Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,13
said.
“Whatever. Why don’t you give him some more cough medicine, so I can get some sleep?”
Shirley tossed her head. Her curly blond hair didn’t move. “Can’t. He’s already had a full dose. It’s easy to give a little kid like that too much. He’ll go to sleep soon.”
“Hey,” Bent said, cocking his head as he blew smoke out through his nose. “I don’t hear him. Looks like he’s happier when you’re not in the room. Why don’t you bring him out here, or make him a pallet on the floor in that back room. Then you and me can take the bedroom. I can’t sleep on this broken-down thing every night by myself. I’ll never get any sleep.”
Shirley took his cigarette and inhaled another puff, then blew it out. “Too bad. It was your brilliant idea to bring me down here to take care of this kid for you, so just shut up and let me do it. How long before we can give him back to his mama and head back to Chicago?”
“I told you, the trial’s supposed to start in ten days. Once those country bumpkins have their ruling of insanity, they’ll tell me where to leave him and pick up my money. All we got to do is make sure nothing happens to him.”
“I can take care of him,” Shirley said, her hand on her hip as she stood near the bedroom door. “I took care of three little brothers. Your problem’s going to be keeping me happy. Especially if I have to stay cooped up here all day, every day.” She pointed a finger at Bent. “Next time you go out, I want a steak. A big one. And get me a bottle of good burgundy. If I gotta do this, I’m at least gonna eat good.”
Bent put out his cigarette and turned over and pressed his nose into the couch cushions. “You eat good every day,” he grumbled. “You better watch out. One day you’re going to wake up fat.”
“Yeah. Hold your breath. No wait, don’t. You might have a heart attack, Mister ‘Bring Me a Big Mac.’” She put her hand on the doorknob. “If the kid’s bothering you, go sleep in that back room yourself. Or better yet, the car.” She eased the door open and slipped back into the bedroom, closing it behind her.
“Better yet, the car,” Bent mocked quietly. He could hear her cooing and whispering to the little boy he’d been hired to kidnap. No matter how much he complained, he had to admit that Shirley was good with the little rug rat.
Damn, he’d be glad when this backwoods job was over. He’d taken it on as a favor—well, that and for the dough. Much as he complained, he was getting good money. He ought to be, considering this hellhole. He was used to holing up in out-of-the-way places. But he didn’t think he’d ever been as out of the way as he was in this disgusting little trailer park, surrounded by people whose talk he couldn’t understand and who did things that were just plain weird. What was the deal with fishing with nothing but a pole and cockroaches? Ugh! Or digging up the nasty creatures they called crawfish.
He grunted and wriggled, looking for a comfortable position on the dilapidated couch. There wasn’t one. He hated the South. He hated Louisiana. He hated this damn ugly trailer park. The whole county smelled of fish, mud and sweat. Still, he figured he could stand anything for another ten days. Especially at this price tag. He laughed harshly as he lit another cigarette. Good thing they weren’t spending too much money on accommodations.
All he had to do was keep an eye on the mom. It was Shirley’s job to watch the kid. Bent would be spending all day and evening watching the doctor, making sure she didn’t try to go to the police, and all night trying to sleep. As soon as the doctor testified that some blustery old politician was crazy, they could give the kid back and get the hell out of this sweat-hole.
The man who had hired him had a vested interest in keeping the old guy out of prison. Bent didn’t know what that reason was and he didn’t care. He just wanted his money in his pocket and his tires back on the road to Chicago—for good.
He squinted at his watch. Almost one o’clock in the morning. He wiggled around again, cursing under his breath. He