“Yes. I charged it in the car. Why?”
“All the others are trashed, smashed, or drowned. Give it to me.”
Misha dug it out of his pocket. Sam dialed in Val’s number with Sveti still draped over his shoulder.
Val answered. “Pronto? Con chi parlo?”
“Val. It’s Sam.”
“Sam! We have been trying to call! Where is Sveti and—”
“Listen up. There’s a white Telecom van parked outside your hotel that has a dirty bomb in it. Pulverized strontium-90. Rigged to blow with a flip phone. Call a bomb squad and deal with it.”
“Cazzo,” Val muttered. “Sveti?”
“Banged up, sliced up, and half-drowned, but still alive. We’re a couple hundred kilometers from you, on the coast. When I know where the ambulance takes her, I’ll call you again.”
“Sam—”
He hung up and handed the phone to Misha. “You talk to him when he calls back,” he said. “Tell him to get on that bomb. But first call the ambulance. Sveti’s going into shock. I’m looking for blankets.”
There was a bedroom down the hall. The mattress was covered with plastic, but there were down comforters in the standing wardrobe.
He laid Sveti on the bed, jerked out two comforters, and rolled her onto one. His fingers were so stiff, he could barely undo her wet jeans. She shook. Dead white. Lips blue. He tossed the other comforter on top of her and went back to the front room. Renato was curled up, whimpering. Sam ignored him. “Ambulance on the way?”
“I told them there was a beautiful, wet, naked girl going into shock from the cold,” Misha said. “They will be here soon, I promise.”
“If they don’t decide it’s a prank. You’re a manipulative bastard after my own heart, kid.”
He headed back to Sveti and lay down. He’d do skin-to-skin, but he was so cold, he had no warmth to give her. Blood was seeping through the swaddling of white cotton. If only they could just stop. No picking through the wreckage. He just wanted to flip a switch. Go dark.
They’d won. He should be happy, but he just shivered, numb and blank. So alone. She was so far away. Always behind her steel-reinforced walls. Her tower was so fucking high. She would never let him in.
Med techs bustled in some time later, chattering in Italian. Sveti’s eyes fluttered open as they began to peel the comforter away.
“Sam?” she whispered groggily.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You won.”
“Bomb?” she croaked.
“It never went off,” he said. “I talked to Val. He’s on it.”
Tears welled into her eyes. “Rachel? Tam, Nick, Becca?”
“Fine,” he assured her. “They’re fine. You did it, babe.”
She blinked furiously, eyes overflowing. “I love you,” she said.
He flinched. Turn the fucking knife in the wound, why didn’t she. He pulled away. “You thought you were about to die when you said that,” he said. “It’s like saying it when you come. It doesn’t count.”
“Sam—”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t sweat it. I’m not holding you to it.”
One of the med techs tried to push him back down onto the bed. He shoved the guy away so hard, he bounced off the far wall.
The rest of the medics swiftly gave way as he made for the door.
CHAPTER 30
“Sveti?”
Sveti turned from the window overlooking the beach. She spent a lot of time there, staring at the waves receding, leaving gleaming sand, stranded foam. Something about the slow, muscular surge of the water was, well, not soothing. She was too tense to be soothed. But if she timed her breaths to coincide with the waves, she got a little more air.
Her lungs felt clenched. Pain, from her wrenched shoulder and the broken ribs. She’d gotten used to shallow, pain-avoiding pants. And to holding her breath as if a bullet was about to punch into her.
The doctors assured her that it was normal, that it would pass.
“Sveti?”
Rachel’s voice sounded timid. She’d been doing too much jumping and gasping lately. Everyone was tiptoeing around her.
It made her want to snarl, which was bitchy and ungrateful. She was lucky to have people who gave a shit, including her precious Rachel. She grabbed the girl and squeezed. “What is it, sweetheart ?”
“Kev and Edie just showed up,” Rachel said. “With Jon. They brought Misha with them.”
“Great,” she said. “You must be happy.”
“Oh, yeah. We’ll have a blast.”
