touched off a brand-new screaming, flailing fit. The kid had supernatural endurance and vocal technique that would put a Wagnerian opera diva to shame. An hour went by, and her wails were still so loud Tam didn’t even hear her alarm. Only the red strobing light over the doors informed her that there was a breach of security.
She’d installed the system so she could keep an eye on her domain while rocking out at high volume on headphones, never thinking she’d need it for dealing with a three-year-old’s high decibel tantrums. Life was funny that way.
She carried the shrieking child over to the security monitor and stared at it, a sour, sinking feeling in her belly. A police cruiser idled outside the apparently falling-down barn that camoflauged the entrance to her driveway. Two men were inside. One lifted a cell phone to his ear and talked into it, scowling. A bad sign, that they had found her at all. Someone had blown her cover. Her teeth gritted.
That filthy rat bastard. Fucking with her. Again.
She chewed her lip, barely hearing Rachel’s shrieks. If she ignored them, they would get huffy, go away, and come back in force. A siege she definitely did not need. That was a game she could not win.
She hit the button that activated the intercom hidden in a hollow tree right next to the police cruiser and typed one-handed, changing the audio settings so their responses would be loud enough to hear over Rachel’s noise. “Good evening, officers,” she said into the mike. “What can I do for you?”
The guy behind the wheel, the beefier one, jumped hearing her voice and Rachel’s coming out of nowhere. His window buzzed down, and he leaned out the window, scowling. “Ms. Steele? Is that you?”
So they knew her name, too. Worse and worse. “Yes, I’m Tam Steele,” she said. “May I ask what this is about?”
“May we come up to the house?” the man asked. “We’d like to speak to you.”
Shit, shit, shit. “May I ask what it’s about?” she asked again.
“Ms. Steele, may we come up to the house and speak to you?” the man repeated doggedly.
She mouthed a vicious curse against Val Janos’s ancestors back to the seventh generation and hit the buttons that would open up the barn passage. So much for her clever, costly camo job. It would be a public sideshow from now on. She might as well call Seth’s workmen to come and dismantle the fucking thing. What a pain in the ass.
Maybe she could sell it. Right. At an assassin’s garage sale.
She used the few minutes of grace that she had before they reached the house to dress the wiggling, shrieking Rachel in a coat and shoes, and she was waiting for them with the toddler wailing on her hip as the cruiser pulled up to the garage. A grizzled, burly older man and a skinny younger one got out, looking avidly around.
“Good evening, officers,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Good evening, Ms. Steele. I’m Sheriff Meechum, and this is Deputy Licht,” said the older man. “Can we come in?”
She considered asking if they had a search warrant, just out of principle, but decided on the spot that it would be counterproductive. Besides, they would never find anything incriminating. She was careful that way. “Certainly,” she said, resigned. “Follow me.”
It irritated the shit out of her, being bullied into letting strange men into her private space when she and Rachel were alone. She was reasonably sure she would be a match for the two of them, even armed as they were, but not one-handed, with Rachel clinging to her neck.
Rachel changed everything. All her formulas, all her rules.
Rachel was redoubling her efforts. She always flipped out in the presence of strangers, men in particular. It had taken her many months to get used to the McCloud Crowd’s male contingent, and she was letting it be loudly known that those policemen were not on her security list. The noise grated on Tam’s sanity. She was good at blocking out unwanted sensory data. She’d had intensive training in biofeedback, but Rachel’s fits challenged her skills to the utmost.
She led them through the security room, up the stairs and into the kitchen. Between shrieks, she heard the TV. Winnie the Pooh singing about how much he loved honey.
Rosalia had left a pot of coffee, bless her. “May I offer you some coffee, officers? Cookies?” she asked politely.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” Meechum said. “We’ll get right to the point. We’ve received a tip that you are using controlled substances here. Making illegal weaponry. Drugs, explosives and…whatnot.”
Tam widened her eyes in feigned shock and shook her head, switching the flailing Rachel from her exhausted right arm to the left and hoisting her higher. “No, I’m just a jewelry designer,” she said.
The guy cleared his throat. “Hmph. Well. Can you think of any reason why this accusation might have been made against you?”
“I’d better look over my list of jealous ex-lovers,” she said. “Their wives, too. You never know. The green-eyed monster.”
The officer grunted and eyed Rachel. “Ma’am, is there by any chance someone else who can look after the kid while we have this conversation? It’s, uh, hard to talk over this racket.”
“No,” Tam said. “There’s no one.”
The two men shot each other pained glances. “Couldn’t you just, you know, put her in a playpen in the other room, or something?” the younger one suggested hopefully.
As if. She’d tried that only once, and learned her lesson but good. In fact, once she thought it through, she’d felt like an insensitive idiot for trying it. Like she could put Rachel in a pen and leave her alone. A flipped-out, scared little kid who’d spent the first two and a half years of her life locked in a fucking cage.
Not in this lifetime, buddy boy. Certainly not for your convenience.
She gave them a big smile. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
Licht blushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his eyes slid wildly away. They darted around to try and find a place to rest, always drawn back to her face. She let him flop on his hook for a few seconds and decided that this stupid sideshow was too fucking tedious to prolong.
Best to make it mercifully quick. She sighed. “Care to come up and see my laboratory?” she asked.
The two men stumped heavily up the stairs after her. There was nothing for them to object to. The questionable substances she had on the premises were hidden in such a way that the house would have to be knocked down to get at them, or she herself drugged or tortured to reveal their locations. Meechum and Licht didn’t look like they were up to electrodes or waterboarding.
There wasn’t much of the stuff, in any case. Just a little stash for her own personal emergency use. She did not arm the needles, sprays, daggers, grenades, or bomblets before she sold them. It was too risky. Too much exposure, too much accountability. The most she did was to post recommendations for arming them in a private, password-protected place on the Internet. The rest was up to the buyer.
No doubt disseminating even that much deadly information was illegal, but what the hell. Her conscience was a callused, leathery one. It had seen some hard use in its time.
