She killed the torch, removed the goggles, closed her eyes, and let out a long breath. Out of danger now. And nearly done.
Keeping the lights out, she stripped off everything-the gloves, the boots, the leathers, even her underwear. The riding gear got hung near the door. The underwear she threw into a small washing machine in the kitchen, along with some other laundry, running it on a hot cycle. She grabbed a yogurt drink from the refrigerator, keeping one eye closed to preserve her night vision against the interior light, chugged it, and chased it with a big glass of water. Then she took the hottest shower she could stand, washing her hair, scrubbing her body with an exfoliating cloth, standing in the billowing steam to let the heat boil the last of the night’s tension out of her. She wasn’t worried about the open windows. The Glock, always close at hand, was on the toilet tank next to her.
When she was done drying off, she went back to the shredder. The contents of the bucket had cooled, and she threw the entire thing in, bucket and all, collecting the newly made confetti in a new contractor bag. She’d get rid of the bag in some dumpster tomorrow, but even if it were found here tonight, it could no longer incriminate anyone in anything.
The first light was beginning to show in the eastern sky. She turned off the fan and closed and locked the two windows. Just one last thing to do.
She knelt on a mat in front of the shrine-a small wooden Buddha, an incense brazier, and a photograph of her and Nason, all that remained to her of when they were girls in the forest. She set the Glock on the mat next to her, lit the candle and the incense, and placed her palms together at her forehead in the traditional Sampeah, closing her eyes and dipping her head forward as she did so.
“I love you, little bird,” she whispered in Lahu. “I will never forget. I will never stop looking. And one day I will find you.”
She paused, and added in English, “I’ll learn something at the funeral. Something I can use against Weed Tyler. I’m so close, little bird. I’ve waited so long. And I know you have, too. I know.”
She maintained the pose until the incense had burned low. Then she slipped into bed and lay on her back. She would use an eyeshade soon against the morning sun, but for now it was still dark enough. She breathed slowly in and out, the sheets cool against her skin, a slight tingle in her extremities.
She closed her eyes and in her mind replayed everything about the evening. Studying Barnett’s file. Reconnaissance of the neighborhood. Buying the wig, the glasses, the yoga outfit, all for cash from stores outside the city. The ride into Marysville that night. Stripping off the leathers and putting on the makeup in a fast-food restroom. Walking into the bar, nervous as the whole thing went live. Catching his eye. The flush of excitement as he sauntered over.
Her heart began to beat harder, and she parted her lips to draw more air. She flexed her legs and brought her knees up a few inches from the mattress, the sheets sliding smoothly under her toes and the balls of her feet.
The smell of his bourbon as he got increasingly drunk, whatever self-control he had fading, his judgment occluded. The way he looked at her. Knowing what he was thinking, planning.
She shifted her weight to one shoulder, then the other. Her knees widened and one of her hands drifted down between her legs.
The way he had grabbed her shoulders and shaken her. How he had tried to pull her in and make her kiss him.
“No,” she breathed aloud, her fingers pressing, rubbing, moving. “No. I don’t want this.”
How he’d ignored her pleas and thrown her down on the grass. His weight as he straddled her.
Her fingers were moving faster now, harder, her breathing loud in her ears. She could feel the pressure building inside her. “No,” she said again. “No.”
His hand on her throat. The sound of his belt buckle.
She sat up and twisted around, her knees spread wide, her free hand gripping the bedsheet, her arm taking her weight. She rocked her hips against her fingers and moaned.
Squeezing his neck, feeling it being crushed in the figure-four of her legs.
The pressure was unbearable now. She gripped the sheet harder and spread her knees wider.
The way he’d scratched at her leg, his efforts frantic at first, then increasingly feeble. Knowing she’d stopped him. Denied him every option. Taken complete control-
And then the pressure exploded, and she cried out, the pleasure obliterating Barnett, obliterating the memories, obliterating everything.
Eventually, it began to slacken. She shuddered once as her consciousness reconstructed itself, then turned onto her back. She lay there, her heart slowing, her breathing coming back to normal, her muscles relaxing as sleep overtook her.
The sun was still below the horizon, but the loft was filling with soft gray light. She reached sluggishly for the eyeshade, not even aware of the tears streaking her face.
6-THEN
At one point during the day, the men came with blankets. They threw them on the floor and left, the bolts scraping into place after they closed the door behind them.
Livia grabbed one blanket for Nason and herself, and the other children immediately followed suit. But there was no need to hurry-there were enough for everyone. In fact, there was exactly one extra, which the Yao boy took for himself so that he had two. Livia gestured to his extra blanket, then to herself, indicating he should give it to her because she and Nason had only the one. But the boy shook his head and clutched both blankets close to his body.
Livia took a step closer and gestured to the extra blanket again. “You give,” she said in Thai.
The Yao boy shook his head again and took a step back.
Livia handed the blanket to Nason and advanced on the boy. “You give,” she said. “One each. Not two. One.”
The Yao boy backed up until he hit one of the metal walls and could go no farther. He clutched the blankets tightly and bared his teeth at Livia.
She didn’t care that he was older and bigger. It wasn’t fair that he had taken two blankets. And it wouldn’t be good for anyone if the stronger children figured out they could take what they wanted from the weaker ones. She advanced, stopping just a few feet away from him. She looked directly into his eyes and stuck out her hand, the gesture not a request but a demand.
Despite his size, the Yao boy looked uncertain. But he wouldn’t surrender the blanket. Livia prepared to grab it, thinking she would punch him in the face or kick him in the place it hurt boys most if he tried to pull it away.
But just before she went for the blanket, Kai came up alongside her and stood facing the Yao boy, his shoulder almost touching Livia’s. He was smaller than the Yao boy-smaller even than Livia-but his voice was firm as he pointed to the Yao boy and said in Thai, “You give. Give blanket.”
The Yao boy bared his teeth at Kai as he had at Livia. But when neither of them backed away, he grunted as though in disgust, tossed one of the blankets at Livia, and slunk away to one of the corners of the box.
Livia nodded to Kai, then took the blanket to Nason. If they snuggled closely, one blanket would be enough to keep them warm, and the other they could use as a pallet. She realized this would be a good idea for the other children, too, and explained it carefully in Thai, waiting patiently while the message was translated from one language to another. Like most of her ideas, she didn’t know if it would help much, but it gave them something to do and seemed to make the others feel a little better.
That night, while she snuggled close to Nason in the dark, Livia folded the top of the can nearly in half to make one edge stick out and to make it easier to hold without cutting herself. She gripped it tightly between her thumb and fingers and touched the edge with her free hand. It wasn’t as sharp as an a-taw, but it would slice deeply if she slashed with it. She slid it into her back pocket, and slept better feeling the small, hard shape beneath her.