“What do you do for a living, Santiago?” Jack asked in the way a concerned parent might interrogate their daughter’s potential suitor.
“Jack,” Beth jumped in. Literally. She jumped into the space between Santiago and the bed, effectively blocking her father’s sight from his imagined new personal living, breathing ATM. “How about you tell me how you are feeling?” she urged, making herself busy by untangling the sheets at the foot of the bed and covering the man.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. He pressed his lips together, and Beth could imagine he had a biting retort sitting at the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn’t let it out. Not with Santiago in the room and not when he still obviously wanted Beth to do something for him, probably convince the police not to press charges.
"Better now that you'
