Chaya Raichik was standing alone off to the side of the Cleveland Park Library's main reading room. Across from her, gathered together on the carpet, a dozen or so children were growing restless. At their occasional outbursts — their shouts and rapid movements — she glanced in their direction.
For much of the morning, she'd been talking with Jack Posobiec. Now she had her back to the wall. She was wearing a denim dress over black leggings, her dark hair parted down the middle. Tall and standing apart from the crowd — unable to keep herself from repeatedly glancing up at the fidgeting kids across the room — she was doing her best to conceal her impatience.
