“Samantha wished she’d worn jogging shoes instead of the five-hundred-dollar Ferragamo sandals she had on. The low heels were comfortable enough, but at the moment she wanted to run. And run, and run, and run. Maybe she’d approached Rick the wrong way, apologizing in advance and offering to go away. It wasn’t her fault that she was Martin’s kid, and even if she had followed in his footsteps for most of her life, she wasn’t doing so any longer. At least she was trying not to. “Fu…” she started, a...mending it to “…dge,” when a lady and what looked like her two young daughters exited the Old Navy store in front of her. The youngest girl reminded her of Tom Donner’s daughter, Olivia. Kids were interesting. She couldn’t remember ever really being one herself, despite her nearly photographic memory. Mostly she remembered picking pockets, researching with endless fascination the items Martin obtained and turned over to Stoney for “redistribution.” She’d loved growing up that way—no rules, no schools except when they’d settled in one place for a couple of months, picking up knowledge and languages on the fly.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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