Rachel’s eyes sparkled. Misha was the latest addition to this crowd of misfits she’d come to love so much. They made space for him immediately, as they had done for Sveti; first because of the help he’d given Sam, but soon enough just for his own quirky, compelling self.
Misha had landed on his feet. Sam had pressured his family into sponsoring Misha to come to America, and the kid was now enrolled in an elite, tech-oriented boarding school for the talented and gifted that had recently opened in Seattle. He started after Christmas. In the meantime, he shuttled between various elements of the McCloud Crowd, assured of many places to go for school breaks and vacations.
Lately, he’d been with Kev, Edie, and little Jon. He’d spent time with Sam, too. They’d bonded, on their bloody adventure.
Lucky Misha.
Rachel and Misha had hit it off, too. They would sneak off to the game room now, and destroy each other all evening with inappropriately violent video games. With Tam and Val checking on them at ten-minute intervals, of course. Typical nervous parents of a pretty, budding girl.
“Edie wanted you,” Rachel said. “Can you go down and say hi?”
Everyone must think she was a cowering invalid. “Of course I’ll come down,” she said. “It’s my party, isn’t it?”
“You deserve it,” Rachel said solemnly.
Truth was, Sveti had only consented to this party to show everyone she was not as fucked up as they all seemed to think she was. Ostensibly, they were celebrating the book deal she’d recently signed. Three point five million dollars for her story, including the book she’d been writing before, plus the added story of what had happened six weeks ago. All of which had gotten massive news coverage.
She should be glad. The media buzz had sparked a big auction between publishing houses, and driven the offer way up. But the constant attention had been hard for her ragged nerves to bear.
That money would launch the Soul Rescue foundation. Something good would come of it in the end. She had that at least.
They would all be arriving soon. She was going to be hugged and squeezed. Kids would crawl all over her. She’d chat, laugh, drink champagne, show them that she was okay. No worries at all.
She followed Rachel down the stairs and into the living room. Misha saw her and granted her a rare smile. She hugged him, and he stiffened, suppressing the urge to break free. His previous life had not included training in receiving hugs. It was time he got used to it.
Jon toddled over to show her a small robot with slitted eyes that lit red when a button was pressed. She exclaimed over its awesomeness.
Edie caught sight of her and pulled her into a long, tight, I’m-so-glad-you’re-still-alive hug. “We came up a little early because I wanted to see you without a crowd,” Edie said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Sveti said. “I’m glad you did.”
“I was wondering if you would like me to . . . well, don’t feel obligated,” Edie said. “But would you like me to draw for you?”
Sveti blinked. Wow. Edie’s drawings were a phenomenon that no one could explain. Often when she drew, a channel opened, and she produced what she called a “charged” drawing, tapping into some issue in the person’s life. Clarifying or illuminating, or warning of danger.
Edie’s drawings frightened people. Sveti’s threshold for fright was pretty high, but the drawings tended to shine a bright light on places that were usually left dark. A nerve-t
ingling prospect right now.
“Ah,” Sveti said inanely. “Sure. I guess. Um . . . why?”
“I suggested it,” Tam said. “Edie’s drawings help people get out of a mind rut. They can give a girl a friendly nudge in the right direction.”
Sveti let out a sigh. “I know you want me to call Sam. But it’s not so simple. I know what you’re hoping. Stop hoping it. Please.”
“We’re all hoping,” Tam snapped. “He’s hoping, too.”
“You don’t know that,” Sveti said.
“Bullshit. He’d jump six feet in the air if you whistled.”
Sveti held up her hand. For once, Tam had the sense to shut up.
All those hours swathed in gauze and watching an IV drip were conducive to agonized self-reflection about everything she’d done wrong.
She’d done just what her father did. He’d gotten himself killed, but his punishment had encompassed them all. Her mother did the same, putting her daughter aside to pursue her quest for truth. Both times, Sveti paid. And she’d been ready to pass that exact punishment on to Sam. To treat him as she’d been treated. Always put last on the list of priorities. Always deemed a sad but necessary sacrifice.
Her mother and father had done the hard thing, and so had she, good little girl that she was. Just as she’d been taught.
