“That’s a good name. A strong name.”
“My father was army too. Didn’t make it home from Vietnam.”
“I’m so sorry.” Temperance’s expression turns introspective.
“Thank you.”
Her mouth moves like she’s debating how to ask another question but can’t find the right words.
“You can ask me anything.” When I say it, I’m surprised to find I mean it completely. Whatever Temperance wants to know, I’ll tell her. I’m done keeping secrets.
“How did this all start? What you do? I know that’s not part of the army sniper program. Or is it? Do you work for the government still?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Nowhere but with you.” That’s also the honest truth, so I start at the beginning and tell her about my past.
An hour later, Temperance is staring at me, dumbfounded. “You did this all for your mom? To keep her safe?”
I swallow the lump in my throat that always crops up whenever I think of Ma. I’ve kept close tabs on her over the years through the one person I trust who knows I’m alive—Jeremiah Prather, the owner of Bulletproof, and the one who probably saved my life by calling Mount in—but it’s not the same.
“If you want to get down to it, yes. I loved being a soldier. It was a good life. I loved it. Gave me purpose and a cause. Knowing that I was doing what I did for the greater good. I didn’t care that I could make a better living by pulling the trigger for different reasons.”
She cuddles into my side. “Do you wish you were still in the army? That you’d never walked this path?”
I tighten my arm around her and stroke her arm. “No. Because then I wouldn’t have you.”
21
Temperance
I’m still full of warmth and happiness the next afternoon when we finally make our way back to my apartment. As I lock my Bronco, I realize I haven’t exactly prepared him for my eccentric landlady.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“What?” Kane asks.
“I have a landlady. She’s ... different. To say the least. She doesn’t know much, but she knows I met a guy at the club, so we need a plan for how to introduce you. Who you want me to introduce you as.”
“Use the name we did at the distillery. I used it with enough people that it’s the smartest choice.”
“So you’re going to be Ken Sax to everyone we meet?”
Something dark passes over Kane’s features, and I wonder if he’s thinking about how his stepfather’s actions and his reactions to them stole not just his life from him, but essentially took his entire identity. It must be incredibly hard to never use your real name, so I’m doubly glad he trusted me enough to tell me. He will always be Kane Savage to me, and no one else, regardless of what I need to call him in public.
“For now.”
I want to ask what his answer means, but decide this isn’t the time or the place. As we walk toward the gate that leads from the sidewalk into the courtyard, questions form in my brain.
Is Kane going to try to reclaim his life?His stepfather is dead, but he never said what happened to his dirty DA of a stepuncle or the crooked sheriff.
I’ll save those questions for later.
When we stop in front of the gate and I fish out my keys, I glance over at the small sculpture Kane’s holding that I made this morning for Harriet. It’s a small thank-you for her constant support—not only over the last month, but for as long as I’ve known her.
I think she’s going to like the man and woman I welded together in what is undoubtedly an erotic pose. Anyone else might think this piece is inappropriate to give a seventy-something-year-old woman, but Harriet is special.