“So,” Caitlín says, interrupting my musings. “How long have you worked for Uncle Carrick? I don’t remember seeing you the last time I was here.”
Not sure what she hopes to gain, I answer her question. “A little over ten years.”
“How come I never met you until yesterday?”
I cast a quick glance in her direction. “Have you met every person that works for your uncle, then?”
“All the ones he trusts enough to babysit,” Caitlín retorts.
“Obviously not,” I say drily.
“What do you do for him, exactly?”
My fingers tighten their grip around the steering wheel. I’ve never hidden what I do. Then why am I so hesitant to tell her? I keep my mouth shut.
She pivots in her seat to face me. “You must be the one who tortures and kills people for him, then. You remind me of my best friend’s brother-in-law, Pierce. He’s got the same ice-cold demeanor as you and that’s what he does.”
I force myself not to flinch at her description. Ice-cold. I’ve certainly been called worse, I suppose. Still, I’m not sure I like Caitlín having that impression of me. It’s for the best, though. She should understand the type of man I am. A killer. Maybe that will keep her from pushing me too far. Not that I’d ever hurt her. But a bit of fear never hurt anyone.
“How many men have you killed?”
As if that’s a question I’m going to answer.
“I almost killed someone once,” she says with extreme nonchalance after the silence continues.
My head snaps in Caitlín’s direction. She laughs the same glorious laugh from five years ago. The one that held me riveted. That drew me in. It’s the one that makes her whole being light up.
“You should see the expression on your face.” She cackles and then mimics bugged eyes and open mouth.
My lips flatten and I turn back to the road. I didn’t look like that.
“Seriously, though, I kind of sort of almost did.”
I assume this is another one of her games. To say something this outrageous so I’m forced to feed my curiosity. Because, damn it, I am curious. Fine, I’ll bite. “Who did you almost, kind of sort of, kill?”
Caitlín waves her hand around. “Some Polish guy. I would have got him, too, if Jack hadn’t screeched like a girl and thrown off my aim.”
If I remember correctly, he’s her eldest brother. “Where and when did this happen?”
“About four years ago, on a raid.”
Who the hell lets a twenty-year-old girl put herself in that kind of danger? “Your family let you go on a raid?”
She snorts. “Of course they didn’t. I snuck in.”
That makes more sense. No wonder I’ve been assigned this job and what Carrick meant when he says Caitlín is reckless and needs protection from herself. It does put her in a new light though. Maybe she’s not as innocent as I’ve assumed all this time.
She swivels again in her seat and her attention turns to our surroundings. A desire to get to know her rises up, but I squash that idea. It’s best to keep my distance. I can’t help but sneak a few glances in her direction though. At the way her dress rides up to mid-thigh exposing creamy porcelain skin. The barest hint of cleavage that’s just enough to make a man wish for more.