Not Sam, though. He’d put her first, always. He’d made her his top priority, and she hadn’t known how to accept it. She just didn’t know how to be that important to someone. She’d flinched away from it, as if from a too-bright light.
She respected Sam for drawing the line. He’d cut off all contact with her, and was avoiding the rest of them, except for Kev and Bruno. And Misha, of course. She’d heard that Sam’s house was up for sale. He probably wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.
God, it hurt, to breathe, to smile. Not like the formless shadow of despair she’d battled before. This was sharper, deeper. More defined.
“. . . Edie to do the drawing? Or what? Decide!” Tam demanded.
Sveti looked at Edie and forced a smile. “I’d be glad to have you do one of your drawings for me.” She shot Tam a warning look. “Just don’t breathe down my neck. And I repeat, do not get your hopes up.”
“Rachel, take Irina and Jon up to the game room and keep them occupied,” Tam said. She waved a hand at Val and Kev. “You two guys, go drink beer in the kitchen or something. Give us some space.”
The two men glanced at each other and melted away.
Sveti sat down in one of the big fat armchairs, slipped off her ballerina flats, and tucked her legs up, facing the seaward windows.
Edie sharpened her charcoals and opened her sketchpad.
Tam sat next to her and Edie shot her a warning look. “Forget it.”
With an exasperated eye roll, Tam scooted to the edge of the couch until the sketchpad was out of her line of vision.
Sveti and Edie gazed at each other. A look of complete absorption came over Edie’s face. She was a tuner, searching for a frequency.
Edie’s pencil began to scratch. Tam huddled on the couch, hugging her knees, staring down. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted black. Sveti looked out at the whitecaps on the ocean.
She drifted into a strange, dreamlike state. Time no longer marched in a straight line. She was breathing more deeply. Her belly hurt less than usual. Her heart felt hot and soft and aching. She looked down at her hands, covered with marks, though the red had faded and the marks were turning silvery. Noise came from the entrance hall, voices talking at once. Children burst through into the room but were swiftly hustled out again. Someone explained what was taking place.
She did not turn to look. They could all wait.
Finally, Edie rested her sketchbook on her lap. She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. Her face was wet.
Tam unfolded herself with catlike grace. “So? What is it?”
Edie whipped the sketchbook away with mock sternness. “Sveti looks first. It’s her drawing.” She handed it to Sveti.
A keen, ethereal pain sliced through her when she saw it.
It was her little friend, from the cave. Same blouse, same bare feet, same embroidered pants. Her toy bear dangled by one arm. With her other hand, she held out a handful of flowers. The white ones that had been growing through her bones. She held the ragged bouquet out like an offering. The look on her face was one of total love and trust.
Sveti laid the sketchpad beside her and doubled over.
People came into the room. Speculative murmurs rose. Someone snatched up the sketchpad to take a look.
The cushions shifted as Tam sat down next to her. “What the hell?” Tam murmured. “Who’s this? Her future kid? Doesn’t look like it. Unless she ends up with a guy from Ethiopia.”
“Don’t be so literal,” Edie chided. “It’s messier than that.”
“Spookier, you mean,” Tam said. “So, past, present, future? Someone not yet born, someone already dead? Someone who hasn’t—”
“Someone who’s already dead,” Sveti broke in.
“Oh, great. That’s just peachy,” Tam said sourly. “A ghost. And not just any ghost. A child’s ghost. A flower-bearing, teddy-bear-carrying child’s ghost. Very cheering. Just what she needed to perk her up and put her in a party mood. Thanks so much, Edie.”
“Sorry,” Edie said meekly.
Sveti started to laugh. It took less than a second for the laughter to morph into tears. She turned to Tam and grabbed her. Tam was tense, nervy, not the hugging type, but Sveti just hung on. Tam had put herself in the line of fire, and she could take the goddamn consequences. “You crazy bitch,” Sveti whispered. “I love you.”
Tam snorted. “I take it as a badge of honor.” She added, after an awkward pause, “And, ahem. I love you, too.”
