She ground her jaw. “Who are you? I don’t know you—”
“—from Adam Abotts,” I finished, offering a hint of a grin.
She huffed a laugh. “Exactly,” she said.
“Pun intended.” I finished lamely, glancing up at her and reading her reaction.
Suppose she wasn’t out to get George? Maybe she was here all the time and privy to something I wasn’t. Maybe, to her, I was an interloper demanding answers. She glanced to the side, but the subtle joke managed to break the tension.
“I guess there is really only one question I need to understand,” I said. She swallowed but nodded once. “Are you here to help George or hurt him?”
She cocked her hip out. “You know, I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
I tossed my arms out.
Logically, we’re strangers, but there was no doubt that the fierceness in her eyes spoke of protectiveness. That was a common ground to start on. One of us would have to take a small step of faith.
I cleared my throat and stepped forward. She mirrored my actions whether she meant to or not. We met in the center of the kitchen. Her arms still wrapped protectively around herself, but she was close enough that her soft breaths were audible.
“I can count on one hand the people I would die for, and George is one of them. He’s the only father I’ve ever known.” As I said that, she took a slight intake of breath. “I owe him everything. Everything good about me comes from him. I need to help him through whatever is going on.”
Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me. Her gaze traveled my length, completely exposing me under her inspection. It was the same look she gave me when we first met, and I had promised I wasn’t a shoplifter.
She dropped her arms to the sides. “Okay.” She shook her head at the ground. “I better show you something.”
