CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
July 9, 2010
Afternoon
My name is Cleopatra Elizabeth Forsyth, and I’m not going to die today, Cleo chanted to herself. It sounded like a hokey movie quote, but something courageous rose in her throat in response.
A zip tie pinched her wrists together and bound them to the bathtub’s ornate lion-head faucet. As she stared at her rigid plastic cuffs, the courage deflated.
Hawke spoke in a confident purr to someone out of sight, asking about the storage space of a memory card. Cleo surveyed the bathroom suite’s gray granite tiles, washed pale by the afternoon light that spilled through the large window. A vanity table stood across the room from her. Someone had said this suite was for visiting patrons of VisumOris.
Hawke planned to catch her death on video, then force
