The Doll by Taylor Stevens

held was specific enough to be provable, but it
was
enough to call attention to an organization that had thus far operated across borders invisibly and with impunity. He had taken the information to Breeden and threatened to make it all public in her name, knowing Breeden understood that if he did, these same men would guarantee her permanent silence.
    Blackmail was as close to a death threat as Bradford could offer, and it had done the job. Breeden had kept silent, and he still didn’t know if she’d been aware from the beginning who her clients were and of the tender life they sold, or if her choice to facilitate these crimes had been accidental and he’d been the one to bring her the news.
    At the time it hadn’t mattered. Breeden’s hands were certainly dirty in other affairs, and though she may not have been guilty of the murder, she wasn’t innocent, either.
    Bradford shut the vehicle door and made his way inside, to face the screening procedure and the metal detectors and to move on finally to the common room, where those not on offenders’ visitation lists had through-the-glass, noncontact visits with inmates.
    He was here because, despite what he still didn’t understand about Breeden’s prior involvement with the Doll Maker, the events of yesterday had been too precise to have been random, too accurate to have been accidental. Someone was feeding information to high-level filth, and Kate Breeden was the only possible pivot upon which all the pieces turned. Assuming he’d put the puzzle together properly, she would want to see him, if only to feel the triumph of his pain, and perhaps from this weakness he would learn what he wanted.
    Bradford was directed to a chair by a prison guard, and waiting for him on the other side of the glass was Breeden. She smiled when she saw him. Not happiness, per se, or gloating. Something closer to the relief of seeing a face from beyond the walls, no matter how much she hated it, because that was better than nothing at all.
    She didn’t wait for him to speak or even allow him a chanceto fully settle and put the phone to his ear before she said, “Miles, what a pleasant surprise. I expected you eventually, of course, but certainly not so soon.”
    Her words, the first third of which he’d lip-read, took the wind out of him. He’d come to find out what she knew—what she’d done—had tossed around opening lines and approaches, hoping to explain his presence without showing his hand, and she’d shut him down before he’d started.
    His face must have registered surprise.
    Breeden laughed.
    “Oh, Miles,” she said, “don’t be such a douche. If you’ve been clever enough to come to me, then surely you had to know I’d be waiting for you.”
    He swallowed bile and waited a half-beat. “What have you done, Kate?”
    She smiled, Cheshire cat–like. “That’s such an open-ended question with so many potential surprises. Let’s be more specific, shall we, darling?”
    “We both seem to know why I’m here, and we both know what I hold, so let’s just get on with it, okay?”
    Her fake smile faded. “Well,” she said, scooting back. “Obviously, cordiality is not your forte. As glad as I am for company, if you can’t be polite, if you can’t at least pretend to drag the conversation out with flattery or talk about the weather, I think I’m quite finished here.”
    Phone still pressed to her ear, she moved to stand.
    Bradford said, “How’s the food?”
    Breeden laughed again. “That’s much better,” she said, and returned to the chair. “The food fucking sucks, thank you very much.”
    “I like your choice in clothing,” he said. “It suits you.”
    “Now you’re pushing your luck.”
    “Do you like your roommates?”
    She sighed and exhaled toward the ceiling as if she was blowing cigarette smoke. “College was worse.”
    “Where’s Logan?”
    She turned her eyes to his. “Things were going so nicely, and you’re ruining the fun.” She