Page 95 of Unexpected Redemption

Boss:

I’m in my office. Can you come over here now, or are you with her?

I glance at Lettie.No fidgeting. No nervousness surrounding her. She’s simply taking in Mia and Klein’s animated back-and-forth storytelling like it’s the feature presentation.

My eyes ping-pong between the message from Boss on my screen and the back of Lettie’s head for a solid five seconds. Maybe ten.

When Mia takes a breath, I interject. “Excuse me for a second.” They all twist to face me, and I catch Lettie’s attention. “Are you good if I step out for a minute? Boss wants to see me. I’ll be fast.”

Her answering smile flutters across the room like it’s floating on a butterfly’s wings. “I’m good. Go ahead. Take your time.”

Before I go, I wave my cell phone at them, ensuring Mia and Klein see I’m taking it with me. Then I’m off.

When I reach Boss’s door, it’s open, so I stick my head in. “Boss?”

He waves me in. “Come in, T. Shut the door behind you.”

Fuck.

As I creep toward the chair in front of his desk, it dawns on me that this is the first time I’ve been alone with him since Lettie barged in here with her big reveal. As many times as I’ve attempted to speak with him about it since then, today isn’t the day to climb that mountain. I’d rather not avoid it, but there’s too much fucking shit happening today. And my thoughts are on that woman down the hall.

Once seated, I meet his eyes, aiming to keep my expression impassive. The only problem? I’m unsure if that’s a skill I have in my arsenal any longer.

He’s the first to speak, sparing me the horror of having to exchange pleasantries. “So Lettie’s good?”

“Yes. She’s fine now. You’d never know anything was ever wrong today by looking at her.”

“She isn’t back at her desk, is she?”

“No. I left her in the lair with Klein and Mia. She wanted to hear about the Icarus thing and try to help them figure it out.”

The patch of skin between his brows creases sharply.

Before he has a chance to opine on that, I add, “She needs to do something to...” Words fail me momentarily, probably thanks to the tension coating the oxygen particles surrounding us.

He attempts to finish my sentence. “Distract herself?”

“No. Not that.” I massage the back of my neck. “She needs to help us. To contribute something. It’s good for her, I think. She’s a warrior and wants to fight back.”

“I see.” He crumples his lips, studying me carefully. “As long as you don’t think being too involved in the details would cause her to have another”—he gestures toward the door in the direction of her desk—“panic attack or PTSD episode.”

“That was my concern as well. But she swears her reaction wasn’t because of her earlier involvement in the case. To the contrary, she said it gave her a hit of pride. I believe her when she says she can handle it.”

“Well, if you think she can handle it, then fine.” There’s a bite to his tone when he adds, “After all, you know her better than I do.”

My teeth involuntarily clamp on the tip of my tongue, making me flinch from the pain. The metallic taste of blood invades my taste buds.

Ignoring that cheap shot, I redirect to the reason I came in here. “Anyhow, so what was she working on after lunch?”

His eyelids narrow to slits, head quirking to the side. “Wait. So youdon’tknow what triggered her?”

“Correct.”

“Then how do you know it wasn’t working on the case that did it?”

Despite how badly my eyes want to take a roll around my skull, I force them to remain straight. “She doesn’t want to talk about what triggered her until discussing it with her therapist, but she was explicitly clear it was something unrelated.”

If casting doubt without saying a word were a sport, he’d be the world fucking champion.

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