He rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it, I just . . . look, would you mind if we make it forty-eight, and if you need it longer, I’ll fill out the extension myself.”
She smiled. “You’re sweet.”
He blushed. “No, I mean, I just know you’re busy.”
“Well, so are you.”
“Not like you. That Montlake case? I just read an article about the survivor in the Stranger. Did you see it?”
Livia nodded. Of course she’d seen it, a follow-up on the brave woman who had survived the sadist who had broken into the Montlake home she shared with her lesbian partner, torturing, raping, and repeatedly stabbing them both before in extremis the partner fought back and saved the other victim’s life. The rapist had used the women’s love for each other, their mutual devotion, to control them while he tortured and raped them. That case had hit close to home, and when she tracked the rapist down, it had been hard for Livia not to kill him. But at least the system had worked, and he’d been sent to prison forever.
“She said you were her rock,” Alvin said. “From the first interview all the way through sentencing and even after that. You really help people, you know?”
For a moment, she forgot she was manipulating him, and was genuinely moved. “Thanks, Alvin.”
“No, thank you. So, anyway, okay with forty-eight, and then a de facto automatic extension? Just between you and me.”
She wondered for a moment who was manipulating whom. Then she held out her hand in mock formality and said, “Deal.”
Alvin smiled and they shook.
Maybe he’d manipulated her a little—he’d have to have some skills to manage all the competing requests he received, and the egos behind them. But it didn’t matter. She’d gotten Alvin to agree to bend the rules. And she knew that once you’d gotten someone to say yes to one thing, it was easier to get him to say yes to the next. Like, say, going easy on the paperwork if a Gossamer were to suffer some sort of mishap. Because she needed one of the units for a little longer than forty-eight hours. She needed it for when Weed Tyler was released from Victorville.
And maybe even beyond that.
11—THEN
Eventually, the dizziness and nausea slackened and Livia was able to sit up. Her head still throbbed, and a spot over her ear was tender when she touched it. She realized the men had hit her with something harder than a hand, though the flashlights had been so blinding she hadn’t even seen it happen. She sat and waited, feeling miserable and powerless and alone. All she could do was hope, and try not to imagine what they were doing to Nason.
At some point, she realized she could see—morning had come, and light was beginning to creep through the airholes. “Nason,” she whispered helplessly, clutching herself by the shoulders. “Nason.”
The inside of the box grew lighter, and she heard the sound of the bolts. She stood and rushed to the door. If the men didn’t have Nason, she would get past them and find her, somewhere on the boat, somehow.
The door opened. It was the three men, Nason just ahead of them. Livia was so overcome with relief at the sight of her sister that her knees wobbled and tears ran from her eyes. The men pushed Nason inside, and she stumbled into Livia’s arms. Livia gripped her tightly, stroking her hair. “Little bird,” she whispered, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “Little bird, are you all right? Are you all right?”
For an instant, just having her in her arms, Livia was sure Nason was okay. But then she realized something was wrong. Nason wasn’t answering. And she wasn’t hugging Livia, clinging to her the way she did when she was frightened. She didn’t have her arms around Livia at all. One hand hung limply at her side. The other was in front of her, raised to her mouth. Livia took a half step back and was shocked to see that Nason was sucking her thumb—something her sister hadn’t done since she was very small. Livia looked in her eyes and whispered, “Nason, Nason, are you all right?”
Nason was looking at her, but more she was looking . . . through her.
Livia took her by the shoulders and shook her once, then again. “Nason!” she said. “Nason!”
It was as though Nason couldn’t hear her. Or see her. As though she didn’t even know Livia was there.
Livia glanced down and saw blood on Nason’s pants, between her legs. She tried to tell herself it must be something else, something that had spilled. But she knew it was blood. She could smell it.