."
Sarah took another sip of water and another, before she trusted herself to say anything more. “Will you tell me what you found out from Regina?"
He gave her a cool look.
"I'm the one who found her, not you,” she insisted.
He still didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows doubtfully.
She threw the wet napkins on the table. “You have got to be one of the most frustrating men I've ever met."
"That's because I'm not a man, sweetheart. I keep telling you that, but you're not listening."
"Fine. You're one of the most frustrating males I've ever met, how about that? You're still a male aren't you?"
"Oh, yes,” he drawled suggestively. “Definitely that."
