Page 119 of My Beautiful Sin

His face goes hard. “No. My people had nothing to do with his assassination.”

“Oh.” I’m surprised, but it’s not as if he and his team can take out every bad guy. “Okay. Tell me this—when you say it’s self-sufficient…” I trail off, gathering my thoughts. “I thought you weren’t a gun for hire.”

“We’re not. We step in when it seems necessary. Like Bell. Like Myers. But we don’t advertise and we don’t solicit. You’re not going to find us on Yelp.”

I take a sip of my bourbon as I roll my eyes. “Then where is the income coming from?”

“Those jobs weren’t sanctioned, but we do take assignments from the government on occasion. Sometimes through private referrals as well. And we’re paid well when we do, especially since part of the price includes the risk.”

“Risk?”

He lifts his glass, then swirls the liquid. “The government jobs come with full deniability.”

“They toss you to the wolves if you’re caught.”

“Which is why we don’t get caught.”

“How many. How often?”

“Maybe a dozen operations a year. Sometimes I’m in the field. Sometimes not.” He meets my eyes. “Most of the time, I’m exactly what I seem to be. A wealthy man running a charitable foundation.”

My mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty. I run my hands over my jeans, then draw a breath as I look at him. “And the rest of the time you’re a killer.”

“I prefer sniper. Vigilante has a nice ring, too.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

His expression hardens. “Never.” He leans forward. “I told you I had secrets, Ellie. I made that perfectly clear.”

“You did,” I agree. “And you told me you loved me.”

“I do love you,” he says. “Probably more than you’ll ever truly know.”

“When you showed me Devlin, you said you were trusting me with the truth of who you really are. But you never did. Not really.”

“No.”

“You stayed silent,” I continue. “You dangled the promise of a future in front of us, knowing full well that one day the gauntlet would fall.”

He draws in a breath, then nods. “Yes.”

For a moment, I simply sit there, soaking up the ramifications of that single word. Then I stand. “Thank you for being honest now.”

He rises, too. “Ellie.” He reaches for me, but I stay perfectly still, and he pulls his hand back, then slips it into his pocket. “I don’t want to lose you.”

I drop my gaze, my attention on the pattern in the hardwood floor. Only when I’m sure that I’ve erased all expression from my face do I lift my head. But I say nothing.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“I won’t turn you in for what you’ve done,” I tell him. “I understand your code, but it’s not mine.”

“For what I’ve done,” he says. “Not for what I will do.”

I stay silent, because the truth is, I don’t know what to say or how to feel. Right now, it’s taking all my effort to stand here and not cry. To see past this minute into the one after it, and the one after that until I’m out the door and can breathe freely. Anything beyond that is a blur.

“And what about us?” His words are level, but I hear the emotion buried beneath them, and I force myself not to cry as I meet his eyes.

“Like I said, your code isn’t mine.”