Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

“I see.” Derek scratched Moe’s ears and was rewarded with a two-minute cheek-licking session. “I’d almost forgotten what mornings are like with these three.”

Sloane felt an unwelcome twinge as a memory popped into her head. The hounds were just puppies. It was a particularly cold, winter morning in Cleveland, and snow was falling in a blanket of thick flakes.

That was the day she and Derek had introduced the hounds to their first snow experience.

They’d taken them outside, enjoying their sheer delight as, one by one, the exuberant dachshunds discovered the miracle of snow. Sloane and Derek had romped around with them, laughing until their sides hurt as they watched Moe, Larry, and Curly shove their snouts into the accumulating inches, then come up with white noses. After that, they’d alternately tried catching snowflakes on their tongues and racing around. Their stubby little legs had sunk into the cold white powder, and it hadn’t slowed them down a bit.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Derek interrupted her reflections.

“Hmm?” Sloane’s head snapped up. “Oh, I was just thinking that I’d better meet their demands ASAP. I don’t want a major cleanup job on my hands.” She knew Derek didn’t believe her, but she didn’t modify her statement. “Rain check on round five?”

“Definitely. With many more rounds to follow.” Derek didn’t press her. But he did stop her as she started to climb out of bed. “I’ll take the hounds for their run. You put up a pot of coffee.”

“Okay. I also picked up a few blueberry muffins the other day. I’ll put them out with the coffee.” Sloane eyed Derek speculatively as he pulled on his clothes. “I know why you’re doing this. You don’t want me out in the woods alone.”

“Right.” He didn’t deny it. “I promised you round-the-clock protection. Well, today I’m it.”

“Ah. Well, you’re doing a great job. Remind me to put in a good word with the Bureau.”

Derek paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at Sloane as the hounds rushed passed him, heading off to fetch their leashes. “I’ll do that.” A quick wink. “One suggestion. When you put in that good word, leave out the really steamy perks of my bodyguarding.”

A half hour later, Sloane and Derek were sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping on coffee and munching on muffins. The hounds, having gobbled up their breakfast and lapped up their water, were sprawled on the kitchen floor, snoozing.

“It’s after ten. Why haven’t we heard from anyone?” Sloane asked impatiently.

Derek glanced at his watch. “I called Joe while I was jogging with the hounds. He’s a perfectionist, so it’s taking him a few extra minutes. But we’ll have our final within the hour. As for the rest, Yan Dié, my language analyst, is coming in around noon. She’ll decipher our curse words ASAP. Bill Mann, my colleague at the BAU, had meetings scheduled all morning, so we’ll hear from him after lunch. And the DNA found at the crime scene is being analyzed as we speak.”

“I know.” Sloane grimaced. “I wish I’d at least get a return call from Larry Clark. Then I could run some of this by him. He’s got years of experience with the BAU.”

“He’s also retired and living on a ranch in Virginia. He might be out riding. Or napping in a hammock.”

“Fine, you made your point.” Sloane went back to eating her muffin. “I’ll try to take it down a notch.”

“Good idea.” Derek gazed pensively into his coffee mug, that familiar furrow between his brows.

“Something else on your mind?” Sloane asked.

“Actually, yes.” He raised his head, looked at her. “You asked me not to revisit the past, and I intend to respect your wishes—for the most part. But there are some things I do need to know, if for no other reason than because we’re working together and I have to understand the full extent of your physical and psychological limitations.”

“Such as?”

“Such as yesterday. You think I didn’t notice your reaction to the crime scene at the hospital. You’re wrong. I did. You’re a strong, self-sufficient woman. You’re also a pro at hiding your vulnerabilities. But I saw how white-faced you became when you looked at that bloody floor, listened to the police describe the details of the homicide. At one point, you actually flinched. Knives still freak you out. I’m not judging you,” Derek quickly clarified. “But I need you to tell me exactly what happened the night you were injured, and whatever permanent damage it resulted in—not just to your hand, but to your psyche.”

Sloane considered his request, saw its merit, and slowly nodded. “God knows, I’ve told this story often enough. Reliving it shouldn’t upset me. But it does—on many levels. I also have to warn y

ou, it’s not exactly appetizing breakfast conversation.”

“Not to worry. They have yet to invent the subject that kills my appetite.”

“True.” Sloane pushed away her food, and interlaced her fingers on the counter in front of her as she thought back to that life-altering day. “I don’t know how much you’re already familiar with. At the time, your squad was working with three other field offices trying to solve that string of family homicides.”

“All I know is that there was a bank robbery gone bad in some small town in Ohio, that a bunch of innocent people were being held at gunpoint by the robbers, and that a crisis negotiation team was called in.”

“Ten,” Sloane qualified. “There were ten innocent people being held hostage—the guard, the bank manager, two tellers, and six customers. Yes, the bank was in the sticks. But we were the closest field office with a CNT. So the team of us—Laurie, Jake, Andy, and I—went to the scene, along with SWAT, and the local sheriff and police. The gunmen were armed to the hilt, panicking, and headed up by a ringleader who was not the negotiating type. He and his two sidekicks had already successfully held up several banks in Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee—and he’d killed one guard in the process. I wasn’t about to let that happen again, not on my watch.”

Sloane paused, reaching past the coffee for a bottle of water and twisting off the cap. “I was the primary negotiator on the case,” she continued after gulping down some water. “I was on the phone with that SOB ringleader for five and a half hours. My team was engaged every second of that time. They gathered intel, liaised with all the field offices that had dealt with these subjects, and worked with SWAT and the locals to get me what I needed. Because of their hard work, and mine, we defused the ticking bomb. The hostages were safely released, every agent and local went home alive, and all three subjects were taken into custody—eventually.”