Page 86 of Fresh Old Bounties

I gestured at his face. “You’re extra-extra stony.”

His scowl deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Relax. Nobody is going to blame you for these.”

He slapped the folder on his lap closed and reached for another one. “I know.”

Uncertainty gripped me. Should I press further or let him deal with his feelings on his own? Ian was wearing Do Not Trespass signs all over his person, but I wasn’t sure if I was included in the general population or if I’d earned a special pass yet. I thought I had, but maybe he needed to work on some things on his own before welcoming any more of my advice.

I’d give him five minutes, then try again.

But as I checked the files for hints at what might’ve drawn Mystery Man beyond Grandma’s file, the enormity of the situation really started to sink in.

Ian’s ex-partner had been a hitman for a long time. He had killed several people. For a lot of money. And still, he hadn’t stopped taking jobs. He had been a career hitman, not a one-and-done. He had only stopped when he had died.

Died…at someone’s hands? One of his targets? Whoever had hired him afraid he might spill the beans? Or…

An icy fist encased my insides as I turned toward Ian.

The number of folders in his lap had changed, his position, the hardness in his face hadn’t.

Oh, good Mother Earth. The rumors were right. Ian did get his ex-partner killed.

Because he had killed him himself.

“You stopped him. Your ex-partner,” I said, my voice soft and free of judgment.

He stilled but said nothing.

“You discovered what he was doing on the side,” I continued, voicing my theory. “You discovered and put a stop to it.”

Ian kept his gaze trained on the folder in his lap. His jaw sawed back and forth, and still he said nothing. He didn’t need to.

I reached over again. “Ian…”

He didn’t move at my touch, and part of me was glad of it. He was so tense he might break like a twig if he tried to.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“It was my job.”

“A self-bounty, huh?” I asked, trying to lighten up the mood.

A deep silence followed my words, making me wish I’d lightened myself into a hole rather than having said anything. Ian’s expression became so hard, the look in his eyes so distant, that my heart broke into a million shards.

Moving across the sofa, I transferred the files in his lap to the table. Holding his face with my hands, I forced him to look at me.

“I’m not judging you. You did what you had to do. He couldn’t be allowed to continue.”

Paranormal justice was harsh and swift.

The tension in Ian finally broke. With a big exhale, he blinked and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yes.”

I couldn’t begin to imagine having to kill my own mentor. A memory of Bagley complaining about my magical ineptitude from a tarot set on the bookshelf burst into my mind.

On second thought, yes. I could imagine very well.

---