Spiderman 3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

to Goodwill.
    Quickly he doffed the clothes he'd been wearing and pulled on a pair of dark trousers and a black-and-green-striped sweater. He kept the shoes he'd been wearing. Then he moved quickly to the kitchen, desperate to fulfill the craving for food at the pit of his stomach.
    He felt like a trapped animal, and every bit the loser that his wife had pronounced him to be. Emma had made it clear that she wanted Flint out of her and Penny's lives. But how could she say that? Didn't she understand what he was capable of doing to help? Some freaking compassion was all he was looking for, some acknowledgment that he was just doing the best he could to help. Doing the best one could had to count for something. Why couldn't she just—
    The kitchen light snapped on.
    Flint turned and froze, as if the beam of light had lanced through him. The bread was still in his mouth as he found himself staring into the startled face of Emma Marko. Then that expression of surprise faded, replaced by a total lack of surprise, as if she'd expected that—sooner or later—he'd show up at their apartment, desperate and on the run like an idiot.
    Being a well-meaning idiot didn't earn him a lot of cred from her these days.
    He opened his mouth slightly and allowed the bread to drop into his open hand. Flint both looked and felt foolish. The weight of their mutual history settled between them like a vast invisible barrier.
    Without the slightest indication that she was at all curious how he'd managed to break out—perhaps she'd read about Marko having slipped away when a fight had broken out among fellow convicts during an enforced outing to clean up local highways—or what it was he wanted or hoped to achieve in having come here, Emma brusquely said, "You can't hide here, Flint."
    Her hair prematurely graying, her face careworn (both of which Marko blamed himself for), Emma drew her ratty pink bathrobe more tightly around herself, as if that would protect her should he choose to attack her.
    Ultimately Flint Marko decided that, despite the dire situation, he need not forsake at least the slightest indication of respect and even—dare he say it?—affection. Pulling together what little charm he had left, Marko forced a smile and asked, "How are ya, Emma?"
    She looked as if she wanted to laugh at the question. Obviously she considered it ludicrous. "How's it look how Emma is?" she demanded. She gestured broadly, trying to encompass the entirety of her miserable life. "She's on welfare and got no insurance. And we have this beautiful furniture," she added sarcastically. She shook her head and, in a fairly decent impression of his deep, growling voice, mimicked," 'How are ya, Emma?'"
    She was trying to put him on the defensive. She was lashing out, and he had to keep reminding himself not to react in anger. In truth, she had every reason to be pissed off at him. He d brought all or this down on them. Granted, he had just been trying to help. In the end, though, what difference did that make? He was still a lousy con on the run, Penny was still sick, and Emma's life was still in the toilet. Intentions didn't mean a damn. Only results mattered.
    "I'm just here to see my daughter," he said, forcing himself to keep his voice calm and even.
    "You're an escaped convict," she snapped. "The cops are looking for ya. You're not getting near her. You're nothing but a common thief, and you maybe even killed a man."
    "No, I—!" Marko could feel his self-control slipping. Emma sensed it and, perhaps worried that she'd pushed him too far, took a defensive step back. He took in a deep breath, let it out, regained control. "It wasn't like that. I had good reason for what I was doing, and that's the truth." He knew it was futile. She didn't care about the truth. She didn't care about him.
    "You and the truth sitting in prison having three meals a day," she sneered. Her face was so twisted in fury, it was hard for Marko to believe that she had ever loved him. How