A Matter Of Justice (Grey Justice #4)(8)
Determined to get through to her, he faced her with the implacable truth. “I won’t apologize for what I forced you to do.”
“Forced?” Those fathomless gray eyes mocked him. “Do you really think you could force me to do anything, Grey?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then you know I wasn’t forced to do that either. As much as I hated you…as much as I despised the act, I knew it was past time for it to happen. He had outlived his usefulness to both of us.”
Grey could regret every life he’d taken, but he damn well would never be sorry that Hill Reed was dead. There had been dozens of reasons to despise the famed contract killer, but Grey had had three distinct ones. He should have done the deed himself years ago. Not that it would have saved anyone’s life. Finding an experienced killer was disgustingly easy. Reed had been a skilled assassin, but there were others just as good. So no, he wouldn’t have saved anyone by ending Reed’s life long ago, but no one had deserved to take the man out more than the woman across from him. The fact that she’d also happened to love the murdering bastard had been problematic.
“I’m sorry it happened the way it did.”
“No, you’re not.”
He felt the stab to his chest, as if she’d used the stiletto knife he knew she wore in a sheath wrapped around her left thigh. She hated him for what had happened, even though she had accepted the inevitability of the act.
Their meal arrived before he could argue further. Not that arguing would do any good. Even when he’d made the decision to end Reed’s life, he had known what it would cost him. He just hadn’t known how damn bad it would hurt.
As they had thousands of times before, they put aside their differences to enjoy their meal. She did it for him. He knew that. Eating was sometimes a secondary priority when he had other things on his mind. Irelyn had always made sure, no matter what drama was going on in their lives, that he took care of himself.
They had been taking care of each other, in one way or another, for half their lives. He knew this woman better than anyone in the world. He knew the soft sigh she made just before she dropped off to sleep. He knew the nightmares she had about her past. He had held her as she had sobbed out her grief, her regret. He knew her phobias and her fears. And the many times she had cursed him.
She had fascinated him from the moment he’d met her. He had hated her, loved her, and cherished her for almost eighteen years. And without a doubt, he could spend a thousand more years with her and never tire of the multifaceted, fascinating woman that was Irelyn Raine.
They ate in silence for several moments. He would get nothing from her until they’d both finished their meal, so instead, he enjoyed watching her eat. She consumed her meal the way she did many things, with graceful gentility and efficiency. There wasn’t an awkward bone in Irelyn’s body, nor was there a wasteful one. In their early years, they’d gone days without much more than a bag of crisps and a bottle of pop between them. No matter how far they removed themselves from those old days, or how wealthy they became, neither of them would ever take a meal for granted.
He noticed she might have lost a bit of weight. Her face had the kind of bone structure that ensured she would be beautiful all her life, but it also had a tendency to be the first place weight loss showed.
She preferred dresses to pants. She liked the ease of movement if she needed to get away quickly. She also felt that hiding her weapon was easier with dresses. The knife he’d given her long ago was always strapped to her left thigh. On occasion, she wore a holster with a favorite gun on her right thigh. Although she was an excellent shot, shooting would never be Irelyn’s thing. She claimed it was too impersonal, but that was an easy excuse. Her eyesight had once been impaired, so much so that they’d feared she would go blind. A surgeon had repaired her sight, but the memory of that impairment had a way of costing her when she needed her confidence. Hence the knife. A knife in Irelyn Raine’s capable hands was the most lethal of weapons.
The dress she wore today made him think of cold, bleak winter. They’d experienced their share of brutal, bitter ones. He wondered if she had dressed with that thought in mind. She hadn’t invited him to lunch in the city where she’d had her beginning for nothing. Meeting here in Dublin, she was making a point. The severe dress made a statement, too. Irelyn didn’t do anything by accident. Even the clothes she wore had significance.
He could read her moods and, more times than not, could predict what she was going to say. Today wasn’t one of those days. Today, the secrets behind those stormy gray eyes were hers alone.
Noting she had finished her last bite of risotto, he took a swallow of water and said, “All right, Irelyn. Why am I here?”
“Considering that you’ve been stalking me for over a year now, I would think you’d appreciate an arranged meeting.”
“Stalking you? That’s a slight exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“You’re right. You’re here. I’m here. Let’s talk. When are you coming home?”
She turned her gaze to the window. “I am home. Haven’t you noticed?”
“No, you’re not. Your home is in Texas.”
“You don’t get it, do you, Grey?”
“Apparently not. What is it you’re trying to say?”