He had changed-and yet he’d stayed the same. A few random strands of silver shot through his sandy hair. It fell just a little too long across the top, partly covering a bandage above his eye. His dark eyes still saw everything, but now faint lines fanned their edges. He was still physically fit, dressed too well for the Montana woods, and she could still taste his lips on hers, though they hadn’t seen each other for a decade.
She hated the memories that rained down on her, hated even more that seeing Quinn Peterson reminded her of her worst failings at a time when she needed all her strength and courage.
“How dare you!” She berated herself for the quiver in her voice.
“I know you enjoy torturing yourself, Miranda, but I didn’t want to witness it.” Quinn came closer, standing a mere foot from her. She resisted the urge to step back. She would not back down. Not this time.
A tic pulsed in Quinn’s jaw. She remembered it well from when he was angry. Or worried.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was stronger, but she didn’t trust herself to say more.
“I called him,” Nick said.
She turned to face her best friend. “You?”
Nick straightened enough to show he was uncomfortable. “I’ve been keeping Quinn informed since I became sheriff,” Nick said. “I need him and his resources.”
“You’ve been working with him for-” She thought back to when Nick had first been elected sheriff and threw her hands up in the air. “Three years! And didn’t let me know? How could you? I thought you of all people understood.”
“Miranda, I want this bastard almost as much as you do.”
Quinn interrupted. “I’m here to catch a killer. I shouldn’t have to tell you the FBI’s resources are greater than Nick’s department’s. If you have a problem with that, you can leave.”
Quinn’s intense dark eyes cut through her defenses with the precision of a laser. She grew uneasy from the scrutiny. Cataloging her fear, her insecurities. Waiting for her to crack, to break. She would not let him see her weak. Could not let him see her fall apart. Too many times in the past she’d gone to him for strength, support. She’d cried in his arms, told him everything she thought and felt and believed.
He’d used it all against her when he kicked her out of the Academy.
She had plenty of time to break down later. Tonight. When she was alone.
“I know this area better than every deputy in the department,” Miranda said, her voice cracking as she fought to keep her temper and emotions in check. With one deep, probing look, Quinn had reduced her to raw nerves.
She turned her attention back to Nick, gathered her strength. “You’re going to be searching for evidence and bringing in volunteers. You need me, and I need to be here. I need to look. I’ll see things no one else will see. I’ll-”
“Stop.” Quinn closed the short distance between them, putting a hand on her shoulder. She stared at it, wanting both to slap it away and fall into his arms.
She glared at him and he dropped his hand.
“You need sleep,” he continued, his voice softer. “You’ve been searching for Rebecca all week. How many hours have you taken for yourself? You’re living on coffee and junk food. Go home.”
“No. No!” She turned from him, fearing the tears she’d been fighting all morning would escape.
Not now. Not in front of Quinn.
“Miranda, I’m calling in a team,” Nick said. “We won’t be ready for at least two hours. Doc Abrams needs to claim the body. Come back later.”
“Nick, I don’t think-” Quinn began.
Miranda interrupted him.
“I’m going to tell the volunteers. Two hours, I’ll be here.” She couldn’t look at Quinn, not now when her feelings raw and exposed.
She walked past Nick, touched his arm. “I’m okay.” She didn’t know if she said it for his benefit, hers, or Quinn’s, but saying the words out loud helped her swallow the fear that had crept to the surface. Quinn’s presence had rattled her almost as much as the Butcher’s latest kill.
Quinn watched Miranda drive off in her Jeep. He’d handled her wrong. It didn’t used to be like that. Back before she decided becoming an FBI agent would somehow fix her problems, Quinn had known exactly what to say, when to touch her, when to give her space.
But once she landed at Quantico, her obsession with the Butcher took over her life. Or maybe it had been there from the beginning and Quinn just hadn’t seen it.
Why couldn’t she see it?
“Why’d you do that?” Quinn asked Nick. “She’s in no condition to search for evidence. Did you see her when she was looking at the body? She’s going to lose it.”
His gut had twisted at the pain he’d seen on Miranda’s beautiful, gaunt face. As if she were reliving Rebecca Douglas’s final minutes.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Quinn. Miranda’s stronger than you think.”
“She’s punishing herself for surviving.”
“I don’t know about that-” Nick began.
“I do. Miranda has a huge case of survivor’s guilt and it’s grown over time. Every time another girl is abducted, she takes on her death as if she were to blame.”
“I know she’s personally involved, but she’s an asset to the team.”
“Miranda doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘team.’ ”
“You haven’t worked with her for the past ten years. She won’t break, she’d solid.”
“You’re letting your personal relationship interfere with common sense.” Quinn cringed. He sounded jealous. Dammit, he was jealous. When he’d first learned of Miranda and Nick’s relationship, it hurt more than he wanted to admit. You’d think that after all the years they’d been apart Quinn would have gotten over her. Yet, since Miranda walked out of his life, the few relationships he’d developed had been superficial and short-term. In Quinn’s heart, Miranda would always be the only woman.
Nick shot him a look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The sheriff started walking toward his truck.
“Don’t play coy with me, Nick. You’ve been involved with Miranda too long not to know better. She’s playing you. She’s good at that.”
Nick turned back to Quinn. “Miranda and I broke up two years ago.”
Nick’s face told Quinn he wasn’t happy about the arrangement, and his voice sounded almost accusatory. Quinn was both surprised and pleased that Nick and Miranda were no longer a couple. Then he chastised himself for caring. After all, Miranda wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
“You never told me.”
“Why would I? I’d take her back in a heartbeat. Not that I have a chance now.” He looked down the path Miranda’s Jeep had taken. “Not with you in town.”
“She hates me.” Hate might be too nice a word. Loathe, despise, or abhor might be more fitting.
“She should,” Nick said glancing at him. “If you’d had me booted from the FBI Academy the day before graduation, I’d hate you. But she doesn’t.”
Quinn didn’t know about that, but remained silent.
Nick added, “If she hated you, she’d already be my wife.”
CHAPTER 3
Miranda broke every traffic law on the books driving back to Montana State University in Bozeman. She dreaded telling the search volunteers that Rebecca was dead.
Nick was right: they needed the resources of the FBI if they were going to catch the Butcher. But out of all the agents in the country, why Quinn Peterson?
She thought she’d gotten over his betrayal years ago. She loved her job, had a good home, family who loved her, and loyal friends.
Then she saw him; now she realized deep down, in the farthest recesses of her heart, in the corner she’d thought long hardened against love, she still ached for him.