Lethal(23)

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could die.”

He raised one shoulder. “Then I’d be dead, and none of this would matter to me. But right now, I’m alive, and it does matter.”

Honor wondered if he truly was that indifferent to his own mortality, but before she could address it, Emily piped up. “Mommy, when is Grandpa coming?”

The DVD had ended, and all that remained on the TV screen were exploding fireworks. Emily was standing beside her, Elmo held in the crook of her elbow. Honor knelt down and rubbed her hand along Emily’s back.

“Grandpa’s not coming tonight after all, sweetheart. We’re going to have the party tomorrow. Which will be even better,” she said quickly in order to prevent the protest she saw forming on Emily’s lips. “Because, silly me, I forgot to get party hats. We can’t have Grandpa’s party without hats. I saw one that looks like a tiara.”

“Like Belle’s?” she asked, referring to the character in the DVD.

“Just like Belle’s. With sparkles on it.” Lowering her voice to an excited whisper, she said, “And Grandpa told me that he has a surprise present for you.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. If he’d told me, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Emily’s eyes were now shining. “Can I still have pizza for supper?”

“Sure. Plus a cupcake.”

“Yea!” Emily raced toward the kitchen.

Honor stood up and faced Coburn. “Her dinner is past due.”

He pulled his lower lip through his teeth, glanced toward the kitchen, then hitched his chin in that direction. “Make it quick.”

Which wouldn’t be a problem, because by the time they entered the kitchen, Emily had already taken her pizza from the freezer. “I want pep’roni.”

Honor cooked the small pizza in the microwave. As she set it in front of Emily, Coburn asked, “You got any more of those?”

She heated him a pizza, and when she served it, he ate as greedily as he had at lunch.

“What are you eating, Mommy?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Coburn looked at her and arched an eyebrow. “Stomach virus?”

“Spoiled appetite.”

He shrugged indifferently, went to the freezer, and helped himself to another pizza.

When it came time for Emily’s cupcake, she insisted that Honor also have one. “So that it’s a real party,” she chirped.

Honor placed cupcakes on Dora the Explorer paper plates and, to please Emily, served them ceremoniously.

“Don’t forget the sprinkles.”

Honor brought the jar from the counter and passed it to Emily. Coburn was about to take a bite of his cupcake when Emily tapped his hand where it rested on the table. He jerked it back as though he’d been struck by a cobra.

“Company first. You need sprinkles.”

He looked down at the extended jar of sprinkles as though it was a moon rock, then said a gruff thanks, took it from Emily, and shook the candies onto his cupcake before passing the jar back to her.

He was jumpy, his nerves rubbed raw by exhaustion, the signs of which had become more apparent. The ceiling light above the dining table cast shadows on his prominent cheekbones, making the lower half of his face appear all the more lean and taut. The set of his shoulders and the heavy quality of his breathing were evidence of his weariness. Honor caught him several times blinking rapidly as though trying to stave off sleepiness.

Reasoning that fatigue would slow his reactions and dull his senses, Honor determined to watch and wait for an opportunity to make her move. She needed only one nanosecond of weakness, one blink when his guard was down.

The problem was, she was exhausted too. Emotions ranging from terror to rage had been supercharged all day, leaving her totally depleted of energy. Emily’s bedtime came as a relief. Honor changed her into pajamas.

While she was using the bathroom, Honor said to Coburn, “She can sleep in my bed.”

“She can sleep in her bed.”

“But if she’s with me, you can watch both of us at the same time.”

He gave one firm negative shake of his head. Arguing would be futile. She wouldn’t leave the house without Emily, and he knew that. Separating them ensured that she wouldn’t try to escape.

While Honor read the compulsory bedtime story, Coburn searched Emily’s closet, pushing aside the hangers and tapping the back wall. He removed her shoes from the floor and knocked on the planks with the heel of his cowboy boot, listening for a hollow spot.

He squeezed every stuffed toy in Emily’s menagerie, which caused Emily to giggle. “Don’t forget to hug Elmo,” she said, and trustingly handed the toy up to him.

He turned it over and ripped open the Velcro on the back seam.

“No!” Honor cried.

He shot her a look filled with suspicion.

“That’s just access to the battery,” Honor said, knowing that Emily would be traumatized to see Elmo disemboweled. “Please.”

He examined the inside of the toy, even removed the batteries and checked beneath them, but, eventually, satisfied that the toy wasn’t concealing anything, he closed it up and returned it to Emily.

Honor continued reading. The bedtime story reached its happ’ly-ever-after conclusion. Honor listened to Emily’s bedtime prayer, kissed both her cheeks, and then hugged her extra close, prolonging the embrace because she feared that this might be the last time she would tuck her daughter in for the night.