“Ugh.” The woman shook her head, trying her hardest to wrinkle her nose as she traipsed back to the room where she’d come from. “I don’t want to know the details. I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ve been through enough as it is.” She tipped the martini glass toward her lips, and he watched her retreating form as she disappeared through an archway beneath the staircase.

No hug. No “how are you.” Anger boiled beneath the surface, and it was all he could do not to shout for the woman to get her ass back there and show her granddaughter some kindness.

“Please, do come in.” The maid swept her arm out in a well-practiced motion, her eyes gentle.

“Thank you.” Sarabeth sighed. She turned to Gavin with an apologetic smile. “That was my grandmother. She’ll be expecting us in the parlor. It’s afternoon tea.”

“In five minutes,” Martina’s voice interjected before she scurried over through the archway on the opposite side of the stairs.

“That means that my grandfather will be down in ten minutes, the tea won’t be served until he gets here, and then my grandmother will complain that the ‘tea-o is mucho cold-o’ until the maid cries. That’s a tried and true tradition.” Sarabeth cleared her throat but didn’t move from the entryway.

“Maybe I should go, then?” he asked carefully, trying to read her pained face. “You must want to spend some time with them, and I’m sure they want to talk to you about everything.” He wasn’t sure of that at all, but didn’t know what else to say.

“No, no, I’m sure they’ll want to thank you for keeping me safe. So, please. Stay.” Her seafoam eyes were so pleading that he couldn’t find it in his heart to leave, no matter if the rest of him was telling him how out of place he was in this world. Like a stuffed animal in a china cabinet. He didn’t belong.

When they got to the parlor, Lucinda Lucking was already nestled on her high-backed sofa, a huge beast of a dog lying beneath her feet.

The dog growled as soon as he caught sight of Gavin, but the old woman silenced him with a quick tap of her foot to his flank. “Rochester, no,” she whispered, and the dog returned to his nap. “So, should I be expecting reporters on my lawn again? I was worried my flowers were doing too well.” There was no invitation to sit, but she motioned her drink toward the couch opposite, and he followed Sarabeth’s lead as she smoothed her skirt and rested on the wide light-blue cushions. Like everything else in the place, the seat was as fancy as it was uncomfortable.

The woman stared at him expectantly, as if waiting for something. He shifted in his seat. “I’ve spoken with the police, and I don’t think there will be much of a story in this for the reporters. You all should be able to go back to your daily lives with a minimum of distress. I’d give it a couple weeks and then Sarabeth can return to her own house.” It was the first time he’d spoken, and apparently, she wasn’t overly impressed. The woman surveyed him from his combat boots to his leather jacket, and the slight wrinkle in her Botoxed nose let him know that he had been found lacking.

“Well, what a relief.” She sipped on her martini, returning her full attention to Sarabeth.

Martina entered the room, holding a sterling tea set aloft on a matching silver tray, but Lucinda answered with a long-suffering sigh. “Where-o is Mr. Stanley?”

The corner of her mouth quirked in annoyance, but the maid set the tray on the coffee table between the two couches, apparently too used to the routine to bother with formalities any more.

“In his office, ma’am,” Martina answered.

The rest of the scene played out exactly as Sarabeth had said it would, and she offered him a wan smile as Martina retreated, leaving the tea behind.

“Good help and all that,” Lucinda sniffed. She eyed Gavin again before continuing. “So, you’re the man who was solicited by the Irish fellow who was here?” She whispered the word “Irish” like it was the f-bomb.

“Irish isn’t a bad word, Grandmother.” Sarabeth’s voice was thin, and Lucinda waved it away like a fly.

“Maybe not to you,” she said with a chuckle.

Gavin decided not to weigh in, but instead answered, “Yes, Owen and his wife, Lindy, are friends of mine. They thought I might be able to help.”

“Ah, I see that you’re some kind of…foreign, too.”

“Grandmother,” Sarabeth protested, but he wasn’t bothered by the assumption. Based on everything else the woman had done from the time he’d set foot in the house, it was clear that this must have been her attempt at politeness.

“Scots, ma’am,” he said.

“Yes, well, better than Welsh, I suppose. I do wish that we would have been left to handle this ourselves. But as it seems we had no choice, how much do we owe you for your services?” She reached for a tiny quilted bag on the table beside her, but Gavin shook his head, fighting the urge to grab Sarabeth’s hand and drag her bodily from this miserable house with this miserable woman.

“It’s quite all right, ma’am. Thank you,” he managed stiffly.

“Gavin—” Sarabeth started, but her grandmother cut her off.

“All right then, even better. Thank you for your service.” She snapped the clasp of the purse closed and looked at him expectantly. It was a dismissal, clear as day.

He clenched his jaw and rolled to his feet. “I’m sorry for the disruption to your life.” He bit back the rest of the words trying to claw their way out of his throat.

I’m sorry you don’t value what you have. I’m sorry I don’t meet your blue-blood standards. I’m sorry Sarabeth doesn’t have the kind of family she deserves.

What little remaining respect he had for the woman who’d raised such an incredible person died away, and the only thing holding him back was the thought of how uncomfortable Sarabeth would have been if he’d said all that was on his mind.

