Page 15 of Sheltering Hollis

“I will. Goodbye," I said, ending the call and returning the phone to Dimitri. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but I was having trouble containing the sobs, so I just let myself break down to pieces.

TEN

Dimitri

You could have blown me over with a feather when Hollis told me she had a child. She looked like she was in her early twenties, so the child must be small. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d have a life to get back to, that she would have already created another human being she’d be attached to. The thought immediately brought images of her belly rounded with a child. I’m sure she was beautiful.

Olive. A girl.

I listened as she talked to the smart, resilient little thing. Nine years old and already a fighter. Then Hollis fell to absolute pieces after she hung up, crying in great sobs.

“I have to get home. She’s alone,” she sputtered.

I wasn’t sure what was appropriate here. She seemed fragile and traumatized. Would she welcome being comforted? I wasn’t sure. Edging closer, I took her hands gently. This wasn’t really my area of expertise, comforting people. Give me someone to kill; that was more my thing.

“She sounds like a resourceful little girl,” I said. “Tell me about her.” There was no reason to know about her, but for some reason, I was curious—a strange emotion.

Hollis arched an eyebrow, a gesture I had always admired for its subtle expressiveness. I always wished my eyebrows would make that motion. “What is it that you want to know? When can I go home? I need to go home.” Her voice was plaintive.

“When I’m done with my business, you can go home.” I didn’t know how long this shit with Makarovich would take—hopefully, just a few days. I’d send Hollis home now, but I was guessing she didn’t have a passport. That meant she’d have to wait and fly with me in the jet where I could sneak her back into the country.

“She’s nine, you said? It sounds like she’s smart. What grade is she in?” Her hands clasped and unclasped, like one washing the other. I could appreciate that she was uncomfortable. I warred with myself. I wanted to ease her discomfort, but I had a job to do if I was going to get us home.

“She is smart, but she’s still a little girl.” Then, more quietly, she examined her hands and said, “Third grade. She’s in third grade. She likes sunflowers and yellow because butter is yellow, honeycombs, and bees …” She trailed off, her eyes focusing and unfocusing. I watched her curiously. She was dissociating. I’d seen it before in people experiencing shock. This was probably trauma, though.

“She sounds very smart to care for herself like that and then ask for help. I like yellow, but my favorite color is black. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.” Her eyes narrowed as they focused again on me. If she waited for judgment, she wouldn’t get any. “Black?” She focused again on me. “Black isn’t a color.” I shrugged. I liked black because it hid a variety of sins.

“Why wouldn’t she call the police or her grandma?” I asked. That had been the most curious part of the conversation. I could make some guesses and hypothetical leaps, but I’d like to hear it from Hollis.

She gave a small smile, her face lighting up in a way I hadn’t seen yet. “Oh, you heard that. Well, that’s my fault.” She waved a hand casually. “My mom is pretty critical about the whole single motherhood thing. She never has anything kind to say. As for the police, well, we tend to avoid anything to do with police,” Hollis said cryptically.

“Why is that?” I pried. “I mean, I avoid the police.” This got another smile. “But I wouldn’t think someone like you would.”

“I was between places one year and had someone report me for child neglect. Olive never forgot the officers coming. She was terrified they would take her away.”

That was understandable. Childhood fears that grew into monsters. However, that all worked well with my needs, which made me a horrible person. I had no desire for the police to be involved, so a woman and child that didn’t call the police — perfect.

“I need to go home, Dimitri. Please,” she begged.

I had no business thinking about her the way I did. All I should be doing is what I came to do. “If that’s what you want, then we need to tie up the loose ends that I have so we can get out of here. Then we both get what we want.”

“Fine,” she said. “Whatever I need to do.” She meant it, but it was a good thing I didn’t intend to take advantage of the ‘whatever’ part.

“Okay,” I said. “Well, I have to ask you a few things. I need to find out what you know about Miguel Rodriguez and his operations."

Hollis swallowed hard, setting down the fork she’d been using to swirl around her cottage cheese. "I don't know much. I was just... taken from the grocery store. I didn’t have time to see or hear anything useful.”

I leaned forward, searching her eyes. "Anything you can remember could be useful. Even small details." She was so fragile. Luka was going to kill me for fucking around like this. He was already waiting for me in the other room, pacing around like a wild animal, furious that I’d brought her back and complicated things, but watching her now — I couldn’t have left her.

Hollis took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Her face was so beautiful, her lips a seashell pink. She’d washed her hair, which hung in chestnut waves around her shoulders.

“I was loading my groceries in my car. I’d stopped for just a few things. Someone grabbed me, drugged me.” Her breath came in quicker pants. “His name was Gregor. There was an exam room and a doctor.” She closed her eyes, and she started to shake. My jaw clenched tight. Jesus. I fucked this up.

“Malysh, you’re here with me. You’re safe.” Her teary eyes moved up to mine. I reached a hand forward and stopped. She probably didn’t want me to touch her.

“I’m okay.” The phrase was a ghost on her lips. “I’m okay.”

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