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“I have a plan.”
“You have a plan?”
“To keep Birdie safe?” My mom sounds really upset. I can’t look at her right now or I’ll burst out crying. I wait for him to tell us his plan while picking at the covers with the hand mom let go of.
“I think you should go home with me.”
“What?” My eyes fly to his.
“I think we should go undercover.”
I try to follow but I just can’t. I take my hand away from his so I can rub my forehead where the pain is most evident.
“I can’t go undercover. I’m not a cop or a detective or…anything like that.”
“You don’t have to. All you have to do is come home with me, let me keep you safe, and let us set traps for the man coming after you because he will come. The apartment fire says that much.”
“Men.”
“What?” I look back up into his eyes. This time someone is saying that ever-present word and it’s not me.
“Men, there were two of them.”
“Oh, God.” Mom has my eyes sliding over to hers. “You know what they look like, don’t you?”
She doesn’t have to tell me how bad this is. Stupid brain. Only working when it’s not useful to me.
“These men went to your apartment and set a fire. They didn’t care who else it hurt, or if others died along the way. They are serious and they will try again.”
“I…I can’t come home with you! I…we…we don’t know each other.” Can I be any lamer?
“Baby,” my mom puts her hand on my shoulder like she might be about to push me to him, “you have to do this. Gareth can keep you safe. He is the only one that can keep you safe.”
“But…” I don’t finish because I know it’s not going to matter what I say. I’m screwed. Nothing is going to stop me from going through with this.
“No buts, this is for your own safety, Birdie.”
I sit back and give the two people in front of me a petulant look. I guess I’m going undercover.
Chapter Eight
____________
Gareth
By the end of the day, Birdie is released into my custody and I am taking her home. She’s very quiet the entire trip and I start to worry about her when she turns to me just before we're home.
“I’m awfully sorry for having to impose on you like this.”
“Nonsense,” I pull in and sit looking at my house through new eyes. What does she see when she looks at it? It’s old and I’ve spent the past five years working on it making it what it once was. Does she see that? Or does it just look like a rundown old house bought by someone who doesn’t have the time to fix it all at once?
“Your house is beautiful.”
I would say she’s being nice but the look on her face tells me it’s not a platitude. There is a look on her face that says she can’t wait to go in and I find my chest puffing up and pride washing through me.
“Can we go in?”
“Oh yeah.” If she hadn’t liked the place, I’m not sure what I would have done. More than likely planned to move but it seems I chose well when I chose Birdie. I help her up the stairs watching as she runs her fingers over the banister of the porch.
