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Liam, waiting for me? He must have had me confused with some other girl. It would be so embarrassing when Liam showed up and found me sitting here in his house, at his kitchen counter. I had to find some way out of here before then. Maybe I could make up a story about leaving the oven on at home…
“What are you afraid of?” the man asked, his eyes far too keen. “Not Mr. Wilder?”
In that assessing look, I understood that this man worked for Liam, as a security-agent-bodyguard person, not a housekeeper or cook. His short stature and elderly appearance was a foil, a disguise.
“I’m not afraid,” I said, feeling a blush burn across my cheeks. “I’m nervous. Embarrassed. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. Not on Christmas Eve.”
“Ah, but you should have come. This is a great gift for him. He’s been worried about you.”
“He talked to you about me?”
“Not too much.” His voice took on a mild lilt. “You have difficulties?”
Something about his easy manner encouraged me to confide. “I need Liam to help me with something. Something important.”
“Ah, Liam likes to help. He will be happy to help you, Miss Keaton. And I am also at your service, if there is anything I can do. My name is Mem. It is short for something that would be very hard for you to pronounce.”
“Mem,” I repeated. “You don’t have to call me Miss Keaton. You can call me Ashleigh.”
His smile widened. “Thank you for this honor. I hope we will be friends.”
*** *** ***
I was having dinner at my father and stepmom’s place when I got the first text from Mem.
Little Ishi is here.
I grimaced, hiding the phone on my knee under the table. It had been a week since I saw her backstage, a week since Rubio flew to her rescue. A week of berating myself for making stupid choices. Send her away, I typed.
Three minutes later: I am feeding her cookies. She is too thin.
Mem texted exactly the way he spoke. I applied the capslock.
SEND HER AWAY
Then, for good measure, IF SHE’S THERE WHEN I GET BACK, YOU’RE FIRED
I knew she’d be there when I got back. Mem wasn’t usually so oblivious. Rubio was right, it wasn’t okay for me to play around with her. Rubio realized that, and he wasn’t even aware of her deeper issues, the harrowing abuse in her past. She was too vulnerable, too fragile and emotional with too much at stake.
Is she gone yet? I texted pointlessly. No reply.
“Is everything okay?” my stepmom asked.
I sighed and flipped the phone over in my hand. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
My father looked at me over his glasses. “Work related?”
“No…a friend. A personal issue.”
My dad was good about not pushing me to talk, even though he stared at me a little too long with his incisive hazel eyes.
“I wouldn’t leave,” I finally said, “except that I need to handle this.”
“Mem is there, isn’t he?”
In other words, this isn’t just some girl, or Mem would take care of it for you. Sometimes I hated my father’s acuity.
My stepmom jumped up in the tense silence and patted my shoulder. “I’ll wrap up your dinner for you to take home.”
“You don’t have to.”
She waved a hand, taking my plate and sailing into the kitchen.
“Is everything okay?” my father asked once she was gone—and this time I knew he expected a real answer. I scratched my chin, searching for the vaguest possible explanation. “I met a dancer, a friend of Rubio’s. She’s a very interesting person, but she might be in some danger.” From me.
“She’s in the market for security?”
“No, not yet. But I’m going to try to convince her she should be.” All this double talk wouldn’t fool my dad any more than it fooled Mem when I tried to hide stuff.
He leaned forward on his elbows. “Strange of her to turn up at this hour on Christmas Eve.”
“She’s…slightly strange,” I admitted. “And I don’t think she has any family in town. I’m sure she doesn’t.” Yes, I’ve run checks on her family. No, I don’t want to tell you why.
“Is this the one who lives in Wyoming?”
“She’s from Wyoming, yes. How do you know about that?”
“You used company assets to investigate her.”
“It’s a private matter. It’s my company, right?”
“Yes. It’s half your company,” my dad replied in an acerbic tone. He started eating again. “I won’t pry. But if she’s really in danger—”
“I thought she might need help. I wanted more information.” I clamped my mouth shut before he could analyze the tension in my voice.
“So you don’t think the security threat is immediate?” my father asked after a moment.
“I don’t know. I need to see her.”
“Well, good luck,” he said as my stepmom breezed back in with a tote full of take-away.
I smiled at the stack of plastic containers. “You know, I have food at my house.”
“I packed a little extra for Mem, and some chocolate cheesecake,” she said, handing it to me. “I know it’s your favorite.”
I stood
to give her a hug and a kiss. “Sorry I have to run, Abby.” I didn’t call her mom, but my father’s wife was a much-appreciated presence in my life. “Dinner was delicious, as always. I hope you both have a great holiday.”
“And I hope your friend comes around,” said my dad. “Safety isn’t something to mess around with.”
Ha. No one on earth knew that better than me.
Chapter Seven: Please
Mem’s phone buzzed on the dining room table. He looked up from our Monopoly game to glance at the screen. “It is Ishi. Mr. Wilder. He will arrive any moment now.”
It was a good thing, because I was losing my nerve as steadily as I was losing the game. I counted out a stack of hundreds to Mem’s outstretched hand. “What was that name you called him? Itchy?”
“Ishi.” He placed the money in a neat stack in front of him. “A slip. Forgive me. He does not like when I call him that.”
“Why? What does it mean?”
He thought a moment before he rolled to take his turn. “Literally, ishi means ‘human’ or ‘person.’ In another sense it means someone with no name. With no people. No home.”
I looked around the chandelier-lit dining room. “Liam has a home.”
Mem inclined his head at me. “Literally—yes, he has a home. But in another sense, he does not. When you know him better, you will understand.”
If I ever knew him better. I wanted to know him better since Rubio had planted ideas in my head. But now that I’d gotten up the courage to come here, I worried it was a mistake.
“You are ishi too,” Mem said, interrupting my fretting. “I sensed this right away. You are not like your people, are you?”
“My people? You mean my family?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head, handing over more money. “No, we’re not close.”
“Do they ever come to see you dance?”
“London’s a long way from Wyoming.”
In a change of pace, Mem landed on one of my dinky properties and had to pay me. “It is a sad thing, to lose the home from which you come.”
