Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(18)

Then the door slammed closed and the box went dark. Livia heard the bolts scraping into place, the clank of the lock closing. And then there was nothing but the sound of the children’s tears and the sharp smell of the men’s blood.

Amid the other children’s sobs, she heard Nason crying, “Labee, where are you? Labee?”

She managed to draw a breath and sit up. Her shoulder hurt from the way the man had jerked her arm. She swallowed to wet her throat and said, “I’m here, little bird.”

“Where?”

“Follow my voice. I’m sitting in the middle of the box.”

She kept talking, and it was almost like one of their games. A moment later, Nason stumbled into her, then collapsed into her arms, crying. Livia stroked her hair and whispered to her that it would be all right, it would be all right.

“Why you did that?” she heard someone call out in Thai. “Why?”

It was the Yao boy, the coward. Livia considered not answering, but then said, “Why you no run?”

“Run? Run where?”

In fact, it wasn’t an unreasonable question. Livia didn’t really know what was out there. A boat, yes, but beyond that she barely had any idea. Were there other people? The boat was so big, there must have been. But where were the people? And would they help?

“You want stay here?” she said. “Like chicken in trap?”

“Yes!” the Yao boy said. “In here food. Water. What if now men don’t come? What if men mad now? No bring food! No water!”

A low, collective moan of terror filled the box. But Livia didn’t feel frightened. She felt rage—rage at the Yao boy’s cowardice, and even more that he didn’t care what she was being forced to do to keep the men happy while he cowered in the box, warm and safe and well fed. If the men hadn’t taken the can top from her, she would have found the Yao boy and slashed him with it. Well, she didn’t need the top. She could hurt him with her nails, and her teeth.

But no. She had to take care of Nason—that was what mattered. So she said, “You could run. But you no run. What happens, you did, not me.”

She wanted to believe that. But she didn’t. She knew she’d wounded a tiger. And that the tiger was going to come back.





9—THEN

Sometime later, Livia was awakened by the sound of the bolts scraping back. She sat up instantly, her heart pounding. Nason, obviously still on edge, sat up with her, gripping Livia’s arm.

The door opened and the men strode in. This time, they didn’t point their flashlights at the top of the box. They swept them back and forth, shining them straight into the children’s terrified faces. Livia held up a hand to shield her eyes as the lights flashed on her and Nason. She squinted to try to see, and saw a pair of legs approaching. She scrambled to position herself in front of Nason, but something must have happened because suddenly she was on her back, her head throbbing, her ears ringing, and Nason was screaming from all the way at the front of the box, and Livia tried to stand but a wave of dizziness and nausea coursed through her and she fell. “Nason!” she cried out. “Nason!”

And then the door closed, and the bolts scraped into place, and Nason was gone. Livia drew in a long, hitching breath and shrieked into the darkness.





10—NOW

The next day, Livia got confirmation from the G-unit: Billy Barnett would be laid to rest at Crown Hill Cemetery at eleven o’clock the following morning. The G guys would be out in force to deter rival gangbangers from causing trouble, and to take them down if deterrence failed.

Livia went to inventory—a.k.a. the Tool Shed, a.k.a. the Bat Cave. Gossamer usage was monitored closely, in accordance with an SPD contract with the manufacturer, and a detective requesting one of the units needed permission from a lieutenant or higher, and had to fill out nearly as much paperwork as for a sniper rifle.

The Tool Shed was run by a civilian SPD employee named Alvin, a ginger-haired computer geek who looked twenty years younger than his actual forty-five. Alvin ran his operation like an OCD military quartermaster, demanding every i dotted, every t crossed. And God help you if you were an hour late returning something you had checked out from him.

But he also had a crush on Livia, blushing under his spray of freckles when she came by to sign out some equipment. And even more when she came by just to say hello. She was pretty sure he would cut her a little slack if she were to return one of his toys in, say, less than factory condition.

She took the elevator to the basement, walked down the fluorescent-lit corridor, and saw Alvin standing behind the checkout window like a postal clerk or pharmacist. She’d never once been down here and failed to see him at the ready. Sometimes she wondered if he ever went to the bathroom. But she’d decided this was something best left a mystery.

She waved. “Hey, Alvin.”

He waved back. “Livia. That’s funny—I just received a permission slip from Lieutenant Strangeland for a Gossamer.”

She smiled. “Well, what a coincidence.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Right. Of course. Well, I’ve got one right here for you. Charged up and ready to go. You have the form filled out?”

“No, I thought I’d fill it out here. If I’m not taking too much of your time.”

“What? No, of course not. Here you go.”