Kovac leaned back in his desk chair, the middle buttons on his shirt straining as he took a deep breath, then let it out while shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Toldja.”
“You did. And regardless of the alleged contents of this so-called letter—”
“Did you go to law school while Delaney was telling her story?”
“—you know I can’t take you at your word, right?”
“Yep.” Delaney smiled. “And you know you’d better have a D team on standby. Right?”
“Oh, come on!” From Rake, sounding equal parts exasperated and pissed. “Really? You two are gonna stand around talking about missing flash drives and allude to beatings? We don’t have it. So let us go or beat us to death.”
“Whoa!” Delaney straightened up from where she was slouched against the bookshelves. “You know there’s middle ground between those options, right?”
Kovac opened his mouth, but before he could answer, or order their deaths, or otherwise incite violence, they all flinched at the horribly familiar shriek from the other side of the door.
“Papa, ich werde mich übergeben!”
“The hell was that?” Kovac shook his head. “Jesus, that kid’s got some lungs on her.”
“Beeil dich, ich bin krank!”
“She says she’s going to throw up—she’s really sick.” Rake at once looked like all his systems were screaming threat level red, when the most he mustered for his own peril was threat level puce. “She wants me!”
“So go help her,” Delaney said, giving him a helpful shove. To Kovac: “That gastroenteritis is really getting around.”
“Oh, Christ.” Delaney could almost see Kovac working this out. Clandestine snatch = good. Private interrogation = good. Screaming kid + vomit in hallway where anyone might come in = not good. “Don, walk them down to the bathroom. Just the bathroom. And stand outside ’til she’s done. If the guy tries anything, open up his skull with the hammer.”
“Not the face,” Rake said, yanking open the door.
“Fine, plant the thing in the base of his skull, what do I care?” Then, as the door closed: “Now. What to do about you, sunshine?”