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 fuck 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.
Tam cared so much, it looked like she was about to explode.
Whatever she had done in the past, she was ready to defend her young with fang and claw. He thought of his own childhood. His conclusion was glaringly obvious.
Rachel was fortunate. And the child knew it. With her experience, she knew in her bones that the monsters under the bed were all too real. The mother she’d handpicked was perfect for battling monsters.
He waited for a few more miles and blurted it out.
“You are a good mother,” he said.
Tamar gave him an incredulous look. “And how could someone like you make a judgment like that?”
He was affronted. “What do you mean, someone like me? Why not me? I am entitled to my opinions, like anyone else.”
She made a derisive sound. “You’re not like anyone else, Janos,” she said. “And besides, the poor kid could have been kidnapped or murdered yesterday, remember? Thanks to you, I might add.”
He bristled. “Ah, sì? Forgive me for trying to keep you from getting abducted or slaughtered—”
“Adopting Rachel at all was an irresponsible act, considering who and what I am,” she continued grimly. “It’s just like you said in Shibumi. I’m using her. I’m a crazy, selfish bitch.” She paused and swallowed. “And this stunt I’m pulling now has got to be the craziest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Forget the slick reasons why. Let’s be brutally honest, OK? I’m in this for the revenge. No other reason.” She looked out her window. “If I get snuffed, she’ll probably be better off with Erin and Connor anyhow.”
Against his will, memories flashed into Val’s mind. The day he’d found his mother dead on the bathroom floor. Giulietta, the Italian girl from Palermo, another whore in Kustler’s stable, who had shared their apartment for a while. Her baby girl had died in her crib one icy cold winter day, right next to an open window, while Giulietta floated on the bed nearby in a heroin daze.
He could still see Giulietta in his mind’s eye, when she came down from her high. Staring into the crib with her hands on her face. Eyes staring out of her head. Screaming.
She’d screamed for hours, or so it had seemed to him at the time. Those screams still echoed distantly through his mind. He pushed the memory away. It still made his gut feel hollow.
“You are wrong,” he said stubbornly. “She would not be better off without you. You’re a good mother. And I know. Trust me. I have seen some bad ones.”
She shot him a piercing glance, opened her mouth to speak…and shut it again. Something in his voice or face had blocked whatever cutting thing she’d been poised to say. Just as well. His nerves were more raw than usual today. He stared straight out the windshield and concentrated on driving. Willing her not to ask questions.
Reminiscences from his grim childhood were not calculated to lighten anybody’s mood.
Things went with blessed smoothness at the airport. In short order, they were stretched out in big, soft reclining seats in the first-class section of the jumbo airliner, both of them pretending to sleep.
He couldn’t stop stealing glances at her hand, where it rested on her shapely, jeans-clad thigh. It looked so strong and capable, and yet delicate, the slenderness of her fingers accentuated by the heavy, savage-looking thumb ring she wore, made of contrasting bands of colored gold. He wondered what defense applications the ring had, and decided that an airplane would be an indiscreet place to ask.
He liked her French manicure. He liked the fading, gummy shadow of a child’s fake tattoo on her slender wrist, some cartoon character that populated an American three-year-old’s fantasy world. A tender, secret detail that made him smile. He liked the way her sweater cuff draped over her forearm. So graceful, every curve, every line of her.
She infuriated him; she fascinated him. He was obsessed. He accepted that fact, let it sink in without resisting it. Made it part of the matrix so that he would take it into account while making decisions.
He was going to seduce her again at the first opportunity. This fact had the weight and inevitability of natural law, the kind that governed the turning of the planets, the movement of the stars.
Not just to save Imre, though. Not anymore. God help him, he had just tripled his problems and responsibilities. Imre, Tamar, Rachel.
At this point, the only way to save himself was by somehow saving them all.
Never again. Tam established it in her head, a constant drone beneath the frantic chatter of all the other thoughts and fears and feelings. The man was inside her head, invading her thoughts, her senses. Compromising her powers of reasoning. She could not afford to be so distracted on the eve of the riskiest stunt of her entire career.
If it was just about sex, that would have been bad enough, but it wasn’t. These flashes of emotional connection shook her, disarmed her, left her speechless and stammering. Buzzing with feelings.
She was curious about him, fascinated by him, interested in him, like a teenage girl crushed out on a rock star. Robot Bitch had gone to pieces. Rachel had started the disintegration process, and Val Janos was the killing blow. Life was so much simpler back in the good old days when Robot Bitch ruled.
She was unsteady all the time. Bowled over by his scent. How did a guy with the massive dose of male hormones necessary to render him that potent and dangerous still manage to smell so good? It was against the basic laws of nature.
She kept sneaking peeks at him. Checking out the length of his legs, the broad, hard shape of his chest, the outrageous breadth of his shoulders. Mmmm, how she liked big, thick, cut shoulders that she couldn’t quite get her fingers around. And his somber, beautiful face. His beard stubble was starting to get soft, not scratchy. She had no whisker burn, even after last night’s mad nuzzling.
She wanted to explore him, to set off into the uncharted wilderness of his fascinating
