The Last King of Texas - By Rick Riordan Page 0,87

Jem's watercolor pictures on the refrigerator. I even managed to get a faint smile from her when I told her about my brother Garrett and his postcard from Key West.

She glanced at the half-written lesson plans on the counter. "I'm not helping you get those done."

"Tomorrow. I've got the whole weekend now. I'm still supposed to visit George Berton in the hospital tonight."

"I didn't tell you the truth about Ralph."

I plinked the rim of my glass. "It was a little more than just one date, wasn't it?"

She didn't say anything.

"So... you two used to be - " I searched for the right word. Thinking about Ralph Arguello and Ana DeLeon, no word seemed applicable. In fact, the whole idea seemed so absurd I started to laugh. Or maybe it was the Herradura.

Ana scowled. "Oh, screw you."

"I'm sorry. It's just - I've never seen anybody get under Ralph's skin the way you did today. At least not somebody who lived to tell about it."

"He tricked me," she said. "He left me feeling more betrayed than anybody I've ever known. If I got under his skin - good."

My smile faded. "He really hurt you."

"He's your friend. You don't want to hear it."

"Ralph is my friend," I agreed, "in spite of things that sometimes make me want to lock the door when he comes over, or not answer his phone calls. Some of the things I know about Ralph - "

I stopped. Ana didn't seem particularly surprised by what I was saying, but I reminded myself somewhere under the tequila buzz that I was talking to a homicide detective.

"Why do you keep him as a friend?" she asked softly.

"Because he's the most fiercely loyal person I've ever met. In some ways, he's also the most honest."

She made a sour laugh. "Honest."

"Ralph never lets me get away with anything. I get deluded, Ralph is the one who brings me back to reality every time. Ralph is never anything but Ralph. No pretense."

"For six weeks he convinced me he operated a retail chain."

"His pawnshops. They are a retail chain."

She gave me a withering look. "And what do you call the rest of it? Throwing electric fans at people. Pistol-whipping them. Where the hell does that come from - that side of him?"

It was my turn to be silent.

Ana swirled her drink. Between us, on the counter, Robert Johnson had his feet tucked under his chest and his eyes closed and his motor on full outboard purr. Life was good with Ana DeLeon's fingers in your fur. The bastard.

"You must've guessed he had that side," I told her. "You're a detective."

She scowled. "But he didn't - Ralph wasn't like that. Intense, sure. Kind of crazy. Relentless when it came to having fun. Like everything was on fire all the time with him. He kind of - he took my breath away. But violence..."

She stopped herself, searching my face. I think she realized she couldn't explain to me what she was thinking. She was probably right. Ralph as a lover of women was not something I wanted to understand. Especially not with this woman.

"I can see why Ralph would be loyal to you," she said.

"Are you insulting his intelligence?"

She smiled thinly. "No. You two have some things in common."

I got a sudden intrusive image of Ralph outside the U-Best Scrap Yard. He was grinning, checking out his newly washed Cadillac, his thick glasses circles of gold.

Ana looked at her empty glass. "Never mind. The tequila is talking."

"Let it talk. This week sucked."

She leaned toward me, clicked my glass with hers. "Amen."

We were shoulder to shoulder again, the way we had been this afternoon in my living room when she'd introduced me to my make-believe girlfriend. Maybe it was the similarity in scenes, or the killer margaritas, but the next thing I knew I was leaning toward her and kissing her - tasting lime and triple sec, my vision reduced to her temple and a sweep of glossy black hair.

We touched at the mouths only. Our arms stayed where they were - mine, at least, too paralyzed by disbelief to take further liberties. Finally, when I felt dizzy from oxygen loss and the margarita buzz that mixed very well with the scent of Ana DeLeon, she put her hard, long fingers gently on my chest and pushed me back.

She blinked slowly, sleepily, pulling her lips inward as if to reclaim them. She shook her