Wildfire

Chapter 44

44. Shatter

"I thought you were an accountant," I said in a dazed voice.

Hunter. Hunter. Hunter. The words reverberated around inside my head.

The second man watched me with a blank expression on his face, his mouth slightly puffed up. I thought for a moment that maybe his lips were swollen, until I remembered that night, my fist connecting with his jaw and the crunching noise that rang in my ears. He must have had his jaw wired.

For some reason, my brain chose to focus on this little fact instead of the major elephant in the room.

"Who told you that?" My father looked puzzled.

Oh, yeah — the accountant thing.

"Mom," I said.

He muttered something like, "Of course she did", before he moved away from the door. He nodded once at the second man — the one I had punched — and the man pulled open the front door, stepping out onto the porch. The door closed with an ominous click behind him.

"Where is he going?"

"That's not something you need to worry about right now," my father answered calmly. "Paige, perhaps you should sit down..."

The casual tone of his voice kicked something into place in my mind. I watched as he moved toward one of the leather sofas, dropping down onto the seat like he hadn't just dropped an information bomb on my head. Like he'd said, "Hey, we're having spaghetti for dinner."

But we weren't having spaghetti for dinner. We were talking about the fact that he murdered people for a living.

Didn't he?

The danger of the situation snuck up on me and I felt my hands shake as I edged toward the opposite sofa. I forced myself to maintain some sort of poker face as I considered my options. I automatically dismissed the idea of running out of here screaming; aside from the fact that he was most likely a trained killer, what good would that even do me? What if he ran after me? I might have been keeping up with my kickboxing classes but I wasn't delusional.

He could easily catch — and keep a hold of — me.

But another part of me seriously doubted that he would hurt me at all. I had spent the last few days dredging up old memories and even when I feared him, I had acknowledged that fact that he had never once hurt me — not once, during my entire childhood. Even when he was disappointed with us, even when he yelled and told me that I was too soft, that I wasn't strong enough — he had never once hurt me.

My perspective on my memories shifted once more, like a dark lens sliding over a cinematic screen. Little things about my life started to make more sense; the camping trips. The night he shot the wolf, right before my eyes. His insistence on me learning to protect myself.

I dropped down on the sofa. I had no idea how to handle this information; I had no idea what role he expected me to play or what he knew, but when it came down to it...

If I had to choose between my father and protecting Diego, my knee-jerk reaction was to protect Diego. He'd had ample opportunity to harm me, but he had only ever protected me. Even if his methods were inappropriate.

I swallowed nervously and a strangled laugh escaped my mouth. "I'm guessing you know what happened to your friend's jaw."

My father inclined his head and, to my surprise, he smiled. "I was impressed."

"Impressed?" I repeated. "I... um, I assaulted him."

"Not a lot of people have managed to get the drop on Jared," my father said, like it was something people attempted regularly. I couldn't imagine why anyone would try; "Jared" might have been of a slim build, but it was pure muscle. I guessed that was necessary, given his profession.