In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(67)

Oh, that was just f*cking great. So the guy was a mute, too. Sam fought to keep his voice even. “How the hell did you communicate with him back then, if he couldn’t talk?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, but we did. Sign language, eye contact, mind reading. When I saw him in Rome . . .” She shook her head. “He was like a ghost. Like when we were locked up. It’s so hard, Sam, to come back to the real world. He never really made it back.”

“You came back,” Sam pointed out. “I’ve never heard you blaming anybody, or taking drugs because of the pain.”

“I made it most of the way,” she said quietly. “I was luckier. I had my friends to show me how to be strong. Sasha was all on his own.”

Sam reached down and spun the tablet around to look at the message, still open in the e-mail account. Just two lines of Cyrillic.

“Don’t go to Italy,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t any use. “I won’t think any less of you for it. And your family would weep for joy.”

She looked up at him. “And do what, Sam?”

“Hide,” he said promptly. “I’ll help you. I’ll hide with you. I’ll stick to you like airplane glue. Don’t go.”

Sveti closed the tab on the browser. “I’m not being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn,” she said. “I see your point, and I know it’s valid. But I know something else, too. If I let them put me on the run, I’ll run until they kill me. It’s like running from an angry dog. The dog has no choice but to pursue. It’s his nature to chase and maul you.”

“Not if the dog doesn’t find you,” he said.

“And live my life hiding from angry dogs? Letting them define my existence, my actions, my choices?” She let her twisted hands fall open. “That’s prison, Sam. I’ve been in prison. I won’t go back. I’d rather die.”

That jolted him, nastily. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m going to find Sasha,” she went on. “I’m going to find Renato, to ask about Mama. I’m going to speak at the banquet and receive my award. I’m going to run at this thing head-on, screaming and waving my arms. I’m following my instincts. They’ve kept me alive so far.”

“Actually, no,” he said. “The other day, it was not your instincts that kept you alive, Sveti. It was me.”

“Yes,” Sveti said. “It was you. And thank you.”

“I wasn’t fishing for thanks,” he said. “I was making a point.”

“Point taken. But I still have to go. Sasha’s my responsibility. Don’t feel compelled to go with me, if you can’t support my—”

“Stop,” he said. “Hold it right there. Don’t even say it. There are no circumstances under which I would let you go to Italy alone, and you know that perfectly well. You know how I feel about you, and you are exploiting it. You are jerking me around, Sveti. Without mercy.”

“Oh, God, Sam.” Her shoulders slumped in a rare moment of weariness. “That’s not true. But I’m so sorry you see it that way.”

“It’s weird,” he went on. “You’re so brave about everything else. You’ll run straight at this, waving your arms, here I come, you * motherf*ckers. But you won’t take that kind of crazy chance on us.”

Her eyes were wide, and trapped looking. “Sam, I—”

“I want you to run at me like that. No retreat, no excuses, no prisoners. Bowl me over, mow me down, blow my mind. Why do only bad guys get that turbo-charged mojo from you? Where’s my share?”

“I don’t understand how to be what you want!” she wailed.

“You’ve got a mistaken idea of how it’s supposed to feel,” he said. “What, you think you’re not supposed to feel scared? It’s the human condition! It’s not specific to you! We all feel it, unless we medicate it. You’re afraid of pain and loss and death? Get over it! Join the club! If you wait until you don’t feel scared, you’ll wait into your grave!”

She looked up, eyes hot. “Do not tell me how to feel, Sam.”

“I’m not telling you. I’ll show you. Take off your clothes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Give me a break.”

“Really. Your body knows what you want. Let it show you.”

“No,” she said sharply. “You are so arrogant.”

“Not arrogant,” he corrected. “Purposeful. Focused. You know damn well I’ll make it good for you.”

They stared at each other. “Come on, Sveti,” he coaxed. “Put my arrogant ass right back in its place. If you have the nerve.”

She gave him a long, appraising look and shook her head. “You’re too angry right now. At me, your father. Everyone.”

The red fog intensified. His hands fisted. “You’re afraid of me?”

“Not at all,” she said. “But the answer is still no.”

Fuck it. He would never understand how that chick’s mind worked. He yanked his clothes off. Slid into the bed, turning his back.

Sveti puttered around for a few minutes, then flipped off the light and slipped into the bed beside him. She cuddled against his back. The contact refreshed his long-suffering boner right back up to full salute.