Page 53 of Fresh Old Bounties

Ian wiped all expression off his face. “Stealing. Sure.”

I gasped with comprehension. “You mean a hitman! They take extra jobs as hitmen. Your ex-partner was a hitman?”

Ian raked his hair with one hand, dislodging some locks from the hair tie keeping it gathered back. “Yes.”

The word had come out unwilling and uncomfortable, and I wondered if it was the first time he’d admitted to it out loud. If Ian had been paired with this man right off the bat as soon as he’d joined the bounty hunters. I couldn’t imagine how hard it would’ve been to find that your partner—your mentor for years—had turned out to be a hitman on the side.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been hard for someone else, but for Ian? You could see his righteous streak from a mile away. Just look at how he’d taken care of the strays and given Key a job.

No wonder he was always so prickly when I joked about hitmen.

“Is that how he died?” I asked. “While he was acting as a hitman?”

“Yes.”

The conversation was clearly making him uncomfortable, so I returned to the part that mattered.

“Why would anyone hire a hitman to go after Grandma?”

“I don’t know.”

Horror filled me, and judging from Ian’s sudden tension, it must’ve shown all over my face. “Oh, no.”

He tensed, ready to jump up and come to me, but I lifted a hand to stop him. With the other, I brought out my phone and called Mom.

She picked up fast.

“Hope, honey? What is it? I’m still at work. Did something happen?”

“Mom, how did Grandma die?”

“Grandma?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Why?” Mom sounded confused. “Is it her death’s anniversary? Did I miss something?”

I stifled my impatience. Waiting for others to catch up was an opportunity to take in their feelings and respond in kind, I reminded myself. “You didn’t miss anything, Mom. I just need to check on something, and I wanted to make sure I have my facts straight.”

“Oh, I’m glad. Your grandmother died of a heart attack, honey.” A note of pity entered her voice.

“You’re sure she didn’t die of something else and you didn’t tell me like you didn’t give me her book until I was twenty?”

“You’re still mad over that? It’s been six years!”

“Not mad, Mom. I just want to make sure it was a heart attack and not something worse you didn’t want me to know about. I don’t need to be protected from the truth.”

“It was a heart attack,” she said firmly.

“All right. Thanks, Mom.”

“When are you going to visit?”

“It won’t be for a while. I’m too busy with the shop.”

“You can leave it in your assistant’s hands for a weekend. The world won’t end.”

Mom didn’t know about the probation period, and it was hard explaining it to her. In her world, either you started a business, or you worked for someone else. There was no tryout middle ground. “I’d rather wait a few more months. I’m sorry, Mom. Gotta go.”

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