“But—”

“I’ve increased security. I think it will be good for him to see the guards, so I’m sending more.”

“More guards?” Solana says, and I have to remember she’s not part of our world. She lives in a bubble of perceived safety.

Georgie, though, he just nods. He’s not as carefree as he appears when the three of them are together.

“My house is alarmed,” he says. “She’ll be safe there.”

“I’m not hiding away.”

“You shouldn’t. You should go on with your lives. It’s Mercedes he wants. But I’d rather be on the safe side.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Georgie says.

“What is?”

“I agree with you.”

I smirk at him and turn to her. “Solana, if I can have a key to your house. I’ll make sure the locks are good.”

“What?”

“Here,” Georgie takes a ring of keys out of his pocket. “This is Solana’s. Her locks are shit. I’ve been telling her to change them for years.”

I take the key.

“Who is he?” Solana asks.

“Just someone who thinks he can get something from her.” They see the lie. But when Solana opens her mouth, Georgie puts an arm around her and tugs her close.

“He’s been to my house?” she says again.

“Don’t worry. Judge is right. Creeps like that guy are cowards. I’m sure he said it to get exactly this reaction,” he says, but I know he is only doing it to reassure her, and I give him an infinitesimal nod.

I set two cards on the table. “This is my personal cell phone. You call if you see anything strange or need anything.” I stand. “Not a word to Mercedes. Are we in agreement on that?”

They both nod.

“When can we see her?” Solana asks.

“We’ll see.” My phone rings. It’s Ezra. “Call if you need anything. I will bring you the new keys myself later today.”

“Thank you,” Solana says. “I’m glad she has you to take care of her.”

“I’m glad she has you for friends,” I say before I can think about what I’m saying. They’re as surprised as I am as I walk out the door and take Ezra’s call.

14

Judge

When I get home that evening, Mercedes is dressed in a little black dress that she looks like she was poured into, along with five-inch heels. Her hair is twisted elegantly to one side and rests in thick waves over her shoulder.

For a moment, I'm confused about why she’s dressed the way she is, but then I remember. The cocktail party. Vivien’s birthday. I’d forgotten.

She turns to me. “You’re late.”