“No worries young Naomi will brag about her part?” he asked skeptically.
“She has limited information about what she believed was a government op. Plus, she mentioned a possible career in the military. I could provide her with a rec with the local recruiter, if she needs one. If she tattles, well, I’ll go out of my way to paint her a liar.”
“Jesus, Gunderson. I’m happy you’re on my side.”
I smiled. “Now that we’re all open books for each other and shit, spill about your military service, Turnbull.”
Shay gave me the slow, sexy grin that was inappropriate as hell and yet… somehow not. “I thought you would’ve guessed by now, Sergeant Major.”
Then it clicked. “Fuck me. You were a SEAL.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My eyes narrowed. “That’s not all. You were a SEAL sniper.”
“Guilty. But I was out of the teams by the time Operation Iraqi Freedom started. Basically, I was an Indian kid from South Dakota looking to see the world, and I ended up in navy intelligence. After a couple of years of that, I opted to try out for the SEALS. I stayed in the teams for almost a decade. Didn’t reenlist after twelve years and immediately went to Quantico.”
“Impressive.” No wonder he had knowledge of my military background. But I felt a little smug that I outranked him.
“How do you plan to handle this?” he asked.
“I’ll probably have to resign from the FBI. Not only for my, ah, night maneuvers, but if Dawson has a long recovery ahead of him, he’ll need me to take care of him full time. As will Lex. My duties to my family have to come first.”
“I’m not talking about the FBI.”
I met Shay’s intense stare head-on, and yet I had a frisson of fear that this would be the first time I broke an eye lock. “Then what are you talking about?”
“How that situation will affect you. Tracking and killing hasn’t been part of your life since you got out of the service. Yet you’ve killed three people in less than eighteen months. Obviously, those kills are nothing compared to what you racked up as a sniper. But this time
Rather than nod regretfully and blow off his armchair psychiatry, I held his gaze, giving him the honest answer that would haunt me more than leaving Sheldon War Bonnet to die. “You’re wrong. I have no remorse. Nor will I ever wake up in the middle of the night filled with remorse-not in two hours, two days, two weeks, or two months. For a few hours I became that person I’d been trained to be. I did what I was very, very good at. Maybe it wasn’t as easy to slip into that skin as it once was, but I was still able to do it. Then I shed that skin just as soon as I finished with it, just like I always have.” The dark emotions inside me took a little longer to fade than the violent actions I’d taken, but portions had already started to blur.
He continued to stare at me, as if he didn’t believe me. Like this was all an act with me.
It wasn’t. This glimpse I let him see was the truest part of me.
“That bothers you, doesn’t it? That I’m not wallowing in regret. That the reason I’d quit the FBI isn’t out of guilt, but practicality. My life with Dawson is what matters most to me.”
“The sheriff won’t want you to quit, Mercy. We both know that. No matter what happens during his recovery.” He turned away from me. “It’d suck if you quit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Suck for who?”
“It’d suck for me because I’d get stuck with another newbie. Because of your military background, you’re an above-average agent. And you put the pieces together on these cases when no one else could.”
Man, he sucked at flattery. “But it wasn’t because of great detective work. It was dumb luck. Or bad luck. And it’s not like I can tell Shenker or anyone else how I did it or what the final outcome was.”
He lifted a brow. “A good chunk of it was detective work. The rest doesn’t matter. I’ll know how capable you are. And you know it. That should be enough.”
It should be… but would it be?
My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket.
I took it out and recognized the number from the hospital. My heart leaped into my throat. “Gunderson.”
“Hi Mercy, it’s Lisa from the ICU. I wanted to let you know that Mason is awake. The doctors started easing back on his meds about ten last night. By four a.m. he was conscious. He’s been dealing with the neurologist and the physical-therapy folks. He’s been telling everyone he just wants to go home.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up.
Shay was in my face, his eyes that soft gold color I’d only seen a few times. “Mercy, goddammit, I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Dawson is awake.”
He took a step back. “He is? But you’re-”
“Crying. I know. They’re happy tears, Turnbull.” I hugged him. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I’ll pass along the information about the sheriff’s condition. Check in Monday and let us know when to expect you back to work.”
