Runaway Wolfes of Manhattan Three - Helen Hardt Page 0,70
bells from the slot machines and the din of conversation swirled around us.
We waited.
Roy had ordered us a couple of sodas. It was three in the afternoon, and neither of us felt up to drinking. Better to keep our heads, though I had to admit a glass of wine would have helped take the edge off.
But maybe I needed my edge. I needed to remember what my father was capable of so I could handle this woman with kid gloves. God only knew what she’d been through. I had the feeling Roy hadn’t seen the worst of it that night.
Roy stared at his phone. “She’s late.”
“Have you considered that she might not show at all?”
“Yeah, I’ve considered it. If I were her, I probably wouldn’t either.”
I nodded. “We have to be strong for her, Roy.”
“I know. I’m okay. That therapy helped a lot. My mind hasn’t been this clear in ages, Ry. It’s like a giant weight is gone from me.”
I sighed. I envied my brother. I feared I’d carry the weight of my father’s sins forever, even with therapy. After all, Roy didn’t have to get over what was done to him, just what he’d seen.
Big difference there.
Still, I was getting stronger. Matt helped, and I helped myself too. I’d never burn myself again. I knew that as well as I knew my own name.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then twenty, and we sat silently, sipping our second round of diet soda.
“Ready for something stronger?” Roy finally asked.
I got ready to nod, when a woman caught my eye. Her hair was jet black and pulled into a tight ponytail high on her head. She wore dark glasses, and she just looked…
She looked the way I felt.
I gestured to Roy. “I think that’s her.”
“Really? Then it’s not the woman I remember. She was blond.”
“There’s such a thing as hair color,” I said. “Does that look like natural black to you?”
“Actually, no,” he said. “It’s too black. Almost blue-black.”
“Exactly.” I smiled in her direction. If she was a fan of mine, she’d recognize me, unless this wasn’t her at all.
But it was. She inched toward us hesitantly. I patted the seat at the bar next to me.
She shook her head slightly and then sat down at a table in the corner.
Okay, I got it. She didn’t want to talk at the bar, where someone might overhear us. “Come on,” I said to Roy.
“You sure?”
I nodded. “That’s a woman who has something to hide.” I walked to the table, Roy following me.
I sat down. “Zinnia?”
She nodded hesitantly.
I stuck out my hand. “I’m Riley Wolfe, and this is my brother Roy.”
Her hand was limp in mine, and she didn’t take Roy’s at all.
“What can we do to help you feel more at ease?” I asked. “Would you like a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m… I’m a fan of yours.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“I actually did some modeling when I was young, before you came on the scene. I just… You know. Your father…”
“I’m not my father,” I said, “and neither is Roy.”
“I get that. I always wanted to reach out to you on social media or even email, but I couldn’t.”
“We’re here now,” Roy said. “What would you like to say to Riley?”
“Just how much I admire you. Your beauty and your grace.”
“Thank you very much.” I smiled. “How old are you, Zinnia?”
“I’m twenty-nine. And no one calls me anymore. It’s not my legal name anymore. I go by Zee.”
Twenty-nine. The right age. “The letter Z?” I asked.
“No. Z-e-e.”
“All right, Zee,” I said. “I’d be happy to talk to you about modeling, but right now I don’t have the luxury of time. Roy and I need to ask you some questions about our late father.”
“Could you take off your sunglasses?” Roy asked.
“No, I can’t.”
“Surely you can’t wear them when you do your shows,” he said.
“No, I don’t. But I’m heavily made up and it doesn’t matter.”
“What show are you in?” I asked.
“Right now I’m doing Best of Sin City.”
Best of Sin City. Most likely a topless show, which meant—
“She’s obviously not the person I saw,” Roy said. “She’s not blond, and she’d have…”
Zee met his gaze. “Scars? I have them. And I remember you.”
“But how…?” I began.
“Makeup. You’d be amazed what our makeup team can do. Some of the girls I work with have to cover up worse. Lots of bruising and scarring.”
My stomach dropped. “You mean…”
“I mean their men beat the shit out of them. Yeah.”