“No, it’s honest. Back then, I was wrong. Now—I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Derek framed her face between his palms. “I love you. I did then. I do now. You’re a high-maintenance pain in the ass who always needs the upper hand and never gives an inch when you think you’re right—which is always. Then again, the same applies to me. So we’re going to fight—a lot. We’re also going to make up—a lot. But no more of this pseudo-relationship crap. I want all of you, not just your incredibly hot body. These feelings are real, and they’re not going away, whether or not we talk about them. Maybe we took them for granted, or I would have spent more time understanding the trauma caused by what happened to your hand, and you would have forced me to listen instead of shutting the door in my face and then running away. But, like I said, that’s the past. Now’s the present. So you want me to stop acting like a jealous asshole when we’re at parties? Give me a reason to.”
He spread his arms wide, as if to emphasize that he’d kept nothing hidden. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. I’ve laid all my cards out on the table. Now it’s your turn. So, tell me, are you a coward or not?”
“Not.” Sloane stated her answer without so much as a flinch. Having just stared death in the face, life seemed all the more precious—far too precious for stupid insecurities to get in the way. “You want the words? You’ve got them. I love you. I’ll even tell you that you’re right—at least this once. The facade was a cop-out. I was terrified of ever again going through the hell I went through when you and I were over. But after being punched in the gut with a day like today, I realize there are no guarantees.” She blew out a long, slow breath. “Life is a gift. It’s also fleeting, so emotional self-protection is a waste of time. And life gives us choices. So I choose you, even if you do push every one of my buttons, and drive me bonkers.”
Derek’s smile was slow, but it sp
oke wonders. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
DATE: 1 May
TIME: 0623 hours
OBJECTIVE: Artemis
I have to admit I admire Artemis’s hounds. They wanted no part of Mr. Ford Focus. They growled whenever he started to jog beside them, until finally he’d agreed to keep a considerable distance away, and watch her through his binoculars.
True, they’re small, not the formidable hounds always depicted with Artemis in my tomes of Greek mythology. But that doesn’t inhibit them. They’re loyal, fearless, and fiercely protective. They know who and what is right for their mistress.
Someday, they, too, will join us at Mount Olympus. I’m convinced of it. And Artemis will welcome them home.
She’s now on her last lap. Which means that Mr. Ford Focus is at his most relaxed.
Today, that will prove to be his undoing.
Sloane’s breath was coming in hard pants as she and the hounds took the final lap of their run. She’d run more aggressively today, a natural way to relieve some of the tension that was gripping her.
Yesterday had been an endless day of nothingness. None of the other tenants in Elliot’s apartment had seen anything unusual. No one at John Jay had acted the least bit suspiciously. And no one the NYPD had approached had either refused or been reluctant to offer a DNA sample.
Quantico would finish the DNA profile by tomorrow. Then they’d have proof of what Sloane already knew—that the same sick pervert was responsible for this entire crime spree.
That was the easy part. Finding the Unsub himself was the ultimate challenge. And damn him to hell, she was going to do it.
Mr. Ford Focus is in for the surprise of his life.
I raise my tranquilizer gun, aim, and fire.
Hank felt the stinging pain in his butt, and jerked around, looking everywhere at once. He reached around, pulled out the dart, and examined it. He knew what it was—and what it did.
His time was limited. He had to find his assailant, and fast.
He drew his pistol and raised it, sweeping the area with an alert eye. No sign of anyone.
The bushes across the street rustled.
“Come out with your hands up!” Hank ordered.
No motion whatsoever.
“I know you’re in there. Come out or I’m coming in.”
Again, nothing.
From down the street, Hank heard the low sound of a car motor. No, it was deeper, throatier—more like a truck or a van. The sound was moving toward him, as, obviously, was the vehicle.