Page 44 of Marked

She smirked, her eyes narrowing. “I haven’t needed a father to protect me my whole life. I appreciate it, but I’m okay to take care of myself.”

That struck a nerve.She definitely didn’t like the idea of saviors or father figures. Good to know.

Behind Cameron, on an end table, I noticed another large framed photo with nearly a dozen people standing around what looked like a dining room table.

“Who’s that? Extended family?” I asked, still probing for information.

Cameron glanced around, then chuckled to herself before looking at me again. “You’re really interested in my family life.”

“What can I say? I like to get to know my new friends,” I said with a shrug.

“We aren’t friends,” Cameron said quickly.

“Fair enough.Acquaintances,then.”

“Whatever. That’s my mom’s family. They’re all back in Mexico.”

“Do you ever go visit?”

“Zamora is not Cancun or Cozumel. It’s nowhere you’d go on vacation. Even if it’s to see the people you care about.”

“Rough?”

“To say the least.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, unable or unwilling to go into detail. “Hey, listen, do you want a coffee or something?”

“That sounds great. Black, no sugar.”

Cameron rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Badass.”

As she went to work in the kitchen, I tried to dig further for any information that might help us figure out why this damned feral seemed fixated on her.

“Did you grow up in Zamora, or did you guys move away when you were little?”

“I grew up there,” she said, pouring water into the coffee maker. “Lots of gang violence. Even more cartel violence. Kids don’t go out at night, bars and wire mesh grates on windows, stuff like that. Everyone just keeping their heads down and trying to get by. My mother worked her ass off to get out of there.”

“For a Latina, your first name is a little, how should I say it? Less than traditional?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Mom doesn’t talk about my father much. All I know for sure is he wasn’t Latino. Mom named me after someone on his side of the family. I guess she was sure thegreat love of her lifewas never going to leave. So much for that.”

The bitterness had returned to her voice. I could relate. I didn’t have any family growing up. Foster families were, by and large, just people looking for a little extra money. Very few were actually in it to help kids. I had my own fair share of bitterness.

As though reading my thoughts, Cameron said, “Why are you interested in my family? You keep asking me about them. It’s a little weird.”

“Sorry,” I said, wincing inwardly at how heavy-handed my questioning had been. “I find them fascinating. I never had a family. I like to learn about people who do. That’s all.”

“You never hadanyfamily? No one?” She gaped at me like it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard.

“Nah,” I said, accepting the coffee mug she handed me.

“You don’t sound very sad about that.”

“What’s to be sad about? You can’t miss what you never had.”

“I guess,” she said, but I could tell she had a hard time believing it.

We sat in silence for several minutes, sipping coffee. The whole time, I waited for her to bring up the attack, but she seemed dead set against it. It was up to me, apparently.

Setting my mug down, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “Cameron, we need to discuss this attack. We can’t ignore the fact that this guy has come after you for a second time.” Even if she hadn’t positively identified him, his scent was a dead ringer for the fur Ollie had shown me.

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