Vegas responds with one of his irresistible smiles, the ones that melt everything in their way. “Of course, I am joking. He’s a cop. We don’t hang around with criminals, do we? That’s a bad thing to do.”
“Who are these people?” Carey asks, turning to me.
“That’s my family,” I tell the kid.
With narrowed eyes, Charles prepares Carey’s seat in the back of our car. Nobody says a word about the stuffed turtle in Carey’s arms or the fact that she’s not even wearing proper shoes.
Since the windows are tinted, the guard at the gates of the gated community doesn’t see Carey leaving with us.
Once we’re out of Bel Air, we leave Tara to take a taxi back to her party.
Then we take Carey back to our place where she’s safe from the Abbotts of the world.