Page 79 of Lesson In Forgiveness

She eyed Doyle, coming to the conclusion he was as arrogant as they came, and cocky with it. The way his finger twitched on the Taser trigger, she assumed he was a shoot-first and deal with the fallout later kind of idiot.

Oh, to have her knife. He’d already be disarmed, clutching his bleeding hand while she practiced carving her name into his forehead.

Against her better judgement, Tabitha lunged for the gun holstered on Doyle’s belt, slamming her forearm into his and deflecting the Taser as he fired it. The prongs sailed past her harmlessly, but her impetuousness still demanded a high price.

Her fingertips skimmed over the gun, her depth perception misfiring enough she completely missed the damn mark. Before she regained her balance, pain burst in her shoulder as Doyle brought his elbow down, sending her sprawling over the hallway floor.

“Fuck, you idiot.” Huckle knelt by her side. “What part of no touching do you not comprehend? This is gonna cost you your job.”

“Like hell it is. She attacked me, crazy fucking bitch.”

Tabitha moaned, assessing herself quietly and discovering she was lacking several things—energy, emotion, the ability to do much more than breathe and blink. Overall, she concluded she was all out of fucks to give and was happy to lay here like roadkill until someone came along and scooped her up with a shovel.

“We had orders. No touching, stay in control and maintain a calm situation until reinforcements arrive. Pulling your fucking Taser is a declaration of intent.” Disgust in every word, Huckle sighed and called in an update over the radio. “You wanted a reaction from her and goaded her into one. I don’t want to be on a team with someone who defies orders this way; it’s how good men get killed in the field, and morons like you walk away unscathed.”

Ooooh, burn. A laugh tickled her vocal chords, rising quickly until she forced herself to roll onto her back so she could breathe. Meeting Doyle’s eyes, she grinned. “Missed me,” she wheezed, the laugh shifting into a cackle. “Point blank shot and you still missed.”

There were certain kinds of men who didn’t take well to being bossed, she thought. Particularly by women. Judging by the look in Doyle’s eyes—the one that told her he was envisioning her neck in his hands, squeezing the life from her—he had issues with authority.

As Huckle said just moments ago, Doyle was not the man any team should rely on to have their back; he was an all-for-one player, a sure contender for a Most Likely To Sacrifice Someone Else award.

Atticus’ screening process had missed a rotten apple in the barrel.

Bristling like a dog, hackles raised, Doyle tossed the Taser aside and clenched his fists. His anger was palpable, and one wrong word would probably set him off. “She’s a whore, Huck. She sells herself to the highest bidder for cash, murders people. You’ve seen her file.” Lips twisting, turning his face into a mask of living rage, he snarled. “Like fuck she deserves being treated with respect. Bitch should be locked up in a cell. But no, just because she’s fucking McCabe, he thinks everyone should kiss her ass.”

“Of course, they should.” Tabitha flashed her crazy smile, even though her body was on the verge of passing out. “I’m the fucking queen, boy.”

Huckle rose and planted himself over her, blocking her view. Maybe she should tell Atticus the guy needed a raise. “It’s not our place to question orders. Our job is to watch her until Grit collects her, that’s all. If you can’t do that, you need to ask yourself if this line of work is for you.”

“We’re supposed to protect civilians, Huck, not serial killers.”

“I trust Heisler. Why are you so uptight over this?”

“Because we’re better than fucking babysitting a killer!”

“We’re all killers here, idiot. The only difference between us and her is the goddamn leash around our necks.”

“She needs to be locked up, or better yet, put down like the rabid bitch she is.”

Oh, she’d take the bitch, but the rabid? That was uncalled for. She rarely foamed at the mouth or bit people. Before she could fire back a matching insult that called into question the size of his dick, there was the resounding thwack of flesh on flesh.

Oooh, that was sexy. A thick, heavy thud followed by the impact of weight hitting the floor. Through wavering vision, she saw Doyle’s face bounce, blood gushing from his nose.

Score one for Huckle.

But as she slid away into the black, finally too exhausted to hold on, it wasn’t the merc’s voice she heard, but Grit’s.

*

Grit

Was he surprised she’d run? Nope.

Disappointed? Not really.

Did he understand why? Of course, he did.

Flexing his hand to ease the sting of smashing his knuckles into Doyle’s furiously righteous face, Grit leveled Huck with a stare. “Appreciate you having my girl’s back. Is she okay?”

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