He stared down at me, and for a split second I saw a completely unguarded look in his eyes. No. He hadn’t. Not only hadn’t he, this … man, for lack of a better word … who enjoyed killing, was horrified by the thought of it. A terrible tension inside me eased. Breath came more easily. I stayed on the floor, too drained to get back up. There was another of those long, strained silences. I sighed. He took a deep breath. Released it. “I would have given you the guns,” he said finally. “I should have asked for them,” I admitted grudgingly. “But then you probably would have spiked them with
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