His smile was thin. "Plausible. But even if someone added those distortions to the video later, how did you know exactly where the subject felt the ghostly interactions at the time that they happened?"
He had me there. As if to punctuate his checkmate, the word "gotcha" drifted out between Madigan's endless blockade of mental repetitions.
And just like that, it occurred to me how I could thwart him. Thank you, Madigan, for being the arrogant prick you are.
"How did I know that?" I pretended to study my fingernails for a moment. "The same way I know that fifteen minutes can save you fifteen percent on car insurance."
Chapter Fourteen
Silence met my pronouncement, stretching until the room filled with a tension that was almost palpable. I had to give Madigan credit where credit was due, because whatever he was thinking remained secluded behind a now blaring rendition of the same catchphrase. Don's brows drew together in confusion.
"What does that have to do with anything?" my uncle wondered.
I spoke the next part for his benefit. "That's right, I can read minds. Handy little unexpected perk; not many vampires have the ability."
Don looked stunned. Oh, right, I hadn't told him of my ability before. It wasn't like I'd been hiding it from him, it just hadn't come up. Madigan already suspected Bones was telepathic and had been treating me with the same caution, so volunteering the information was a necessary sacrifice in order to keep him from discovering the real bombshell about ghosts.
Finally, Madigan spoke. "I could charge you with an unauthorized breach of security for attempting to glean classified information from my thoughts."
I snorted. "I'm not trying anything. The ability's there whether I want it or not. If someone told you unauthorized classified information, would you be guilty of a security breach for not willing yourself to go deaf so you couldn't hear it?"
Bitch, he thought, and I was sure it was no accident that this came through loud and clear over the fifteen minutes mantra.
I just shrugged. "Sticks and stones."
"Is that what this is to you?" he asked sharply. "A game? Is national security just something that amuses you now that you're no longer a member of the human race? Oh, I forgot." His voice vibrated with barely concealed venom. "You never really were a member of the human race, were you, half-breed?"
I was across the desk in a blink, my face so close to his that our noses would've touched if I moved a fraction more. "How much of your own blood have you shed for humanity or national security? Because I've lost gallons of mine trying to protect lives, or, failing that, making sure that murderers and threats to humanity got what was coming to them." I sat back in disgust. "I bet the only blood you've ever shed was after a paper cut, so don't lecture me about national security and protecting humanity unless you've even once put your life on the line for either of them."
Two new, bright spots of color on his cheeks highlighted how Madigan had paled when I first lunged at him. His scent radiated the distinct, rotten fruit smell of fear over the stench of way too much cologne, and stray thoughts leaked out between his now-deafening roar of what fifteen minutes could save on insurance.
Dangerous . . . can't let her see . . . too much at stake . . .
"Get out," he said curtly.
I strained my mind to hear past the commercial jingle that I now hated with the fire of a thousand suns. What was Madigan hiding? Something I already expected, like plans to boot out all the undead team members? Or something more sinister?
"Get out," he repeated, pressing a button on his phone. "I need security," he barked. "Now."
I glanced at the door. Should I risk trying to mesmerize him before they came? Someone with Madigan's mental shields might require biting before I could crack his mind, and, frankly, I'd never bitten a human. What if I did it wrong and pierced his jugular? That would leave telling splatters of blood on both of us, not to mention he could die of an embolism in seconds if any air bubbles got to his heart. Both would be hard to explain away when security arrived.
"Don't do anything, Cat," Don urged, sensing my wavering. "These guards don't know you. They're new recruits handpicked by him, and they're all armed with silver."
Being staked or shot with silver bullets by Madigan's pet soldiers was last on my list of concerns, but it was too risky for other reasons to attempt to mesmerize any secrets out of him. I'd have to let Don do the digging for me, and, thankfully, Madigan still had no idea that he was being shadowed by the very man he'd maneuvered himself into position to replace.
I rose with deliberate slowness, almost strolling to the door. "Congrats again on the promotion."
Footsteps thudded down the hall. Madigan's new security detail, running to his aid too late to help him if there had been an actual threat from me.
"You are not to return here unless I summon you," Madigan snapped. "Do you understand? You show up, and I'll have you arrested on sight."
With great effort, I restrained myself from replying with the sentences that sprang to my lips. Like, you and what army? Or, I'd like to see you try it. But Bones's admonition rang in my mind. Let him feel like he's won this round. It'll only be to our benefit. I hadn't managed to stop myself from rising to Madigan's taunting before, but I could let him believe he had the power to keep me away from here if I wanted to come back, and believing that only made him more vulnerable.
"I hope you spend some time in your new capacity reading up on Don's reports about me," was what I said, in such an even tone that Bones would have applauded. "He didn't trust me either at first, but then he found out that half-vampire didn't equate to bad guy. Neither does full vampire. We don't have to be at odds with each other."
The helmeted, armed entourage arrived, one of the guards roughly taking my arm.
"Move it."
I let them manhandle me out of the room with Madigan watching. Don floated after me, muttering something too low for me to catch above the staccato of thoughts from the guards and Madigan's endless barrage of fifteen minutes . . . fifteen minutes. The next time I saw that commercial, I'd probably open fire on my TV.
I'd just been hustled into the elevator when a shout pierced the din.
"Catherine!"
I had my hand holding open the elevator doors before the guards even realized I'd moved. "Stand down!" one of them ordered, raising his rifle at me.
"That's my mother," I snapped, refraining from breaking the barrel off by sheer force of will.