There’s silence, then a harsh sigh. “You’re right. Though having this girl fall into your grasp as we’re planning the utter destruction of the MacTavish Clanisfortuitous.”
“Agreed.”
“I want to see her,” he says.
“All right,” I say slowly, “why don’t you come for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll be there,” he promises with a tone that sounds more like he’s vowing retribution on her. I hang up, unsettled at the surge of anger I’m feeling.
The girl may be a MacTavish, but the sins of the men in her family are not hers.
***
Dr. Fujimoto is just finishing his checkup as I walk into her room that evening.
“Good news, young lady,” he says, wrapping her foot with more white gauze. “Your stitches are healing nicely, keep your feet upfor another day, and then you should be able to walk. Slowly,” he admonishes her playfully, “and very little for the next few days, all right?”
He’s the warmest I’ve ever seen him, but she hunches her shoulders and nods, not looking up.
“Thank Dr. Fujimoto for taking care of you,” I say sharply.
Her full lips press together but she nods. “Thank you, doctor.”
He glances at me before tying off her gauze bandage. “You’re welcome. I’ll check on you next week.”
She thanks him again in a polite, lifeless voice.
“Miss MacTavish looks well,” he says as I escort him out into the hallway. “Her color and her vitals are all back to normal.”
“Very good,” I shake his hand, “thank you for coming.”
He’s heading down the stairs as I shut her door sharply behind me. “You were rude to Dr. Fujimoto. That is unacceptable.”
She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed with compressed fury.
“You may speak,” I say impatiently.
“Everyone here has been nice to me,” she snarls, “and they all know I was bought like an animal and you’re keeping me locked up in your magnificent penthouse. No one here is a friend.”
I look her over thoughtfully. She’s wearing a pretty white dress, her feet bundled up in miles of bandages and her wild red hair tumbling down her back. I’m impressed with her cynicism, and sheiscorrect. “You are correct. But I expect common courtesy toward those who are helping you.”
She nods and I scoop her up, taking her downstairs to my office, noticing that she’s becoming less stiff and uncomfortable every time I have her in my arms.
She may not trust my crew, but I suspect her fear toward me is softening.
That’s a mistake.
***
Settled on the couch by the fireplace, the girl looks through the stack of books piled on the table next to her. Her finger touches the spine of one of them as she looks up at me.
“Do you want to read one?” I ask. “Which book?”
Carefully pulling out the leather-covered volume, she holds it up.
“The Art of War?” I’m amused. “Very well.”
She’s reading quietly and I’m finishing some paperwork when the front door slams.
