(eng) Karen Chance - Cassandra Palmer 05 by Hunt the Moon (v5.0)

Author:Hunt the Moon (v5.0) [Moon, Hunt the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-two

“You coldhearted son of a bitch.”

Pritkin looked up from perusing the stained piece of paper posing as a menu and gave me what he probably thought were innocent eyes. They weren’t. I didn’t think that was an expression he was all that familiar with. “Is there a problem?”

“You feed me tofu while you’ve been eating here?” I gestured around at the cracked Formica, orange Naugahyde and grimy windows of what had to be the greasiest greasy spoon in Vegas.

“No one eats healthy all the time.”

“That’s not what you always say!”

“And do you listen to what I say?”

“Yes.” He just looked at me. “Sometimes.”

“Which is the point. If I told you to eat well merely most of the time, then you’d do it occasionally at best.”

I started to reply to that, and then realized I didn’t have one. “So why bring me here now?”

“Because some days, everyone needs pizza.”

That, at least, we could agree on. He ordered for us, which normally would have annoyed me, but there wasn’t much of a menu to choose from. This wasn’t so much a restaurant as a dive, and you either ordered pizza and beer or you went home.

Unless you ordered ice cream. I decided on a chocolate shake instead of more beer, and although Pritkin didn’t say anything, his expression was eloquent. “You’re going to run it off me anyway,” I pointed out.

“Anything else?” he asked drily. “Onion rings? Pie?”

“They have pie?”

“No.” It was emphatic.

I was in too good of a mood to argue the point. The seat was sticking to my thighs, a broken spring was stabbing my left butt cheek, and the air-conditioning, while present, was completely inadequate for August in Nevada. But I was out. I’d won this round. And tonight, I’d take what victories I could get.

“Are you going to explain what’s going on?” he asked, after the waitress left. “When I tried—”

“Wait a minute.”

There was an old jukebox in the corner, with dirty glass and yellowed titles, not one of which was less than twenty years old. But it had Joan Jett’s entire repertoire, so I fed it a couple of quarters and punched in a selection. The sound quality wasn’t the best, but that wasn’t my main interest, anyway.

“It’s Mircea,” I said, when I rejoined him. “He’s got this crazy idea that you’re a danger.”

Pritkin’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

“You know? Has he said—”

“He didn’t have to. But you may assure him that I am no threat in that regard.”

“I have,” I said impatiently. “But when these things keep happening—”

“They do not keep happening. It was one time.”

I frowned. “One time?”

For some reason, he flushed. “Of any consequence.”

“Well, excuse me for thinking they were all pretty important!” Any time something was trying to kill me, I took it seriously.

Pritkin ran a hand through his hair, which didn’t need the added torture. “I didn’t mean to downplay the significance of what occurred—”

“I would hope not!”

“—merely to assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“You can’t know that.”

Green eyes met mine, with what looked like anger in them.

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