Page 38 of Kiss of Wrath

“I sunk a lot of money into that house, even if it was in my wife’s name. Rewired the whole two stories. Installed a patio, stone by fucking stone. Painted till I ’bout died from the fumes. Put in a second bathroom. That house wasn’t worth shit when we moved in, and now Miranda Fucking Hart gets to reap the benefits.”

“You oughta try to get some of that cash back. It ain’t right.”

Crunch, crunch, crunch!

How much damn ice can one glass hold? Roger flexed the tension out of his fingers, barely restraining himself from putting his fingers around Clarence’s neck, and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “The courts are on her side. She’s a psychiatrist or psychologist or something. Has lawyers in her pocket. Probably in her panties, too.”

“I didn’t mean to get your money back through the courts, dude.”

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

I’m going to tear that ice maker out of the fridge first chance I get. “Oh. I intend to. Believe you me. She’ll pay. And not just for stealing the house. She took my kids, too. Moved them to Vegas.”

“Whaaat? Are you shittin’ me, man? Your kids? I didn’t know you had kids.” Roger had Clarence’s full attention now.

“Yep. Five of them. Three boys and two girls,” Roger said with pride. He felt kind of manly when he talked about having five kids, like his swimmers were especially potent.

“Well, that settles it. You and me gotta go to Vegas. We’ll show that ballbuster what’s what.”

“Uh,” Roger said dumbly. Yeah, he planned to go to Vegas. And he planned to get his kids back, along with the money for his house. Plus, Miranda was gonna pay big-time for what she’d done to him, including her testimony at his parole hearing last year, claiming he was a psycho with rage issues. He was going to kill her, but he was going to be careful how he went about it so he didn’t get blamed. What he didn’t need was a six foot two, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound black guy with an attitude along for the ride.

But Clarence was already on a roll. “In fact, I got a buddy who lives on the Strip. In an apartment over a pizza shop. We can stay with him while we case the situation.”

Oh hell! How am I going to tell Clarence I want to go on my own? “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I really think that—”

Clarence waved a hand airily, “You don’t hafta thank me, Rog.” Roger hated when people called him Rog. “What are best friends for, huh?”

This was the first Roger had heard that they were best friends.

Roger stood, bracing himself to tell Clarence that he didn’t need his help, but Clarence was already on his cell phone, telling, not asking, the dumb schmuck in Sin City that he would be there soon with his good buddy, meaning Roger, and to make sure he stocked up on beer and a hooker or two.

Then he turned to Roger and flashed a gold-toothed smile. “Vegas, here we come!”

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

You gotta love a resourceful man . . .

Miranda awakened from a deep sleep when her alarm went off at six a.m. She sat up and stretched, totally refreshed. For the first time in ages, she’d slept for a full eight hours.

All thanks to her personal Viking. He’d told the kids at nine o’clock that it was time to go upstairs. By ten, they were all in their respective beds. And they didn’t even protest, as they usually did. Well, they did start to complain, but he gave them such a quelling scowl that they immediately obeyed. It must be some kind of Norse magic.

Miranda concluded that the children reacted differently to Mordr because he was a man, an authority figure to them, while she was just softhearted Aunt Mir. She had to admit that one reason she’d slept so well was the presence of Mordr in the house and the protection he offered. She felt safe.

The sun was creeping up over the horizon while she took a quick shower and brushed her teeth. Coffee, that’s what she needed now. She put on underwear and grabbed a robe, tiptoeing silently out of her room, not wanting to awaken the children so early.

She couldn’t resist, though. Peeking into each bedroom, she looked lovingly at the children, who were innocent angels when asleep. Maggie and Linda in the pink bedroom. Ben and Sam in bunk beds and Larry in a single bed in the largest bedroom of the house, which was decorated in blue and white stripes, a compromise to all their differing tastes.

The girls’ room was somewhat tidy, unlike the boys’ room, which looked as if a cyclone had blown through. Clothes on the floor. A half-eaten apple on a windowsill. Homework scattered about the three desks. Closet door open. A Thomas the Tank Engine track at the foot of Larry’s bed, some of the engines under the bed. An opened can of fish food for the ten-gallon aquarium that cast the only light in the still dim room. Even the goldfish appeared to be asleep, hiding behind a conch shell.

Miranda’s heart tightened with the love she felt for these five little people, each so different and yet linked with a bond of family. How could she ever have considered walking away from them when Bradley Allison told her of Cassie’s “bequest” two years ago?

She closed the door quietly, letting them sleep until their alarms went off at seven. The school bus didn’t arrive until eight. Much as she’d come to love the gremlins, she cherished this short, silent respite from the chaos to come.

The coffeepot was perking, and five paper bags were lined up on the counter.

What?

She peeked in one bag. Peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, a squeeze yogurt, an apple, and a Capri Sun. Others differed with bologna and mustard, ham and cheese, boxed raisins, a banana, Cutie oranges. Twinkies.