Page 24 of The Roper & the Author

“For certain, but why didn’t they take her with them? If they wanted Marci. Maybe they recognized it was the wrong person?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

Aiden hung up. They were left sitting there. What to do now? What to say?

“I’m sorry, Marci,” his dad said.

“Me too,” Walker said.

“Gracias.” She gave them a brave smile. “I think I’ll try to get some rest.”

“I’ll walk you up to your room.” Walker stood, keeping her hand clasped in his.

“Buenas noches,” she murmured to his dad.

“Night.”

His dad watched them go. Walker didn’t know what Easton may have told their dad before he left. Did his dad think Walker was overstepping bounds by holding Marci’s hand? She needed comfort. And he needed her.

Shoot. He was in a mess.

They walked quietly out of the security office into the entry and up the stairs. Marci clung to his hand. She didn’t say anything. They reached her room and Marci turned to him. Her dark eyes glittered with moisture.

“Oh, Marci.” He squeezed her hand, at a loss. “I’m so sorry. Aiden’s people are following those trackers. They’ll find Abuelita.”

“What if she gets shot in the crossfire? Or maybe they’ve already killed her.” She sniffled. “If they haven’t, they’ll probably dump her in the ocean now that they have their money.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered lamely. “If it is Wilhelm Frederick, he wanted you first and foremost for the information he thinks you have about the spy. He’ll keep Abuelita alive.”

“There is no spy.” She shook her head and pulled her hand free, wrapping her arms around herself and leaning against the wall. “Wilhelm and King Frederick are obsessive idiots. My inspiration comes from heaven, not from some spy.”

It was incredible to get the insight about her inspiration. He wanted to read one of her books. He also wanted to hug her and have her lean against him. Did he dare ask her to go on a nighttime horseback ride to get her mind off the stress she was going through? It sounded amazing to him, but probably not what she needed right now.

“What’s your Abuelita like?” he asked.

“Ah.” She smiled tremulously. “Bless you for asking. Abuelita is an interesting contrast of classy and spicy. She has loads of money and loves to spend it on all her favorite charities. She’s full of jokes and sass and sometimes spit and vinegar as my dad would say. We used to joke that if someone kidnapped Abuelita, they’d bring her right back.” She paused, her smile slipping. “But now I’m afraid she’s mouthing off to them and they’ll hurt her. These are awful men.”

“They are,” he agreed. “I’ll be praying for Abuelita.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause, then he said, “You just mentioned your dad. I thought you said yesterday that you didn’t have any family besides Abuelita.”

“I don’t.” She bit her lip. A few beats passed, and Walker didn’t think she’d share any more with him. “Mi Papito, Abuelita’s husband, died of a heart attack two years ago. I never knew my dad’s parents. His side of the family lives in Italy and disowned him when he married a Christian from Cuba when mymother was on a study abroad in Milan. They married quick and moved to America.”

“That’s awful,” he said. “That he was disowned, not that they married.”

“It was more about the religion than the culture,” she said, her dark eyes sad.

One family had disowned her, and on her mom’s side she had only her grandmother left. His grandma and grandpa Coleville had passed, but he still had his Papa and Nana Trupp.

A mix of Italian and Cuban heritage explained her beautiful coloring and her grandmother’s nickname.

“Marci Richards doesn’t seem Italian or Cuban,” he said when she didn’t say anything for a few moments.

“My dad changed his last name from Ricardo to Richards when he moved to America. He seemed almost averse to his family’s culture. We didn’t talk about it. Ever. I thought about changing my last name to Bravo—Papito and Abuelita’s last name—but …” She swallowed. “I already had a substantial following of readers and on social media with my name, so …”

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