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“Tools?” I scoffed, taking in the floor to ceiling weapons display. “Tools my ass.”
“A carpenter doesn’t just have one saw. He has many, each with their own purpose, along with other tools that fit each specific job. Our line of work requires a very particular set of tools to get the job done. Sometimes,” he paused, his fingers ghosting over the curves of a sleek crossbow. Its bolts tucked neatly into their quiver, silently awaiting their next mission. “To finish a job, you need to acquire a new tool.”
“Ok. Fine. Tools.” I conceded. His logic, like the rest of him, seemed flawless. “I guess—I never thought of it that way.”
“You’re—well, you’re welcome to–” he started, running his fingers through his hair. The first hint of a nervous habit I’d seen from him.
“What I mean to say is, if you need a weapon, you know where they are.”
“In your bedroom?” I scoffed, arching my brow.
“I’ve never offered to share my weapons with anyone,” he said quietly.
That brought me up short. I hadn’t considered that. It occurred to me that I had never considered sharing my weapons with anyone, either. He’d already given me his Walther and now here he was, offering me access to the rest of his arsenal.
This was clearly an olive branch; one I’d be an idiot not to take. It gnawed at me, though. I still didn’t understand his protection. He didn’t strike me as the type to have a savior complex. So why had he saved me? Twice!
I nodded, deciding the smart move here would be to go along with Rossdale. Someone wanted me dead and for whatever reason, he’d chosen to be my ally.
“You say that now, but this might end up being my favorite place in the house; might be tough getting rid of me.”
He laughed, light and clear, a sound so at odds with the constant mask of irritation he wore the other times we’d met.
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. That and it smells like my favorite gun oil.”
Another deep laugh rumbled in his chest, “fair enough.”
“Come.” he said, giving my elbow a light tug. “There’s something else I wanted to show you before dinner.”
I followed along behind him, my eyes feasting on my surroundings, hoping to glean some insight into my new—companion.
Rich hardwood floors and banisters paired with muted cream walls said he had a healthy respect for tradition. The sparse furniture and lack of decorations told me he wasn’t one who often indulged frivolity of any kind. Interesting.
“Sorry to slow you down.” I said, wrapping my arms around my ribs, forcing out more controlled breaths as we ascended the stairs.
“Shit! Sorry.” he said, freezing, only a few steps from the top, waitingfor me to catch up.
He sighed heavily, turning to face me as I reached the landing. “Look, I’m going to need to use every bit of goodwill I’ve stored up so far and ask you to not kill me in my sleep.”
I managed a weak laugh. “No promises.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up in a small half-smile. “I think I’ll risk it.”
My stomach dropped to the floor as we turned the corner, a petulant whine escaping me before I could even think of holding it back. More stairs.
“I swear it’ll be worth it,” he said, holding his hands up as if he were fending off a rabid raccoon. “You might even like this one more than the arsenal.”
That piqued my curiosity, and I begrudgingly began climbing what I hoped was the final flight of stairs.
Pain lanced through my side, stronger with every step as I climbed the last few nearly vertical stairs. My fingers clawed at the railing, willing myself to remain silent and not show him any more weakness than he’d already seen.
The view from the top was breathtaking. Natural light poured into the expansive loft through the floor to ceiling windows that made up all four walls.
The fading sunlight cast the surrounding landscape in a soft golden glow, beautiful and picturesque. The shifting shadows of the trees and tall grasses added an interesting contrast.
It wasn’t lost on me that Rossdale and I stood here, bathed in the afternoon glow, while there were those working in shadow to destroy us.