"For me, yes." She paused. "Do you think I don't know you're capable of violence? You always were. Dare, Jem, Key . . . they're far from saints. So am I."
"What you did was avenge your mom's death. I was never able to do that for Josie."
"Until now," she reminded him.
"You really have no idea who you're up against."
"I do have some idea. He can't be worse than Powell."
He was, in a different way, though. "Landon was a tough taskmaster, but it was better than living with Powell any day of the week."
"What about your mom, Gunner? Mike and Andy didn't know much about her. They said you barely mentioned her."
"I still try to keep her life and death covert, the way she would've wanted it. She was killed when I was twelve. She was an SAS operative and she and Powell crossed paths a few times. I came out of a very brief affair. But she had no other family, didn't want me to have no one if she died. A lot of people never knew what Powell was like, even those who were supposed to be close with him."
There wasn't anything she could really say to make it better, but he gave her credit for trying when she said, "You made it out."
"I guess I did. Lot of backtracking along the way, though. I don't know what the hell she'd think of me. Of what I've done." He paused. "But anything good I've been able to make out of the bad situations Landon put me in . . . well, that was because of her."
Planning the jobs was intense. Each one took anywhere from two to four months of meticulous research. Figuring out the trafficker's next move, predicting his next job. Buying intel without getting him suspicious. Sometimes even infiltrating the inner circle and working a job for them was the only way to get close enough. And sometimes, if it wasn't safe for the women and children Gunner would be looking to save, he would be forced to let an opportunity pass and wait for a prime one.
Because if he couldn't save them from the traffickers outright, he wouldn't risk killing them in an explosion meant for the real criminal. He was painstaking. Brutal. An avenging angel. It was the only way he could justify the greater good.
His mother would say that sometimes in order to do good you had to do bad.
His mother was always so conflicted. Couldn't have been more right. She'd been teaching him lessons, as if she was desperate for him to understand why she did the work she did.
He hadn't understood the full extent until Landon gave him her files. She'd been an SAS-sanctioned assassin, a top spy with a shooter's eye. One of the best there was, one of the best they'd ever had. Even without knowing what she did, he'd learned how to move quietly and stealthily, like a ghost. It was part technique and part genetics, that ability to move though a crowd and no matter how tall or attractive you were, not to be noticed.
She'd done it every day of their lives and somehow pulled him into that magic circle of space. Being with her was exciting. Comforting. How she'd balanced that kind of work and motherhood was summed up by what she told him every time she'd tucked him in and left for work.
"Going to make the world a safer place for you, James," she'd say to him before she went out on a job, even before he had any idea what she did for a living.
He'd done his best over the years to honor her sentiment. "I think she'd hate what I was doing."
"You're wrong. I think she'd completely understand. Everything you've done was to keep doing good. If you weren't under Landon's protection . . ."
He frowned. "Hear yourself? Suddenly you're a Landon fan."
"I'm a Gunner's mom fan," she said.
"Her name was Yolanda. She was awesome, Avery. She made me know we could do what we do and still have kids. She always protected me. She thought putting me with Powell, and giving me a trust fund he knew nothing about that I could access through a lawyer myself, would make me okay."
"Guess we were both raised by strong moms."
"Yeah. She traveled everywhere, but every single summer, we'd spend three months at the beach. All different places and she was there twenty-four-seven. I wasn't in one place long enough for traditional school, but she homeschooled me. And she taught me shit. And she loved me. And that's what I remember the most. She loved me."
"I'm glad you have those memories."
"Me too."
"What I'm not understanding is your loyalty to Landon."
"I didn't say I understood it."
"You believe that he didn't kill Josie?"
"Why wouldn't he admit it? He's got me by the balls. Wouldn't telling me he's taken away someone I loved and trying to kill me keep me in line?"
"You'd think." She stared at him. "Gunner, if he didn't kill Josie, then who did? And if he didn't try to kill me or Billie . . ."
And with that, suddenly they had two problems on their hands. And both were poised to bite them on the ass hard if they didn't run, either straight into danger, guns blazing, or far, far away.
Several hours later, Avery pulled the car up a long, hidden drive toward a pretty, sprawling house in Tennessee set on acres of land.
He obviously hired someone to look after it, because the landscaping and the inside of the house were spotless.
It was also hard-wired with security to rival Gunner's place in New Orleans.
"I'm cautious," was all he said when he caught her looking. Her heart tugged a little when he said that, and she put a hand on his shoulder as he punched in some codes and alarmed the place around them.
They were in their own little bubble now, a fortress where they could presumably relax and try to regain some of the ground they might've lost.
"Jem's flight took off. No issues, according to him," she said after checking her phone.
He snorted. "Bullshit. With Jem, there are always complications. He's a walking issue."
"He seems to like it that way."
"It works for him, I guess. Come on, let's see what I can make us for dinner."
She followed him into the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, her stomach suddenly growling for attention.
"I've got stuff to make us dinner here. Tomorrow, I'll bring in fresh supplies." He rifled through the freezer. "Got steaks. We'll do rice. Fuck the vegetables."
"Sounds like a plan."
Jem would arrive tomorrow. If anyone was following him, they'd be off his trail. She was worried about him and her life would always be one big worry from now on. She'd resigned herself to that fact the second she'd decided to go after Gunner and bring him home.
