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Head whipping around, I watched as Troy, the woman who could lure any mark in like a siren before snapping their necks, sank to her knees and clung to the child as fiercely as the girl clung to her.
“Troy can’t have children.” It was the only thing I could think to say. Not when she didn’t have the computer skills like I did to fake an ID to foster/adopt a kid and definitely not after Beijing.
“Why can’t she?” he asked, his gaze on the child who’d come from somewhere.
“Accident in Beijing,” D stated, stepping up beside us to watch what, I had to admit, was a touching display of affection between a very small, undersized almost, little girl and a woman I considered to be a psychopath.
Yes, that was the kettle calling the pot black, but that was how bad Troy was—she made me look sane.
The kid was sobbing in Troy’s embrace, and I winced at the sight because it reminded me too much of Katina.
My sister-in-arms hushed and soothed her, then she shifted back and cupped the girl’s cheeks before saying, “You did so good, LyLy. You stayed where I wanted you to stay, and you only came out with the code word.”
Shivers rushed down my spine at the nickname.
LyLy—abbreviated for Lyra?
“I was so scared,” the little girl whimpered, sniffling as she shuddered with fear.
“I know and I’m so sorry you had to experience that. I told you, no one, no one, will ever take you from me, didn’t I?”
I got the feeling the words weren’t just for LyLy, but for us too.
“You did,” she whispered, her bird-like arms scooping around Troy’s neck who hauled her into her chest and hefted her up so she was carrying the child.
With a stony glare, she turned to us and stated, “I’m going to assume you have somewhere you want us to stay?”
Us.
“Troy, who is she?” D inquired, her tone calm.
“My daughter.” Then, defiantly, she growled, “Lyra.”
Conor gently squeezed my hip as we got our confirmation.
“Why did they want the girl?” D continued, her questions gentle.
“You already know why. Don’t pretend that you don’t know what happened in Ohio,” she snapped.
“Why didn’t you change her name?” I inquired, perplexed.
“Outside these walls, she’s Lee, LyLy to her friends. She’s mine now. Mine, do you hear me, Star?
“No one will take her from me. Not the goddamn Sparrows, not fucking Jorgmundgander.”
Lyra shivered in her arms, hearing the words, her fear becoming a visceral thing—and I needed to ease that.
“I have no intention of taking her from you, Troy. I’m neither with the Sparrows nor Jorgmundgander,” I told her softly. “But the girl in Ohio, in that car, I am her cousin and…”
Troy’s mouth firmed into a stark line of rejection. “No.”
“Yes, I am. Our grandfather is the reason I’m here. I didn’t know about him or her until this week.”
“He can’t have her,” she spat, shuffling back a step, but she was hemmed in, and I had to reckon that that only augmented her fear.
“He can’t have her,” I agreed, watching as some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “He only wanted to know if she was being looked after. He was scared that she was in a foster home or something. That she was without a family when family wanted her.”
“And he only started searching for her now?” she hissed. “Some fucking grandfather he is. He cares, does he?
