Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,164
was hard considering her face was still healing. She had butterfly bandages on her forehead and her cheek had turned from black to yellow. Band-Aids on each of her fingers covered more sutures. A neon pink plastic cast was wrapped around her right arm, metal bolts sticking out around her wrist where the bones had been screwed back together.
He looked over her shoulder and saw her car parked in the street. “Did you drive here?”
“Arrest me.”
“Why?” he asked. “Do I need to lock you up so you won’t skip town?”
“Not this time.”
“You’re not leaving me for John?”
She laughed. “He’s already had half of his life fucked up by some asshole. I figured I’d let him live the other half in peace.”
“You didn’t sleep with him?”
“Of course I slept with him.”
Will’s chest fell, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “Do you want to come in?”
“Let’s stay out here,” she suggested, awkwardly bending down to sit on the porch.
Reluctantly, Will joined her. He kept the dog close to his chest, and Betty tucked her head down, her snout dipping inside his vest.
“It’s Saturday,” Angie told him. “Why are you wearing that suit?”
“It’s a good look for me.”
She bumped her shoulder into his, teasing, “You think?”
He tried to make a joke of it. “You know, I’m not wearing any underwear.”
She gave a deep, bawdy laugh.
He smiled, relishing the ease between them. “How come it’s sexy when you say it, but not when I do?”
“Because the type of man who doesn’t wear underwear usually hangs around playgrounds with lots of candy in his pockets.”
“I’ve got candy in my pockets,” he told her. “You want to put your hand in and see?”
She laughed again. “You are all talk, Mr. Trent. All talk.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “You’re probably right.”
They both stared out at the street. Traffic noise from Ponce de Leon followed the breeze; car horns blaring, people shouting. Will heard wind chimes clanging in the distance, and a bicyclist rode by the house.
“I love you,” Angie said, very quietly.
Betty stirred. He felt a flutter in his chest. “I know.”
“You’re my life. You’ve always been there.”
“I’m still here.”
She gave a heavy sigh. “I talked to you when I was in the cellar. Before you came.” She paused, and he knew she was thinking back to that awful place. “I promised you that I would leave you if I got out of there alive.”
“I’ve never expected you to keep your promises.”
She was quiet again. Another cyclist rode by, the metallic whiz of the turning wheels sounding like a field of grasshoppers. Will thought about putting his arm around her shoulders, then remembered the gash from the glass. He was about to put his arm around her waist instead when she turned to him.
“I’m really bad for you.”
“Lots of things are bad for me.” He listed some examples. “Chocolate. Artificial sweetener. Secondhand smoke.”
“Passion,” she said, holding her fist to her heart. “I want you to have passion, Will. I want you to know what it’s like to fall in love with somebody, to stay awake at night thinking you’re going to die if you don’t have them.”
All he could say was, “I’ve stayed awake plenty of nights thinking about you.”
“Worrying about me,” she corrected. “I’m not an old pair of shoes you can wear for the rest of your life just because they’re comfortable.”
Will didn’t know that there was anything wrong about being comfortable, but he held his tongue on the subject, asking instead, “Where am I going to find another woman with your low standards?”
“Isn’t Amanda Wagner available?”
“Oh,” he groaned. “That’s just hurtful.”
“You deserve it, you illiterate shit.”
He laughed, and Betty stirred.
“God, that thing is ugly.” She patted Will’s leg. “Help me up.”
Will hooked his hand under her good arm to help her stand. “Where are you going?”
“To look through the want ads.” She indicated her broken wrist, her torn hands. “I’m not going to sit behind a desk for the next twenty years and even the city of Atlanta isn’t desperate enough to give me a gun.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’d be nice to find a job where I don’t have to dress like a whore unless I want to.”
“You don’t really need a job,” he offered.
She barked a surprised laugh. “You jackass. Do you really think I’m going to stay at home cooking and cleaning while you go to work?”