Home.
They were halfway there. "Let me help."
He snorted. "You don't cook, remember?"
"I can do . . . things."
"Yeah, baby, I know all about those things." His drawl deepened and he patted her on the ass. "You'd better go rest and let me get you fed."
Her stomach growled in answer.
"Go," he insisted. Tossed her an apple, which she crunched into as she walked through his house. She didn't have time for a complete tour, but she walked in and out of each room. She could see why Gunner came here to recover. It was the opposite of the shop in New Orleans. This was pure, masculine comfort. Down-home country, couches and beds that could lull you into the most peaceful easy feeling, and she found herself flipping through an old sketch pad that was next to the big bed.
There were some self-portraits. With the first ones, he hadn't drawn any tattoos on his neck. But as she got deeper into the sketchbook, they began to emerge. She could see the pattern of his re-creation happening before her eyes.
The final self-portrait in the book showed him from the waist up. He'd had a full sleeve by then. She recognized the specific pattern of twists and turns down his left arm, had spent nights memorizing them, mostly when he wasn't looking. But it was the one before that, of the woman with the secret smile that had a mouth that looked just like Gunner's, that held her interest.
She finally put the book down when she smelled the steaks cooking, the scent drifting through the open window. She stripped, went into the big master bath and showered, letting the tension of the past days and the road trip wash away with the hot water. Then she pulled on some comfortable clothes and padded into the kitchen in time to help him set the table.
The scent from the steaks on the grill drifted through the open sliding glass door, and she breathed in deeply. It had been months since she'd had a home-cooked meal. And being cooked for by Gunner was something she feared might never happen again.
But here they were, playing house. Pushing aside everything and everyone else for just a tiny bit of normalcy that they both ultimately deserved. And when they finally sat down at the table, it was hot seasoned steaks and rice and cold beers. Perfection.
"Did your mom cook?" he asked.
"You mean, did she teach me how?" she teased, and he laughed. "She tried, but I had no interest in learning."
"Why am I not surprised?" he muttered.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
"So she ran a business, cooked and cleaned and all that good stuff? Like a real mom?"
That made her laugh again. "Yeah, like a real mom. God, I miss her."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to stir that up."
She reached out, touched his cheek for a second. "Don't be. It's a nice memory. I grew up watching Mom kick some serious butt, verbally and physically."
"And you learned that shit well."
"Knew it would come in handy one day." She paused. "She would've really liked you."
"Maybe. I have a feeling she would've kicked my ass from here to the bayou, though." He ate some of his rice and then asked, "How'd she get into bounty-hunting to begin with?"
"She inherited the business from her parents, who inherited it from their parents. All on my mom's side."
"Makes sense why she'd be drawn to Darius."
"See, and I always thought the opposite. She should've known enough to stay away from the bad boy."
He gave a short laugh. "You haven't figured out by now that she liked bounty-hunting because it involved bad boys? Come on, now, Avery. Why do you think you took to all of this so easily?"
She wanted to say survival, but he was right. There was more to it than that.
Chapter Thirteen.
Gunner took a drink from a longneck, letting the taste of the bitter beer mix with the home cooking. Two perfect flavors that went together. He watched her enjoying her food, tried to picture her working bounties, counseling criminals.
"Do you think you'd still be doing it, if none of this had happened?"
She stabbed a bite of steak, put it in her mouth and hummed around it. Held up a finger like he was interrupting a religious experience.
Yeah, he so totally fucking loved her. Had from day one. There was no backing out. He knew better. He could no more have walked away from Josie. It wasn't something to think about. It just was.
And he'd never thought it could happen again. But it had. And if he'd learned anything from Josie, and he had, it was that you didn't walk away from a gift. Especially one that chased your ass down.
She'd actually started in on his steak. "What? You're just sitting there all 'thinking.'" She waved the fork in a circular motion in front of his face. "And I need sustenance."
"Don't let me stand in your way."
"You won't," she assured him. "Mmmm, so good."
He knew what she meant. He'd been wandering and eating, of course, but not really enjoying food. It had been fuel. Now, in a calm place, back where he belonged, things had begun to have taste again.
But the worst wasn't over.
"You've got that thinking of bad things face," she told him.
"I don't have a face like that."
"You definitely do." She speared more of his steak on his fork. "Okay, to answer your question, if none of this had happened, I would've gone into the bounty business in the town I was born in. Exciting maybe five percent of the time and the rest was paperwork. Talking. Making connections."
She paused. "Of course, I would've taken that life for things not to have taken the turn they did. Horrible things shouldn't be the only things that force us into action."
He wanted to agree, but most people got and stayed comfortable, if not happy. And although he'd been through hell, being trapped and unhappy was something he didn't want.
"You know, sometimes I'm angry with Mom," she continued. "It's like she'd hidden a huge part of me from me."
"You don't think that part would've come out eventually?"
"It was always there, Gunner. Knowing that the way I felt was normal for whose kid I was. That made all the difference. Meeting Dare and learning about Darius made everything make sense."
He stared at her as her words sank in. "Right. You're born into something and you can't escape what you've become."
Her knife and fork clattered to her plate. "Gunner, Christ, that's not what I meant."
"It might not be what you meant, but it's what you said."