Free Indigo Rain by Watts Martin

Wincing with the stress, she forced them to curl just that much more, shifting her wrists up and down until the rope slid as far down one wrist as she could get it. She could prick the claws of two fingers into the rope fiber. She started pulling at it, first frantically, then patiently. Methodically.
    “—was a married man!”
    “One we heard rumors about all the time,” the second man responded, tone exasperated.
    The rope shifted; the fibers were shredding more than shifting. She couldn’t tell if it had gotten looser or tighter. Roulette gritted her teeth and kept at it.
    “I can’t believe you think she’s telling the truth!”
    “It’s easier to believe than any of the other options, and you know it.”
    They continued to argue, moving far enough away from the door that she couldn’t make out their words.
    Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she kept picking at the rope. Her fingers and claws began to ache dully; her wrists felt like needles had been jabbed into them. She lost track of time to the point where it might have been another minute or another hour before the rope slid—just the barest amount—down her palm. She started working it down, ignoring the pain of the squeeze.
    The voices outside returned, now with a third she recognized. Massey.
    One of her hands popped out of the rope loop. She brought her hands in front of her and quickly pulled it off the other one, and rubbed her wrists for a few seconds.
    First things first. She stood up, walking in what she knew to a human would be complete silence—bare paws were an advantage over hard shoes—and locked the door from her side, turning the bolt as softly as she could.
    “—haven’t finished questioning the bitch yet,” the first man was saying, sounding sulky.
    “She doesn’t know anything,” the second man said.
    “Are you sure Jerald didn’t tell her more than he should have, thinking she wouldn’t be alive to share the information? We now have a sad abundance of evidence that he was as careless as he was perverted,” Massey responded.
    “Mostly sure.”
    “‘Mostly’ isn’t ‘sure,’” the first man snapped.
    Massey sighed melodramatically. “She’s not going anywhere now, I trust? Let’s review what you two need to do.”
    Roulette glanced at the window. She’s sure as hell going to try to go somewhere now. But if they were about to talk about their plans, reveal whatever plot Lisha had spent weeks worrying over, she’d better wait. If she wasn’t going to die tonight, she’d damn well get out of here knowing what these bastards were up to.
    The voices moved farther away, and she heard paper moving. The drawings on the wall. Dammit, she couldn’t see—
    Wait. She checked her pockets and found the little recording orb. Crouching, she set it down just by the crack in the door and leaned toward it, touching a finger to it. “Record,” she whispered.
    It started to glow, and she pushed it just under the door.
    “The best connection point we’ve determined is here.”
    “In the crawlspace?” The first man’s voice sounded tired.
    “Yes, in the crawlspace. The main water junction would be a little obvious, don’t you think?” Massey didn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “The timer’s preset for half past noon. You just need to get the bottles up there, hook them up, and run the tube to this pipe.”
    More arguing went on. She pressed her head to the ground and tried to look out to see what the recording ball might be seeing. She could tell the men were standing by the drawings, but that was it. She hoped it had a better view than she did.
    “—don’t like this,” the second man was saying, tone sharp. “We’ll win the vote without this.”
    “We’ll win it here, but we’ll lose it nationally,” Massey said. “Yes. This is a desperate, terrible measure, but this is a desperate, terrible time. Our country will die, Ferin. Something else will be in its place, something with the same