“I hope that’s a compliment.”
“It is. The woman I’m remembering was quite lovely, and obviously, quite memorable.” He gestured for Cindy to come in and have a seat. “Your uncle and I have been colleagues for many years. I’m so glad he sought me out to help you. I’d like to do all I can to benefit your new business. Hopefully, I can introduce you to the right people who’ll make all the difference.”
Cindy gave him a radiant smile. “I have no doubt that you can.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sloane ran the hounds an extra half-mile that night to atone for leaving them longer than usual.
It was eight p.m. She’d been gone since eight a.m. Between a seminar she was giving at a local police precinct, a class she taught in level-three Krav Maga, two meetings with corporate clients, and a later-than-usual occupational therapy session, the day had been packed.
And, yes, she’d also been avoiding Derek.
Last night, she’d arrived home before him, still fuming from his deception. She was also drained, having joined her father to pick up her mother and get her settled and comfortable at home, then waiting while Rosalyn provided the sketch artist with as comprehensive a description of her kidnapper as she could. Before taking off for home, Sloane had ensured that the FBI agents Tony had assigned were in place—one inside her parents’ apartment, and two outside the building. She’d introduced herself and reviewed their instructions with them. Satisfied, she’d left and driven to the New Jersey suburbs.
She’d pulled into her driveway, thinking that home looked damned good. Derek’s car not being there looked even better. After taking care of Moe, Larry, and Curly’s needs, she’d gulped down a yogurt and turned in early. Once she and the hounds were in the bedroom, she’d locked the door behind them, giving Derek a clear sign that he wasn’t welcome.
He’d tried the door once, knocked and called her name twice, then given up and gone to the guest room.
This morning, Sloane made sure she heard him leave before pulling on her jogging gear and taking the hounds for their three-mile run. Shortly thereafter, she’d fed them, showered, and taken off.
She moved back her occupational therapy session. Connie had no problem seeing Sloane at six rather than five, since she was working at her Morristown, New Jersey, office today, rather than the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan. Although, being the blunt person she was and the friend she’d become to Sloane over the past year and a half, she was quick to point out that Sloane was putting off the inevitable. Whatever it was that Derek had done to piss her off so much wasn’t going away without a major blowup.
Sloane had to agree. This confrontation was going to be ugly, but it had to be had.
Finishing up her extended run with the hounds, she returned to the cottage. This time, Derek’s car was already in the driveway. She went inside, unleashed the hounds so they could take off for their water bowls, and grabbed a towel, wiping her face and neck.
“Hello.” Derek walked out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in his hand. “I put out some brie and flatbread crackers to go with this.” He pointed at his goblet. “Care to join me? Or are we continuing our game of duck and run?”
Sloane lowered the towel. “I’m not playing duck and run. I’m just trying to calm down enough to have a civil conversation.” She glanced at the wine. “Merlot?”
“Beaujolais.”
“Better still. I’ll jump in the shower and join you in ten minutes.”
“Done.”
She spent the ten minutes reining in her emotions as the spray of water hit her face and she lathered away the aftermath of her run. Then, she dried off, pulled on a comfortable nightshirt, ran a brush through her damp hair, and made her way to the kitchen.
Derek was sitting on a stool at the island that seated two. He gestured at the other stool, which he’d pulled around to the other side of the island.
“I figured we’d be less likely to kill each other with wood and granite between us.”
“Smart idea.” Sloane slid onto the stool and poured herself a glass of wine, taking a sip and then spreading some brie on a cracker.
“Do you blame me for what happened to your mother?” Derek asked without preamble.
“I blame you for the setup.” Sloane was equally blunt. “You used our relationship, and the intensity of our first few nights together, to dupe me. That’s not only degrading, it’s a major breach of trust. Which, as you recall, is what broke us up the first time.” She gazed steadily at Derek as she chewed and swallowed her cheese and cracker.
“I’m not going to pretend I don’t see your point,” Derek replied, although his jaw was set in that way that told Sloane he wasn’t backing down. “What I was forced to do sucked. But when Rich called and laid things out for me, I had no choice. I had to protect you. Not from the world—I realize you’re more than capable of doing that. From yourself. You love your father. If he had been guilty of something ugly, he might not have told you, and you might not have been able to see through him the way you would anyone else. And if you’d known what Rich had planned, you would have raced over to your parents’ apartment and jeopardized everything Rich hoped to, and did, accomplish.”
“Right.” Sloane’s tone was dripping with sarcasm. “So this was all about me. Not your loyalty to the Bureau.”
A muscle worked in Derek’s jaw. “It was about both. Yes, I did my job. Yes, I feel an obligation to put away the bad guys. And, yes, that would apply to your father if he turned out to be one of those bad guys.”
“Well, what do you know? A shred of honesty. Maybe if you’d gone for that approach from the start, I would have cooperated, and we wouldn’t be having this fight.”
“Oh, get off it Sloane. You wouldn’t have cooperated—not emotionally or legally. You’d be choosing between your father and an organized-crime investig