Page 9 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Strolling up the steps, he made his way into the building, every instinct on alert. He stepped around coils of electrical cable, following the tap-tap-tap of the hammer.

Most of the walls were bare, their innards on full display while the electrical crew wired in sockets and lights. The floors were boarded; his boots clomped lightly on the wood as he passed a couple of big, airy rooms in the same state of progress as the hallway.

The tapping grew louder, each set followed by a slight pause.

She was armed, he reminded himself as he approached the last room. A hammer was no match for a gun, but still, she was in possession of a lethal weapon.

In the doorway, he stopped, leaning against the jamb with one hand, and tucking the other into his front pocket in an attempt to appear non-threatening. “Boss asked me to see if you’re okay.”

The woman, not ten feet away from him, didn’t even flinch in surprise at the sound of his voice. She was slim, her figure showcased in a pair of black jeans and a gray tank top. A line of sweat darkened the material along her spine, disappearing beneath the toolbelt strapped around her waist. Those red curls were pristinely captured in a braid. “Boss knows I work through lunch.”

Well, at least she had the accent down, Grit thought. That slow Texan drawl was perfection. “Don’t think he likes the fact you do. In this heat, you need a break. Refuel, rehydrate.”

She finished hammering in the last nail on a piece of plasterboard, then twirled the hammer and shot the shaft home through a metal ring on the belt. With a heavy sigh, she turned around, a sly smile curving her lips.

“Let’s cut the bullshit. Took you long enough to catch my scent, big boy. Rory McCabe,” she said in a sing-song voice, losing the accent between one word and the next. “One of Mountain Daddy’s best mercenaries. So good, in fact, that he sent you here all on your lonesome to take on little old me.”

She’d gotten the jump on him, he realized. While he’d been spinning in circles, watching Elias’s back from all angles, Tabitha was way ahead of him.

“Thought you’d catch on a lot faster,” she continued with a pensive hum. “Guess you must really like the pizza here, huh?”

His expression darkened. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Watching you watching me,” she answered cheerfully, leaning against the wall. “Watching you guarding poor, doomed Elias Mitchell.”

“It’s a bad contract, Tabitha.”

“So I’ve been told. Did you know that an assassin doesn’t stay on this career path long if she starts breaking contracts? It’s kind of career suicide. No one hires her if she backs out at the last minute; not without exceptional reason.” She locked stares with him, those fake lavender eyes unable to conceal what she was beneath. “Can you give me an exceptional reason not to carve up Mitchell’s throat like a Halloween pumpkin?”

Grit tensed, his muscles aching to charge. “Elias doesn’t deserve it.”

“He doesn’t deserve it,” she mimicked, a spark of anger rising to the surface. Lifting a hand to her hair, she tugged the wig off and let it drop to the floor. “Do you know how many people I’ve killed who haven’t deserved it?” She popped out one of the contacts next. “Do you have any idea the amount of people there are in this world who have bad shit happen to them that they don’t deserve?”

There was no mistaking the family resemblance now, he thought, transfixed by the shock of white-blonde hair. When she removed the second contact lens and fixed those ice-blue eyes on him again, it was too much like holding her sadistic brother’s gaze. “Too many.”

“Indeed. I took the mob contract; I’ll be the judge of whether Mitchell deserves to die.”

It was said so simply, he almost didn’t have a response. Shaking his head, Grit took a step forward, noting how her hand slipped down to the hammer. “I have orders to bring you in, Tabitha. Take you back to Phoenix.”

A wicked glint flashed in her eyes as she wagged her finger at him. “Oh, don’t spoil things by lying to me. I can’t abide liars; I like to take their tongues as souvenirs.”

“Jasper—”

“Big brother isn’t here. We both know your orders are to take me down if I try and kill Mitchell. Not that you could,” she mused aloud, “although your attempt would shake up the monotony of my day. I do like the sound bones make when they snap.”

Okay, it was apparent Jasper wasn’t fully aware of how insane his sister truly was, Grit decided. J’s brand of sadism and his sister’s were two completely different beasts. “End the contract and I let you walk out of here, Tabitha. That’s the only deal you’re going to get.”

Her head tipped to the side, her smile adorable. “Aw, do you think I’m going to negotiate for my freedom, big boy? That’s cute, really.” Her fingertips stroked the metal head of the hammer. “Sure you want to play it this way? Your way or no way at all?”

He really didn’t want to have to shoot her. Dominant instincts screamed at him to protect the female, while the logical side of his brain warned him she was a danger. Conflicting interests were never a good thing. “I’ll do whatever I have to; Elias is under my guard, Tabitha. You go through me to get to him.”

Eyes bright, she pushed away from the wall and pranced lightly over to him on the toes of her heavy boots. She held her hands up, palms facing him, until she stood less than a foot away. “That’s acceptable.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It was true; the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her arms were well muscled, but his fingers would wrap around her narrow wrist with room to spare. Somehow, he got the impression she wasn’t as robustly healthy as she’d been.

“Life is pain,” she chirped. “Pain is life. It’s a full circle.”

“Does it have to be?”

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