Page 80 of Dead Drift

“You two are serious?” her dad asked, gesturing back toward Declan’s retreating form.

She couldn’t believe her father was taking an interest in her life. Or perhaps he was just assessing the situation as he always did—trying to determine the dynamics of the relationships of those around him, and summing people up.

“Yes,” she said.

“I see.” He rocked back on his heels.

She waited for him to condemn her. Declan was far from Jewish.

“He appears to be a good man.”

She gaped at him. Had he just given a sign of approval for a choice in her life?

“Does he take care of you, treat you well?” he asked, shuffling his feet.

She narrowed her eyes. Was her dad nervous?

“Yes, he does, but I also know—”

“How to take care of yourself,” he finished for her.

And for that, she had to give him credit. Being the only child of a Mossad agent, she’d been taught self-defense and combat skills from a young age. She’d always assumed it was because he wanted a son . . . but perhaps, just perhaps, he’d worked her so hard because he loved her?

He’d never showed signs of affection, but maybe he felt them all the same, or maybe she was reading far more into his questions than existed.

“Yes. You taught me well,” she finally said.

“You were a spirited learner, a fierce fighter for such a little thing.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He had trained her every day he was home, save the Sabbath—and instructed her to practice two hours a day every day, save the Sabbath.

“I wanted to make you strong.”

And I wanted to be loved.

“You always had such a soft heart,” he continued.

“That’s not a weakness.”

He frowned. “You believe I viewed it as one?”

“You said I was little, gentle—that I needed to learn to be strong.”

“Yes. You were already gentle. I wanted you to be strong too. To be both strong and gentle.”

“What?” Shock radiated through her. Was he actually saying he approved of her gentle side?

“I knew the tender heart you possessed, and if not paired with the skills I taught you, I knew if my enemies ever got a hold of you . . .” His jaw tensed.

“But I thought . . .”

“Thought what, Tania?”

That you didn’t love me. “That I was weak.”

“No, weak and gentle are two very different things. Gentle has its own strength, but gentle, unfortunately, does not protect you from enemies.” He shook his head and his features softened. “You were so tiny when you were born. I held you in the palm of my hand, your legs resting along my forearm. I knew when I looked in your beautiful brown eyes you were spirited, and I knew it would serve you well.”

Tanner stood rooted in place, speechless. Her father viewed her so differently than she’d believed all these years, but why had he waited so long to say so?