The Hunt

“Don’t call me that!” Angry at her weakness, she rubbed the tears away with the back of her hand, but more came in their place.

Qui

“I did pass with flying colors!” She stared at him through her tears. “You-he asked you. Why didn’t you stand up for me?”

“You need more time.” His voice was quiet and he looked at her straight on. “Miranda, you rushed through college, your master’s, you didn’t do anything for yourself. You need to deal with the past so you can have a future. I don’t know if you want to be an FBI agent for the right reasons.”

“Spare me the fucking psychobabble. It’s you-you th-think I’m g-going to fall apart. Th-That I can’t do the job. Fuck you. I th-thought you of all people understood-”

She ran away.

Miranda shook her head and rubbed her left temple, forcing the memory back where it belonged. Buried. She hadn’t realized how close to the surface those feelings were until she felt the moisture behind her eyes, but how could she be surprised? As soon as she saw Qui

For a year she fought herself about returning to Quantico. She ignored Qui

How could it be anything but personal?

She wanted to return to Quantico, but one thing held her back.

Fear. Deep, bone-numbing fear that the government shrink was right, that she was not only obsessed with the Butcher, but that if she ever found him, she really would have a nervous breakdown.

She never wanted Qui

The hunt for the Butcher kept her focused, sane. But when the hunt ended, where would she be? When the killer was caught and punished, what would she do? She had nothing else.

The emptiness of her life sucker-punched her.

She blinked, barely remembering the drive to the Lodge. Her Jeep was parked, but the engine was still ru

She’d forgotten how much she once loved Qui