When it became evident that Sveti wasn’t letting go, Tam’s arms circled her and she patted Sveti’s back. Gingerly.
When the spasm had eased off, Edie was ready with tissues. People had filed into the room and were passing the sketchpad around. Miles and Lara were there, and Becca and Nick. Connor and Erin, too. Nina and Aaro were each holding a squirming baby girl. At the door, she heard Bruno and Lily’s rambunctious twins, Tonio and Magda, and two-year-old, Marco, having some sort of loud snit fit at the door.
“Who is this kid in the picture, anyway?” Nick asked.
“She’s one of the trafficked boat people murdered at Hazlett’s lab,” Sveti explained. “The flowers were growing up through her skeleton. She led me through the cave. I’d found her teddy bear in the dump outside the hole where they dropped the bodies. And I brought it back to her.”
Nick looked pained. “Jesus. Rip my heart out and stomp on it.”
“That’s so fucked up,” Seth said, staring down at the sketchpad. Raine, his wife, joined him and gazed at it, her eyes shiny.
“What a beautiful smile,” she whispered.
The hug fest began, and after seeing the drawing, the hugs got very intense, but in some odd way, the comfort they offered could now find its way in. Her little ghost friend had cleared the way, with her open-hearted gift of flowers.
Tam’s sharp voice cut through the babble. “How interesting! Look who just parked out behind everyone else, carefully positioning his car for a quick getaway. Did someone invite him? I certainly didn’t.”
Sveti’s body went rigid. “Who?”
“Your cop,” Tam said. “He’s here.”
Sveti cleared her throat. “He’s not mine,” she whispered.
“You greet him,” Tam said. “I don’t have anything nice to say to him. He drags you out of the sea half-dead, then walks away and leaves you alone and bleeding in a hospital bed? Ice-cold bastard.”
“I recall someone I know doing something rather similar, long ago.” Val shot Tam a cautious sidelong glance. “Glass houses, my love.”
“That was different!” Tam snapped.
“Of course. I just had a bullet wound,” Val mu
rmured. “It was a trifle, yes. That I will concede.”
“I was poisoned!” Tam yelled, outraged.
“Of course you were, my pet. Absolutely toxic.”
“You condescending bastard. I’m going to the game room to check on the status of our daughter’s virtue.” She flounced out of the room.
Everyone looked at Sveti, expectantly.
“Well?” Edie said.
“Well, what?” Sveti hedged. “I didn’t ask him to come.”
“He didn’t come here to see any of us,” Nina said. “Want to go out and greet him alone? Without an audience?”
She pulled her ballerina flats on, with fingers that trembled. “No, I’ll just, ah . . . go out on the terrace for a while.”
The wind was nippy, and she only had a light knit wrap. But she wasn’t getting near the entrance hall where her jacket hung. Not with Sam about to walk through it.
The terrace had two levels—the one opening off the living room, where the outdoor furniture and the barbecue were located. Wooden stairs descended from there over the rocks, leading to another landing about four meters below, smaller, but with an entirely different view. The stairway zigzagged down to the beach, which was accessible only in that way, except by sea. The cliffs, the drop-off, the smell of saltwater gave her a nauseating wave of discomfort as she remembered that awful morning. That desperate, screaming leap into the sea.
She dragged in deep, shuddering breaths and opened her heart to the stark beauty of the place. She knew how a heart felt when it was awake now. She could call the feeling forth at will. It was scary, painful. But bearable.
And full of hope. Like holding out a handful of wildflowers.
Sam stared at the parking area below Tam and Val’s house, dismayed. There were ten different vehicles parked there, and the space in front of the garage was full, too. Years back they’d engineered a parking area, after bitter complaints from the McCloud Crowd who were sick of parking on the narrow, inhospitable road. All were cars he knew. There were the massive family cars of the four McCloud guys; Nick and Becca’s sedan; Miles and Lara’s truck; Aaro and Nina’s car, with matching baby seats in the back; Bruno and Lily’s seven-seater van; Seth and Raine’s SUV. People he was specifically avoiding.
In For the Kill Page 43
