Page 31 of Sniper's Pride

“Piety can be so thorny,” she murmured, and despite everything, he almost laughed.

Blue kept his phone out as he went and stood at the counter where Everly had spent the morning with her laptop, a bottomless cup of coffee, and Caradine.

Griffin stayed where he was next to Mariah, shifting so he could look directly at her. Which shouldn’t have felt significant in any way, especially when another situation had shifted from a mere possibility to potentially active.

“So now what?” she asked, still sitting in the same unnaturally rigid position. “Do you all ride off into battle in Atlanta? Or start a blistering media campaign to expose David? I don’t actually know how you do what you do.”

“The first thing we do is identify and isolate the threat,” Griffin said. Maybe in a gruffer tone than necessary, but he felt like he was fighting when all he wasdoing was sitting next to this woman. And he was maybe too aware of the scent of the soap she’d used in her morning shower when he should have been pressing for details about the deranged preacher on the loose. “Your food was tampered with in Atlanta. But since you left, there have been no attempts on your life. It’s possible that means the threat is localized. That your life is only in danger in Atlanta, not outside it. And if it is, our approach will be different than it would be if this was an active-pursuit situation.”

“I thought there was somebody at my door last night.”

Everything in Griffin sharpened. “When?”

“I woke up sometime after three thirty. I was... not well.” She made a face that was probably the most honest she’d been about last night so far, not that he could enjoy it. “And I don’t know if it was real. I’ve been having the same nightmare all week long. Every time I’m in a new hotel, I wake up in the middle of the night halfway into a panic attack thinking someone’s trying to break into my room.”

One elegant hand crept up to her delicate throat and rested there.

“Is the nightmare always the same?” Griffin asked.

“No. One time I dreamed David was standing by my bed. Another time he broke in through the window, leaving glass everywhere. Once he kicked and kicked the door until it caved in. Last night wasn’t like that. It was just the doorknob rattling and no David. Floorboards creaking outside in the hall. Someone breathing out there. Listening.” She lifted her shoulder, then dropped it. “Maybe.”

If the nightmare had been the same as every other night, or a repeat, Griffin would have dismissed it asstress. But he didn’t like that it was different from the others. She couldn’t wake up in the morning and dismiss it the moment she saw that her door wasn’t broken in, her window was intact, and, most of all, she was fine.

“Why didn’t you tell me this the minute you came downstairs this morning?”

“I still don’t know if I dreamed it. There’s no proof I didn’t. It’s entirely possible I’m just being paranoid.”

“You almost died. Twice. In a short period of time and following a very distinct threat on your life from your ex-husband. It would be weird if you weren’t paranoid. My issue with you yesterday was that I didn’t think you were paranoidenough.”

“I don’t want to overreact.”

“Mariah.” He had leaned closer than he’d meant to, but when he noticed it, he didn’t put any extra distance between them. He kept his gaze on hers. “You’ve hired one of the most elite bands of ex-military operatives in the world. We don’t vote to handle overreactions.”

“I can’t be sure anything happened. I was still drunk, and it was the middle of the night in a strange place.” She pulled in a breath. “Just like when I first went into the room. I looked out across the street and thought I saw... something. But it was a few shadows between the buildings, that was all. There was nothing there.”

Maybe it was nothing. She could be jumping at shadows, sure. It was also possible that someone had followed her back from the Fairweather last night. Just as it was possible that her troubles from Atlanta had followed her here.

“You don’t have to be the judge of whether or not something is happening,” Griffin told her, flipping through possibilities in his head. “That’s my job.”

“But—”

“Is this what you did in the hospital?” She blinked, making him feel like he’d slapped her. But he didn’t take it back. Or change course. “Did you lie there with your airway constricted, falling all over yourself trying to find a reason why you ate a stray shrimp for the first time in your life? And then did it again a couple of weeks later?”

Mariah’s mouth curved. Her expression was wry. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“I can’t promise you that you’re not delusional, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t worried about it, actually. But I think I am now.”

“What I can promise you is that I’ll take you seriously. I take this seriously. Whatever is or isn’t happening, I will get to the bottom of it. I promise you.”

He could see he wasn’t the only one aware of how things shifted then. There, at the farthest, most tucked-away table in Caradine’s restaurant. The table Alaska Force always used for client meetings because it offered the illusion of transparency by being out in the open, but with more privacy.

And here he was making vows.

Mariah didn’t let out a laugh, hollow or otherwise. And her mouth shifted to something more solemn. It was reflected in the blue of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said.

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