Page 85 of Fresh Old Bounties

“Yes.”

“Or maybe it does have something to do with the spellbook. They offered a lot of money in the call, and if they know your ex-partner was involved in that bounty, they might suspect there’s more information about it in his files. Or information about other equally expensive items. Breaking into a bounty hunter’s house is a huge risk, especially one with your reputation. I’m thinking there is something in those files worth the risk. We should take a second look.”

Ian sipped his coffee, his expression closed down. When he put the mug down, his jaw clenched, and he gave me a stiff nod of agreement, which took me by surprise.

I already knew about his ex-partner turning out to be a hitman, so why was he still so tense?

TWENTY

Ian insisted we wash my muddy clothes, so I dressed in one of his T-shirts and sweats, which were giant on me. They smelled of him too, and it took a monumental effort not to sniff them the whole time I sat on the living-room couch while he brought up the box of files.

He dumped the box on the floor between us and sat on the other corner of the couch. He picked up the first file and opened it on his lap, checking the contents with an intent expression.

We were doing this like ripping off a Band-Aid, then. No need for small talk or splashing some water on your chest, just straight jumping into the pool.

I picked up the second file rather than a random one, assuming they were in some sort of order and that he’d like to keep it that way, and opened it.

An old man’s mugshot was clipped to the inside of the cover in the same way my grandma’s photo had been. He didn’t look kind like Grandma, though. He looked mean and dangerous and like he stole candy from small children. The folder contained photos of a couple of houses, an old car, and several pages of information, including a receipt of payment. The amount made me gasp, and I looked at Ian.

He was sitting straight like an arrow, a muscle on his jaw working as he scanned his own folder.

Swallowing hard, I returned my attention to the folder. Knowing Ian’s ex-partner had been a hitman was one thing, but seeing the proof was another. And there was no way anyone paid this much money for something other than an assassination.

My first instinct was to drop the folder on the coffee table like it was scalding, badly brewed tea, but I forced myself to skim the rest of the papers. We were searching for a connection and a motive beyond Grandma’s spellbook, and if Ian’s ex-partner had killed a family member—a parent or grandparent—of Mystery Man, revenge might be a powerful motivator. It would be for me.

There were no mentions of the man’s family in the pages, or anything other than his job, where he lived, and a map of a town with different spots circled in red. Dumping grounds? Would Grandma’s file have looked like this if Ian’s ex-partner had taken the hit to the end?

That brought up an interesting question.

I left the folder on the table and picked up the next. A woman in her forties this time, polished and ready to take on the world with a smug look in her eyes that suggested she might’ve already done it. There was information about her daily goings, her job, the paranormal club she frequented, a map, and the receipt for payment for a similar eye-watering amount of money.

“Grandma’s file doesn’t have a receipt,” I said, checking another file.

“No.”

“Does that mean the job got cut short?”

“Probably.”

I shuddered, not daring to think about what might’ve happened if it hadn’t. “How come?”

Ian didn’t answer, leaving me to work it out on my own. Maybe the person who hired Duncan had changed his mind and canceled the hit, or had run out of funds, as Ian had suggested before.

The next file came with a photo of a piece of jewelry instead of a person. So Duncan had acted as a thief as well as a hitman. That was good to know. I wasn’t sure of why, but maybe part of me still held hope that Ian’s ex-partner hadn’t been all bad, for Ian’s sake if anything else.

But the next folder was another obvious murder-for-hire. An alpha this time, caught in both his human and wolf shapes. This one had cost nearly double the others, and I wondered if this was why the twins had gone at Hutton on their own rather than waste the money on a professional hitman. If they’d been less stingy, Hutton might dead now and Olmeda’s pack territory sold for a nice profit and divided up to build modern condos.

I glanced at Ian again. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Hadn’t moved from the first file he’d taken.

Reaching over, I touched his forearm. It felt hard and unyielding under my fingertips, tension thrumming beneath his skin.

“There’s no shame in having an ex-partner like this. Or in him being your mentor. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I’m not ashamed.”

“You’re something.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m not.”

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