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Kevin turned, took three steps, then, turning back, did something just childish enough to warm Roarke's heart. He stuck out his tongue at the vendor then dashed off.
Roarke hefted the box of food, ignoring the operator's oily chatter. He tossed credits onto the pay board, then stared through the smoke. "I'm in the mood to hurt someone—too much in the mood, which is why you're still standing. But if you ever lay hands on that boy, I'll hear about it. And it won't be a cat's liver that ends up on the grill. Understood?"
"Yes, sir. Absolutely. Yes." Her fingers were already snagging up credits, but her eyes stayed warily on Roarke's. "Didn't know the kid had a dad. Thought he was just another street brat. They're worse than rats around here. Scavenging, making life messy for decent folk."
"Let's put it this way." Roarke clamped a hand over the woman's wrist. It took all his control not to give in to the urge to snap it like a dry twig. "It should take me about thirty seconds to walk back to where the boy's waiting. When I get there, I'm going to turn around. I don't want to see you here."
"This is my corner."
"I'd advise you to find another." Roarke released her and hefted the box. He'd taken no more than two strides when he heard the metallic clang of the cart being moved. It was a small satisfaction. A bigger one was seeing Kevin sitting on the hood of Eve's unit, the cat beside him, and each of them devouring half a soy dog.
Roarke joined them, set the box between him and the boy. "Dig in."
Kevin's hand darted toward the box then jerked back as though he was wary of a trick. "I can have anything?"
"Whatever you can stomach." Roarke nipped out a fry for himself and noted that the cart was gone. "Is she always so unpleasant?"
"Uh-huh. The big kids call her Snitch Bitch 'cause she's always calling the beat droid on them. She keeps a zapper in her cart, too. She was scared of you, though, and you didn't even try to steal anything."
Roarke took another fry, only lifting a brow as he watched Kevin mow through the chocolate. Life, he thought, was much too uncertain for some to risk saving the best for last.
"Tell me about the man who asked you to wait for Lieutenant Dallas."
"He was just a guy." Kevin dug out another soy dog, splitting it in two. Boy and cat ate with the same ferocious concentration and lack of finesse. Then Kevin froze as two black-and-whites turned the corner, sirens screaming. Behind them was an NYPSD crime scene van.
"They won't hassle you," Roarke said quietly.
"Are you a cop, too?"
Roarke's huge, gut-level laugh had Kevin grinning uncertainly. He would have liked to have slipped his hand into Roarke's again as the cops streamed by, but he was afraid to be thought of as a pussy. He contented himself by scooting just a little closer, and thought fleetingly that the man smelled good, almost as good as the food.
"I needed that." Sighing hugely, Roarke ruffled the boy's hair. "A good laugh after a miserable morning. What I am, Kevin, is a grown-up street brat. Here, drink some of this to wash that down before you choke."
" 'Kay." Taking the tube, Kevin sucked up sparkling orange. "The guy, he talked like you."
"How?"
"You know, like singing. The way the words go up and down." He mashed a handful of fries into his mouth.
"You can take the boy out of Ireland," Roarke murmured. "What did he look like?''
"Dunno. Kinda tall maybe."
"Young, old?"
Kevin's answer was a grunt and a shrug followed by a happy belch. "He musta been hot."
"Why is that?"
"He had a big long coat on, and a hat, and a scarf thing and gloves. He smelled really sweaty." Kevin held his nose, rolled his eyes, then, giggling, dug for more food.
"Close your eyes," Roarke ordered and nearly smiled at the speed with which Kevin complied. "What kind of shoes am I wearing? No peeking."
"Black ones. They're shiny and they don't hardly make any noise when you walk."
"Good. What kind was he wearing?"
"Black ones, too, with the red swipe. Hightops, like the big kids want all the time. They were beat up some. They're better when they're beat up some."
