Page 22 of The Hangman's Rope

“You’re right, about all of it. I promise, none of them will touch you, but just like you, we don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on and we don’t like being used as pawns. Whoever put you on Reaper’s slab for disposal fucked up big time and needs to pay for that. We don’t know who that someone was, but I havea pretty good idea why they wanted you gone. Not sure if there’s more to the story there or what lengths they’re willing to go to in order to make sure that job is finished. Right now, the safest option is to stay here and work on resting and healing while we try to figure that part out. Meanwhile, the only thing you’ve got to do is try and figure out your end – namely who you are and what you’re about.”

I swallowed hard and his golden gaze rimmed in green took stock of me, the slight crease between his eyebrows giving away his worry.

“Anything come to you while I was gone?” he asked gently.

“More of my name, I think, maybe,” I said honestly. I mean, he hadn’t lied to me yet and right now, we were sort of on the same team. I mean, the enemy of my enemy was supposed to be my friend or something, according to the old saying.

“Okay, well, that’s good.” He came over and sat on the other end of the couch.

“Lorelai Mary Ellen,” I said.

“Ellen? Or Allen?” he asked.

I frowned.

“I mean, it could be, maybe? I think it’s more two middle names, though. I don’t think it’s my last name. Doesn’t feel right, which I know sounds stupid…”

“No, that’s good!” he said. “That’s a start. Good job, Sweetpea.”

I felt myself smile at the pet name and tried to squash it, which just madehimsmile.

“You eat?” he asked softly after we just sort of stared at each other in silence for a time.

I shook my head.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I wasn’t before, but I sort of am now,” I said honestly.

“Come on and sit with me in the kitchen?” he asked, and I nodded, unfurling myself from the corner of the couch. He stood up and held a hand down to me, but I didn’t take it, just pushed to my feet and shuffled barefoot across the area rug in the living room toward the kitchen. He held that same hand out behind me, as though guiding me, but didn’t touch me. Almost like he was watching out for me falling backward or something.

He walked me over to one of the three high kitchen chairs on the opposite side of the counter and once I was comfortably perched went around to the fridge.

It was sort of a gentlemanly thing to do, like?—

“I like Jane Austen,” I blurted out.

He stood up and turned around.

“All of her books and the movies. I like the Brontë sisters, too. Their poetry…” he stared at me for several heartbeats and I felt myself blush to the roots of my hair.

“It just came to me. I’m sorry,” I muttered and he shook his head.

“No, that’s good. Anything else?” he asked.

“I like tea, and tea shops – like formal tea,” I said, swallowing hard.

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “What made you think of all that?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I lied and hoped it was smoothly. “It just sort of came to me.”

He considered me for a moment then nodded. “Good, that’s good,” he said.

“Feels kind of dumb and kind of slow,” I murmured and he chuckled.

“It’s neither of those things,” he said.

“Not sure what a fascination with the regency era and manner of dress really does for me,” I said with a bit of a sardonic chuckle.

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