The Hunt

One year. A year! She’d waited more than two years after the Butcher killed Sharon, restless, taking extra classes, working at the Lodge, learning self-defense. Anything and everything so she’d never feel vulnerable again.

When she walked out of Quantico ten years ago, she’d never felt more lost. She knew then she would never go back.

“Thanks.” Her voice cracked. She wanted to yell at him, rage at the injustice of what he’d done-regardless of the reasons. Maybe there was a hint of truth in what he’d said, something she had done that indicated she might not be able to handle the job.

She focused on her pie and milk. Qui

She and Qui

She wanted him to hold her so she could sleep. To love him so she could remember what had been the most wonderful time of her life.

His hands rested on her shoulders, so lightly she didn’t flinch. She closed her eyes. He brushed her hair away from her neck, his long finger drawing a sizzling path from her ear to her throat. With his other hand, he turned her to face him.

When she opened her eyes, her mouth parted. He was so close, his naked chest inches from her. She felt the heat between them, as if he had his own thermostat. She swallowed, wanted to tell him to step back, but couldn’t find her voice.

She was glad she didn’t.

His lips touched hers so tenderly, if she hadn’t felt the jolt of desire flood her body, she’d have doubted he’d kissed her at all.

Then he kissed her again, more firmly, his hand moving from her shoulder to the back of her neck, kneading her muscles, holding her head to him. Deeper, his tongue gently parted her lips until their tongues lightly dueled, back and forth. She leaned into him, tentative at first, then found her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close.

His kisses moved from her lips, down her jaw, to her neck. She shivered from the heat, from wanting him. A deep yearning that bespoke ten years without him. Without the man who knew exactly where to kiss, where to touch.

He softly kissed her behind her ear.

“I’ve missed you, Miranda.”

She drew in her breath. Had he really missed her? For ten years she’d had to consciously keep Qui

But now the dam had broken, and her repressed feelings rushed through the floodgates. For ten years it had been so much easier to pretend Qui

She stepped back and bumped into the kitchen counter. “Qui

“Why did you avoid me back then?” He squeezed her shoulders, his eyes shining with the same heat and desire she felt.

She shook her head. She couldn’t have this conversation now, not when her emotions were so close to the surface. His affection confused her; it was much easier to remember his hardened stance against her graduation, his emphatic statements about her abilities when they first saw each other where Rebecca had died.

“I need to go.”

“Miranda, don’t walk away again. We need to talk.”

Shaking her head, she pulled away from his hold. She had to think, impossible to do around Qui

She glanced at him, saw frustration cross his expression. She turned and ran back to her cabin, feeling like a coward but not knowing what else to do.

Qui

What had just happened?

He thought at least she was opening up to him. She had softened her feelings toward him. That there was hope-

And that kiss. Time or distance made her taste even sweeter. He wanted more.

What was he thinking? That they could pick up where they’d left off? That he could tell her he still loved her and they could start talking marriage?

Qui

He didn’t have time for long-term relationships; he’d been involved with a few women over the years, but only briefly. None of them could compare to Miranda. Some were prettier, some were smarter, but none were Miranda . Her spark. Her strength. Her .

What had she been thinking? Why couldn’t she just answer his question? He’d half expected her to jump down his throat, to yell at him about his decision at Quantico. He hadn’t expected to see so much raw, needy emotion in her fathomless eyes.

Damn, damn, damn! He wanted to follow her, to explain his reasons again about why he’d pulled her from the Academy. She’d focused on the psychiatrist’s opinion about her obsession with the Butcher, but that was only part of his reasoning. If it was only the shrink, Qui

What Miranda had never understood, and he’d obviously failed to make her understand, was that her reasons for wanting to become an agent were all wrong. Working for the FBI wouldn’t give her what she thought it would, and he feared she would have been miserable.

Maybe he should have let her be miserable. But he loved her too much, and she was too loyal a person to quit when she realized she’d romanticized the role of an FBI agent.

Plain and simple, she’d wanted to be an FBI agent so she would have the authority to track down the Butcher. She’d never have been satisfied working in, say, Florida or Maine or California-unless the Butcher started hunting in one of those states. And she very well might have been assigned to the cyber squad, robberies, or political corruption-none of which would bring her any closer to facing down her demons.

He’d hoped that after a year off she’d come to realize that either she didn’t want to be an agent at all or that she could put the Butcher far enough behind her to work on whatever the Bureau assigned to her.

He’d wanted her to return. She would have been a top agent if only she could truly put the past behind her. But Miranda’s deep involvement with the Butcher investigation, from the moment she returned from Quantico, told him she’d made her decision long ago.

He closed his eyes, uncertain how to work through Miranda’s pain and anger toward him. For a few minutes, they’d almost reached that comfort level where he could have said anything, and she would have opened up. But they hadn’t gotten there, and he didn’t know if they ever would. As soon as he stepped too close, she put up an invisible barrier.

Sometimes, Qui

Until she opened up and talked to him, as well as listened to what he had to say, there was no hope of mending his broken relationship with the only woman he’d ever loved.