Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(57)

“What someone wears has absolutely no bearing on the kind of person they are,” Zara shot back. “Especially when she’s ten years old. Jeez. Besides, look at you—you’re wearing an expensive suit and a watch that costs more than the average Peruvian makes in a year, but you’re still a bully and an asshole. Whereas some of the people I met who had literally nothing to their names were ten times the person you’ll ever be.”

Her grandparents turned and left the house without another word.

Zara stomped to the door and actually slammed it behind them. She stared at the closed door until they heard the sound of an engine starting up and a car heading down the gravel driveway.

“Zara?” Meat asked tentatively, not sure what kind of shape she’d be in.

“Fuck them,” Zara said firmly when she turned to face him.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he told her.

“I’m not sad,” she insisted. “I’m pissed. Seriously, how dare they come here and say mean things about you when you’re the one who got me home? Meat, my parents were nothing like the assholes who just left. They were kind and generous, and you wouldn’t know they were loaded just by looking at them.”

“I know,” Meat assured her, coming closer and reaching out to put his hands on her face.

“How do you know?” she asked, reaching up and grabbing hold of his wrists.

“Because they raised one hell of a daughter. If all they cared about was money, you wouldn’t have survived.”

Her face softened. “Yes, we were vacationing in Peru. But they never hesitated to give money to the homeless we saw on the streets. I think that’s why they were targeted. Those men who killed them might’ve seen them giving money to someone, and wanted more. They had plans to donate to some sort of women’s shelter while we were there too. I don’t know which one or any of the details, but I heard them talking about it one night. They wanted to help those who weren’t as fortunate. But they didn’t get the chance. They were killed before the donation was made.”

Meat leaned forward and kissed Zara’s forehead. “I’m sorry your grandparents can’t see what an amazing woman you are.”

She shrugged. “I can’t deny it hurts, but I’ve learned that our time is too short to dwell on the negatives. I’ve spent my life taking each day one at a time. I don’t know what’s in my future, so I try to stay in the here and now.”

“You are one wise woman,” Meat told her.

“Not really. Fourth-grade education, remember?” she said with a small smile.

“There’s more to life than book smarts,” Meat said. “And I have no doubt that you’ll have your GED in hand before too long. And . . . I have to say, I like this new, outspoken Zara. Only a week and a half ago you answered most questions with a yes or a no and a shrug. Now you aren’t afraid to say exactly what you’re thinking.”

“I think it’s because I feel safe,” Zara said solemnly. “I don’t feel as if I have to be quiet and go unnoticed to blend into the background.”

“Damn straight you don’t. I like knowing exactly what you’re thinking.”

They stood like that in the foyer by the front door for a long moment. Meat with his hands on her face and Zara hanging on to his wrists.

Eventually, she looked away from him and asked, “Does my hair really look that bad? I mean, I know it’s not stylish; I used to cut it with whatever sharp object I could get my hands on. It was more important for it to be short than to look nice.”

Meat ran a hand over her short brown hair. “It could use some evening up, but honestly, I hadn’t thought about it because I’ve been too busy being impressed by every other thing about you. If you really want to do something about your hair, I’m sure we can find someone to help you with it. There’s a particular beauty salon some of the other women go to. We could book you a spa day, and you could get your hair done, along with a manicure and pedicure, if you wanted. A little pampering. But we’ve got something else we need to talk about right now.”

She looked up at him. “We do?”

“Yeah. Uncle Alan?” Meat asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

Zara looked away again.

“And any other emails you might’ve received that could seem remotely threatening,” Meat said. “I’m sure you know by now that I have the ability to hack into your emails and find out for myself, but I haven’t out of respect for you. But, Zara, I will if you don’t start talking to me. You aren’t just a long-lost kidnapped little girl anymore. You’re both rich and famous now. With that comes crazies who will do or say anything to get their hands on your money. You’ve seen firsthand what greed can do. The very last thing I want is for someone to snatch you off the streets and hold you for ransom. I can and will protect you, but I can only do that if I know where the threat might be coming from.”

Zara took a deep breath and tilted her head up once more. “You’re right. But Meat?”

“Yeah, Zar?”

“I hate being rich,” she whispered. “I was scared, and life wasn’t easy in the barrio, but I didn’t often have to worry about people wanting to be my friend or hurting me because of what they could get from me. All I had to worry about was finding food and staying out of the way of the bullies and criminals.”