“It was my so-called blundering that found Evan in
the first place!” She jumped to her feet and glared at him. “Why are you pushing me away like this?”
“You’ve done what you came here to do. It’s time for you to leave.”
“I made a promise. I can’t go back on that.”
“Just as you made a promise never to use your gifts again?” He gave her a cold smile. “Some vows are made to be broken, I’m afraid. You could no more find the teenager than you could stop using your abilities. Face those facts and just get the hell out of my life.”
She stared at him. While she understood that he was deliberately being nasty in an attempt to get rid of her, his words hurt nevertheless. “You can be such a bastard!”
“I have the soul of a hunter. I am a killer by nature.” He hesitated and gave her an almost savage smile. “And I love my work.”
Yes, he loved his work—but not the killing. It might be an essential part of his job, but it was one she sensed he abhorred. She could see the self-loathing in the back of his eyes, hear it in the edge in his voice. And because of his work, because of what he was forced to do day in and day out, he was keeping everyone at arm’s length. If you didn’t care, you couldn’t get hurt.
It was a hell of a way to live. And yet, in many ways, wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing? Maybe her reasons were different, but the result was still the same. A life locked in unending, unbearable loneliness.
He’d once told her that life was meant to be lived, that she couldn’t hide forever. Maybe it was time they both took his advice.
“But that would make you no better than the monsters you chase,” she said softly. “And you’re not a monster, Jon. Just a man who needs to open up and let someone in.”
“Like you?” His short laugh was derisive. “We’re little more than strangers. I’ve killed. I will keep on killing. I have no desire for anyone I—” He stopped, then shrugged.
But his unfinished sentence sung through her mind. No desire for anyone I care about to get in the way. She shivered. The thought that maybe there was some sort of psychic link between them scared her almost as much as the thought of never seeing him again.
She glanced down at her hands for a minute. If she wanted him to open up, maybe it was only fair that she do the same.
“I’ve killed too,” she whispered, not looking up—not even when his hand wrapped around hers and squeezed gently. She turned her hand and entwined her fingers in his, but she resisted the temptation to cling tightly. It was time to be strong, time to be truthful about that night. She’d lied to everyone, including herself, for far too long.
“Brian, my husband, died in a fire—a fire I lit. I burned him, burned our home—burned everything that reminded me of our life together. And I have never regretted it—even if for too many years I tried to drown the memory of his death in alcohol.” Though the nightmares—and the fear that she might so easily kill again—had haunted her ever since.
The soft rattle of the wind buffeting the windows was the only sound to be heard for several long heartbeats. She waited tensely, not sure what sort of reaction she expected—or wanted—from him.
“You didn’t mean to kill him. There’s a difference.” Though his voice was neutral, there was a hint of understanding and warmth in his expression that made her heart race. He understood, even if he didn’t say as much. He had lived the same hell.
She closed her eyes, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. For too long she had stood alone, afraid to tell anyone about that night, afraid that her gifts would forever isolate her. Maybe they still would. The whole truth wasn’t out yet.
“But I did mean to.” She glanced down, watching his thumb gently caress her wrist. His gentle touch somehow soothed the sick churning in her stomach. Over six years had passed, yet the brutality with which Brian had attacked her still made her shake. And all because she had been out shopping rather than home to answer his call.
“He wouldn’t stop hitting me,” she whispered, unable to help the quaver in her voice. “No matter what I said or did, he just wouldn’t stop. I wanted him to burn in hell. I screamed it at him and … and he did. And even if I had been able to restrain my fire that day, I wouldn’t have. He deserved the death he got. In some ways, he was more of a monster than Eleanor ever could be.”
“One death doesn’t make you a killer, Maddie,” Jon said softly. “You were acting in self-defense, nothing more.”
“But what if I’ve killed twice?”
He met her gaze steadily. “Twice?”
She nodded and licked her lips. “Some mistakes I seem destined to repeat. I was barely six the first time. My father was hitting my mother and I just wanted him to stop. I lit a fire. He did stop, but by then, the fire had gotten out of control. My brother died in the blaze.”
“Come here.” He tugged her forward and into his arms. It felt like a homecoming. “You’re not a killer, no matter what you think. You never could be.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against the threat of more tears. In the midst of a nightmare she’d found a man she cared about—maybe even loved. And he would send her away from him without regret, simply because it was safer.
But being safe was something she no longer wanted.
She turned in his embrace and met his gaze. His face was so close that his breath washed warmth across her lips and sent shivers of desire thrumming through her body. “Don’t send me away. I need to be here.”
A slight smile tugged the corners of his mouth, and a hint of weariness momentarily warmed the coldness in his eyes. He reached up and gently brushed a stray curl away from her cheek, his touch trailing across her skin like fire.