from New York or Los Angeles would ride the shadows to where he was. He would never see the rider, or even know he was there. The rider uses a technique, breaking the neck cleanly, so there is no suffering. That is why it is important not to allow it to be personal if at all possible. You always want the visit to be about justice, not revenge.”
His heart pounded. This was the moment he could lose her. He was very aware of her stillness. She didn’t move. His hands cupped her breasts and yet he was barely able to feel the rise and fall of that soft weight. He didn’t say a word. Not yet. She needed to think about what he’d said. Weigh it in her mind. Make her decision. If it went against him, if she compared what he was to what Haydon was—and it was very possible—he would attempt to defend himself then.
He closed his eyes, rested his chin on top of her hair and breathed evenly to keep himself centered. He was asking so much of Grace. Every time he turned around, he was asking just a little more of her, when their relationship was so new. He had no choice, or he would have waited, but she couldn’t marry him and come fully into the family until she accepted what he was. He couldn’t change the fact that he’d been born a rider. Worse, if she accepted him and agreed to marry him, he would still have to tell her that their children would be trained as riders. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want that life for them.
“If I had known about your family and the possibility of stopping him, I might have been able to save lives.”
Her voice broke his heart. He tightened his arms around her, although he couldn’t help the surge of relief pouring into him. “Grace, you didn’t know about us and you are in no way responsible for any lives Haydon Phillips took. You did your best to protect those around you, so much so that you sacrificed your own quality of life.” He brushed kisses in her hair and over her temple.
“I don’t know if it’s wrong or not,” she mused. “Taking justice into one’s hands is considered vigilante work, but . . .” She trailed off. “I honestly don’t know if it’s wrong. Even if the cops suspect Haydon, how do they find proof? He’s so smart and he can be anyone. He plays his roles so well. As for finding him, where would you start? I’ve tried to question him about parts of the city or coffee shops, or just anything to give me an idea of where he might be, but I’ve never even gotten close. He has more than one house he lives in, with more than one family. It’s so creepy and I worry about the children in the homes all the time.”
“Does he always choose a home with children?”
“Yes. If there’s a teenage boy, I really worry. Simple things can trigger his anger. Dwayne Mueller, the biological son of the foster parents who were so terrible, used to do terrible things to us. If a boy were to remind Haydon of Dwayne in any way, I know he would retaliate against him. The boy might just simply get in a fight with his sibling as kids do.”
Vittorio felt the little shiver that ran through her and he nuzzled her neck and shoulder in an effort to comfort her.
“I wouldn’t be horrified to learn Haydon was dead. I might be horrified to learn that you were the one who killed him.”
He closed his eyes. “Why is that?”
“I don’t like the idea of you doing dangerous things, and clearly riding shadows is very hazardous and risky. And you have to live with what you do. Killing other human beings can’t be easy, whether it’s personal or not.”
He could tell by her tone that she was still puzzling things out in her mind. Trying to decide if what he did was right or wrong. He could tell her there was no answer to that, but she would have to come to that conclusion on her own. At least she wasn’t condemning him out of hand. She hadn’t compared him to Haydon and that was his greatest fear.
She reached a hand back behind her to hook around his neck. “You scare me a little, Vittorio. You lead a difficult life no one knows about.