In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(128)

She felt that way a lot, since the organ traffickers. As if she alone knew the dark truth, while everyone else inhabited a shiny dream world. Only Sam had made her feel fully rooted in the world around her. He made her feel like she inhabited it completely. Like she owned it.

Without him, she drifted, lost and transparent. Like a ghost.

Hazlett poured her wine. As she watched pale liquid glug into the glass, she thought of stories she’d read to Rachel about fairy mounds. People who visited the hall of the Mountain King. Neither shall ye eat nor drink in the land of faerie, lest ye never again return to the world of men.

The random, nasty stab of irrational fear put an end to dinner. She put down her fork and looked at the clock on the marble mantel.

“Where is Zabretti?” she asked. “It’s been over an hour.”

“He’s a busy man,” Hazlett said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “And he understands it’s not a time-sensitive emergency. This is Italy, after all. Nothing happens quickly.”

“Not time sensitive? You told him that?” She leaped to her feet. “I should have gone straight to the police. I’ll get a cab right now!”

“I did not say it wasn’t important! I simply let him know that it was not a crime that was currently in progress! Do not get hysterical, Svetlana. I did not diminish how terrible this situation is. Don’t panic!”

Panic was rising anyway. She trembled violently. Oh, please, please, let her keep her shit together just a little while longer. Until she could pass this torch on to someone she trusted. When no one needed her, when it no longer mattered, then she could fall apart. Not before.

She pictured the little girl, holding her bear. Her tiny bare bones.

“Let me make a suggestion, now that you have some food inside you,” Hazlett said. “Let me help you organize what you’re going to say to Zabretti. Just run through it for me, exactly the way you plan to say it to him. Let me ask all the questions that he will ask. It will save you time and energy, and it will give you more credibility. Please, Svetlana. I want so badly to help you. Come. Let’s run through it.”

The plastic envelope warped in her hands, sharp corners cutting into her palms. Her heart thudded. She was clammy with cold sweat.

“Let’s start,” he prompted. “First, tell me how you found this cave. And how on earth did you manage to climb down into it?”

Her mind froze into crystalline clarity. Her heart stopped beating. Time stopped, as she stared at his ruggedly handsome face, his expression of concern. His eyes, glittering. Knife-sharp. So focused.

She cleared her throat. “Who said I climbed down into the cave?”

Hazlett’s frown was puzzled. “Oh, I just assumed, I suppose. The area has so many natural wells and cavities. It seemed obvious that—”

“What area? How do you know where I went? I was gone all day. I could have gone hundreds of miles and come back in that amount of time.”

He took a meditative sip of his wine. “Svetlana,” he said. “The intensity of your day is getting to you. The tone of your voice is bordering on offensive. Take a breath.”

They gazed at each other. He was offering her a choice. She could laugh, abashed. Apologize for being a crazy, nervous hag. Smile, simper. Make nice while she frantically planned her escape.

She waited an instant too long.

Hazlett lifted a pistol and pointed it at her face. Still smiling.

“Oops,” he murmured. “My bad.”





CHAPTER 26

“Go on to the hotel. Get some rest, Dad. Both of you,” Sam said to his father and sister. So I can get some, too, was the pleading subtext, but he could tell neither of them was listening to that.

“We don’t want to leave you alone, in this place.” His father’s voice was rough with exhaustion. He was past seventy, with a triple bypass and heart valve surgery behind him. His eyes were red, his face puffy and blurred with weariness. Sam found it uncomfortable. He preferred feeling angry at his father to feeling sorry for him. Or worse, worried for him. Enough wrenching revelations about his feelings. He was fried.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” his father said. “What happened to that young lady whose honor you were defending so fiercely last week? Did she have no further use for you, now that you’re an invalid ?”

“She had some pressing personal business,” he said stiffly.

“More personal than bullet wounds?” Connie jumped in fiercely. “She shouldn’t have left you alone here! It’s just common decency!”

“There’s hospital staff to help me. And I’m feeling much better already. I really am. I’ll be fine alone,” Sam assured them.

“Fine? You’ve got contusions, torn muscle tissue, a bullet that almost severed your femoral artery and came within inches of your genitals, too! What are you trying to tell us? If you’d f*cking verbalize it, instead of coding it in bullet wounds, I swear we’d listen!”

Sam closed his eyes. “I did not do all this to myself to upset you,” he said. “And I can’t deal with the histrionics.”

“Histrionics?” She snorted. “As if getting yourself regularly shot up by mobsters isn’t attention-getting behavior!”

“Lower your voice,” his father hissed. “Don’t make a scene!”