Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(117)

Rachel tried valiantly, but she didn’t really have much luck coordinating the frantic movement of her skinny little legs with the rhythm of the swing. Still, she put all her effort into it, flopping like a freshly caught fish in the bucket-style kiddie swing, giggling madly.

It was getting very dark, and the gray sky was fading to night on one side. It was also extremely cold, but they were having so much fun in the park playground, neither wanted to leave quite yet. After all, they could see the lit-up windows of Connor and Erin’s house right on the other side of the park, like a beacon of safety. After days of shrieking for Mamma, Rachel was finally calming down. She was not really eating yet and when she talked at all, she stuttered, but things were looking up. Right now she was laughing and smiling. Sveti was grateful to see it. Reluctant to let go of the moment.

The whole afternoon had gone relatively well so far. Rachel seemed to enjoy the story circle at the kids’ room in the local library, and the level of English had been perfect for Sveti’s comprehension level, too. In fact, she’d used Erin’s library card to check out a whole tote bag full of children’s books to study. She had to hurry up and learn.

Not just for Josh, either, she told herself sternly. Forget stupid Josh. She wasn’t thinking about his green eyes, his big grin.

This was for her. Just her. She wanted to study here, go to college here. Something to do with small children. Teaching, childhood development, psychology, and someday maybe even medical school and pediatrics.

It made her so happy to see how Rachel had grown, how much better she walked. To see that rosy red blush in her cheeks. She glowed like a Christmas light in her puffy red ski jacket and red sparkling cap. No one would ever call her chubby, but she looked so much better than back in the bad old days, when she’d seemed like a wizened little troll.

It all seemed so improbable to Sveti sometimes. The strange flip-flop of reality. Sometimes her life seemed like a dream of heaven. Being free, seeing the sky, the trees, the flowers. Seeing Rachel happy with someone who loved her. Having her own mother again.

But that stinking basement room haunted her. Piss-stained mattresses, hollow-eyed children. Doom hanging over them. Constant fear and dread. She wondered if that was the reality, and this was the dream. She could wake up at any time and find herself there again.

It was a nightmare that wouldn’t let her go. Knowing that there were places like that, cruelty like that. Monstrous selfishness like that. Once known, you couldn’t unknow it. And it was hard not to think about it.

All she could do was enjoy a little girl giggling on a playground swing in her puffy red coat and try to hold the dark at bay.

These sad, dark thoughts had sobered and chilled her enough to make her want to get herself and Rachel quickly back to the safety to the McCloud house. It was full of people, voices, and laughter tonight. Both of Connor’s brothers were there with their wives, for dinner. They were incredibly nice to her, but their loudness, their breezy American exuberance, their torrents of hard-to-understand English, oh. It made her intensely shy.

She would do what she always did. Retreat, make herself useful, play with the babies. She liked it and it made everyone so grateful.

Rachel put up a fuss about leaving, and Sveti compromised. She spun Rachel once more on the merry-go-round, a sedate spin that made the little girl shriek with delight. Then another clamber up the rope net, three more passes down the slide, and twilight had become dark.

Her neck started to prickle.

They set off through the trees. Suddenly Sveti had become anxious. So much that her quickening pace pulled Rachel right off her crooked little ankles. Rachel squawked and began to cry.

Sveti scooped her up into her arms and began to jog toward the far side of the park, keeping those lit-up windows in sight. Running was a mistake, though. It threw a panic switch inside her and she began to run faster and faster. Her feet flew, but they were wobbly with fear.

And when the black sedan pulled up right in front of her, she skidded to a stop with a shout and dropped to her knees, twisting to save Rachel from being squashed. She landed painfully on one wrist. Library books spilled out on the frosty grass.

Both doors opened, men boiled out. Big men in dark ski caps and black jackets, and oh God, they were coming for her—and this was not happening, not happening, this was not possible—not again.

One snatched the shrieking Rachel. Sveti grabbed his booted foot and hung on. He yelled something, stomped his weight onto the boot she was clutching, and kicked her in the ribs with the other.

The pain was huge, jolting her lungs, loosening her grip. The man wrenched his foot away, kicked her again in the leg for good measure. Rachel flailed under his arm, shrilling her high, thin wail of terror. The car doors thumped closed. Sveti stumbled up to her feet and flung herself at the shiny black car, screaming at it in Ukrainian, the ugliest words she knew, words she’d learned from Yuri and Martina, her jailors. Ugly, filthy, angry words she’d sworn she’d never say. The car took off, tires squealing, knocking her around to spin like a top and fall to her bloodied knees once again.

Only then did it occur to her to look at the license plate as the car sped away, but it was thickly spattered with mud and her eyes swam with tears. She dashed them away, peered desperately, but could make out only the first A and the form of Mt. Rainier. Washington plates.

The taillights became two malevolent red eyes, glancing back at her. Mocking, leering at her. Then the car turned the corner, and was gone.