Chapter 45
45:
Dylan moved instantly, seizing Morse’s hand in a firm, commanding grip before Morse could shake hands with Christina—just enough to make his authority crystal clear.
“Take a seat. We’ll discuss this calmly,” he said.
Morse registered the force in Dylan’s handshake, his curiosity deepening at Dylan’s unusually tense manner. Something about the woman at the center of all this had clearly rattled Dylan.
Morse was mildly intrigued. Having been friends with Dylan for years, this marked the first time Dylan had personally requested his services as a psychiatrist. For a woman, no less. It signaled something out of the ordinary. This wasn’t just another patient. There was a hidden story here.
Unaware of the charged silence between the two men, Christina stepped forward with an easy confidence. “I am Christina Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Dylan’s features stayed carved in stone. Gesturing toward Morse, he offered a brief, cold explanation. “He’s a psychiatrist. One of the best around. I brought him here for you.”
Her surprise was evident. “A psychiatrist? For me? That’s… I don’t really think it’s necessary.”
Most people might have welcomed the suggestion, but Christina saw no need. After all, in the secretive underworld, she had earned her reputation as the most formidable assassin alive—her name whispered with fear and awe among mercenaries everywhere. Despite her legend, no one had ever discovered who she really was. All anyone could say was that she never failed—a perfect record with every assignment completed, no exceptions. Her missions bordered on the impossible, yet she tackled each one with unmatched precision and calm.
From continent to continent, her legend had grown, and she had become the subject of awe among a hidden legion of admirers. Should her true identity ever come to light, the resulting frenzy wouldn’t just electrify her followers—it would ripple through the world itself.
Inevitably, envy followed fame. An exposure of her identity would undoubtedly draw every rival assassin, each one hungry to take her down for the title of the world’s best. After all, toppling a legend is the quickest way to become one.
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The way Christina deflected the idea of therapy only reinforced what Dylan and Morse suspected: her mind had likely built walls to keep her from reliving the blood-soaked memories of her past.
A silent exchange passed between the two men, their brows furrowing slightly. In their minds, whatever facade Christina presented, her emotional state must be anything but ordinary. It seemed as though she’d locked away all her pain and fear, unable—or unwilling—to let herself feel.
“He’s here now. Humor him, will you?” Dylan’s tone gentled, a rare hint of persuasion coloring his words. “You two just chat for a bit. If it gets to be too much, we’ll stop right away.”
“Yeah, I made the trip. You wouldn’t want to break my heart by rejecting me, would you?” Morse chimed in, hoping to lift the tension a little.
That finally drew a laugh from Christina. She decided there was no harm in humoring them—she’d sit through the session, at least for now. Otherwise, it wouldn’t take long before these two sharp-eyed men started unraveling the discreet identities she’d worked so hard to bury. Her acting talents kicked in as she let out a small, hesitant sigh.
“Honestly, I just feel bad that Dylan has rescued me, and now here I am, troubling you both with my problems.”
“It’s no trouble at all. You’ve helped me so much. It’s only right that I take good care of you.” Dylan met her gaze, his voice steady, his face unreadable.
Morse chimed in with easy warmth, “What matters is that you’re okay. You were a huge part of Chloe’s recovery—helping you now is the least I can do.”
Christina glanced down, her lashes fluttering as tears gathered in her eyes, her acting purposely exaggerated. “Thank you, truly. You’ve both shown me more kindness than I deserve.”
Seeing the sudden shimmer in her eyes, Dylan felt a strange, tight ache in his chest—something he couldn’t quite explain.
To change the mood, Morse leaned in with a grin. “Miss Jones, I’ve heard you’re a crack shot. How about a friendly shooting match someday?”
That did the trick—Christina’s spirits perked up. “Deal! But if I miss, you’re not allowed to tease me.”
“Why would I tease you?” Morse replied, chuckling. “Since you can outshoot Dylan, you’ve already got more skill than I’ll ever have.” He threw in a wink. “Besides, even if you miss, I bet you’d still win against me.”
“Well, I’ve seen some surprises on the range before.” A wide grin split Christina’s face.
Their conversation drifted on for a while, laughter cutting through the earlier tension, until Christina rose and followed Morse into the study to begin her session.
Restlessly, Dylan paced the hallway outside the study, feeling as if every minute stretched into an eternity. Had it not been for the rule that therapy should be private, he would have charged in long before.
Images of Christina, pale and petrified in the aftermath of that grisly scene, haunted Dylan with every step. The memory left his chest aching for reasons he couldn’t quite name. He had no doubt that the horror she’d witnessed had rattled her to the core.
The ticking clock only made Dylan’s nerves worse, and impatience gnawed at him as he waited. Just as he considered knocking, the study door swung open unexpectedly. He found himself face-to-face with Christina. Red-rimmed eyes and puffy lids told the whole story—she’d been crying.
A sharp ache sliced through Dylan’s heart, his frown deepening with worry. Tears from a single session? That didn’t sit right with him. His voice dropped to a wintry chill as he pinned Morse with a glare. “What happened in there?”
Morse, unruffled but keenly aware of Dylan’s hostility, answered evenly, “Sometimes, feelings have to come out. With regular sessions, she’ll be back to herself in a few months.”
A storm brewed behind Dylan’s eyes. Morse could practically feel the fury simmering beneath the surface. Never had he seen anyone so emotionally rattled—Dylan looked ready to tear the world apart for her.
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