He turned to say good-bye to her, and she looked so perfectly matched with her surroundings that it was almost impossible to breathe. Not only was it so stuffy in the place that regular humans would get nosebleeds if they turned their noses up as far as these people, but it was obvious that she was cast into this mold. Her clothes were perfectly pressed, and she was wearing the suit she’d worn the first day they met. The light gray of her skirt and shirt, the tiny ruffles…that girl in those commando clothes was someone else entirely. Someone born of a wild, adrenaline-filled episode in her life, but that wasn’t who she was. Even now, although her lips were pursed tight and her face was pale, she stayed quiet as her grandmother shat on all she surveyed.

Another few weeks away from him, and Sarabeth’s hair would be growing out and blond again, her suits as neat and clean. And she’d be the woman who was still too good for the likes of him.

He ignored the twinge of pain that came with her continued silence. She’d treated him with nothing but respect, and she’d taught him so much. He was a better person for having known her, and even if he could take back what they’d shared, he wouldn’t do it.

She’d made him a better man, and that would have to be enough to last him the rest of his life.

…

Gavin nodded to her and turned on his heel without another word. Not even an “it’s been fun.” She made a quick excuse to her grandmother and followed him, dashing through the archway and catching him right as he was opening the driver’s side door of his car.

“So this is it, then?” she called, and he turned, holding a hand over his eyes to block out the sun.

“It is.” He nodded.

“Did you keep those receipts? I owe you. I’ll…I’ll have to pay you back.” Her entire body was shaking, but she held her voice steady. It was the least she could do to speak, and it was almost impossible to hear her voice over the screaming of her thoughts.

Ask me to stay. Ask me to come home with you. Ask me something. Anything. Please.

He smiled. “Like I told you, I think I can manage, Doc. Owen and Lindy got the rest. That’s what they hired me for, so. Yeah.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the car. She took it as a sign to approach and made quick work of the stairs, still choking back the tears in her throat.

It was exactly as she’d feared. She was a pleasant distraction during an unpleasant job that he’d never wanted to take. For days, she’d been running it through her mind—what she would do when they separated—but she never thought he’d be so aloof. She’d been open with him, shared her body and her life, and it was only now that she realized it had all been nothing to him. Her fantasies were a pipe dream, blown away like the fragments of her car.

“I’ll thank them, then.” She swallowed the tears clogging her throat and forced a smile.

“Yeah, do.” He nodded. The silence lengthened, a weight pressing on her as her mind vacillated between escaping and telling him everything that was on her mind. It seemed that no matter what choice she made, she would be crushed by him. His actions had already told her what she needed to know.

“I think I’d probably best be going, then,” he said, tapping on the hood of his car.

“Yeah, I guess.” She turned to leave, and she could hear him climbing into the vehicle, but as the engine revved, she turned back and rushed to his side, motioning for him to roll the window down.

“Hey…” Her mind hadn’t worked past that moment. It was all too much to handle. Still, she had to say something. “Thank you. For everything.” She floundered for something else to say to fill the space, but in the end, stayed silent. It didn’t matter because it was going to end the same no matter what. She was going to let him go. She had to. No matter how wrong and hopeless it felt.

After all, he’d already made his decision.

“Hey, uh, no problem.” He nodded before revving the engine again. “Take care, okay? Be safe.”

He backed out of the driveway and sped down the road. She watched the car until it had turned the corner, and she could only see the pinpricks of his taillights as he went.

She needed a minute. One whole minute before she could even think about walking back into that house. Now that Gavin was gone, there was nothing to stop her from laying out the family business and letting her grandmother know exactly what she thought of how she’d treated the man who had risked his own neck to protect her. Old habits died hard, and while she would be forever grateful that her grandparents had taken her in when no one else wanted her, it was high time for a change. She took three deep, cleansing breaths, repeating the mantra she had on that first mission with him.

I am a warrior. I am strong.

And that was when she bent over, hot, jagged sobs racking her until she couldn’t see straight.

Chapter Fifteen

The week since Gavin left her with her grandparents had easily been the most exhausting week of her life. As he’d said, the media frenzy had died off relatively quickly—since she didn’t bleed, she couldn’t lead, and that was something she was eternally grateful for. Still, spending days alone with Lucinda had her wishing on more than one occasion that someone would make her bleed and put her out of her misery. Especially since things between them had gone from chilly to ice cold after she’d ripped her grandmother a new one over the way she treated Gavin.

In seven days within their sterile, gilded insane asylum, she’d been witness to two DAR meetings in which tea was denied to Mitsy Taylor because her son had been spotted buying marijuana on High Street. She’d also seen three different cooks fired for various injustices, one of which included serving veal on shellfish night. The one thing she hadn’t seen was her grandfather’s face unobscured by a newspaper or business report.

When her grandmother wasn’t lecturing her over what she deemed a “tawdry” shade of eye shadow, harping on her new, less formal style of clothes, or trying to prod her into going out with that nice Abbott boy who’d recently come into his trust fund, she was left entirely to her own devices. Without work to keep her busy until the last of the furor regarding her ordeal died down, she was bored out of her gourd. She slipped out occasionally to pick up the newest romance novels in the grocery store and secretly read them in her bedroom, but that was the full extent of her excitement.