The Sniper. Kimberly Van Meter

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      “I’m an assassin,” he cut in sharply, leaving no room for misunderstandings. Might as well just put it out there. Her life was in danger—she’d earned the truth, at the very least. “I’m trained to kill people, Jaci. It’s what I’m good at and what I enjoy.”

      She sucked in a tiny inhale at his admission. Maybe he ought to clarify... “Listen, it’s not that I enjoy killing people. But the assignments I get aren’t good people like you and people you know. They’re bad people—people who wouldn’t think twice about mowing down a schoolyard of kids or torturing old folks—so when I take one out, I feel a certain satisfaction that I’ve done a job that needed doing.” He sounded pathetic. Why was he explaining his job to a civilian who would never understand? Jaci was a bleeding-heart type. She believed in innocent until proven guilty, whereas he believed in shooting first and asking questions later. They were polar opposites on the most extreme scale. “I don’t expect you to understand,” he said. “But I do expect you to trust me to do what I need to, to keep you alive.”

      “Trust?” she said, laughing as if amused, though in truth the sound put a sick roll in his stomach. He heard her incredulity at his use of the word and he realized he should’ve phrased it differently. She’d never trust him, ever again. Jaci could’ve thrown that in his face but she didn’t. Instead she said, “I think I’ve reconsidered your offer of coffee. Would you mind?”

      “Sure,” he said gruffly and went to fill her a fresh mug. He remembered that she liked it sweet with milk and sugar and without wasting time in pretending that he didn’t, he simply fixed it and handed the mug to her. She accepted with a murmured thanks but otherwise remained silent as she sipped her coffee, her eyes closed as if needing a moment to collect herself. He didn’t blame her; it was a lot to accept in a short time frame.

      “What about Sonia?” she asked. “I need to call the police and give a statement or something, don’t I?”

      “I can’t trust the police with your location. There are leaks everywhere. I already made an anonymous call. Your friend was picked up.”

      At the mention of Sonia her eyes filled but she looked away, not wanting him to see her cry. He appreciated that she was trying to stay strong but her pain caused a shaft of agony through his chest that only served to remind him that he was far from over her. “I’m sorry about your friend,” he said, feeling useless in the face of her closed-in grief. Jaci accepted his condolences with a short nod and then returned to her coffee. “And I’m sorry I had to drug you,” he added. “Do you need some aspirin?”

      She cast him a cool look, yet nodded. He searched a few cabinets before he found what he was looking for and then shook two tablets into her hand. Her palm curled around the medicine but she didn’t toss them back right away. Instead she looked his way and he was pinned by the same eyes that haunted his dreams and made him wish he’d been a better man.

      “I suppose I should thank you,” she began, swallowing as though the words were stuck in her throat. “For saving my life. But as much as I’m grateful...I have to wonder why you care at all. It’s not as if we parted on good terms. I don’t understand how I haven’t spoken two words to you in months yet you happen to show up at some bar that I’m at to save my life and then bring me here—wherever here is—to do what? Hide out? Until when? What now? We can’t stay here forever. I have a life...and it no longer includes you. That’s the way you wanted it, remember? I just don’t understand, Nathan.”

      Valid questions. She was a smart woman. But to answer truthfully? That he always knew where she was since the day he’d pretended to kick her to the curb; that he’d never forgotten a moment of their time together and the memories were both painful and treasured? That he’d wished a million times over that they’d met in a different life so that maybe they’d have had a chance? Hell, no. He couldn’t say any of those things.

      She peered at him closely, needing answers. “Nathan?”

      And he couldn’t give them without making the conscious choice to be straight with her about every facet of their former life together. She would just have to be content with the information he was willing to share. Besides, keeping her alive was his objective—not baring his soul and begging for her forgiveness.