kill him. The end of his suffering was at hand.
She came closer, bent over him. Stared into his bloodshot, watery eyes, wondering who was in there. How he could have done it. Rifle fire crackled in her head. Screams from the basement cells. Dirt scattering down into Mama and Irina’s eyes. Her nails dug into her palms.
His eyes were avid with eagerness for her to free him.
Images superimposed themselves over the man’s face in her mind. Her father, smiling over the jewelry bench as he taught her the craft they both loved. Playing with little Irina. Mamma, fussing over Tam’s pronunciation of French, Russian, Italian, Ukrainian. Lecturing her about politics, philosophy, and manners. Telling her daughter how she was going to love studying at the Sorbonne someday, as she herself had so longed to do.
The life she would have had, the life her little sister Irina would have had. Bones and dust.
She looked at him, and the anger didn’t rise up and choke her as it always had before. The place where it had been had changed. She’d broken her heart wide open, made space inside it for Rachel, and then still more space, for Val. She was transformed, transfigured.
She felt as big as the sky in there.
There was no monster here to vanquish. All power to hurt had been drained out of the creature on that bed. He was a burned-out battery. She would obtain nothing by killing him—and she could lose everything. She was no longer a woman with nothing to lose. She had everything that was precious. Everything to protect and cherish.
He was not worth it.
The strangest sensation opened up inside her at that realization, thrumming in the newly open space inside her chest. Like light, like heat, like music. Sweet, high-pitched sound, far-off children singing.
If she killed him, she would be linked to him. She would carry him forever. All the strength that she needed for the people she loved, she would have to give to Drago Stengl until the day that she died.
She’d carried him long enough. Let his own pain crush him out of existence with its own stately, majestic pace. Why rush it?
She could turn away. Leave him behind. She really could.
He sensed his precious deliverance drifting inexorably away from him, and opened his bloodshot eyes wide in alarm. He tried to speak.
She shook her head. “No,” she said softly, in Croatian. “Today is not your lucky day.” The long unused language felt strange in her mouth.
She turned her back and walked away. She stopped at the door and looked down at Ana. Leaned over, felt the other woman’s pulse.
Strong and steady. She’d wake up in a few minutes and be fine.
Tam walked out of the room and down the corridor. Her feet started going faster, ’til she was running. Then practically sprinting.
She forced herself to slow down. Self-control, please. Get a grip.
It was hard to keep her pace steady. She wanted to run headlong toward her new life. The chance she would give herself, if it wasn’t too late. She wanted to run toward this new self with her arms outstretched. This woman who was not so toxic, so desperate.
This new Tam might even make a wild stab at happiness. Maybe even love, if pigs flew, if the sky fell, if she was insanely lucky.
Or at the very least, peace. If nothing else.
Peace. Something she’d never dared to hope for. Never thought she deserved. She asked the ghosts in her heart to forgive her for not avenging them. Her soul lightened as they granted it.
Children sang in her head. She was euphoric. She’d gone nuts.
Get a grip, Steele, she reminded herself. Look sharp. You’re not in the clear yet. Don’t float off into la-la land. You’re being irresponsible.
No one challenged her at the exit. She walked out into the brilliant clarity of the winter evening. The setting sun made the sea glow, the wind blew through the pines, whipping and bending them.
She was astonished by how beautiful it was. Tears blurred her eyes. Her mind was blown by its grandeur. It hurt. She liked the pain.
Bring it on. She was bigger now. She could take it in.
First order of business: take those damned tongue studs out of her mouth. She didn’t need them now. Then she would run to the nearest place that sold prepaid cell phones, buy one, call to check on Rachel, and then call Val. Tell him that he’d been right, she’d been wrong, and she was sorry. That she loved him. That she’d pursue him until he gave in out of sheer exhaustion. His anger was huge, but so was her love.
And she was tough. Let him yell and scream and be pissed at her. She’d wait him out. Let Stengl rot. Let Novak and Georg kill each other.
Fuck them all. In the face of all the bastards who wished her ill, she was going to live. With her kid—and her man. She really was. Oh, God.
The urgency she felt to get away from there was building up to a frantic level. She yanked open the door of the Opel—and heard the muted pop of another car door opening behind her. No.
She spun, flinging up her arm to block the blow that she instinctively knew was aimed at the back of her head. It connected with her forearm. White hot, fiery pain shot up her arm.
Broken. Shit, a useless right arm.
She scrambled back, hit the car, bounced. Dragged in air, tried to block the sickening pain. She’d deserved that one, floating around in a fucking cloud, drunk on beauty and hopes of love.
She would pay for it now. András loomed, his face wild and grinning. Wet-lipped and sharp-toothed, like an evil hobgoblin from one of her grandmother’s scarier stories.
Her knee jerked up toward his groin, and hit hard. Yes. Air escaped from him in a grunting whoosh. She scooted away, but he scooped her right off her feet with a swipe of his leg at knee level. She lost her center, teetering on those fucking spike-heeled Manolos, goddamnit, betrayed by vanity and fashion—She fell against the Opel again, jarring the broken arm, and almost screamed. It cost her the split second she needed to wind up for another blow or block. The entire weight of András’s body slammed into her, squashing her against the car, dragging her down, down, first to her knees, and then thudding heavily, flat onto her face.
He sat on her back, squashing out air, light, everything. Her face was ground against the asphalt. Pebbles scratched her cheek.
“Bitch,” he panted. “You’ll pay for that. Screaming.” His hoarse, grating voice rasped in her ears. “You can start paying right now.” He stuck his wet, meaty tongue into her ear, wiggled it. “Guess what pretty little toddler is on her way to visit benevolent old Daddy Novak right now, as we speak?”
“No!” Horror exploded inside her. She convulsed in instinctive denial, but his weight made the movement barely a wiggle.
András laughed nastily. “Ah, yes. We’ll get there about the same time she does. A touching family reunion. I can hardly wait.” His hand clamped around her mouth and nose, pressing over both with a damp gauze pad that had a sharp, acrid smell. “Little ones never last long….”
Her
