The Sniper. Kimberly Van Meter
way. Not that he blamed the sorry saps—Jaci was hotter than hell on a summer day—but he didn’t have any grace when it came to his former flame. She was a topic of discussion that was off-limits. He was like a wounded bear with something in its paw, and that something was a certain leggy redhead who sang off-key and danced in her underwear when she thought she was alone.
He scrubbed at the stubble on his chin and poured his second cup of coffee, knowing he’d need it to get through the next few hours alone with the one woman who knew him better than anyone on this planet—and who likely wanted to scratch his eyes out.
He didn’t blame her. Not one bit. He probably deserved worse.
Good God, he could still see her stricken expression, could still picture the blood draining from her face as he deliberately broke her heart in the cruelest way he could imagine.
“You suck in bed and I’m bored. I thought I could play house but it’s just not working out and I’m ready to move on. Sorry.”
“You said we were going to get a place together. I’ve already let my apartment go and we’ve put a deposit down on a house! What are you talking about?”
“What can I say.... I’ve changed my mind.”
“What am I supposed to do? Live in my car?”
“That’s not really my problem, babe.”
Nathan squeezed his eyes shut to block out the memory but it was seared into his synapses, punishment for believing that a normal life had been possible for a blackhearted son of a bitch like himself. He’d been deliberately cruel so that she would never want to see his face again.
He was a killer—not a suburban husband who held barbecues and shared beers with the neighbors.
And Nathan had been recklessly foolish to believe otherwise.
When his past had caught up to him, Nathan knew the safest place for Jaci would be far from him and the only way to ensure that she never wanted to see him again was to break her heart into so many pieces, she’d never be able to repair it for him.
So he’d done exactly that.
And it had worked.
Damn. His breath caught in his throat. It had worked.
He peered out the dusty window across the miles and miles of forest and wondered how long they’d have to hole up here before they both went stir-crazy or straight-up killed one another out of boredom.
At least here they were safe, he thought grimly, casting a short look toward the room where Jaci remained, likely in shock from seeing her best friend die a grisly death right in front of her, and wondered how he was going to protect her when he didn’t even know who wanted her dead.
He turned sharply at the soft creak of the floorboard, his hand going to the Glock tucked into his waistband. Jaci jumped at his quick and unerring movement to his gun. Her gaze communicated everything he knew she was feeling—fear, anger, grief, confusion—and he supposed he had to give her some kind of explanation, though the idea ranked really low on his Excited To Do list.
“What’s going on?” she asked, attempting to appear strong. But Nathan caught the subtle shake in her body. He stuffed his impulse to pull her into his arms and shelter her from anything that might harm her. Right. Like she’d let you anywhere near her, a voice mocked, and he grimaced at the truth of it. He watched her enter the room on unsteady feet to sit on the edge of the worn, ’70s-era sofa as if she were a bird perched on a branch. “What’s happening? Who was that man who k-killed Sonia?” she asked in a strained voice.
“I don’t know who the man was,” he admitted. “Just that you were his target.”
“How did you know I was his target?” Jaci asked, her eyes wide. “Why would I be anyone’s target?”
Because of me, he thought bitterly. But how much should he tell her? She might be safer if she knew little. “I intercepted the kill order,” he said, deciding to go with honesty. She stared hard, her eyes widening even more as she shook her head as if in denial. “Jaci, there are things you don’t know about me...”
“I think that was made abundantly clear several months ago,” she murmured, glancing away. Her quiet comment struck him in the heart and he actually winced. Yeah, he deserved that one. She returned her gaze to him, her eyes dry and hard. “Go on.”
Nathan met her gaze without flinching, yet inside he was grimacing, wishing this conversation never had to happen. “I’m not an FBI agent,” he said. “I never was—it was my cover story.”
“Cover story?” she repeated slowly, her tone betraying her disbelief. “What do you mean cover story?”
“I work for an underground government agency that specializes in neutralizing terrorist targets.”
She digested this information with less shock than he’d envisioned and he was actually impressed when she didn’t immediately fall apart. “When you say neutralize—”
“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