12
“One more time, Cara,” Jack said.
The cell they'd given the woman was very much like many of the others Jack had seen: a bed in the corner, a nightstand, a table and some chairs. Large windows of bullet-proof glass looked out on a field. She could punch herself silly against that, and it would not even make a crack, but at least she had sunlight.
Cara Sinthel sat in a wooden chair with her hands upon her knees, a slaver's collar around her neck. And she glared daggers at him. Unlike Calissa, she didn't bother making taunts or insinuations; she just sat quiet and implacable like a glacier.
“I want names,” Jack said. “You must have encountered other Keepers who have been working for Slade. Who are they?”
“You're not gonna get an answer.”
That came from Cassi, who sat backwards in a
