Page 70 of Lesson In Forgiveness

“Who knew my kitten would turn out to be such a deviant little lawbreaker?” Jasper crooned, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. “Tell Atticus you and Sonic need a raise.”

She snorted. “Just deal with the clerk and bring my sister-in-law home. That’s all the raise I need.”

“Working on it, kitten. Keep us updated.”

“Of course, Sir.” She paused. “Nice to have you home, Grit. We missed you.”

“Thanks, Archie. It’s been quiet without you.” The pleasantries sounded hollow to his ears; too much worry was brewing in his gut to concentrate on being sociable.

Tuning out the rest of the conversation, he watched the city pass by in a blur. Jasper was a capable driver, handling the knots of traffic like a pro, taking a shortcut here and there that drove the GPS system crazy. He wished he was in the driving seat—they’d already be at the damn motel.

An eternity passed before he spotted the huge red and gold sign proclaiming the Sleep-Eazy Motel in massive letters. The P was missing, which was apt considering what a sleazy shithole it was from the outside. The inside probably wasn’t going to win any awards.

A handful of cars and trucks were spread out over a parking lot littered with trash. The whites lines bisecting the spaces were a decade past being faded, and there was some kind of mutant plant growing from a crack in the asphalt.

Jasper swung their SUV into the spot beside an almost identical one. “This is hers. Christ, she knows better than to park her ride outside where she’s staying. It’s a dead giveaway.”

Grit was already out of the vehicle, jogging around the rear to approach the driver’s side of Tabitha’s GMC Yukon. His heart sank when he saw the blood leading away from the door, then plummeted as he squinted through the lightly tinted window.

The interior resembled a murder scene. Blood on the wheel, on the window, down the seat.

Room sixteen, Anarchy had said.

“Wait, Grit.”

“We need to find her.” Not in the mood to exert patience, he spun and started running, following the blood trail. It stopped a few feet from the office door, then doubled back again in the other direction. Clever little tiger had staunched the bleeding long enough to get herself a room.

Jasper ranged himself beside Grit outside the door. There was blood on the handle, not enough to draw a civilian’s attention unless they were actively looking for it.

“Kaufmann’s an excellent cleaner,” Jasper murmured. “He’ll make sure there’s no evidence left behind.”

A terse nod was Grit’s response. The urgency pulsing behind his breastbone stole his voice, because something was wrong. He raised his hand and knocked twice. When there was no answer, he knocked again, harder this time.

A soft moan was barely audible, but it gave him justification to kick the door in after he tried the handle and found the door locked. The impact of the hit ricocheted up his leg, but fuck, the satisfaction of hearing wood break and splinter was immense.

The room beyond was dim, closed off from the sunlight by thin, piss-poor blinds. He stepped straight into a small living area, could see into the kitchenette through an open arch. “Tabby? Little tiger?”

“Little tiger?” Jasper questioned.

Ignoring him, Grit ventured further as his friend made a half-hearted effort to shut the ruined door. He didn’t give a shit about a piece of flimsy wood—it was replaceable; Tabitha was not. “Tabitha, if you’re conscious, I need you to let me know. Jasper’s with me. We’re here to help.”

A quiet, pained wheeze came from his left. He used his knuckles to push open a sheet of fucking plywood masquerading as the bathroom door, and stopped dead when the black hole of a gun’s barrel aimed—well, almost—at his chest.

The love of his fucking life slumped on the floor of the miniscule shower, her weapon hand wavering as though the Beretta was too heavy to hold for long.

Fully dressed, Tabitha was drenched in blood. Some was already dry, but there was too much more fresh. Her skin was white, fading to ashen gray, and her expression… hell, he’d seen it before, a study in pain she accepted in silence.

The right side of her face was swollen, impeding her vision, and the flesh looked hot and tight beneath the black and purple bruising. Blood crusted her lips and chin, leaving a trail that ran down the engorged mess of her throat; yet more bruises, and the imprint of what appeared to be links from some kind of chain.

Blood ran down her arms from several gashes he could see through her torn sleeves. Deep wounds needing immediate treatment. The hand not holding the gun was twice the size it should be, her fingers partially curled around the vicious red welt lacing her palm.

“Jesus, fuck,” Jasper stated, fury in his voice.

Tabitha said nothing, her good eye locked on Grit without seeing him.

“Find a first aid kit,” he said quietly. “We can’t get her out of here until we stop the bleeding. I’ll move her into the bedroom.”

“Touching her isn’t a smart idea,” Jasper argued. “This could trigger her.”

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