“Heidi,” I supply helpfully, like I’m supposed to. When the marks decide to approach her through me, it’s supposed to be a cute little dance. I’m supposed to be helpful and smiling and giggle at the right moment when they fumble finding the right words.
“Heidi,” he says, and the way he says it . . .
My teeth grind together so hard my jaw hurts, and I don’t know . . . I don’t know if it’s my gut or if it’s because of what happened with Katie, what I’m feeling, which is Go, run, now. I’m caught in the indecision, a fish in a net, unable to flop out or breathe deep.
“And you are?” he asks me.
“Oh, sorry.” I hold my hand out with a little flourish. All the girls have good manners. “I’m Ashley.”
He shakes it. “Raymond.”
“Nice to meet you.” I drop his hand as quick as I can while still being polite. “I ordered a grain bowl with extra avocado, too,” I tell him, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t disobey her.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?”
“Mom knows best,” I say cheerfully.
“You’re very good,” he says.
“I thought I was pretty decent.” It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it, so I follow it up with a smile for softness.
“I’m not talking about your tennis game. I’m talking about how you lifted the credit card out of that golfer’s wallet yesterday when you bumped into him.”
I go cold as I remember the lift I made yesterday, the black card that I had already used to buy a thousand dollars’ worth of gift cards, which can be better than a bank card if you don’t want to be traced.
“You’ve got quick hands,” he continues. “And you’re smart with your targets: Man like that, he won’t notice a missing card for a few billing cycles. Did your mother teach you?” His gaze rises over my head, scanning the room before settling back on me.
I can’t freeze or flush. I can’t. But I’ve never been made before. I’ve never had to spin out of being caught at all, let alone so fast. I skate over the possibilities like I’m on thin, dark ice. Play dumb. Lie. Chatter. Tell the truth.
I pop another fry into my mouth, scrunching my nose up. “Huh?” My eyes skitter to my screen, like his weirdness isn’t as important as my phone.
He smiles. I catch it out of the corner of my eye. “Talent, skill, and you look just like your mother. She must be very proud. You are quite the asset.”
He looks me up and down like I’m a car he’s about to buy, and that clinches it for me, because it pisses me off enough to break through any numbness and fear. I don’t know then that this man will make me redefine enemy and father, two things that are already purposefully entwined in my head. All I know is that I’m outnumbered. I need to get away from him.
I need my mother.
So I give him a puzzled half smile, tearing my focus from my phone completely. I let the smile hold: one count, two. And then, I let it snap off my face, quick as you please, and suddenly, we’re truly eye to eye for the first time.
“Yes,” I agree. “I am quite the asset. So maybe you should back off.”
“You two came into my house.” His head lifts again, scanning the room. He’s looking for her, wondering where she is. Where is she? Hasn’t she noticed how he’s looking at me? Hasn’t she realized he knows?
“Do you own the country club on top of all the gyms?” I ask innocently, even though I know what he means. This is his turf. We’ve trespassed. “That’s very impressive.”
“You’re quite the Addie Loggins, aren’t you?”
“I see Mom has competition with the dated references,” I say before I think it through, and when his eyes flare with delight and he laughs, I realize I’ve made a mistake.
I’ve made him even more interested.
He gets up from the table. “Tell your mother that I hope she likes my gift.”
Before I can do anything, he’s gone, and I’m just sitting there, blood thundering in my ears and my entire body screaming Run. So I do. I jolt out of the chair and I spin, intent on just going, anywhere but here, and I get one step before I’m colliding with her.
“What’s wrong?” She pushes me gently, guiding me back into the chair, and I don’t try to fight her.
“Mom, he knows,” I whisper. “He—” I stop. He made us because of me. This is my fault. Again. She’ll be so mad. “I don’t know how,” I continue, half breathless from the lie, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “But he knows.”