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Kannon with the—questioning. Let’s see what she’s capable of.”
    Vincenzo Zaffini twisted his mouth in reluctant agreement. Before he could change his mind, Gina marched away. “Come on, Kannon. Let’s go downstairs and get some answers.”
    On the stairwell that led down to the yacht’s underbelly, she found herself blocked by a tall Japanese man, his frame lanky but still well-muscled beneath his suit.
    “Ryota, this is Mr. Zaffini’s daughter, Gina,” Kannon said by way of introduction. “She’s here to help with the questioning.”
    Gina didn’t miss the dubious look they exchanged. “What, you two have a system I’d be messing with? Good cop, bad cop?”
    “More like bad cop, worse cop,” Kannon replied.
    The two men thought she was going to screw up and she very well might but, at the moment, she couldn’t stand for there to be one more ounce of pain anywhere. Not while she could prevent it. “So you’re going to try to beat it out of them, are you? You don’t think by now Wakai would have figured out we have them? Even if they spill their guts, he’ll have covered his tracks. Any information is going to be worthless.”
    “They’ll name names. People. Places. Leads we can use to hunt him down. Nobody can cover their tracks completely, especially now we have eyes and ears throughout the city.”
    “That’ll take time, and following a trail of breadcrumbs only invites an ambush. Besides, once you two start hurting them, they’ll say anything they think you want to hear to make the pain stop. Torture doesn’t work. We have to be smarter than that.”
    Kannon’s hands tightened into fists, his chest swelling in an effort to intimidate. Gina almost smiled at his bullying. He was so used to others doing what he said that he really didn’t have much of a repertoire when it came to getting people’s cooperation. He added words to his actions. “I have a lot more experience with…extracting information than you do.”
    Gina didn’t back down. “And I can sweet talk better than a whore on Wednesday. We don’t need those men as punching bags. We need them as bloodhounds. Get them on our side, and they’ll lead us to Wakai way faster than we could get there on our own.” She wondered where that theory had originated. Probably from Darae’s teachings a lifetime ago. “Anyway, there’s no harm in letting me try, now is there? Not like you can’t kick the snot out of them if I fail.”
    “We don’t have time for stupid games.”
    “Give me fifteen minutes,” she insisted. “You can spare that.” She got in his face. “You have to spare that.”
    “Out of respect for your father I’ll allow it, but Ryota and I will be there with you.”
    “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She tugged Ryota’s tie. “Now move, handsome. Clock’s ticking.”
     

 

     
     
    The two men sat in their underwear against the back wall of the hold, their wrists handcuffed to a large concrete block. Their skins were painted with angry welts, and aside from a dish of water and a bedpan, neither looked like they’d been afforded any care whatsoever.
    While one had typical Thai features, the younger man was a strange one. His features were sharp and brutish, eyes wide and manic. He pulled his lips back like a wild animal to reveal teeth filed to points. Most disturbing to Gina was the scarified script that had been cut into his forehead, not a word of which she could decipher.
    Kannon nodded at the ordinary one. “This one’s Jarun.”
    The man turned pleading eyes to Gina. “Please...something to eat.”
    Kannon tapped the bedpan with his shoe. “There’s your last meal.”
    Gina glared at him, then instructed Ryota, “Go empty it out.”
    Ryota looked wide-eyed at his boss, but after a grunt from Kannon, he left with the pan held out at arm’s length.
    The prisoners looked warily at her, and Gina appreciated how strange she must look—a white woman in Muslim garb, hair purple and wild. She