Page 249 of Unexpected Heroine

“Eight years. Maybe nine. And she is.”

Although I keep my eyes facing the wall, I see his neck bend forward in my peripheral.

“Jesus, Tomer. Since we formed the fucking company?”

“Yes.”

More silence.

A blast of cold air ruffles my hair, traveling along the back of my neck, sending a chill down my spine. Although it’s probably the air-conditioner cycling back on, it fits the mood. Might as well get used to the chill. If I lose both Lettie and Big Al, I can’t imagine ever feeling warmth again.

Finally, he turns from the window. “Look at me,” he orders.

Trying to gather the courage, I run my tongue over my teeth behind my lips, my mouth suddenly arid.

Growing impatient, he repeats his directive more insistently. “Eyes. Up here. Now.”

When I look at him, I don’t see the contemptuous rage I deserve. He’s pissed, no doubt. Surprisingly, I’ve seen him angrier than this dozens of times. Earlier in the conference room when he was talking about Lenkov is just one example. The night of Lettie’s rescue when he was waiting for us in the lair is another.

I suspect it’s because he’s disappointed more than angry.

Or he’s hurt.

“I figured you’d have looked into my background before agreeing to move to Clearwater for this.” He gestures two fingers toward the ceiling in a swishing motion, referring to Redleg. “Foolishly, I thought you’d tell me if you found something of note. Get to talking while I’m still able to hear you.”

“What do you want to know?”

He flicks his gaze to the ceiling and back, gritting his teeth. “Come on, kid. Everything. Fucking talk. Un-ass your shit. How did you find her? Who’s her mother? How old is she? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about her after everything we’ve gone through? And how the hell did she end up...” He looks me up and down, leaving his question incomplete.

“With me?” I finish for him, unclear if he’s referring to the trafficking or how a woman like her wound up with a man like me.

“Yes.” He lowers onto one of the couch’s arms. “For fuck’s sake, quit standing like that.”

I glance down my body, noticing for the first time I’m standing like a private called into his drill sergeant’s office for an ass chewing. Even my fucking arms are folded behind me, hands flat and rear-facing like we were taught in basic. Shaking out my hands, I attempt a more casual stance, but nothing feels right. I’m too stiff. Too awkward. Too fucking creepy.

“Sit the fuck down,” he snaps in frustration, waving me toward the couch.

Forcefully unloading a rush of oxygen from my chest, I follow his instructions dutifully.

“Don’t spit out all the answers at once,” he jokes humorlessly. “I’m struggling to keep up.”

“Sorry. I’m trying . . . this is fucking hard.”

“No fucking shit.”

“Give me a second. I’ve thought through how I would tell you a million times, but the words are just,” I clench and unclench my fists at least five times before finishing, “not fucking coming to me.”

Under his breath, he grumbles, “Perfect time for you to be struck motherfucking mute.”

Resting my forearms on my knees, I ring my hands and stare at the carpet. “Boss, the last time I attempted to explain it, everything went horribly wrong. I butchered the whole damn thing by rushing it out to Lettie. Please be patient with me and try to listen. I will tell you everything, but I need to go slow.”

“Just to recap for you, in case you’ve forgotten. I didn’t sleep last night. The woman I love was shot, and I killed the gunman in a restaurant parking lot. My daughter just barged into a meeting in front of a third of my staff to drop a bomb at my feet. And you need me to be patient.”

I don’t answer. There was no question, and everything he said was accurate, making this nightmare worse for him.

It’d be easier to blame Lettie for doing this today of all fucking days. Yet I won’t. It’s not her fault. This is all on me.

Every last bit of it.

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