Page 15 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“What the hell does that mean?”

Did anyone ever know what she meant? Half the time, she spoke in riddles and whimsical diatribes. “She said something about taking out the fucker who instigated the contract. Sounds like both she and Elias will be subject to a new hit.”

“We need to know who her contact is.”

“Want me to interrogate her?”

“Pretty sure torturing her won’t work. She passed Dominic’s training program—the majority of his methods involved torture in one form or another. Can you bring her in?”

“If I had a gallon of chloroform and a straightjacket, maybe.”

Atticus hummed thoughtfully. “How sure are you that she’s being honest?”

Elias’s life came down to this, Grit thought in disgust. If she was lying to him, the probability Eli would die rocketed into a certainty. But something she’d said to him gnawed at his sense of duty.

I can’t abide liars; I like to take their tongues as souvenirs.

“Honesty is important to her, Att. For all her faults, I think lying is low down on the list.” Hell, looking at her now while she slept, he thought a lie would turn her tongue to ash. “She honestly believes she has this contained.”

“What Tabitha believes and what she does are often worlds apart,” Atticus grumbled. “Are you confident she has this under control?”

Grit grimaced, grateful his boss couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

“Very well. I’ll pull Austin and Kyle back to base in the morning.”

“I’ll pack my gear.”

“”I’m keeping you on the assignment, Grit.”

His patience stretched to the end of its tether. He was tired, he was stressed, and he really needed a couple of hours with a warm, eager sub to smooth out the jagged edges. Maybe he’d have to scout around town, try and find a club.

Damn shame Serenity was still in progress.

“I know it’s probably not what you want to hear,” Att continued when Grit stayed silent, “but until the threat is eliminated, Elias stays protected.”

“So send me to Ireland,” Grit suggested hotly. “Let me go take care of the root of this shit.”

“There’s only one person who knows anything about the contact,” Atticus reminded him. “She’s sleeping in your bed.”

Hmm, could he get the information from the little pixie without her trying to cut his throat? Doubtful. He guessed she’d get possessive over what she considered her business, despite the fact he was being dragged into it. “You want me to work with her?”

“Tabitha isn’t the type who works well with others. They were all trained to function alone. No support, no team behind them. Just them against the world.” The disgust in Atticus’s voice was strong. “Besides, I’m not sure how she interacts with people on a day-to-day basis.”

Grit rubbed his throat where the knife had scored his skin. “I’m guessing not like normal people.”

“No. Just… handle her however you deem fit, Grit. She’s family, but so are you. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”

“Me either. Fine, I’ll deal with it.”

“Thanks. With any luck, she’ll go back to Ireland, terminate the contract, and you can come home.”

See, that didn’t sit right with him. Yes, she was a contract killer. Yes, she’d been doing it for years and likely had more experience than he did. But he hated the idea of her going off alone, facing untold threats, because that was what was expected of her.

She was so small.

Deadly, sure, yet he had no trouble imagining her being surrounded by a bunch of Irish pricks used to brawling in the streets. No matter how strong, determined, or fucking insane she might be, there was a limit to how many opponents she could tackle at once.

No, no, no. He was not getting invested—physically, emotionally, or psychologically—in her wellbeing. Tabitha was a big girl who’d lasted this far without a man interfering in her business; he wasn’t going to be the first.

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