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Or that he should get in touch with her. Even now, telling her the sanitized version of his past was a lot for her to take in. She looked dazed. He’d lived it and he still had trouble believing it had happened.

“What happened to your father?” she asked. “Is he still behind bars?”

“He’s dead. Died in a prison fire.”

Burned beyond recognition, he thought. Bart had been identified using dental records. A hell of a way to go, Justice thought, still aware that he felt nothing for the old man. Nothing except relief he was gone.

The question of how much of his father lived within him wasn’t anything he was going to discuss with her. That was for the late nights when he was alone and the shadows pressed in. Patience wasn’t a part of that. She was light to his dark, and he didn’t want that to change.

“My head is spinning,” she admitted, then put down her coffee. “You know what’s really twisted? I’m actually still more surprised that you were eighteen when I thought you were sixteen than the fact that you were in a witness protection program because your father wanted you dead. I think that means there’s something wrong with me. I apologize for that.”