Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(81)

“I can’t climb on a plane with my lingerie and toiletries falling out of a paper shopping bag,” she bitched.

“I anticipated this problem, which is why I ordered you a suitcase yesterday,” was his smooth rejoinder.

“Hmmph.” She tossed her things into the suitcase he had hauled back from the SUV without any thanks and shrugged on her coat.

She scooped Rachel up, but the little girl leaned out of her arms and reached for Val. He swept her up, placed her on his shoulders, and set a brisk pace toward the main hotel, Tamar trailing sullenly behind.

Breakfast was a tense affair, though they had a lot of company. Val sipped coffee and stared grimly at the minutes ticking by on his watch. Sveti tried to persuade Rachel to consume scrambled eggs and pancakes, but the little girl had realized that her mother’s departure was imminent, and she was cranky. Tamar’s friends, gathered at the table, were all giving him cold-eyed looks that seemed to say, although Tamar had not told them exactly where she was going or why, they suspected it—and him.

Tamar, on the other hand, was overwhelming Erin and her husband with a long list scrawled on hotel stationery of the pediatrician’s recommendations for Rachel’s diet, allergies, and food intolerances. Then the nightly physical therapy exercises, the massages for ankles and hip, the asthma medications, cortisone drops for croup, ear drops, and so on. Minutes ticked by. Twenty. Thirty.

Connor McCloud’s eyes glazed over halfway through, and Erin had long since passed her own child over to one of her sisters-in-law, frowning anxiously as she took careful little notes on the margin of the list. Words poured out of Tamar like water from a fire hose. Her fists were clenched, jaw tight, eyes red.

She cared, terribly. It hurt her to leave. He hated hurting her.

He pushed guilt away with a series of rationalizations. If they succeeded, the quality of Rachel and Tamar’s life would be immensely improved. His offer was probably their only hope of continued survival.

If Hegel had come in Val’s stead or sent any other operative, Tamar would already be in Georg’s hands, and Rachel would be locked up alone, in a terrifying limbo. And if Novak should come to know of the child…

His mind shied away from the thought.

Then again, if Tamar and Rachel had managed to flee the day before, they might have had a fighting chance alone, somewhere in the world, under a new name. Anyone’s guess.

And Imre would have been doomed to a slow and horrible death.

He took a swallow of the strong, black coffee. Bitter as poison. There was no point thinking about it. He had made his choice and set it all in motion. What was done was done.

“Three drops, did you write that down? Two milliliters of distilled water in the aerosol machine, and make sure she’s watching Elmo or Pooh while you do it, or nothing doing. Did you get that?”

Rachel began to wail.

“Got that,” Erin said distractedly, scribbling. “Three drops, two milliliters—Elmo, Pooh.”

“I’ll give you some cash for the medicines.” Tamar dug into her purse. Her voice vibrated with tension, pitched loudly enough to be heard over Rachel’s wailing.

Erin rolled her eyes. “Get real.”

“I mean it,” Tamar insisted. “This stuff costs big bucks at the pharmacy. I can’t let you—”

“Screw you, Tam,” Connor said brusquely. “Don’t insult us. Now go and hug that kid, for God’s sake, before we all get thrown out of this place for disturbing the peace. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

Tamar made a harsh, wordless sound and grabbed the screaming child, pulling her onto her lap. She buried her face against Rachel’s hair and murmured to her between ear-splitting shrieks.

Val strategically fled the dining hall at this point, as many others were choosing to do with him, but he couldn’t get away from the anguished sounds without leaving the building entirely. It was terrible.

Final good-byes, loading of cars, transferring of car seats, final admonitions, and still more final good-byes ensued. A teeth-grinding interval later, they were finally pulling onto the interstate in blessed silence. Tamar’s hands were clenched, her back stiff. Her stony silence had an accusing weight that got heavier with each mile that passed.

By the time they were halfway to Portland, he could stand it no longer. “Would you stop it?” he blurted. “I am sorry your daughter is unhappy, but it is not forever. We have to work fast so—”

“If we survive at all,” Tamar pointed out. “Or if I survive, rather. Let’s be honest. I’m the one whose head is on the block.”

He blew out a harsh breath. “I have tried in every way to make this risk worth your while,” he said urgently. “For Rachel, too. She will survive without you for a few—”

“Look, you don’t know how it feels, OK? So why don’t you just f*ck off and let me sulk?”

He turned away, stung into silence. It was true enough. He did not know how it felt. Nor would he ever want to learn.

They speeded down the highway in a hostile silence for over an hour. By the time they reached signs for Highway 205 and the Portland Airport, he was contemplating an odd, unexpected thought.

He glanced over at her set face, her red eyes. Whatever Tamar might lack in manners or maternal softness, one thing was certain. A child of hers would never have to wonder if her mother cared.