Not yet prepared to look her in the eyes, Jesse slowly raked a hand through his hair.
Hell, he’d struggled to get the words out when he confessed to A.J., and that hadn’t gone very well. How was Ella going to react when he spit out that he’d been a hitman for the CIA?
A.J. hadn’t wanted him to say anything yet, but the truth had to come out.
Rip the Band-Aid off. Make it quick. “You’re in danger because of me,” he said as fast as possible. “Well, most likely. Because of my old job.” He swallowed. “Someone might target you to hurt me.”
“I . . .”
Jesse forced his focus to her face. Backlit by the nearby stable lights, Ella was surrounded by an ethereal glow, and her blonde hair appeared to float around her delicate heart-shaped face. She looked like an angel.
“I don’t understand. You’ve been out of the Army for a while.” She shook her head and took a small step closer, nearly within arm’s reach. “Why would someone use me to hurt you?”
“No, not because of the Army.” He did his best to keep his gaze steady with hers. “I, um, worked for the CIA after the Army. Taking assignments here and there over the years, but I’m out now.”
“CIA?” she whispered.
Could he leave out the hitman part? For now, maybe.
She looked toward the stables. “Are you for real?”
“I was forbidden to tell anyone. I’m sorry.” The excuse was legit, but it felt lame coming from his mouth.
“Okay, so a case you once worked for the CIA now has me in danger?” She spoke as if she were talking through her thoughts to truly comprehend them.
“The target of one of my old cases will most likely be coming for me. His wife died, but he managed to survive. And the CIA believes he’ll procure my identity and target you as payback.”
That had Ella’s attention, and she quickly took two steps away from him. “You killed this man’s wife?”
His stomach banded tight at the distance she placed between them. “No, but he thinks I did.”
“Why?” Her brows drew together as she waited for answers he wasn’t sure he knew how to provide.
“Because I was the one who shot him, and she was walking right alongside him. But there was a second shooter there to take her out, which wasn’t part of the plan. I took a clean shot. Only hit the guy. We couldn’t track down who killed her though.”
One deep breath later, she murmured, “You were sent to kill him. Like a . . .”
He nodded, saving her from having to say the word out loud.
She took another step back, and it may as well have been a mile.
“So the man didn’t die, but his wife did. And he’ll want me dead because of it,” Ella repeated as if trying to grasp the situation. “Why would the CIA think he’d pick me to target? We’re not together.”
Jesse looked up at the sky and searched for the moon, his breath floating in the chilled night air. “If this man does send someone to our town, there’s only one name people around here will say if asked who they think I . . .” His chest tightened, and he set a hand there. “He may not know my identity yet. Maybe never will. But he’s begun taking out those responsible for the shooting that day. And killing their wives as retribution.” He found her eyes again, discovering she was now a good six feet away. Too far for him to read her expression, but based on the distance, she didn’t want to be close to him. Probably ever again. He’d feared that if Ella knew the truth, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. It appeared his fears were justified.
But he didn’t have time to dissect how that made him feel. Not with her in danger.
“I can’t take the chance he won’t learn my name and come for you. I’ll do my best to find him first. Falcon will help. We’ll also have access to your brother’s connections. We won’t let anything happen to you.” His heart squeezed a bit tighter, but he ignored the gripping feeling in his chest and allowed his hand to fall like dead weight to his side.
“What does this mean for me? You’re not suggesting I put my life on hold because some madman out there may or may not come for us, are you?” she asked in a soft, almost tepid voice, which wasn’t the norm for her. “You can’t ask me to give up Paris because of your past. I—I won’t. Not without proof that this person knows your name. Knows my name.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead.
“Ella.” He had no clue what he’d say next, but he was afraid she was on the verge of taking off like she’d done on the horse earlier.
She lowered her hand and shook her head. “I’m going to Paris. My brother can assign someone from his security firm to protect me. But I’m not turning my back on this opportunity because someone maybe knows your name and will maybe come for me.” And there was that stubborn sass. She held both hands up. “Plus, I shouldn’t be here if there is a maybe chance I’m a danger to everyone around me. My niece and nephew. My students. Parents. All the more reason for me to go to Paris.”
“I don’t think you understand. Me not helping you isn’t up for discussion.” Regardless of what A.J. had said.
The idea of her running around Paris with one security guard was insane. Ella could hate him, but she wouldn’t die for him. And he’d put his foot down in that regard. He’d overrule her stubbornness, right along with A.J.’s
“I’m not waiting around in some safe house for some psychopath to maybe come find me.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“You can’t stay here, you’re right. But Paris is out of the question.”
Ella’s fluid movements toward him caught him by surprise, but he resisted snatching her wrists when she lifted both fists and set them to his chest as if prepared to strike, but as with her brother, the punches didn’t come. She just set them there, her stubborn jawline strained as she clearly struggled to deal with her emotions.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Sorry doesn’t come close to cutting it.” She sniffled and looked up at him, her hands still clenched against his chest while his arms hung awkwardly at his sides. He did his best not to hold her, to try and console her, because he knew that’d be the last thing she’d want. “You were a hitman for the CIA. And if anyone I care about dies because of what you did, I’ll kill you myself.”
“I know,” he said, and damn did the woman sound just like A.J.
Unable to stop himself, he reached up and gripped her elbows.
“You can’t keep me from going to Paris, Jesse.” Ella pulled free of his touch and dragged the backs of her hands across her cheeks. He’d expected punches, not tears. And he would have rather been hit than see her cry. “I won’t live in fear for weeks or months,” she said around a sniffle. “Or however long it takes this guy to maybe put two and two together that you shot him.”
“I might know a way to get you out of this mess, but I still don’t want you off in Europe with a psycho on the loose,” Jesse said when the thought struck him. “I’ll marry someone. Fake marry, I mean. Within the next week,” he added, talking through the idea. “Someone with operational experience who’s willing to be bait to lure this guy out on our own timetable.”