Page 61 of The Savior

His eyebrows arched. “Either way, I didn’t expect to work out in jeans.”

She waited, eyes wide, for him to explain what he needed. Here went nothing. He hoped she didn’t try to gut him when the conversation was done.

“A few years ago, I worked a job where someone’s loved one, his daughter, died.”

Liam had likely already said too much. That was more than he’d shared with Chance. But, he hoped, Chelsea had to have at least some level of security clearance.

“After a few years,” he continued, “the person who was hurt—” He was being too vague. “For conversation’s sake, we can call him…”

“Fred,” she offered.

Random, but he’d take it. “Fred,” Liam repeated. “A few years after Fred’s daughter died—”

“How’d she die?”

“During an op.” He wouldn’t give specifics. She needed distance and deniability.

“She was killed,” Chelsea confirmed.

He nodded.

“Friendly or enemy?”

He thought about the lines that they were already going to cross if she helped him. “Enemy.”

Chelsea took that in then unhooked her arms from her legs to sit cross-legged in the chair.

“Fred gained access to a list of people involved in the operation where his daughter died. For the last few years, Fred has planned and carried out his revenge.”

Liam paused for a question, but she didn’t ask any.

“He’s targeting the loved ones of the people on that list,” he continued.

“Are you on that list?” she asked quietly.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Chelsea pressed her lips together then tilted her head. “Julia?”

Again, he nodded. His chest ached as if an anvil were pinning him to the couch. “Yeah. She was killed to hurt me.”

Her dark eyes grew glassy, but she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. Finally, Chelsea asked, “That’s why you think I won’t talk to you again?”

“Why would you?” he asked.

She didn’t dispel his concern, but the color faded from her face and her head angled toward her lap. Damp hair curtained from the side of her cheeks, masking what little her expression might show.

Julia had died because of him, and now Chelsea knew the ugly truth. She knew how unfair her death had been, knew that because of his actions, everyone had suffered. Their loss was because of him—as simple as that.

She stood, emotion tight on her face. Her fists hung limply by her side as she stalked to the couch and towered a foot away.

Liam held his breath. Whatever she had to say, whatever blame she forced him to hold, he deserved it.

Chelsea dropped, nearly sitting on her ankles, and hovered in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” He didn’t understand and jerked back.

She wobbled, off balance by his quick move, and slapped her hand on his knee to steady herself. He covered her hand with his. His other one caught her shoulder.

---