In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(91)

“Oh.” She sounded startled. “Wow.”

“It’s not like I’m surprised. I saw your TED talk.”

“You did?” She gaped at him. “Really?”

He tried not to laugh. Only about a hundred times. “Of course. But seeing you do your thing, in real time, in that dress? I’m in awe.”

“Don’t overdo it,” she said. “So? What’s the bad news?”

“You asked me for it, okay? Let the record show.”

“Recorded,” she assured him. “Let ’er rip.”

“Okay,” he said. “This whole thing stinks.”

Sveti stared out into the night for a minute. “That assessment doesn’t astonish me anywhere near as much as you might expect.”

“I hate it,” he said. “More than before. In Portland, the idea of leaving Helen Wong’s snakehead thugs thousands of miles behind us made some kind of sense. After today, it no longer does.”

“So you did think I was hallucinating,” she said. “About the guy asking me about Mama, in Ukrainian. About The Sword of Cain.”

She didn’t sound pissed, but he still felt defensive. “We all thought it,” he said. “You can’t blame us. Anyone who’s experienced violent trauma knows how it f*cks with your head for years afterward. There’s no shame in it, no reflection on your worth. Is that clear?”

“Sure,” she said. “But you still should have listened to me.”

“I do nothing but listen to you!” he exploded. “I’ve been chasing you around like a f*cking idiot for years, trying to listen to you! You should have started talking to me sooner!”

“That, Sam, is an argument for another day.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Besides, if you’d convinced us, you would not be here now!” he went on. “We would all be sitting on you, at Cray’s Cove! The selling point of this Europe trip was that you were safer thousands of miles away from the snakeheads, and that it would be healthier for you to be distracted by conferences, prizes, parties. A fancy new job.”

“And you,” she said.

“Sure. I’m the Great Distractor. But things look different now. The guy who, unbeknownst to you, hooked you up with your new boss and would-be sugar daddy is the very guy your mom was sleeping with and partying with the night she parted company with a bridge. That’s bad.”

“You’re a fine one to talk about sugar daddies, Sam.”

He clenched his teeth. “Can we stay on topic?”

“I’m not the one who strayed from it,” she said crisply. “There’s the dress, too. Renato says she really did wear a red dress that night.”

“Are you going to show Renato your mom’s letter?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Why not?” he demanded.

Sveti lifted her chin angrily. “It’s mine,” she said. “She sent it to me. He already had his piece of her, and it was more than I got. I’ll keep my pathetic crumbs for myself, thanks very much.”

“So you’re keeping it from him out of spite?”

“I am not spiteful!”

“Don’t get mad,” he soothed. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t show it to him either, but that’s just because I think he’s a dickhead. But if you’re not being spiteful, then letting him see it takes nothing from you. So what’s the real reason you’re not showing it?”

She could not answer. He waited for a moment.

“It’s fear, right?” he prompted. “You’re afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid,” she snapped. “I’d be a fool not to be!”

“Then listen to your fear,” he said fiercely. “I’m afraid, too, and I’m listening to mine. This whole thing, Sasha, Misha, Hazlett, Renato? It smells like a huge, festering clusterf*ck in the making. The smart thing to do now is to back away, very slowly.”

Sveti let out a slow sigh and shook her head.

“I think we should just keep driving,” he said. “Straight to the airport. I think you should disappear. Now. And for a long time.”

“Disappear to where?”

“Hell, I don’t know. A cabin on a lake somewhere in the ass end of nowhere, in British Columbia, maybe. They say Ecuador’s nice.”

She choked on a giggle. “Oh, please. Doing what?”

“Playing house,” he proposed, rashly. “With me.”

She shot him one of those scared, big-eyed glances.

“Come on,” he urged. “It would be fun. Can you cook?”

She shook her head. “Cornbread, from a box. I’m terrible.”

“We’re set, then. I love cornbread.”

She shook her head, laughing. That silly Sam and his romantic notions. But he was alarmed at how quickly the fantasy of the cabin on the lake took him over. He could practically feel the wind off the lake, ruffling the water. Mountains soaring up, aching mountain greens stark against a vivid blue sky. Cup of coffee in one hand, the other clamped around Sveti, all soft and relaxed in her bathrobe, as they sat on the steps, watching hawks wheel in the sky in the morning. Oh, hell yeah.

“I can’t back away from this, Sam,” she said.