Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(56)

“Yeah? For what? To buy more drugs?” Zara asked.

No one had anything to say about that.

“I’m so sorry my parents’ money was inconveniently locked away so you and Alan couldn’t touch it until I was declared dead, or until after I turned twenty-eight and didn’t come forward to claim it. How disappointing for you that I showed back up when I did. Did you even think about me at all as the years went by? Wonder what I might be doing on Christmas morning? Give a thought to what I might be going through? Or did you just assume I was dead?”

They remained silent.

“Did you hire a private investigator? Beg someone from the FBI to look into my disappearance? Call the news outlets to keep my case in the public eye? Did you do anything other than call the Peruvian police the year after my parents were killed to see if they’d found me yet?

“You had the resources to raise absolute hell and do so much more than you ultimately did. Oh yeah—I know all about what you did and didn’t do. I’ve made some pretty powerful friends of my own since I’ve been found. And I realize that’s only been a week and a half, but true friends are made under the most extreme situations.”

“Are you talking about this gentleman?” Mr. Harper asked, tilting his head to indicate Meat.

“Yes, I am,” Zara told him.

“Did you know he’s got less than twenty thousand dollars in savings?” her grandfather asked. “We had a private investigator look into him as soon as we found out you were staying here. Hunter Snow has no parents and no relatives. He only wants your money, Zara. There’s no other reason he’s being so accommodating. It’s not like a relationship between you would ever work out. He’s not even in the same social circles we are. Stop being so naive! It’s embarrassing and unbecoming. Now it’s time for you to come home. Together, we’ll do what we can to salvage your reputation and find you an appropriate husband. Someone who can overlook your past . . . how you’ve been living or anything you might’ve done to survive.”

That was it. Meat was done.

He opened his mouth to lambaste the man, but Zara’s hand clamping on his thigh kept him silent and seated.

“How much did you spend on the investigation into Meat, Grandfather?” Zara asked. “I’d bet my entire fortune that it was more than you spent looking for your missing granddaughter, wasn’t it?”

When he didn’t answer, she went on.

“And I don’t care how much money Meat has. He’s not being nice to me simply because of how many zeros there are in my bank account. The only people who care about that kind of thing are you and my dear uncle Alan—who was kind enough to email me to say he’d be glad to ‘educate’ me on how the trust worked . . . as if I’d believe anything he said.”

Meat turned to stare at her. She hadn’t told him that.

His mind whirled with things he needed to look up on his computer. He wondered how many other emails she’d received from people asking for money. He’d assumed she was only receiving email from the news outlets, but that had been naive of him.

Meat needed to talk to the others and make sure Alan Harper—or anyone else—wouldn’t be a threat to Zara, now or in the future. He knew exactly how little money it took for someone to agree to kill someone else, and he’d be damned if Zara had survived everything she’d gone through to be taken down by someone in her own family.

“I don’t know why you hate me so much, but I’m done,” Zara told her grandparents. “Not only did you not care that I was missing or do anything beyond putting as little money up as you could for a reward, you haven’t even bothered to ask me how I am! If I’m all right. Or inquire about where I’ve been and what I’ve had to do to ‘survive,’ as you so gently put it.”

“We watch the news,” Mrs. Harper said somewhat pathetically. “We know where you were and what happened.”

“Do you?” Zara fired back. “Nearly all of the shit those reporters have said is dead wrong. I wasn’t kept as a love slave for some drug dealer, and I wasn’t some lawless punk making a living by robbing tourists!”

Two pairs of eyes stared at her blankly.

“Get out,” Zara said as she stood. Meat stood alongside her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“But everyone expects you to come back to Denver!” Mrs. Harper protested.

“I don’t care. You can tell your precious friends whatever you want to save face, but I’m done. I never understood why Mom and Dad didn’t get along with you guys, but I do now. You’re self-centered and snobbish and so concerned about your reputation and wealth, you couldn’t give a damn about a lost ten-year-old who would’ve given everything she had if only someone had cared enough to search for her. Really search for her. You had your chance fifteen years ago to do the right thing, and you failed. Get. Out.”

Mr. Harper opened his mouth as if to challenge his granddaughter’s words, but Meat moved toward him, pointing toward the door and saying “Out” in a low, threatening tone.

The pair quickly stood and headed for the door.

On the way out, her grandfather turned to have one last word. “You haven’t changed in fifteen years,” he said icily. “Your parents were way too lenient with you. Let you wear what you wanted and run wild, and didn’t bother to teach you the importance of your heritage.”