The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [86]
Marion pushed her way to the bar. “I want a whiskey. Straight up.”
Serpent man stared at her. She stared back. He still didn’t move. “You got a problem with dollars?” she asked coolly.
“No.”
“Then I think we can be friends.” She pulled out a crisp twenty and slapped it on the counter.
The bartender fetched a bottle of whiskey. As if it had been a signal, the crowd returned to its business.
Marion didn’t turn. She didn’t look. She sat alone at the bar, listening to the murmurs. She couldn’t speak Spanish, but she understood it well enough.
When the bartender gave her her drink, she thanked him with a mocking toast. She raised the glass. She parted her pink lips. And she tossed back the whiskey in one gulp.
She slammed the glass down. She swallowed through the pain in her gut. Then delicately she touched the corner of her mouth with a single French-manicured nail.
“Give me another.”
“Sí, señorita.”
“Exactly.”
NINETEEN
I WANT THE Apple Jacks.” “Okay, okay,” Difford muttered, pushing open the door with his foot and balancing four grocery bags with his arms, fingers, and hips. Samantha went barreling in, unmindful of his precarious juggling act. Decked out in her pink winter coat with the hood pulled tightly around her face, she looked like a strawberry version of Frosty the Snowman. Her blond hair peered out around the white furry trim of her hood. Her cheeks were a healthy, happy red. It was probably still too warm for full winter gear, but Difford had never dressed a kid before, so he liked to err on the side of caution.
“Apple Jacks, Apple Jacks,” Samantha sang at the top of her lungs.
Difford grunted, wondered how mothers ever learned how to cope with children, and managed to kick the door shut with his foot. A bit more juggling, and he made it all the way to the tiny brown kitchen, dropping only two oranges.
Samantha chased the fruit down the hall, then came trotting back with the oranges clutched in her mittened hands like trophies. She beamed at him triumphantly. At that moment, despite his best intentions, his chest tightened and he did understand exactly why mothers coped with children.
“Thank you,” he said with somber politeness, and accepted the oranges.
“Okay, the cereal now!” Her smile grew. She was perfectly delighted with herself and her persistent efforts that had finally yielded the sugar-coated cereal. He’d been so careful to buy only healthy things. Tess had given him a list of appropriate grocery items and he’d been plugging Samantha with bowl after bowl of Raisin Bran. But today at the store she’d noticed the Apple Jacks on special display at the end of the aisle and that had been that. She wanted Apple Jacks! Difford discovered he could command a whole police department but not one determined four-year-old. They bought the Apple Jacks. Two boxes. Buy one get one free. He was such a sucker.
“Lunch first,” he insisted. Her face fell, her lower lip jutting out suspiciously. He suffered an immediate burst of panic. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Nutrition is important. We have turkey or ham.”
Samantha looked at him, her bright blue eyes keenly intelligent. Her head cocked to the side, and by now he could read the signs. She was determining how hard to push him. This was his own fault; the first few days, he’d given her heaven and earth every time she cried. Samantha had quickly internalized that lesson and become hell on wheels.
He forced himself to stand firm. Think of her as a new recruit, he reminded himself. A cadet who needed a strong guiding hand.
After a minute he won the battle of wills. “Turkey,” she decided.
Difford grinned, feeling ridiculously proud of himself. He didn’t win often. Tess hadn’t warned him of a small child’s capacity for deviousness.
“Okay,” he said, and put away the groceries. He then laid out the bread, mustard, and mayonnaise. Samantha was in charge of adding the