In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(57)

Spooky, doleful, miserable shit, and it meant absolutely nothing, in regard to Sveti. Neither did the whole poems, when he read them through. It pissed him off that Sveti had been jerked around like that, and by her own mother, too. Crazy. But not surprising, considering that the woman subsequently threw herself off a bridge.

Or not. He would revise all his judgments about Sonia Ardova if she’d been forcibly thrown off that bridge. But that was another whole writhing snake pit of speculation. One thing at a time, for God’s sake.

A knock sounded on the door. Sam opened it and found Rachel, with a dinner tray. The girl carried it in, along with the stern message that the food was for Sveti, and Sveti only.

“It seemed kind of mean,” Rachel said apologetically. “I wanted to bring you some, too, but Mama said you could come and get something out of the fridge yourself, if you’re hungry. Sorry about that.”

Sam laid the tray on a table. “It’s fine. I’ll get something later.”

After midnight, maybe. Like a slinking thief, rummaging shifty-eyed through the congealed leftovers in the fridge. God, what he was reduced to. Like Sveti’s mom had said: Love made you stupid.

Rachel drifted over toward Sveti’s bed. “She’ll probably have nightmares tonight,” she said knowledgeably. “So watch out. She gets the really bad ones when she’s worried about stuff.”

“Nightmares?” he asked. “What kind of nightmares?”

“You know. About when we were locked up. She gets ’em bad.”

Sam looked at Rachel’s remote, abstracted expression. “You remember that? Weren’t you just a baby?”

“I remember it just fine,” Rachel said. “They don’t know how old I was when they got me, I was so shriveled. Failure to thrive, they called it. Plus, my eyes got screwed up, because I never got a chance to focus on anything farther than a few feet away from me while my eyes were developing. And the food was pus. The doctors told Mama I’d be retarded, from malnutrition. But I’m not.”

“You most certainly are not,” Sam agreed readily.

Rachel folded her skinny little arms over her narrow torso. “Sveti saved me,” she said. “She gave us all her fresh food. The milk, the bread, the fruit. She just starved. She was so skinny when they saved her. I’d be dead if it weren’t for her.”

They looked quietly at Sveti’s slender form for a moment.

“Sveti thinks everyone’s special enough to save,” Rachel said softly. “Even the broken, messed-up ones that get put in the garbage.”

He nodded. His throat was too tight to speak.

“It’s stupid, for her to go to London now.” Rachel’s voice was rebellious. “She should stay here, where my mom and dad and the rest of them can protect her! She’s crazy to leave now!”

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Sam said promptly.

“She doesn’t listen to you?” Rachel’s tone was disapproving.

Sam shook his head.

The little girl harrumphed. “So what good are you?”

Sam choked on his laughter. “Whoa. Harsh.”

Rachel sniffed. “You think that’s harsh?”

Sam gazed at the young girl, who tapped her foot, looking over the tops of her thick glasses. Tam’s daughter for sure, with that attitude.

Rachel blew the mop that fringed her forehead upward with a puff of breath. “So you’re going to Italy with her? And then to London?”

He nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“You’re going to be with her all the time? Every minute?”

“Like glue,” he promised.

She crossed her arms, chin out. “Do you have a gun?”

“I can’t take one to Europe, because of their laws, but I’ll figure something out when I’m there,” he said. “On my honor.”

Her head tilted to the side. “You love her, right?”

The matter-of-fact question took him by surprise. When he could inhale again, the answer flew right out, as if released from a cage. “Yes,” he said.

“Good,” she said coolly. “That way you’ll be more motivated.”

Calculating, for one so young. “I wish she thought so,” he said.

“Just know this.” Rachel’s girlish voice was hard. “You keep her safe, or it won’t be just Mama and Daddy coming after you. I will, too. And I’ll make them look like a couple of kittens rolling on the rug.”

Sam clamped down on the urge to laugh. Rachel reminded him of exactly that. A fierce little kitten, hissing. But kittens grew. Rachel was a panther in the making. “I don’t respond well to threats,” he told her.

Rachel sniffed. “It’s not a threat,” she said. “I’m just saying.”

“Thank you.” He kept his mouth from twitching. “I’d put my life on the line for her. I already did, yesterday. So you know I mean it.”

Rachel looked back at Sveti. “Careful if you wake her up from a nightmare,” she advised. “She hits. She gave Mama a black eye once.”

“Yikes,” he said.

“Oh, Mama didn’t care,” Rachel said. “Mama’s tough. That was the last time Sveti had a bad one. At least while she was here.”