Busted Flush by George R. R. Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

shot at you.”
    “It wasn’t a Kevlar situation,” she said.
    “Is it really that big a deal to wear the vest?”
    “It is when you’re in a humid tropical country and need to move fast. The thing makes it harder to throw.”
    “And you couldn’t throw at all if anything happened to you.”
    “And a Kevlar vest is not going to save me from drowning in mud. Or from getting hit by some lunatic jeep driver.”
    “Now you’re making shit up just to argue with me.”
    Funny how he got all worked up over her not wearing Kevlar, but didn’t seem to notice that Ana had been in shorts and a T-shirt. This wasn’t supposed to be about
her,
it was supposed to be about the team.
    She opened her mouth, ready to snap back at him, her pleasant flush athearing his voice turning to frustration. These were stupid arguments, which didn’t stop them from happening.
    Sitting back, she made herself relax and said, “This is when I’d kiss you to break your concentration.”
    Saying so had about the same effect. She could imagine the nonplussed look on his face. Then he laughed, and the knot in her gut faded.
    “I worry about you. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”
    This, too, was an old conversation. She should have been pleased at how much he wanted to protect her, and she was. But it also felt like being put in a box.
    “I’m sorry you were worried,” she said. “But the only way you can really keep me safe is to not send me out here at all. And that would just piss me off.”
    “I know, and you can get killed crossing the street at home. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop worrying.”
    She smiled. “I love you, too, John. I miss you.”
    “I miss you, too. Get some sleep, okay?”
    “Yes, sir.”
     

     
    NEW YORK CITY
    Kate and Ana shared an apartment on the Lower East Side. They went home from the airport, and Ana crawled into bed for another round of sleep. Kate checked in on her, then went to see John.
    While she and Ana had gone for austere college chic in a close-quarters studio, John lived in his mother’s penthouse overlooking Central Park. Peregrine was in Los Angeles for the second season of
American Hero
and had given her son the run of the place.
    Kate felt the disconnect every time she went there. She’d grown up with Peregrine on TV and all over the covers of magazines. She was an icon, probably the most visible and famous wild carder ever, with her stunning presence and spectacular wings. And here was Kate, dating her son.
    The penthouse was beyond posh. It wasn’t opulent or over the top—that was just it. Everything was tasteful and perfect, from the clean lines of the gray leather sofa set and glass coffee table, to the giant arrangementof hyacinths on the twelve-seater dining-room table. Real flowers, not silk, changed every week by the housekeeper. Last week had been orchids.
    John grew up with this. He walked in here, and it was home. Kate still felt like she’d landed in a photo spread in
Vogue.
She was getting used to it—it was definitely easy to get used to. But sometimes she wondered if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole.
    She set her bag by the wall of the living room and took a deep breath, happy to be anywhere that didn’t smell like a third world country.
    “Hello?” she called. Her voice echoed.
    “Hey!” John appeared from the kitchen, a bottle of wine in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. She was on him in a heartbeat, arms over his shoulders, pulling herself into a kiss. Awkwardly, hands full, he hugged her back. Their kiss was warm and long.
    “Hi,” she said when they managed to separate.
    “Hey,” he said, his smile bright. “Let me put this down so we can do this right.”
    John set the bottle on the coffee table, where two glasses were waiting. Kate pulled him down to the sofa next to her.
    The light from the other room glinted off the lump in his forehead. Sekhmet. A scarab-like joker living in John’s head. She gave him his