Page 51 of Unexpected Redemption

Hold it together, Lettie.

“Bravo copies,” a voice calls back. I’m guessing Shep because of that cocky tone he favors.

I avert my eyes to ground myself, doing some of the breathing tactics Simone taught me.

Big Al hovers behind Mia and Klein, his intelligent eyes rotating from screen to screen. His broad arms are crossed at his chest, displaying the tattoos running down his arms. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since he’s usually in a long-sleeved shirt or has his denim jacket on.

Happy for the distraction, I study him like a creeper, noticing a colorful floral print tattoo on the underside of his forearm. It strikes me as odd for such a tough guy. If I ever get the chance to talk to him about more than work shit, I’ll ask him about it. Until then, theories will begin running amuck.

Is it for his mother? Is she alive? Does she know she has a granddaughter?Will I ever meet her?

Or is the tattoo for a different loved one? Some type of cause that’s personal to him? Or does he just like flowers? Does he garden? Did he want to be a florist when he grew up but ended up a military badass?

All possible, yet mostly improbable.

More likely . . .

It might bein memory of a woman he lost. My mother, perhaps?

Nah. Probably not. He already told me she was a casual fling for him. The more focus I put on that, the ickier it feels. At first, it didn’t bother me. As it’s steeped, my opinion has waffled. A tad.

I wonder what my mother thought of him. Did she love him? Did he break her heart?

At some point, I’ll need to confront my grandmama-mama about this whole mess. Why did she lie to me all my life? What was she hiding?

And can she tell me how my mother felt about this big broody guy beside me? Was I truly conceived out of... a reckless moment? Just sex with no feelings? No love at all?

“Any 911 calls?” Big Al asks, snapping my focus back to the mission.

“No, Boss,” Mia answers in a clipped tone.

How does she know that? And why would anyone have called 911? Nothing has happened yet.

It’s killing me not to ask, but I bet if I start yapping at them, someone will kick me out of here. Plus, I don’t want to distract them since what they’re doing is important to ensuring the safety of the man I love.

Unable to stand the bouncing of my knee, I bend one leg, tucking it under myself. Shoving with the other foot, I resume twisting my chair back and forth in tiny movements. My jitters must be noticeable because Big Al glances over at me with his brows raised in silent question.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, hoping to assuage his concern.

Play it cool, Lettie. You don’t want him to kick you out.

Or try to.

Let’s be real. If he did, I’d just spy again from the door like I did earlier. Unless he closes it.

He glances back at the screens where Klein is doing another pass around the house with the drone.

I halt my chair twirling to swap legs, putting my left under me and pressing off the ground with my right foot.

Again, Boss Dad notices. And this time, he doesn’t hold back his comment.“Are you sure you can watch this?”

“Yes. It’s not all nerves. I have ADHD, so I rarely sit still even under the best of circumstances.”

Not totally untrue. It’s a bit worse now for obvious reasons, but the chair spinning and knee bouncing are quite common. Often not simultaneously, though.

Some of that kindness I’ve glimpsed in him a few times before makes a brief appearance. “If this gets to be too much, just say the word. No shame in leaving.”

I wrinkle my nose, then bite back my snark about how I’ve seen far worse than what’s about to happen. Instead, I remind him of what I told him earlier. “Thank you. But I want to see this guy get what’s coming to him.”

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