Bad Company... , part 9

The now-thoroughly-captive catgirl stared up with a flat, angry expression at the apparent leader of the villainous duo, the bridge of her freckle-smattered nose crinkled up in a reflexive expression of defiance. She pointedly tried to look neither scared - though she was - or overly-hostile...and sat stock-still as the man addressed her sternly.

"We want to know where those pictures are that you took of the dumping operation...and who else you showed them to. Now...I'll take that gag off on two conditions: One, that you don't scream or do anything else silly like that, and two that you answer my questions honestly. So what do you say? Just nod or shake your head."

Shea ticked the details through her mind, trying to decide what to do. The thugs were wearing gloves, but hadn't disguised their faces in any way. Clearly, they didn't want to leave fingerprints or other easy forms of physical evidence behind...but weren't worried about her being able to identify them. And she could think of only two possible reasons for that: Either they weren't concerned about the authorities being able to catch or punish them...or they didn't intend to leave any way - or any one - to make that identification once they were finished...

In the end, the captive catgirl neither shook her head, nor nodded. She just stared up at him, her eyes glittering with stubbornness, the set of her jaw all the silent declaration of her defiance that was necessary.

A tense second stretched...broke... And then the bigger man suddenly lunged forward, hands balling into fists, and his face curling down into an even more vicious sneer...a low growl rolling at the back of his throat. His intentions were quite clear, and while Shea managed to hold a brave face, she couldn't check her faint flinching twist aside...as the smaller man stuck up his arm and blocked the towering terror's approach.

"Okay, sweetie...you might just want to drop the 'stubborn heroine' act and tell us what we want to know," he crooned, giving his still-seething comrade a wary sideways glance. "As you can see, by buddy here is not the most patient of guys...and he likes to hurt people. Fortunately for you, I really don't. But I will - or I'll let him do it - if I end up needing to. So...feel like saving us all some trouble and helping us out?"

Shea simply stared back at him, her expression unchanged - not even a flicker of the fear she felt inside disturbing the stalwart defiance in her eyes.

The blond-haired villain chuckled then, and shook his head. "Okay, tiger...have it your way. We'll take a look around on our own then. Maybe once you've had a little while to sit in those ropes, you'll decide to be a bit more cooperative. Just hope for your sake that ya do before we find what we're looking for. If so, and you help us out, then we'll be a little easier on you. If not..." He let the sentence hang ominously, raising his eyebrows in a most sinister fashion.

But the words rang hollow to Shea; she was gut-certain that these two had no intentions of "going easy on her" or letting her go, whether she helped them or not. She wouldn't have made things easier for them even if she could have - which, of course, she couldn't. The snooping catfolk sleuth hadn't actually taken any pictures yet...though somehow whoever sent these goons had gotten the impression that she had. Her best guess was that someone had either spotted her on one of her "scouting expeditions", or had heard through the grapevine that she was nosing around.

The intruders could search from now until doomsday, and they wouldn't find what they were looking for...because it didn't exist. But they didn't know that, and given how determined they seemed to be, wouldn't give up their search anytime soon. Which, Shea knew, gave her the one small resource she had left to her - and needed more of - just then: Time. Time which she had to use trying to get free...or else the minutes she had while these cold-hearted men searched her home would probably be her last...

The spokesman stared at Shea for a heartbeat more, then shook his head and stood with a predictable chuckle - that somehow still managed to cut - and tapped his partner on the chest to get him to follow. The big guy glowered down at Shea for another long moment, and then turned to go, trailing along after his "leader".

As they walked away, the bigger guy suddenly swept the beanbag chair out from behind Shea with one lash of his heavy boot, causing her to topple backward with a startled gasp...and both of the black-hearted intruders to break out laughing, as they headed into the back portions of her house. Where her bedroom, computer room, storage room, and other less public areas lay. The places where she would logically hide anything like what the villains were vainly seeking...


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On to "Bad Company...", pt10