He nods along as I speak, then mutters, “Cool,” once I stop.
“You think that’s cool?” I snap. “Because I can tell you it’s more like the exact opposite of cool.”
“What? Hot?” he asks with a smirk. “I don’t think that’s what you mean.”
I literally can’t believe he just said that. And that he’s still smiling at his sick joke. What kind of monster is he?
“Trafficked girls and women have to endure absolute hell on earth and many of them don’t make it out on the other side. Even if they escape, their lives are ruined forever,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. “I do what I can to help them, but it’s never enough, and it will never be enough. And you think this is funny?”
I have to pause to catch my breath even though I have a lot more to say.
“Relax, Veronica,” he says in a serious voice, the smirk and all other signs of mirth gone from his face. I like the way he says my name and I don’t want to like it. “I know what you’re talking about. I don’t think it’s funny.”
“You know?” I snap. “But of course you do. You just don’t care, do you? Why did they think it was a good idea sending you here? I can’t… I just can’t…”
And it’s true, I clearly, really can’t have a normal conversation with him. But if I want to achieve my goal I will have to.
There’s alarm in his bright blue eyes and two spots of dark red color have risen on his cheeks, matching the fiery tones in his dark hair.
“I didn’t know they were planning to abduct those girls,” he says angrily. “I’d never go along with that. I would’ve stopped it.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he just clamps his mouth shut, crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair.
“Of course you’d say that. You’re innocent, right?”
He nods. “Of abducting the girl scouts? Yes. Completely. Hell, I kinda did stop the abduction, didn’t I?”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
In the eyes of the law, he got away with it, but not in here.
The only problem is, this argument I just started with him helps nothing and no one. But I just couldn’t help it. He’s so damn pretty. I bet they send him out to seduce the girls, who are probably falling all over themselves for a date with him. And then they wake up in some dark, dingy room with no clothes and no way to ever go home again. All this after they most likely spent days looking forward to getting kissed by him and probably after an afternoon of trying to look as nice for him as they can. It makes me sick thinking about it. Just physically sick.
“I can’t actually say anything else,” he says and it sounds like he’s doing it through gritted teeth. “But I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
He actually looks and sounds like he is. That’s incredible. How do these psychopaths do it? How do they manage to sound so believable?
I take a deep breath and stand up, striding over to the small coffee bar by the window and jam a capsule into the little coffee maker that looks like a robot from a cartoon I can’t remember the name of.
If I say anything now, I’ll just continue the argument and there’s nothing to be gained by that, and everything to lose. I need him to lead me to the people who abducted my sister. But the thought of being friendly to him—which I’ll have to be, if I want that to happen—is actually making my stomach cramp up and my hands shake so hard I probably shouldn’t be handling hot liquids. The last thing I need is another coffee, but I need to do something normal to calm down. I should offer him one as well, but I can’t bring myself to ask the question.
“So what am I supposed to do here?” he asks after awhile of a very tense silence, filled only with the sound of the coffee machine whirring.
For today, I had planned on making him watch some of the interviews I recorded earlier this week and which I’m still putting together into a new video. Then I was going to take him to conduct another interview tomorrow afternoon at one of the safe houses.
But I no longer think this is a good idea at all. I don’t want anything to do with him. I want him out of this office. I want to pretend I never met him and I’m not even completely sure why I feel that way.
It’s his looks. He almost fooled me that he’s a nice guy too.
“Look, I have to be here, so you might as well give me something to do,” he says in that voice of his that just oozes friendliness and kindness. “Maybe I can start by taking out the trash.”
I turn at the sound of him lightly kicking the garbage bag I stashed under my desk. He’s smirking again and it turns my stomach.
“Yeah, do that,” I say. “And then you can go.”
“I’m supposed to be here until six,” he says and reaches to pick up the trash bag.
“Not if I don’t have anything for you to do,” I say, not sure if that’s true or not. But I do know I can’t spend another minute in the same room with him. I need time to calm down, to think, to make the plan I should’ve made before he showed up today.