“Maybe you’ve rubbed off on me. I never imagined myself an idealist,” Anson confessed at last. “An’ maybe I’ve let vengeance consume me too long,” he added lowly. “I’ve spent a decade burnin’ to get even for my family . . . for Leonor. But you never ‘get even’ for somethin’ like that. No way in hell to find the ones really responsible.” He sighed and looked out to sea, where Tiger was beating back east past the point, a little farther out. “An’ you can’t kill your way out of tryin’,” he murmured. “You only kill your soul, piece by piece.”
